#plastic toiletries

[fishandshesmygills]

girls who've been home from college for 3 weeks and still haven't unpacked even a little bit

[walkswithmycamera]

PERFECT MINIMAL PACKAGING!

Excellent job, Grüum!

Just the right amount of packaging for the contents.

There's a little bit of padding where the "Find delight in your journey" text is - other than that, a nice cute cardboard box surround the 4 bars of soap, I received today from Grüum.

They do some fabulous products although many of them I'm unlikely to use, but I do love the shower gel bars and the shampoo bars - perfect for Travel.

With this link, you can get £5 off your first order and I get a small referral gift too.

Other online stores where I've received a handful of beauty products have arrived in boxes three times the size required for the amount of contents inside, as well as a lot of unnecessary packing inside.

Grüum have the motto of "Products For Happy Skin, Healthy Hair, And A Smiling Planet" - I think they are getting it right, so far. Especially on the packing side of things for letterbox delivery.

Thanks for reading!

[trashytracktales]

GIRL DONT HOLD BACK

WRITE THE LANDO NORRIS HELMET SMUT

Finders keepers | LN⁴

🟢 summary ──── A moment of boredom turns into a game of control and restraint, with Lando pushing boundaries neither he nor his girlfriend expected on such a busy day.

🟢 pairing ──── Lando Norris x she/her reader

🟢 rating ──── explicit

🟢 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, smut, swearing, semi-public setting, soft!dom Lando, fingering & oral ─ (f)receiving, unprotected sex, overstimulation, messy finish, Lando low-key losing it.

🟢 word count ──── 3.3k

🟢 date ──── Mar. 4, 2025

🟢 a/n ──── This one has been HIGHLY requested after one of you guys sent in this ask, so I shall deliver. I hope you enjoy it as much as you imagined & can’t wait to hear your thoughts 🤍

Also, yes. This is the second one-shot of the day, because I ACCIDENTALLY posted this Charles Leclerc piece earlier. It’s very short and I was supposed to post it after this one OOPSIES get greedy & go check it out. Thank you, love you all 💋

THERE IS HARDLY enough room for more than two people in the driver’s room. A physio table is pushed against the wall, a couple of chairs sit tucked under a desk covered in notes, post-its and water bottles, and a row of plastic shelves is holding some race suits, a change of clothes and toiletries, and a spare helmet. There is a faint scent of fresh rubber and overall newness of the place in the air that blends with the smell of rain, and something so distinctly Lando, a mix of his cologne and fabric softener.

She has been waiting for hours now. Day two of testing in Bahrain is dragging, and even though she loves watching her boyfriend hit the track, the long hours spent doing nothing are starting to wear on her. She finished reading three books in two days, rewatched her favorite TV show, and scrolled through her feed until the app informed her that there were no new posts.

She sighs, running a hand over the edge of the desk before deciding to tidy up a little. Not that there’s much to clean, since McLaren keeps these rooms nearly spotless, but at least it gives her something to do. A few minutes later, the post-its are arranged on the wall by color, the documents are organized in chronological order, and the water bottles have found a new home, crammed under the table.

Out of curiosity, her fingers brush over one of Lando’s new helmets, freshly designed for the pre-season testing. It’s sleek, predominantly black with neon streaks and intricate models running along the sides. On impulse, she lifts it, feeling its surprising weight before slipping it over her head. The padding presses snugly against her ears, muffling the distant sounds of mechanics still at work in the garage.

She can’t help but feel a vague claustrophobia surrounding her, but the feeling isn’t necessarily bad. On the contrary, it gives her the impression of safety, even if it inhibits her other senses.

Grinning to herself, she pulls out her phone and angles the camera for a selfie. The reflection in the visor catches the glow of the overhead lights, giving her an futuristic look. She continues to snap a few more photos, adjusting the tilt of her head, until a blurred figure appears in the background of her screen.

“Having fun all by yourself?” Lando’s voice is amused yet he sounds tired, and before she can turn around, she feels his arms wrap around her waist from behind. He leans in, lips ghosting over her shoulder in a lazy kiss.

She huffs out a laugh, nudging at his arms, “I told you to stop sneaking up on me like that. You scared me.”

Lando chuckles, hands splaying over her stomach, thumbs brushing absentminded circles through the fabric of her shirt. “Sorry. Didn’t expect to catch you playing dress-up with my stuff.”

“Finders keepers,” she says in a singing voice, making Lando chuckle again.

“Yeah? You like it?”

“It looks cool,” she admits, “Therefore, it makes you look cool.”

Lando squeezes her a little tighter, “That mouth on you,” he teases.

The girl giggles, “Am I wrong? Also, you should’ve knocked, by the way,” she continues, reaching up to pull at the visor so she can actually see him.

“I should knock on a door that has my name on it?”

“Yeah, you do!” she sounds revolted, “Especially when you know there’s a lady waiting for you inside.”

Lando’s gaze darkens ever so slightly as he takes her in. She looks like a mirage under the dim light of the small room, her curls coming untamed from under his helmet and her eyes so bright and filled with love, looking back at him.

He nods with a boyish smile, “I’ll try to remember that next time.”

Maybe it’s just exhaustion making his eyes so heavy-lidded, the lingering adrenaline from a long day fading into something softer. But when she catches him staring, Lando has the same soft gaze he does whenever they sit on the couch and he’s about to doze off; he looks unintentionally hot like this, worn out but content.

“Alright, racer boy. Can we go now?” she asks, pressing back against him slightly.

Lando sighs, reluctant. “Not yet. I still have a couple of hours to go. Gotta go over the data with the engineers,” his fingers tighten briefly on her hips before he steps back. “You can head back to the hotel if you’re bored. I’ll get you a car.”

She pouts, “It’s not as fun without you.”

That wins her another chuckle, but this time, there’s something else in Lando’s expression. His gaze is shamelessly dragging over her with an intensity that makes her pulse stutter. It’s only now that he really registers that she’s wearing his helmet, his name and number stamped all over.

She’s worn his clothes before — his hoodies, his merch, his team’s attire — but this feels completely different. It makes his mouth dry and head spin, and he might be exhausted, but suddenly, swallowing the lump in his throat, Lando realizes he’s so turned on.

“Then stay,” he encourages her, “I have half an hour to decompress before going to debriefing. I’m sure we can find something fun to do.”

His suit suddenly feels tighter, heat creeping up the back of his neck. He swallows again, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he exhales slowly.

“Is that so?” she challanges him. “Something in mind already?”

He runs a hand through his curls before reaching for her again, “Maybe,” his voice is low, amused but laced with something indulgent. His fingers skim her waist, tracing the hem of her shirt as he tugs her closer. “You’re pretty inspiring.”

She tilts her head slightly, the visor still lifted so he can see the teasing glint in her eyes. “Well, that’s new,” she laughs. “But I was just messing around.”

Lando hums, unconvinced. “Sure you were.”

She moves to take the helmet off, but his hand catches hers mid-motion.

“No, leave it,” says Lando, thumb grazing over her knuckles. His breath is warm when he leans in, his next words spoken directly against its glossy material. “You have no idea how hot you look right now.”

A shiver rolls down her spine, and it quickly goes south, right between her legs. It makes Lando grin subtly, then he reaches for the visor, pulling it down with a definitive, loud click. At that, her world narrows in an instant, and the limited view somehow makes every touch and every breath between them more intense.

Lando walks her back until she’s perched on the edge of the physio table, her pulse hammering as she watches him, excited, but mostly curious about his plans. They have thirty minutes, so his movements aren’t rushed in any way. Quite the opposite. They’re almost lazy, but there’s something precise about the way he reaches for the zipper of his race suit.

He rolls his shoulders, loosening up, then adjusts the height of the table so that when he sinks to his knees in front of her, she’s exactly where he wants her to be. Patiently, his fingers trail up her legs, making slow work of the button on her jeans. There’s no hurry in the way he peels them down, taking her underwear with them in one go, but the moment he gets rid of them, there’s a shift in his demeanor.

Lando exhales sharply, his large hands splaying over her thighs as he looks at her, half-lust and half-serious. “You gotta keep quiet, baby,” he says, a hint of mischief curling around his words. “These walls aren’t real, and anyone passing by the door can hear us blink.”

There was a little giggle stuck in her throat, but now she barely has time to react before his fingers part her, his touch light at first, just exploring while he preps her with the dexterity of a man who did it countless of times before.

Her breath catches at the first slow stroke, her thighs tensing as he traces circles where she’s most sensitive. The first sound she makes is barely a whisper of a whimper, that Lando trained his ears to hear, since is muffled inside the helmet.

He huffs out a quiet laugh, “Is that my cue?”

Before she can answer, Lando leans in.

Initially, his mouth is warm and merciful. He licks into her with a sort of tamed hunger that’s out of his character, savoring every little shift of her hips, every shudder she tries to suppress. Even so, it sends her a clear message: even though his energy is low from the long day, his need to taste her is anything but.

The world outside their room hums with noise — faint conversations, the occasional shuffle of footsteps, the distant whir of power tools in the garage. But all she can focus on is the way he’s lapping at her clit, the slick sound of it embarrassingly loud in the small space, her own whimpers barely contained behind the visor.

Lando chuckles against her, the vibration making her head tilt back slightly; the weight of the helmet forces her to let her head fall against the wall, which positions her even better in front of him.

“Gonna have to be quieter than that,” he teases, slipping his fingers between her folds, pressing just enough to make her squirm.

She barely manages to shake her head, her breath ragged. The visor fogs up as a result, which forces her to close her eyes, since her sense of sight is officially useless.

Lando looks up proudly, fingers pushing deeper as he settles in, more than happy to test her limits. He knows how to curl them just right, the wet sounds obscene in the stillness of the room.

His free hand grips her thigh like he’s starved, holding her open for him, his name echoing softly inside the helmet — muted yet desperate. He feels the way she gets even more aroused with each passing second, coating his fingers with every slick stroke, her body responding to him exactly as it does every single time he takes over.

Startled with new sensations experienced in the dark, she brings a shaky hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the moans threatening to spill out, only to realize, all over again, that she can’t. A frustrated whimper escapes instead, the same hand scrambling for something to support herself. Finally, her fingers clutch at the edge of the table, but it’s useless; her hips are already rolling against Lando, chasing more.

“Mhm,” he hums, his voice shallow. “Getting so wet for me, should’ve done this ages ago. Why didn’t we?”

She gasps, trembling on the edge and so ready to agree with him, but then Lando stops, and the loss of his fingers is almost unbearable. Before she can think, a loud, frustrated moan slips past her lips, making him laugh at her impatience.

She’s too gone now, drunk on the feeling, and the weight of the helmet is definitely not helping. Not when she’s melting under his touch, making it hard to move, and pretty much do anything but stay there, waiting. Aching for more.

Lando watches her for a moment, dark-eyed and smirking, already hard just from seeing her like this, her body so pliant and responsive under his hands. He pulls himself out with one hand, stroking lightly, and with the other, he grips the edge of the helmet, forcing her to look at him.

“Alright, baby, I’m serious. No more of that, okay?” asks Lando. “If someone hears us, it’s gonna be bad. And we don’t want that, do we?” he continues, watching her gathering all her strength only to nod slightly. “That’s right. The second I hear you moan, I’ll have to stop.”

Even Lando knows it’s a lie, but he had to say it, just in case.

She swallows, nodding again as best as she can, her pulse a frantic rhythm against his fingers when he drags his hands down her sides, holding her still. Then, with a precise snap of his hips, he buries himself inside her, stealing the breath from her lungs.

The force of it sends a shudder through the physio table, the legs creaking against the floor. She barely has time to adjust before he thrusts again, deeper this time, pressing her body into the table like he’s trying to mold her into it. Her thighs tighten around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, desperate to keep him there, to keep him buried inside her where she needs him most, the weight of him, the pressure and the friction maddening.

Lando swallows a moan, but some of it manages to slip past gritted teeth, “Fuck, you look—” he cuts himself off, sucking in a sharp breath. He doesn’t even have words for it. The way she feels around him and the heat of her pulling him back in every time he dares to pull away, it’s enough to make his mind go blank.

The table shifts again, inching against the floor with every thrust. She grips at the suit still clinging to his shoulders, trying to hold onto something, but there’s no escape from the way he’s driving into her, every drag of his cock making her shake beneath him.

“Lando…”

He knows. He feels it too. The way they’re teetering on the edge of something dangerously intoxicating, and the way they’re doing that together.

His hands tighten on her, his next thrust shoving the table another inch to the side. “Shit,” he breathes, voice husky with restraint. “Hold on, love. A little more, yeah?” He grips the edges of the table and snaps his hips forward again, watching the way her body reacts to him. “Fucking hell,” he spits, eyes dark as he watches her fall apart under him, little by little. “Keep me in, baby. Like that.”

She clings to him without hesitation, like she was made for this, for him. He’s marking her and he knows it, his fingers moving back to her waist, digging into her soft flesh. Lando’s name is all over her, in ways that only he can see, in places only he gets to touch. And the way she lets him, makes his head spin.

In the haze of it all, a sudden, foreign thought crashes into him like a gut-punch: her name next to his. It’s ridiculous, completely out of place in a moment like this, but it paralyzes him for a second. Until his body reacts on its own, fire spreading through his veins. He leans forward, caging her in, his thrusts becoming sharper, more desperate. His forehead presses against the cool surface of the helmet for just a moment, grounding himself, before he pulls back and looks at her.

He can barely see her eyes, wide and glazed over, but it’s enough. His fingers tighten on her hips as he slams back into her, dragging her flush against him, letting her feel every inch of his length. The sharp noise that the table makes underneath them is lost in the delicious sounds of their bodies moving together, of their heavy breathing, of the desperate way she silently whimpers his name like she wants to keep it on her tongue forever.

He’s spiraling, drowning in the heat of her, in the thought that she lets him take her like this, lets him ruin her for anyone else.

Yet somehow, it’s still not enough.

Her hands fly up instinctively, grasping at the helmet, knuckles turning white as she tries to steady herself against the overwhelming feeling of him.

Outside the room, voices pass by again, too close, and Lando clenches his jaw, fighting his own demons as he’s forcing himself to stay quiet.

Luckily, she’s close. He can feel it in the way she tightens around him, the way her body shakes as she tries her hardest to stay silent. Inside the helmet though, her breathing is shallow, small cries coming out of her parted lips.

“Come on, pretty girl,” says Lando in a demanding yet soft tone. One of his hands clamps around her neck, guiding her into each thrust. “Give it to me. Let me feel you.”

Lando doesn’t slow down one bit, rolling his hips in a way that he knows it drives her wild. As a result, her body tenses, trembling as pleasure overtakes her. A choked gasp echoes inside the helmet, and Lando smirks, watching her unravel. He’s so utterly captivated by the way her walls tighten around him and the way her thighs quiver in his hands, as if she can crumble if he’s won’t be careful. It’s almost too much for him, but Lando manages to pull out just in time, watching as her release coats his throbbing length, as she shudders through the aftershocks.

“Yeah,” he breaths, running a hand up and down her thigh. “Such a good girl, baby. Let it all out.”

She slumps back against the table, panting inside the helmet, her body overly sensitive. Keeping his eyes on her, Lando gives himself a few slow strokes, exhaling hard through his nose; he’s so close it’s painful.

“You okay?” he asks her, his voice as hoarse as if he screamed for hours at a concert.

Slowly coming back to her senses, she exhales sharply, “I’m good,” she manages and, before she gets the chance to ask him the same question, Lando slaps her thigh in order to catch her attention.

“Down on your knees, then. Come on,” he rasps, guiding the girl to her knees, his patience wearing out quickly, as he tilts her chin up with two fingers.

The glow of the light catches on the sleek surface of the helmet, and something about it — about her like this, still catching her breath, still his — makes his stomach flip.

“God, look at you,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the edge of the visor as he grips the helmet gently. “Obedient little thing.”

She doesn’t speak — can’t, really — just watches him through the darkened shield, completely at his mercy.

Lando’s breathing stutters as he pumps himself faster, the tension coiling tight in his core. “Gonna make a mess of you, yeah?” he asks, mostly rhetorically. “Right there on my—”

He barely manages a breath before the orgasm crashes into him, blinding and all-consuming. His grip tightens, a sharp groan breaking free as heat pulses through him, spilling in thick streaks across the dark visor. Each of his breath is shaky, his mind fogged with pleasure and a sudden possessiveness.

She stays still, letting him ruin the helmet just like he ruined her, and the sight leaves him dizzy.

His fingers twitch as he pushes sweat-damp curls from his forehead, exhaling a laugh, wrecked and breathless. The sound of it fills the space, mixing with the muffled hum of voices just beyond the walls. But all Lando can hear is the quiet, pleased sigh that leaves her lips, her fingers scratching against her thighs, as if she wants to touch him, as if she wants to taste him.

His stomach clenches at the thought, the aftershocks leaving him lightheaded, wrecked in a way he’s never felt before. He exhales sharply, looking down at her, at his helmet, at what he’s done.

Then, Lando’s fingers are flexing against her head before he finally loosens his grip, running a slow thumb over the mess he’s made.

“Hell,” he pants, still catching his breath. Then, softer, with a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “Might have to fuck you like this more often.”

She exhales a quiet, amused breath, tilting her head slightly. “Guess that means I’m actually keeping it.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ MASTERLIST . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Thank you for reading!

None of my works are available for reposting on other platforms. Reblogs, likes, and comments are deeply appreciated ♥︎

© trashy track tales, 2025

[biteyoubiteme]

Can I get Felix nsfw fic about breeding kink👀

lost luggage

felix x fem!reader

synopsis: the one where you lost your birth control pills.

warnings: 🔞!!! hand job mention, fingering mention, breeding kink, talk of birth control, creampie, no protection, prob forgot some sorry

wc: 1.6k

an: this is not the best im so sorry but I love this pic of felix so so much and I hope you like it <33 thank you so much for requesting! not proofread sorry :p

[m.list] [1kevent m.list]

You had lost your suitcase. Or the airline had misplaced the luggage and claimed to get it to you in the next forty-eight hours. Apologizing for the inconvenience and sending you on your way. It hadn't been too big a deal, Felix talking you down from the anger bubbling up inside you, not necessarily at the airline but at yourself for thinking this would never happen to you. And then yes at the airline and their stupid bad timing and even worse customer service. 

But Felix was there, hand on your shoulder, heady voice in your ear, whispering about taking you out to grab the essentials, to not worry about this one setback. He didn't even care about showing up late to the party you two had been flown out for in the first place. “We will be here all week, being an hour or two late won’t hurt anyone,” 

He was right, everyone had been sympathetic to your situation, cursing the baggage claim gods just as passionately as you had. But it wasn't until the third day of your trip that you remembered one of the key things left in your toiletries bag. The little foil and plastic case of your birth control pills, hastily added into the bag because it was always right there on the edge of the sink next to your toothbrush, taken in the morning consistently enough that you never really forget about it. Not until it was one of the last things on your mind when trying to remember exactly what you needed to buy to replace the lost items for the time being. 

You would have forgotten entirely if it hadn't been for your reflex to reach out for the pill case the second you have finished washing your face. “Shit,” you scrambled to think up the last time you had sex, save the lazy hand jobs the two of you had exchanged in bed that first night. Felix's fingers buried deep inside you as the two of you made out, his soft moans trapped against your lips with each drag of your hand on him. 

Felix hummed a question from the hotel's bed, still lying back against the headboard scrolling on his phone. “What is it?” 

“My birth control was in the checked bag,” you sighed, over the whole thing, if you thought about the bag too much it would just put you right back to the mindset you had right at that airport help desk. “It's fine, calm, cool, collected thoughts just like you said,” you tried to mimic his sweet soothing voice, letting the syllables relax in your mouth to make them true. “If we have sex we will just be careful and when I get the bag back I will make sure to always listen to my gut and put essentials into the carry on,” 

The conversation had been over and done with, forgotten by you as you got ready to go out but not forgotten by Felix. The first thing that came to his mind was the same thought as you, when was the last time you had sex, did you two happen to slip up? Then his mind tripped down a road of questions he never found himself exploring; would it be so bad if you two had slipped up? What if neither of you cared? What if he did get you pregnant? 

Never had his body reacted so fast to an idea, blood rushing down to his cock until it was aching and dripping precum at a rate he hadn't ever experienced. It wasn't as if he had never thought about having kids with you, no this was different, the risk of it right now. Just thinking about how close the two of you had been without realizing it, how only the night before if he had pushed into you, fucked you until you were dumb on his cock, spilling inside you only to do it all over again, you'd be claimed in a way he never would have thought about until this very second. 

He wanted that; to watch you dripping with his cum, claimed as his in a way no other man had ever had you, ready to do it over and over again until you were stuffed so full you couldn't even think about anything else but him and him alone. He was shifting in his seat, trying and failing to adjust himself in his sweatpants, his bulge slung across his thigh, noticeable enough for when you came out of the bathroom again needing the zipper of your dress done up. You chuckled,“Just hearing me say sex gets you hard now?” 

Your hands were on the front of your dress, holding it up and in place, pushing up your boobs just the right amount to draw his eyes in. If you got pregnant they would get bigger, maybe even double in size, and it's all that he can see as he pulls you down on the bed. 

The breath is knocked out of you, his hips fitting right between yours pressing his clothed cock right against you, grinding as he kisses down your neck, leaving a sloppy trail of them right down to your cleavage. Pulling down your dress just enough to free your tits from the fabric, his moan deep in the back of his throat as he takes in your peaked nipples. “Look at how pretty,” he always lets his voice drag out, running low enough to get your panties soaked. “Are you going to be a good girl for me?” 

He's looking at you from under his lashes, drawing you in with every little word. You would be anything he wanted you to be if it got him to look at you like that, every little freckle on display under his heated lazy gaze. Your chin barely moves to nod yes and he's got his hands under your dress, tearing your panties away. He wanted you in a way he's never felt before, the walls of his reserve packed up tight now crumbling down at the sight of your glistening cunt. 

Felix doesn’t falter in his movements tugging himself free from his sweatpants, jerking his wrist over his veiny shaft, circling his fingers over his tip collecting all his precum. You're spilled out on the sheets, dress pushed into a belt around your center, your knees falling open for him just enough so that when he pulls you to the edge of the bed you can wrap them around him. Your hips jerk at the sensation of him dragging his cock through your folds, getting himself as lubed up on your wetness as he can before he pushes in. 

The sound of his moan rumbled through his body, no time to let you adjust to the size of him before he's plumbing into you. Your hands shoot out for his wrists, his fingers denting into your hips to keep you in place. “Oh fuck- you always take my cock so well baby-” Every drag of his cock against your gummy walls is pure bliss, your mind fogging up with each sweet word he shares. “Sucking me in and begging me to fill you,” 

It's then that you realize you forgot a condom, not that either of you had one handy, not when you relied so heavily on your pills. “You have to- you'll have to-” but as much as you want to say the words they get stuck right on the edge of a whimper, pull out, right on the edge of your tongue. But its all tamped down when he adds, “ill have to fill you up, pump you full of my cum- fuck- push it back in and do it again,” 

Felix had never brought this up before, not even when he was desperately begging you to finish with him, buried deep in you needing to hear you cry for him. This was different, panting as he went on and on, “Everyone will know you're mine, all plump and perfect with my baby,” he lets one of his hands press down into your pelvis, slapping skin sticky in the air, knees weak from the feeling. “I'm going to cum right here, you feel that?” he digs the heel of his palm in, the tip of his cock pressed right where he wants it, tucked against your cervix hitting it until you're a shaking mess below him. “You'regoing to be so full of me, don't you want that? Tell me you want my baby,” 

“Felix,” you're gasping, scratching at the sheets trying and failing to find purchase on something to keep you grounded because, with each snap of his hips against yours, you're losing it, scrambling to find sanity. 

“Tell me, fuck- oh fuck- please, tell me,” he's begging thumb moving down to press on your swollen clit, circling the bud until your back is lifting off the mattress. He has a direct pull on your body, tugging your orgasm out of you. 

“I want it- please I want your baby,” you're almost in tears before the tidal wave crashes over you, your whole body tensing up before collapsing into bliss. Felix's hot cum spurts out in thick streams coating your walls and pushing out with each continuous stroke of his cock inside you. He slows just enough to let you keep squeezing him, his hands sliding up your thighs to keep them in place around him. 

Leaning down to pepper you with kisses he inadvertently pushes into you deeper, your whimper so sweet neck to his ear,“we can stay like this for a while before we go another round,” 

“A-another?” 

He drags his hips, grinding down against your sensitive clit, “I want to make sure I fill you enough to have that baby,” 

taglist 🏷: @kissmekissykissme @seungfl0wer @lunesdesire @chasingthatjjunie @possum-playground @ch4nn13luv want to be added to the taglist? check out my rules to see how to join! want to be taken off the taglist? send an ask!

[777heavengirl]

Bless the Telephone ; ##02

James Potter x f!muggle!reader

word count: 1,511

warnings: i dont think theres any? lmk...

a/n: :) i hope yall like it, at the rate im pumping these out i might do two updates per week but we'll see how that goes..."

series masterlist

main masterlist

You sighed as you opened the door, the various bags of food, toiletries, clothes, and whatever else you had picked up during the day made your arms feel like they might fall off, cutting into your skin and your circulation. Your fingers had gone numb two stops away from your apartment, you could feel the relief as you dumped half the bags on the kitchen counter. 

You dumped the other half and the backpack that hung heavy across your back in your room. 

“Hey, darling-” your roommate popped her head up from where she lay on the couch, wild curls practically floating around her. “Yer phone’s been ringing nonstop for like an hour-”

You groaned, glancing at the clock briefly while putting your shopping in their rightful places. 

7:30 p.m.

“D’you know who it was?”

“Why would you ever think I’d get up to check?” She popped some chips into her mouth with a laugh

You turned, hands on your hips, a small smirk playing on your lips 

“You mean to tell me you’d rather put up with the ringing than get up?” 

“Yeah- why not? Turn up the telly and boom- can’t even hear a thing mate” She said, smiling from the couch. You couldn’t help but laugh along with her-

The phone rang, not as violent as that morning two days ago, sound muffled by the wall and your closed door. It was loud nonetheless.

Your roommate turned up the volume of the television.

“Talk of the devil!” she screamed through the roaring sound of whatever trashy game show she was watching.

You dragged yourself to your room, closing the door behind you. You could still hear the exaggerated volume of the telly. The phone kept on ringing, the red light angrily flashing at you to go pick it up already-

“Hello?” 

“Where’ve you been?” it was teasing, you wanted to say it was his voice. The mysterious voice on the phone, one Mr James Potter. You weren’t sure. You didn’t know how to feel about it either.

“Who is this?”

“Woah, one day and you’ve already forgotten me- you’re breaking my heart here sweetheart” the voice crackled through the static of the receiver. Oh it was definitely Mr James Potter calling again

“Potter?”

“James- But yes”

“Ah! That one- to what do I owe the pleasure?” You bit your lip slightly, excitement turning in your stomach. You grabbed the base of the phone, moving the machine as close to your bed as the cable would let you, the rest of the stretch between your bed and the telephone could be covered by the curled plastic cord. You sat on the mattress.

“Do you know any other Potters?”

“Just the one- but to be fair, I don't really know you either”

“Mhm��� fair enough, I think I only know one other person with your name-”

“Really?” 

“Yeah, nasty woman really- called me daft two days ago,” he said, tone serious as if recounting a deeply wounding moment… you let out a laugh “You wouldn’t believe how rude she was to me”

“Oh was she really? That’s terrible news, maybe it was because you called her— a stranger by the way, at four in the bloody morning”

“You got me, wasn’t on purpose though— you still haven’t answered my question by the way” You could hear that little smirk on his lips again

“What would that be Potter?”

“James- but where were you?”

“What’s it to you? Trying to stalk me or something?” you could feel your heartbeat quicken, 

“I just tried calling earlier-”

“Yeah, my roommate said, the phone rang a ton— were those all you or should I check my messages?”

“I wasn’t sure I was hitting the right number okay? pissed off a few other people too”

“Oh so this is the norm for you-”

“Hey! It isn’t my fault, I just didn’t know how to do the little- you know…” had this guy ever used a phone before? “call the previous number thing- ugh I don’t know what it’s called but whatever I didn’t know how it worked” he huffed

“Potter, are you a ten-year-old boy? Scratch that, my cousin knows how to do that- maybe you are daft”

“If I say yes will you tell me what you were up to?” he said, you laughed again

“I was running some errands, nothing special… why’d you wanna know?” you raised an eyebrow, you curled the cable around your index finger, the rest of the cool plastic wrapping around your hand. 

“Was just wondering…”

A beat.

“I realize now that me calling you back might be strange-”

“You don’t say- only took you about ten minutes of conversation, you didn’t think about that before you called?”

“Not really- my mum says I lack impulse control,”

“I can tell you have zero of that-” 

“she blames Dad but we both know she’s the one I got it from” he chuckled, and you couldn’t help but mirror it. 

“You still haven’t answered my question, Potter-”

“You really not going to call me James?”

“No- I don’t know you-”

“I guess that's fair enough- what was your question?”

“Why’d you call?” he stayed quiet for a couple of seconds, almost as if thinking deeply about your question before his voice broke through the static again.

“Honestly?”

“Obviously-” you retorted, another chuckle left his lips.

“I don’t really know… I don’t really have a reason I just wanted to talk” you mouled over his answer, strange but not bad.

“You don‘t have friends for that already?”

“You’ve never made new friends with complete strangers?”

“Not like this-” you traced a pattern onto your sheets as you spoke, 

“Well, I can be the first! so how old are you?” he sounded giddy “If I say I’m sixty five will you leave me alone?”

“It would be worse- I love old ladies, but they love me immediately so I suspect you aren’t one”

“because I don’t immediately love you?”

“obviously” he mirrored you “I’m twenty-“

“What a coincidence, so am I” you whispered, he heard you nonetheless

You pursed your lips to suppress a smile as James asked questions and explained things about his life that you didn’t ask for. You felt quite silly- talking on the phone with a boy you’d never met, you didn’t know what he looked like, nor if he was really who he said he was.

His tone and his rambles seemed genuine enough, he was a very peculiar boy- talking about how he was mildly scared of the tube but my mate Sirius loved it. 

“Is this Sirius one of the voices I heard last time?”

“Yeah- he asked if you were pretty which looking back might’ve been a little rude”

“Eh- maybe, I’d feel terrible to disappoint him though”

“Why do you say that?”

“I don’t know if he’s expecting some striking supermodel to be answering the phone…” you trailed off slightly, James went quiet “I reckon I’m alright though”

“You’re probably selling yourself short doll,“

“Anyway- what do you do?”

“What do you mean love?”

“Like are you in Uni? or something else?”

“Oh! umm- something else for sure”

“What?”

“What?”

“Potter- like what do you do? you know… with your life”

“I just live? I don’t know- d’you mean like occupationally?”

“Yes occupationally idiot-“

“Okay okay don’t yell at me— you’ll break my little heart babe come on-“ he cleared his throat a couple of times  “I kind of work for my father I guess? What do you do?”

“I go to Uni- I also work at a little coffee shop on weekends… what does your father do?”

“he makes hair potions-“ he said, almost choking on his words. you raised an eyebrow 

“like hair gel and shit?”

“y-yeah that’s what I meant like… conditioners and s-styling… gels… and shit” you laughed out loud, not being able to conceal it this time. a short series of giggles that delighted James ever so slightly. You could hear him get quiet briefly, almost as if he was running out of words “What do you do in this Uni of yours?”

“Administration… not the most thrilling field I fear”

“I’m assuming you’re not the fondest of it then”

“not particularly, but it’ll do… do you like working for your dad?”

“he’s made a ton of money with his products- I’m very proud of him for it… to be honest probably not what I wanted to do with my life but it’s not… difficult, so I can focus on other things, more exciting things so I really can’t complain…” he was about to continue, rambling about the silver linings of it.

you interrupted “What did you want to do?” 

“Pardon?” he asked, 

“With your life James- what did you want to do with your life?” 

You thought he had stayed quiet, maybe thinking, searching for the words until the dial tone rang in your ear— he had hung up. You stared at the phone as you put it back on the base.

Peculiar boy wasn’t he?

tags ; @ilovejamespottersomuch @ravisinghs-wife @hidontmindtheintrovert @stella-thestars @caspiankingofnarnia @lovelyteenagebeard @starkluvrr @hisparentsgallerryy @leilani13gc

permanent tag ; @laufeysvalentine

pls send me an ask if you wanna be added!

[bamsara]

Greasiest person alive in the ER rn and I'm telling you that if you have a 'car bag' (bag of change of clothes, makeup, toiletries, ect) go update that shit rn

ALSO GO UPDATE YOUR GO BAGS FOR TORNADOS AND OTHER NATURAL DISASTERS. This is your tumblr reminder. Put a bottle of water and ibeprofen in there too. Use a shopping plastic bag if you must

[hurtspideyparker]

Avengers' Galentine's Day 💕

"You may be wondering why I've convened you here today."

Natasha looks around the table at the men, hands clasped and back straight. Bruce, Peter, Sam, and Bucky sit around her.

Peter perks up. "I'm just happy to be here, thank you for inviting me Ms. Romanoff!"

"You can call me Natasha. And don't make me regret it," she says pointedly.

Peter nods furiously, leaning in intently as she speaks again.

"Valentine's Day is tomorrow, and to my knowledge all of you are single. And my knowledge is always correct. So, I propose a Galentine's Day."

The men all share awkward looks.

"We're all...dudes."

"Yes, thank you Sam. I wasn't aware." She says sharply before continuing.

"Listen, contrary to popular belief around here, I am a woman. I want to do woman things. But Wanda has a boyfriend, Pepper is working, and Maria is out of the country. So, I'm left with you doofuses."

"Hold on, hold on," Sam puts a hand up, "why wouldn't we think you were a woman? I mean we treat you like a friend and not a sex object. That's not treating you like a man."

Natasha holds up a hand and starts counting on her fingers.

"You two were making fart noises and giggling during breakfast with me sitting right there, and only stopped when Pepper walked in for a bagel," she looks between Sam and Peter.

"You offered me your 3-in-1 when I forgot my toiletries bag on mission," she nods to Bruce.

"And you—" she raises her eyebrows at Bucky, "handed me a cup when I said I needed to pee during that road trip out West."

The men all turn to Bucky.

"Jus' instinct. My bad." he hunches under their scrutiny.

"What kinda road trips you going on man," Sam asks.

"Clearly not the same ones as you."

"CleArLy—"

"Anyways!" Natasha interrupts, "You owe me. And if you say no you're probably sexist. Who's in?"

Peter's hand shoots up enthusiastically, and the others reluctantly follow.

"Great! We need someone on decorations, someone to plan an activity, someone on dinner, I'll prepare the snacks, and then someone on drinks. Alcoholic and non. And yes this all has to be Valentine's theme. So...who knows a good balloon place?"

Sam gets dinner, Bucky drinks, Bruce on the activity, and Peter decorations.

"You're all capable people so do not call me every second asking stupid questions. Figure it out, it better be amazing. Steve and Tony are leaving at 6pm for their date and won't be back till late, so we have the place to ourselves. The dress code is red white and pink, be there or be square."

With that Natasha is up and breezing down the hall.

"Why do I feel guilty and manipulated at the same time. What just happened." Bruce contemplates.

"Spies man," Sam shakes his head.

Peter rolls his eyes, "you guys are so lame. Do you know what this means? Chocolate covered strawberries. Heart shaped balloons. Fun games. Frosting—I basically lived off of Red 40 when I was 13. And I like hanging out with you all, what's the difference now that it's Valentine's?"

"The difference is I have to party plan, and I can't go to the bar and flirt with lonely singles." Sam complains.

Peter shrugs and gets up from the table. "That's weird, and you're no fun. Later losers!"

Bucky crosses his arms and sinks into the chair. "Why is it Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Stark, but we're losers?"

"Probably because you two are morons and he beat your asses before his balls dropped." Bruce says nonchalantly, picking up his tablet and pulling out his reading glasses.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Peter gets to work first, calling May because he has zero experience decorating anything, let alone a holiday themed girls' (?) night.

"Dollar store helium balloons. Honestly, dollar store for most of it; look in the Valentine's section. Also maybe ribbon, place settings, and of course flowers. And don't you dare leave the flowers in the plastic Peter Benjamin Parker—"

Peter finds most of what he needs at the dollar store, and then finds a red and white checkered tablecloth at the thrift store.

The day of he sets the table with heart doilies, pink dishware that Pepper found for him, and some random candles. The odd assortment makes it look rustic, and not like he stole them from people's rooms in the tower. (Wanda had a candle that smells like lavender! Score!)

He sets the balloons loose onto the ceiling and shrugs a good enough when they seem evenly spaced. He uses Mr. Stark's credit card to buy the flowers, because holy bejesus, 60 dollars for plants that aren't even going to make it to next month?! He fixes them up nice, an assortment in varying shades of pink with small white flowers in-between, and puts them in a vase he found when dumpster diving. He hangs streamers and heart garlands on the walls, and uses some Valentine's confetti to just... throw around. It looks like the dragon of capitalism threw up on all the flat surfaces, and Peter dusts his hands off with a job well done.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Sam knows how to be romantic. He does not, however, know how to be "cutesy".

All his normal romantic dinner ideas go flying out the window—he is not ordering steak and salmon for a bunch of dudes and a minor, thank you very much.

The only thing he could find that would fit the theme without being romantic was heart-shaped pizzas. It sounds like the perfect party food and just might avoid disappointing a woman who carries a dozen weapons on her at all time (half of which are just the ways she can use her body with lethal force).

He calls five pizza shops trying to place a catering order for the 14th, receives a cacophony of "fuck you"s, "do you know what day that is? Do you know what day today is?", and some immediate hang ups before deciding that homemade pizzas are way more fun and creative anyways, and does a quick grocery shop.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Bruce looks through blogs with pictures of millennial blonde women telling him about "great ideas for girls' night!" and finds his task far more difficult than anticipated.

Friendship bracelets? Clashing aesthetics aside, they'd probably rain down in a mess of beads mid-fight. He does not want to Home Alone his friends (don't even get him started on Hulking out).

Decorate your own hair accessories? He's not sure how the physics of trying to clip a hair bow onto Sam's head would work. Bucky and Natasha might appreciate a good claw clip though.

What he does land on is making clay fridge magnets. They have... a fridge. How hard can painting be?

He also pulls out Uno and Avengers Edition Guess Who—they get sent a lot of promotional items. Collectively their favourite was the Ben & Jerry's Super ice cream line, they bought a whole other freezer for it.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Bucky buys 3 bottles of rosé, 2 tequila, 1 vodka, red jello packets, pink lemonade, edible glitter, and strawberry milk.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

Natasha placed an order for a beautiful array of cupcakes, chocolate covered strawberries, and a charcuterie board back in December.

She only waited so long to invite her guests because she wasn't sure how they'd react to her wanting a nice girly party. Her options were already slim to begin with, and it felt weird inviting a bunch of dudes to something she's been planning for months with the ridiculous expectation she'd magically have more women in her life.

Either way, she's determined to have a great night. These are some of her closest friends, why would it matter if they're men?

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

"Maybe I should have been clearer about the dress code."

Natasha is wearing a beautiful red dress; mid-length, thin straps, and a plunging neckline. It fits her curves beautifully, emphasizing her hips in a silky fabric.

The men took the dress code in a...different direction.

Bruce is wearing jeans and a maroon cardigan.

Sam has a white button-up and a red tie, cuffs rolled up to the elbow, and nice black slacks.

Peter is wearing pink hello kitty pajama pants and a white t-shirt with an anatomical heart diagram.

Bucky is adorned in his usual black cargo pants and a baby pink hoodie.

The men all assess each other's outfits, eyes reflecting uncertainty. Sam in particular seems at odds with Bucky's pastel fashion choice.

"Where'd you get that sweater? I thought your favourite colour was "dark" and your closet consistent exclusively of black, noir, midnight, and charcoal."

Bucky seems content despite the fashion being out of his comfort zone. The soft warm colouring makes him seem sweet and approachable despite his perpetual glower.

"I don't know, it just turned like this one day. It used to be white."

Sam narrows his eyes, "I think you messed up your laundry dude."

"I thought this was just something that happened with your fancy machines. I like dark colours, so. I wouldn't know if this was normal."

"Did you wash it with something red? Used hot water?"

"I don't own any red."

Sam exchanges skeptical looks with the other confused Avengers, except Peter, who's completely turned away from them all and observing the wall.

"Peter." Natasha asks.

"Mhm?" he says, back still turned.

"You wouldn't happen to know something about this would you?"

Peter rocks back and forth on his feet, arms swinging like he hadn't a care in the world.

"Not a clue Ms. Ro—Natasha. I haven't the faintest idea."

"The kid did something to your laundry."

"Hey!" Peter spins around. "That is a wild accusation."

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you didn't do it."

Peter matches her unwavering stare, "I! ...Maybe put some of Spider-Man's things in the machine. It was already going and it was just socks—why would I start a new load for socks!"

"When the load that's already going is whites. Honestly, as a society shouldn't we have moved past separating colours? Cold water people, cold water." Bruce trails off.

Sam claps him on the shoulder with a "preach it brother!" while pumping his other fist in the air.

Natasha slices her hands through the air in an 'enough' motion.

"It's fine, it's fine. We're here, we're dressed, Peter managed to do a nice job decorating," Peter grins and shoots her two thumbs up, "so let's get the party started."

Natasha turns on some music while Sam grabs everything out of the fridge.

"We're gonna make heart pizzas! Thought I'd add a little fun and personality to the whole dinner affair."

Natasha looks him up and down.

"All of the pizza places told you to fuck off didn't they?"

"Loudly and immediately."

Her lips quirk subtly and then she helps him set the table up and pass out dough. Sam sighs in relief at the micro expression of joy.

The table is full of chatter and warmth, toppings being passes around. Peter sings along to Blank Space by Taylor Swift with an alarming passion, and Sam absolutely kills everyone with his rendition of Single Ladies by Beyoncé, even getting a chuckle from Bucky. There is a short stint between Natasha and Bruce in which she sees how many green peppers she can place on his pizza without him noticing after he said he didn't like the fruit.

"But you like red?"

"Red has flavour, green things all taste like water or small talk."

The answer was 6 before he noticed.

They take turns playing Avengers Guess Who while they wait for all of their food to cook. Peter and Sam are against each other as Natasha eats her fresh pizza.

"Is your character a man?"

Sam's eyebrows furrow. They just started the game, and already he's stumped.

"I don't know dude, I don't even know if he's got any junk in his trunk."

"Oh, so Vision?"

"Dammit!"

Bucky and Natasha go next.

"Would your character wear his own branded underwear?"

"Yes." Natasha replies immediately. "Would your character be picked for a stealth mission?"

"Nope," Bucky answers as he finishes flipping down his characters. He only has 3 left.

"Has your character had a press scandal in the last 6 months?"

Natasha thinks for a moment, "yes. Is your character Bruce?"

Bucky groans and slams down the last character he had up.

"Yeah. And yours was Tony."

"Indeed it was. Should have guessed when you had 3, better to gamble than play it safe." Bucky rolls his eyes but nods in agreement.

Bucky gets all of his drinks out while they eat, pouring lemonade and tequila haphazardly into their cups, stirring in glitter with an unenthusiastic flare.

"Voila."

Peter looks on.

"What about me?"

Bucky reaches back into the fridge and pulls out a litre of pink strawberry milk.

"Ta-da."

Peter looks at it with befuddlement.

"What, you want the glitter too?"

"Not a fan of micro plastics, thanks."

Bucky shrugs and pushes the jug of milk towards him.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

"Fridge magnets!"

They all stare at Bruce.

"Magnets! For our fridge!"

"And this made you think of us?" Sam asks.

Bruce throws his hands up. "I don't know man! Would you have preferred wine glass painting?"

Sam holds his palms towards Bruce in a soothing manner. "Struck a nerve there..." he whispers to Bucky.

Despite their apprehension they fall into a nice rhythm of sipping and shaping. The clay starts coming together under their palms; Bruce a pair of glasses, Peter an Iron Man mask, Natasha a pair of ballet slippers, Sam a set of sprawling wings and Bucky a kitten.

"You a cat guy?" Sam asks him.

"Is there something wrong with that?"

Sam's eyes flit between the small cat ears being shaped by gruff hands and the shadowed face of the taciturn super soldier.

"Naw, just didn't peg you as a cat guy. Or an animal guy. Or a loving guy."

Bucky stares at him for a moment before stretching a fist out and smashing Sam's wings-in-progress.

"Hey! Foul, foul! Natasha are you going to just let this happen?"

"It's Bruce's activity."

"Hulk smash."

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

As the night progresses the adults become more and more tipsy, grazing the charcuterie board and sweets on the table.

"AH oh GOD what did you make these with, battery acid?!"

Everyone turns to Peter who's standing in the refrigerator door, holding a cup of half eaten red Jello.

"Oh, I forgot about those. They're Jello shots."

Peter balks at Bucky, "as in alcohol?!"

He rushes to the sink and tilts his head sideways under the faucet, water blasting onto his tongue.

"Well, that's dramatic."

"That is the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted. Why on Earth would you ruin perfectly good Jello like that?"

Bucky grabs the tray of Jello shots from the opened fridge, placing them on the table and handing them out to the adults.

"Cheers," they tap the plastic cups before shooting the gelatin down their throats to the sound of Peter spluttering in the sink. Bucky and Natasha's go down smoothly, Sam chokes a bit at the awkward chunk of food heating his throat, and Bruce spends 30 seconds trying to scoop the Jello out of the cup with an uncomfortable combination of finger and tongue action.

"How do you even know about Jello shots, you're like...old." Peter remarks once he's taken a few gulps of pink lemonade to wash down the aftertaste.

"How do you know about Jello shots, you're like...uncool." Bucky retorts. Natasha snorts and Sam bursts out laughing. Even Bruce chuckles.

"Dr. Banner," Peter whines at him.

"Sorry kid, but he's got a point. What kind of kid spits out a Jello shot. It's free, sugary, no-repercussions alcohol."

Peter just sits down with a pout and continues to sip on his lemonade.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

The night gets later, the adults more inebriated as they finish painting their magnets.

Sam has eaten all the salami off the board and Peter has taken to throwing the disproportionate amount of cheese leftover at people. Bucky is on his third cupcake, and Natasha keeps giggling into her cup of tequila.

"What if he was blue—" Sam starts cracking himself up, hovering a paintbrush near Peter's Iron Man face.

"I don't understand what's so funny about that. Stop, Sam stop!"

As the boys fight over the paint, Natasha and Bruce go with a quick all-over glaze of colour and then add the sealant and magnet before the others even make it to a second shade. Bucky paints his cat with an air of intense concentration, one even Sam doesn't want to go near.

Their finished magnets get placed onto fridge.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

The whole group seem to be moving around and restless, chaotic and boisterous. Sam complains loudly about the romcom they put on in the background, Peter, Bruce, and Bucky play a rapid round of Uno, and Natasha keeps popping in and out of rooms with a different cookie and drink in her hand each time.

Bruce starts to get weepy when he pronounces uno, mumbling something about being "uno" forever through a drunken tongue and snot as Peter rubs his back.

The next time they turn around Natasha and Bucky are on the other couch making out.

"Gross! No! No romance on Galentine's Day!" Peter shouts, throwing pillows and pink m&ms at them until they pull away. Peter couldn't see much other than the back of Bucky's head, but he shivers in disgust at the sight of reddened lips.

He starts counting down the time on the clock until Tony and Steve are said to come home. While the snacks, games, and company have been fantastic, the adults are becoming far too...exuberant for his taste.

Bruce is a weepy drunk, Sam simply annoying, Natasha is sneaky and suspiciously absent for odd lengths of time, and Bucky...

"Hey! What did I say!" Peter dumps his glass of water onto the brunet, watching him jerk his lips off of Sam's in dissatisfaction.

"I swear I'll get a spray bottle. Bad Bucky." he says before continuing to the bathroom.

He finds the door open and Natasha standing at the mirror, curling her hair.

"Why?"

Natasha just shrugs.

˖°. ⋆ ♡ ˖°. ⋆

The elevator finally dings a quarter to midnight.

"Oh thank goodness."

Steve and Tony exit with linked arms, broad smiles and sides pressed together in a matching gate.

Peter rushes up to them, backpack in hand as he starts shedding his t-shirt and socks.

"Woah there cowboy, I did not sign up for that kind of rodeo" Tony alarms.

Peter just pulls out his spider suit and starts slipping it on over his state of undress.

"Tell Natasha I had a great time, but I'm expeditiously out of here. Bruce is still hung up on his ex, Natasha feels distanced from her femininity and is trying to regain her girlhood, Bucky's a slut, and Sam is so totally tapping that tonight. I'd like to be far, far away when that happens."

Peter pulls on the final piece of the suit, masking up and sending enthusiastic waves to the couple.

"Hope your date was nice! This is not my problem anymore."

And then he scampers to the balcony and swings off into the night.

The couple share wide eyes, listening to the odd sound of their friends and the booming TV playing a romantic 90s soundtrack.

Is someone crying?

Steve turns away from Tony and steps towards the living area, but Tony doesn't loosen his hold on the other's arm, making his steps stutter to a stop immediately.

"Shouldn't we go check on them? Sounds like the party was too much of a hit."

Steve looks over at the empty bottles of wine and tequila tipped on the kitchen counter. There's food, half fallen streamers, and Uno cards everywhere.

"Right now? That is not our problem."

"But—"

Tony slinks forward, pressing their chests together and wrapping his arms around the Captain's neck, wide-eyed browns meeting baby blues.

"It's still Valentine's, and I have a far more pressing problem for you."

Steve stares mesmerized under Tony's touch, the man sly and hot against his front. They're close, close enough to feel...

"Oh! That's—"

"Mhm."

"Okay. Yeah, they'll be fine till morning."

Tony smirks and Steve matches his smile, moving his hands to his lover's waist before walking him backwards.

Tony allows himself to be guided to their bedroom without breaking eye contact, blocking all thoughts of the other Avengers with a slam of the door and giggling open mouthed kisses.

[holylulusworld]

Lumberjack Tales - The Hairy Bear

Summary: He doesn’t want to have company.

Pairing: Lumberjack!Ari Levinson x fem!Reader

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, spanking, orgasm denial, possessive Ari, a hint of dark/grey Ari?

Rating: Explicit

Square filled for @julybreakbingo: Square filled: "Park"

Square filled for @eclipsingbingo: Held down

This story is part of my Lumberjack Tales masterlist

Solitude. No people. No stress. No noises. That’s how he likes it, and he wouldn’t want to change it for anything.

He chose this life. After selling his company for more money than he could ever spend, Ari bought a forest to build a huge, luxurious cabin for himself alone. He’s got everything he needs. And what he doesn’t get, he can make with his strong hands.

Some people may call him crazy. A former CEO and successful businessman turning into a lumberjack building his furniture on free terms. Ari doesn’t care. He gives a shit on other people’s opinion.

Today is one of the rare days he must drive to the only town near his private forest. Ari hates leaving his solitude and meeting people. After a bad divorce, he’s not the most social person.

But – a man gotta eat even if he’s got a beautiful garden behind his cabin and a lake filled with fish. He needs more to fill his pantry. Beer, toilet paper, and batteries do not grow on trees.

“Mr. Levinson,” Susie, the clerk from the grocery store chirps when Ari walks toward the checkout. “Is that all?” She glances at the two shopping carts filled with everything he’ll need over the next weeks. Maybe even a month, or two. “Plastic or paper?”

“Paper,” he grumbles under his breath. “Plastic is bad for the environment.” Ari shakes his head at his words. Years ago, he would’ve given a shit on the environment or nature. He was obsessed with making money, a pretty woman, and fast cars.

“Sure,” she gives him a tight smile but says nothing. “Just a minute.” She snaps her fingers at the new bag boy. “Sean, get over here. We have a customer.”

Ari would like to roll his eyes as the boy groans loudly. He was on his phone, undoubtedly making a TikTok video to share with his two followers instead of doing his job.

“SEAN!” She grunts when he doesn’t move an inch. “If you don’t come here in a second, you are fired.”

“Man, if I made my first million with my video, I’ll quit,” Sean grumbles while reluctantly starting to pack Ari’s groceries into paper bags. “You will see. I’ll get out of this shitty town in no time.”

Ari holds back a comment. He learned that it’s better to shut your mouth and not get involved with the town’s folk. Unlike the cheery clerk at the grocery store, most people in this sleepy little town do not like him.

Especially because he stopped them from clearing the forest he bought. “Cash or card?”

“Card,” Ari swipes his card over the device. “Have a good day.”

Before Sean can grab the bags to carry them outside, Ari wraps his arms around the paper bags to carry them out of the store.

“Idiot!” Susie mutters. “You had to piss him off. Now he won’t come back anytime soon.”

Sean harrumphs. “This is the only store in town. Your love interest will be back. This doesn’t mean he wants to take you out…”

Back in his cabin Ari busies himself putting the groceries and toiletries away. Only to make a list for more. Soon it will be winter, and he needs more supplies. Ari hates driving to town during winter. He tries to leave his cabin less during the cold times.

His dog lies on the carpet in front of the fireplace in the living room, yawning loudly as his owner tells him they’ll need more wood.

“Come, buddy. We go for one last round for tonight,” Ari clicks his tongue, causing his dog to jump up and follow him toward the door. The Estrela Mountain Dog walks next to Ari as he steps out of the cabin.

Ari closes his eyes and inhales the air deeply. He can already smell the approaching thunderstorm. “We need to hurry, buddy. I know how much you hate getting your fur wet.”

He flashes his dog a smile before buttoning up his red-black checkered plaid. “Let’s go, Bear. We don’t wanna miss dinner.”

“HEY! STOP! This is private property!”

You are already out of breath when the man and his dog chase after you. All you wanted was to go for a swim in the lake. How should you have known that the forest is private property? You camped in forests all your life without getting into trouble.

Now this big guy is chasing after you like a madman. “STOP! You cannot come to my property and steal…”

“Bear. Get them!” The man calls for his dog. The giant beast speeds up to outrun you. It jumps at you. Pushing against your back so you land on the ground, face first in the mud. Rain is pouring down on you, soaking your shorts and shirt. “Good job!”

The dog sits down on your back, making you groan loudly. “Get off me you beast.”

“Hold them down,” the man approaches you and the dog. He crouches down next to you to rip your baseball cap off your head. “What are you doing on my property?"

“I wanted to go for a swim, dude! I camp not far away from the lake. I didn’t know this was private property! Who buys a fucking forest!! That’s just wrong.”

“Dude?” He laughs. “Bear, we caught an angry wood nymph, not an intruder.” The man clicks his tongue, and the beast finally gets off your back. “There are warning signs, lady.”

“I told you,” You struggle to get on your knees, groaning as your back hurts from the dog’s attack, “I didn’t see a sign. I camp wherever I want to.”

“Not on my property,” he snaps at you as he gets back up. “Come on, the thunderstorm will only get worse.” He holds out his hand as you struggle to get back on your feet. The dog got you good. “I’ll show you the way back to the road.”

“Fucker,” you slap his hand away and get back up on your feet without his help. “You can’t let your dog attack people.”

“You are an intruder, and he tried to defend my property.”

“Dude, do I look like a danger to you, your dog, or your property?” You size the man up. He quirks a brow. “That’s what I thought.” While you try to rub the dirt from your knees and shin, the man huffs.

“You walk around my property with your little backpack and believe you get away with it? Lady, this is not a park. You can’t just come here and waltz around my property like you own it.”

“I got it, okay. This is your forest, and you hate people,” you wrinkle your nose as the rain runs down your face. “If you’d excuse me now. I’ll find my way out of your forest and into the next to put up my tent somewhere else.”

“In the middle of a thunderstorm?” He asks. “You’re not only a criminal but crazy too. You’ll get yourself killed.”

“Well, good thing that I’m not your problem, Mr. Property,” you turn around to walk opposite the way you came from. “Have a nice life.”

“Lady, that’s crazy,” despite his former behavior, he follows you. “The rain is going to get worse. You’re going to catch a cold or worse.”

“Anything is better than being around you,” you side-eye the man. If he gets too close, you’ll get your pepper spray out and show him what happens when he messes with you.

“Wait…wait up,” he grabs your arm to stop you from running off.

“Don’t touch me,” you try to wiggle out of his grasp. “I’m warning you! I got the black belt!”

He releases you but blocks your path. “I won’t hurt you, lady. My name is Ari, this is Bear.” Ari points at his dog. “He didn’t want to hurt you. If Bear wanted to hurt you, you’d be dog food.”

“You have a way with words, huh?” You look him up and down. “So…where is this street?”

“We can’t walk through the forest now,” he sighs and points toward something in the distance. “If you don’t want to walk through a forest in the middle of one of the worst thunderstorms this area ever experienced, you should come with me to my cabin.”

“Right,” you curl your upper lip. “I’ll go with you to your cabin so you can make a filet out of my ass. I won’t go anywhere with you.”

Ari snorts. He starts laughing as you watch him. “I don’t want to eat you, lady,” he grins. “I mean, I love to eat a lady out.” His eyes drop to your soaked shorts, “but only if she begs me.”

You look down at your soaked clothes. Your backpack gets heavier per minute and Ari is right, the rain is mercilessly pouring down on you. “I’ll take a picture and send it to my friend with our position and your name.”

“Be my guest,” Ari poses for you. He grins into the camera when you snap a few pictures to send them to your friend. “What about Bear?”

“Fine,” you snap a few pictures of the dog to send them to your friend too. “If you kill me now, you’ll get hunted down by my friends.”

“I won’t take the risk,” Ari winks at you. “Come on. I want to get out of my wet clothes and have some coffee.”

You begrudgingly follow Ari, hoping he’s not a psycho killer or looking for a basement wife…

“See, I’m not a killer,” Ari hands you another cup of tea. “After the storm calmed, I’ll drive you to town. You shouldn’t camp in the only other forest around here.”

“Why?” you take a sip before looking at him. You cannot deny that he’s not as bad as you believed he was. Ari offered sweatpants and one of his plaids to you. He shared his dinner with you and brewed tea for you.

“Let’s say the men around here a rather…hmm…how do I put it…”

“Assholes?”

“I think that sums it up,” Ari sits on the other side of the couch to give you space. After the first minutes he knew, you’re not a bad person and now he tries to make you see, that he’s not a bad guy either.

“Hmm…crap,” you sigh deeply. “I wanted to do something reckless for once and now, my friend will laugh about me.”

“You never camped before, right?” He watches you drop your gaze. “Why did you lie?”

“My friends bragged about their adventure trips, and I only ever soaked in the sun or visited museums during holidays. I bought a tent and…you know the rest.”

Ari snorts. “You’re the worst camper I ever met.”

“Fair,” you shrug and giggle as his eyes drop to your legs. He subconsciously licks his lips and shifts in his seat. “So…” you scoot a little closer to Ari, “how long are you living here…alone?”

“Hmm…?” He lifts his eyes from your legs to meet your eyes. “A few years.” Ari murmurs. “I left my old life behind to live here, on my own.”

“Must’ve been a good life,” you scoot even closer to look Ari in the eyes. “This is not a normal cabin. It’s rather…luxurious.”

Ari drops his eyes to your lips, licking his own. “I was a businessman before becoming a lumberjack.”

“Lumberjack,” you purr the word. “You mean the big guys wearing plaids and cutting wood.” This time, you lick your lips. “You must be very strong if you cut wood all day.”

“Not all day, sweetness,” Ari scoots a little closer, his thigh brushing yours. “Only if I need wood for my fireplace.”

“Hmm…” you get bold and move your hand to his bicep, squeezing hard. “Very strong.”

“Strong enough to throw you around if you come to my property and try to swim in my lake,” he moves his hand to your thigh, toying with the sweatpants you’re wearing. “I can spank you too, to make sure you’ll never break into anyone’s property again.”

Your eyelashes flutter, and your lips part. “You think I’d let you spank me for breaking into your property?”

His cheeks dimple. Ari dips his head as his hand creeps higher until he can press it flat against your mound. “I think you’d let me do anything I want to do to you.”

“Look at you,” he purrs in your ear. “Such a good girl, kneeling for me. I bet,” Ari circles you to watch you kneel in front of his couch. He pushes against your shoulders, forcing you to bend your upper half over the couch. “Hmm…what a nice ass you have.”

Ari cups the back of your neck to hold you down on the couch. He’s not too rough but makes sure you can feel his strength.

“I’d love to just fuck you, but you’d only cum all over my cock. I need you to feel the consequences of your actions in your bones.” Ari runs his free hand over your ass, humming as you start to whimper. He grips one cheek roughly, testing your reaction. “I’ll use this body to my liking, and you won’t deny me.”

You choke out a moan when the first smack hits your ass. “Yes…”

“Count, little tramp,” his features harden, and he smacks your cheek a little harder this time.

“One.”

“Again,” he slaps your other cheek, making it sting. “Again!”

“Two.”

“How many can you take?” It’s not a question. Ari told you he’ll give you ten, and you’ll take ten with pleasure if you get his glorious cock in return. You’re already soaking wet and cannot deny that the next smack pushes you closer to the edge.

“All you have to give, sir,” you whimper. “Three…”

“Good girl,” he soothingly runs his hand over your stinging cheeks. “Seven more and you’ll get something nice.”

The next smacks come faster and harder. “Four, five, six, seven,” at eight you’re out of breath and cry out in pleasured pain.

“Eight, nine,” he slaps your ass with both hands. “And lastly,” he slams his hand between your legs, hitting your clit. Your legs tremble and you soak his hand with your cum.

“Oh God…” You can’t come down from your unexpected high. Ari grabs you by the back of your neck to push you onto the couch.

You end up underneath him, whimpering as he moves one hand to your crotch to lift your butt to help him sink into you. He pokes your entrance, impatiently pushing the first inches into your weeping hole.

“Fuck, that’s a wet cunt,” he groans in your ear while conquering your cunt with one hard thrust. “Yeah, you’re a good girl.”

Pressed into the furniture by his hard body you can’t do anything but lie there and let him slowly fuck into you. Your juices soak his cock, and his balls with every deep thrust.

Ari is by all means not gentle. He fucks you for punishment, to make sure your body knows you did a bad thing. “Oh, baby. I lied,” he whispers in your ear after a particularly deep thrust. “I’m going to keep you here for my pleasure.” He thrusts three, or four more times, always avoiding hitting your G-spot.

Ari purrs your name and fills your cunt seconds later. “Aw, don’t whine, baby,” he sinks his teeth in your neck to leave another mark on your body. “This was punishment. You’ll cum when I allow you to cum.”

He groans against your neck, teeth grazing over one of the marks he left. Ari is a man possessed. After he filled you for the first time, he took his time to rub cream into your ass. He toyed with you, fingers and tongue bringing you to the edge, only to not let you cum again.

With your hands restrained to the bedpost, you can only watch him move on top of you. Your hands itch to touch him, but you haven’t earned it yet. You’ve been a bad girl, and he won’t allow you to get more than he’s willing to give.

Ari slowly thrusts into you, thick cock rubbing against your walls. “I want you to cum for me. Come on, little tramp, soak my cock. I want to fill this slutty hole up.”

“Please—” you eagerly meet his thrusts. “I need…please…Sir…A-R-I…” You shudder through your high. Your whole body sizes up and for a moment, you fear you died and ended up in heaven. This is the most intense orgasm you ever experienced, and it takes your breath away.

“Good…” Ari thrusts one last time and stills his hips. His warmth fills you again, and you wonder how many times he already fucked you before he let you come. “Good girl. So, fucking good for me.”

He collapses on top of you, exhausted and satisfied. “Fuck…” you breathe out. “Fuck…fuck…that was…”

“Damn, this cunt feels so good. I’m glad you’re a criminal wanting to break into my property. I didn’t have such a good fuck in years…”

“Well…I got two more weeks off so…” you wiggle your hips, making Ari groan. “I could just invade your property for a little longer and you can punish me again.”

Ari lifts his head to look at you underneath him. He smirks, liking your idea. While you look up at him, mirroring his smirk Ari plans to keep you forever…

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[sleepynoons]

THE NIGHT BY SOYOU (FEAT. GEEKS) – asakura shin (sakamoto days) x gn!reader, college!au, sfw

genre – fluff word count – ~2,300 warnings – suggestive content synopsis – plans have changed, and to your surprise, both you and your boyfriend shin are staying on campus over winter break. that means the two of you can spend christmas together, and you're excited to have him all to yourself!

Your room has never been cleaner. It’s a small studio, just a little over how much a college student living in Japan can afford, and usually, there’d be piles of clothes hanging on the backs of plastic chairs, plushies scattered across the floor – victim after victim to your devastating tossing and turning during the night –, scrap paper and ballpoint pens lying on every hard surface. But given that your boyfriend, Shin, will be staying with you for a week over winter break, you put in the effort to make your place look somewhat presentable and spacious enough for two people.

It’s not like he hasn’t come over before, but that was at the beginning of the school year in March when you had just moved in, and most of your belongings hadn’t arrived yet. At the time, the two of you barely knew each other; he only came to drop off some soldering tools that Natsuki, your mutual friend, had been holding onto for you, but from first glance, Shin looked absolutely adorable to you, and you knew you couldn’t wait to get your hands on him. After a few months, thanks to many chance encounters on campus and several more deliberate efforts on your end to meet up (mainly never-ending text messages in all-caps to Natsuki demanding he set the two of you up), the two of you began dating towards the latter half of the summer.

That’s why you’re not only excited that he’s staying over, but it’ll also be your first Christmas together as a couple! Throughout the past week, you’ve been daydreaming for hours on end about all of the romantic, cheesy things the two of you can do together – cuddling while watching a movie in the dark, making hot chocolate together, waking early to a white Christmas, the list goes on. But, more importantly, you have a single goal for this Christmas, one that will change the progression and trajectory of your relationship, and you must accomplish it.

You’ll finally convince Shin to make out with you (and maybe do more)!

Aside from teasing pecks and soft smooches, the two of you haven't done more, and it almost pains you to admit that your relationship is still on first base. To be fair, it’s not like you haven’t pressed for more. Especially when the mood seems more heated, you always ask your boyfriend for more, at which he blushes furiously but shakes his head, refusing to give you what you need. 

“I’m too nervous, and I don’t know how to,” he admitted once, begrudging and a little ashamed in tone. “You’re my first, so… I don’t really know what to do.”

At that, you backed off, not wanting to pressure him into doing something he’s not prepared for.

But it’s been months since that conversation, and your impatience is returning ten-fold. You’ve also noticed that, as of late, he’s been staring at your lips more, lightly panting under his breath whenever the two separate from a kiss, hands clenching and fisted at his sides whenever you lean a little too closely, as if he’s resisting some devilish temptation or desire.

Now that you have the chance, you have to ask him again, and if he lets you, you’ll teach him everything he has to know.

The doorbell rings, and you drop your phone down onto the kitchen counter and scramble over to the door. You fling the door open and spring forward, causing Shin to shout in surprise as you hug him.

“Shin!” you chirp, bouncing on the balls of your feet as you release him.

He sets down his duffle bag with clothes, toiletries, and other necessities for the upcoming week onto the ground, while holding onto a small bag with a ribbon tying the handles together. He pecks you on the forehead before shoving the party bag at your direction. “Merry Christmas!”

You can’t help but yelp with delight, hands clapping vigorously, before you take it from him. You look back at him and, with a large, wide smile, ask, “I thought we weren’t going to exchange gifts?”

With a shy sigh, he rubs a hand behind his neck, ears tinged pink, as he explains, “It’s not really a present. Just some goods from back home since you’re letting me stay over.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet of you, Shin!”

You fling your arms around your boyfriend again, embracing him tightly again, and you don’t let him go until you hear him wheezing for air.

Promptly, you let go before turning around and beckoning him with dramatic waves of your arms to follow after you. “Come in! Just make yourself comfortable!”

Shin chuckles before setting his duffle bag next to your bed before joining you in the kitchen. You’re pouring hot milk into two mugs, and he helps you drop marshmallow bits on top to complete the hot chocolate.

As you both sit down at your dining table, you ask him, “Are you feeling alright? I know this is your first Christmas away from home…”

Originally, your boyfriend was supposed to return home, but the weather had taken a turn for the worse, and it wasn’t safe anymore for him to drive home on his motorcycle. It’s quite obvious how much Shin’s family means to him – his phone wallpaper is of his two sisters, Lu and Hana, and he calls his parents every weekend. His brother, Heisuke, along with his pet bird Piisuke, often drop by as well. While you’re excited that the two of you can spend more time together, you’re worried that the tradeoff came at his loss.

Shin glances at you as he blows at the persistent steam rising from his cup. With a shrug, he says, “Oh, it’s not a big deal. The forecast said the snowstorm will clear by next week, so I’ll get home right before New Year’s.”

Despite his nonchalance, you let out a loud wail and bury your face into the crook of his neck. “Don’t worry, Shin!” you declare, though your volume's muffled by his sweatshirt. “We’ll have so much fun together!”

And the evening is fun! As per tradition, the two of you order fried chicken with several side dishes – corn with melted cheese, toasted bread, garlic fries – and chow down while catching up on several movies that neither of you could watch due to endless assignments and deadlines. You also force Shin to do a sheet mask with you, and throughout the 15-minute wait, Shin’s incredibly restless and has to fidget in some way, whether that be bouncing his leg or wriggling his finger or elbowing you in the rib cage. By the time you both are ready for bed, it’s already past midnight – in other words, officially Christmas.

“Merry Christmas,” you giggle as you crawl into the covers.

Shin’s already lying on his back, sprawled across the entire bed, and you take care not to step or press down on him. You hook a leg across his midriff and fold your arms together between your bodies, one hand flattened over his chest directly where his heart rests underneath. His heartbeat is surprisingly slow, though it’s not as abnormal given that he’s athletic and built. Shin has an arm underneath your neck, and his cheek's pressed against your forehead.

It’s tempting to fall asleep – from your shared warmth, the thumping of his heart alternating with yours, the occasional whisper of his breath tickling your forehead. And you do almost give in. Shin’s eyes are closed, and his other hand, which was fiddling with your sleep shorts, is getting lazier and slower in its movements. He might even be asleep at this rate, but unfortunately, you won’t let him rest that easily tonight.

“Shin,” you mutter, patting at his chest lightly, “are you still awake?”

At first, he doesn’t react, and you feel disappointment sink in your stomach. Then, you watch as a corner of his lip twitches until there’s a small, teasing smile on his face.

“What’s up?” he asks through a fit of chuckles. You giggle along with him and get up to peck him lightly on the eyelids.

“It’s Christmas!” you whine, quite emphatically as well. “We can’t just go to bed!”

Your boyfriend rolls his eyes. You ignore it because you know he always gives into your wants anyway. And as expected, he asks, “What should we do then?” 

This is the perfect opportunity, you think. A surge of excitement races through your body, causing you to almost shiver in delight. And so, with your leg that is slung across his waist, you tuck the heel of your foot into him a bit tighter, and look down at him with giddy expectation.

“Well…,” you drawl, “it’s normal for couples to get a little… naughty on Christmas, right?”

Shin immediately blushes, sputtering surprised and flustered noises, and tries to cover up his face. You catch his hand, though, and your hold on him prevents him from pulling away through other means.

“Shin,” you whimper, more desperate than anything, “don’t you want to kiss me?”

The question quite literally gags him, and with a slack jaw, he’s stunned quiet. His eyes scramble around, fastidiously searching your face for a sign of humor or teasing. But you’re totally serious, determined, and he can tell from the slight pinch between your brows.

He sighs, a loud release of air, before he faces away from you. With a muted voice, he admits, “I do.”

You gleam at his answer, and you press your body closer to his, chest to his side, thigh hiked up and over his stomach, arm across his chest. At this point, you’re practically lying on top of him.

“I want to kiss you, too!” you exclaim. But you quiet down immediately and mumble, “I want to kiss you more…”

Shin’s face is now a shade of deep red, heat spreading across his cheeks, ears, and neck. “I-I don’t know how to…”

You press your lips against the bottom of his jaw. You glance up, gauging his reaction, but it seems he’s also waiting to see what you’ll do next. So you continue, making your way up to his earlobe, which you nip at – his breath hitches at it –, before you move horizontally, scattering more pecks across his cheeks and nose bridge.

Then, you take a brief pause. You rest your forehead against his and whisper, “Is this alright?”

“Y-yeah,” he grunts.

With his approval, you resume. You kiss at the arches of his eyebrows, his temples, the apples of his cheeks again. But you feel a burning impulse to do more, so you finally allow yourself to kiss him.

You’re truly on top of him now. Legs straddling him and forearms resting on his chest, you kiss him deeply, putting slight pressure as you mesh your lips against his. Shin responds enthusiastically, hands grabbing at your waist, chin tilting up for a better angle, throat thrumming with broken groans.

When he tries to break for air, you press forward. You lick and bite his bottom lip, to which he weakly gasps at, before interlocking your lips together once more. Your hands have moved up to hold his face in place, enabling you to nibble at and taste his lips until you’re content.

“Breathe through your nose,” you croak as you finally relent, pulling away to get a proper look at your boyfriend.

Shin’s entirely disheveled. His shirt's crumpled and wrinkled, his hair's matted to his forehead, and there’s a dazed air to him in general. He glances at you before huffing, out of breath, “Should’ve said so earlier, idiot.”

You try to contain your satisfaction, but Shin clicks his tongue at you, knowing your internal monologue regardless.

“How’s that for your first makeout session?” you tease, poking at his stomach with an index finger.

Unwilling to give in, he gruffly responds, “Fine.”

You squawk, more than displeased with his response, and you probe even further. “What?! What didn’t you like? Was I too forceful? Did I bite too hard? Should I have added tongue –“

He muffles your mouth with his palm, blush reigniting at your string of questions, particularly that last one.

“No, no! It was fine – actually, fantastic! There, happy?”

You cross your arms and pout. You wanted Shin to enjoy making out with you so much so that he would say it himself, not to simply appease you.

As you’re thinking about what you could’ve done better, you don’t notice the way he stares – practically glares – at your lips. His arms have also slowly wound their way around your hips, and it’s only when he shifts so that he’s sliding up that you’re brought back from your thoughts.

You didn’t realize the two of you were so close again. Now that you’re both sitting up, Shin’s chest is pressed solid against yours once again, and a hand of his rests at the back of your neck, reaching up to hold the base of your head as well. His breath's also heavier, and you gulp, having never seen Shin so serious and quiet, aside from when he’s studying.

Finally, after what seems like several minutes of silence, Shin redirects his glare to you and mumbles, “Merry Christmas,” before he seals the last bit of distance between the two of you, kissing you so deeply, intently, breathlessly.

You squeak in surprise, but the noise gets swallowed up by Shin’s hungry licks and suckling, and the two of you continue to make out, lip to lip, tongue against tongue.

You’ve always known that Shin’s a fast learner, but your heart also sings with pleasure at your boyfriend’s adventuring boldness. The shyness he had once displayed has been replaced with an eagerness that can’t be suppressed for any longer, and as he licks at a string of drool that's only beginning to slide out of the corner of your mouth, you relax into his grip, relinquishing pacing and control over to him.

Somewhere, in the back of your head, you thank your impatience because this is the best Christmas you could’ve asked for, and you wouldn’t trade this moment with Shin for anything else.

winter event masterlist

[shamrockqueen]

Omega retreat chapter 12

Pairing : Alpha Bucky x Omega Reader

Warnings : R18, fluff, descriptions of nudity

Word count : 1645

Bucky Masterlist

AO3 Link

Chapter 1 : Chapter 11

Your thighs felt sticky, mired with drying sweat and the slick dribble of his seed.

You tried to flex your legs, waking to the various cracks and pops of your weary bones. Your skin was chilled, small bursts of heat prickling against the cold morning air before bursting over your body as you slowly started to wake. Your vision seemed cloudy, the green trees blurring out and the daylight slipping past nearly unnoticed.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d left this bed, couldn’t remember your last meal, or any moment your belly was filled by food. Nothing had been more important than chasing that heated high and satiating that needy little monster within you, and for now she was so eerily quiet.

What day was it now, and which morning was this?

Your aching head swam with half-cocked thoughts as you fought to kick the sheets that stuck to your damp body. Glowing memories of nights previous echoed against each throbbing corner of your brain. There were his slow moments, moving languidly like a blur. A soft caress of your tits, a thumb brushing a sensitive bud before rolling it between his fingers. It was all so raw, so hungry; it was something so beautifully savage.

You barely recalled the things he’d whispered, his growls deafened by his lips being pressed to your skin, leaving you polka-dotted with reds and purples sucked on or bitten into.

But, he’d said many of the things you should have expected from an alpha losing himself inside an omega. He was tempting you, asking that if you had the chance to be filled and bred, whether you’d let yourself grow big and round with his baby. Would you glow like they say women do? A happy, shining ember as a new life burned in your belly.

You shivered with every word of his you could recall. Every fantasy he lets you live. You’ve been allowed to do so much living after just meeting him in person. It really felt like a new lease on life, a new sensation of pleasure you’d never thought you’d feel.

Maybe you could, if you wanted, have a little family of your own. Maybe feel like an omega instead of an outsider holding one within.

Another knot, another bitten bruise left on your body. It was something you never thought you’d feel, and for the first time you were swimming peacefully through your heat instead of drowning. You felt real pleasure instead of a mindless pain that waxed and waned on the few times you allowed yourself a plastic knot. No, this was pleasure melting all over your body like the spread of dark chocolate lapped up by the flick of his hot tongue.

He was still sleeping, body slung over his side of the bed in a vulnerable lack of poise he could only afford while in a deep state of slumber. His hair was fanned around his face, a few stray tangles poking in either direction, and you felt emboldened to reach out and flick one around your middle finger.

You decide instead to finally leave the bed and venture into the bathroom for more than basic bodily functions. You definitely needed a shower, reeking of sex so good it made your head spin. A thick mix of slick and cum coupled with the twisting of your scent as it was invaded by his.

But, for now, you’d settle for brushing your teeth at the little sink, digging a lifting into your hygiene bag for some basic toiletries.

You don’t notice any discrepancies as you sought out a simple tube of toothpaste and its adjoining brush. Something just to help you feel fresh, maybe a little cleaner.

Same routine, different location, and you flow through the motions like it’s any morning before work. Minus your daily dose of caffeine, not that it would make you feel any more revived after all the strenuous exercise you’d gotten within such a small span of time.

Brush in circles, rinse with water, and spit. Your head is down, expelling the foaming mint spread to spatter into the porcelain bowl. You turned the knob at the sink to collect enough water to woosh and spit before standing back up to inspect your lips for smudges or toothpaste in the mirror.

You nearly leapt out of your skin at the sight of a large figure standing behind you in your reflection, a jolt of fear vibrating through you so quickly it was like a small shock of electricity before you recognized the face of this tall man.

“Jesus, you scared me.” You give him a laugh of relief, something small with a deep exhale from the breath you’d been holding.

“Sorry, doll.” Bucky smiled as he spoke, rubbing the sleep from one of his eyes before stepping up to slip his arms around your small shoulders.

“How’d you sleep?” He breathes each word along the tender skin behind your ear, fanning past your warm cheek.

Even after a short reprieve, you can say you didn’t miss this. Having him nearby, skin to skin, having him pressed to you as he made any old remnants of strife that dared to follow you seem smaller and smaller until it shrank away to nothing. You’d love to get used to this feeling.

“Like the dead.” You laughed moreso to yourself as you cupped some of the running water into your palm to clean up the spatters of white and blue you’d left behind in the sink.

You heard Bucky’s soft rumble of a laugh at yourself, and you finally looked back up at him. Your soft smile fell away with awe as you took in the entirety of him as his back was facing towards you. You’ve seen him in varying states of undress, even held his naked body against yours and felt nearly every inch with your small, nimble fingers.

But this, this was the whole masterpiece you had only seen in small patches of paint. Taut and tightly corded muscles along either side of his thick back. His ass looked soft like carefully sculpted marble, but with a quick flex of one of his powerful legs, you watched slack-jawed as the muscle made the cheek bob just once.

You let yourself overindulge in the sight, blissfully unaware that as his body turned and the front of him became visible, he very easily caught you staring. You couldn’t pry your eyes away, not when the chiseled planes of his stomach and abdominal muscles all came into view.

He smiles that sexy, sweet grin, smug at the lingering stare of admiration as it fanned his ego, all before clearing his throat to break the spell he seemed to unintentionally cast upon you.

You blink back, realizing you were ogling this man who’d already given himself to you as if he were a rare slab of marbled beef.

“Oh fuck, m’sorry.” You sputtered out as you busied your fingers to knock the water off your brush before putting it away.

Bucky’s eyes lingered on you for the split second your digits had dipped into that small hygiene bag. Letting out a bated breath when you zipped it shut without any further investigation.

His smile reappeared, bubbling into a soft chuckle. “No, it’s fine. You can look all you want, babe."

He leaned in past the glass door to the shower, turning the knob to ignite the showerhead with a downpour of hot water. This was before he turned back with that delicious grin.

“But, you don’t have to just stare.” His voice rumbled through the air with a low purr.

“Hm?” You were so far out of your element without the cloud of heat forcing you to reach for the things you desired most. You didn’t have to give a passing glance; you’ve been doing far more than just looking at this man for the better part of the last few days.

“Care to join me?” He asked, snapping your focus back into this beautiful reality with the lilt of his voice.

“Oh? Really?” You squeaked back, a bit of disbelief.

You never ceased to amuse him, a sentiment that was easily heard as he continued to speak. “There’s that shy girl I met, I was wondering when I’d see her again.”

“I’m sorry..it’s just.”

“No, don’t apologize. It’s cute.” His long lashes fluttered, fanning the warm blue of his eyes as he looked you over, taking in each nervous step as well as the small dribble of sweat that trailed down from your hair to hide behind your neck.

“It’s much different than the omega that tried to claw her way under my clothes.”

“I wasn’t myself, I guess.” You held onto the sink as you batted back in the conversation, better to steady yourself.

“It’s still you, doll. Just another side.” The soft tap of his toes hitting the tiled floor thrummed in your ears, in contrast to his previous covert steps as he slowly strides closer.

“I like them both.” He hummed, reaching over the small sink to cup his hand over top of yours, pressing warmth into your already tepid skin before pushing your fingers from the granite to sweep them into his grasp.

“Thank you..You don’t know how much that means to me.” The words stumbled off your tongue, they seemed so silly to say after the last couple of days.

His grin seemed to waver, something heavy weighing on it so that it dropped only slightly before swept his tongue between his lips to push the pressure away.

“So..you gonna join me? I’d love the company.”

He waited, one foot pointed outward as he was ready to hear you whisper ‘Yes’ so he could wish you away under the warm downpour of the shower and tight squeeze of his welcoming embrace.

Chapter 13

Tags : @meowmeowyoongles @black-cat-2 @cjand10 @bethyruth @scott-loki-barnes @wintrsoldrluvr @buckysdoll85 @lendeluxe @meowmeowyoongles @magnoliamermaid @heletsmelovehim @mcira @buckysbaby-doll @serendipitouslife90 @unicornicopia1 @animegirlgeeky @matchat3a @darkdemeter @iwudbutnah @winterslove1917 @daddytonysgirl17 @jvanilly @kandis-mom @onyxwolf @thebuckybarnesvault @nicestgirlonline @jbuckybarnesfan @val-writesstuff @ozwriterchick @bumblee-beezzz @cringeycookies @castiels-favorite-hunter @bohemianrhapsody86 @lillianacristina @cadencejames87 @teambarnes72 @ashychangeling @samuelkwinchester @nightofthesea @blackbirdwitch22 @mizunogamii @snapcapquartet @openup-yourmind @ashychangeling @krissydclayton93 @rivernell @futuristiczipperpeachcash

[impishjesters]

Rambley x Homeless!Reader (SFW)

relationship: can be read platonically or romantically notes: the reader has no gender or pronouns used. Rambley might comes off sounding a little protective/yandere, it's entirely up to you if he's just being protective or a yandere. A/N: There's not much to work with for Rambley content but I had this little idea and it's been eating away at me so I tried to write a bit of it. I might work on the main story itself just for myself for shits and giggles.

Rambley always hates it when you leave the park. He knows you don’t have a choice, the park no longer has food and anything that had been left behind has long since molded. So he knows there’s nothing he can do about it, you’re only human after all.

It’s been forty minutes since you left, forty long minutes since Rambley saw you off at the furthest screen he could reach by the entrance. He prattled on about strangers, avoiding sketchy-looking areas, the whole spiel as if you hadn’t been surviving on your own all these years before finally taking up a home in the abandoned Indigo Park.

A whole hour and a half passed before Rambley picked up movement at the entrance, quickly flicking to life on the screen, face mushed against the screen. He saw you carrying an armful of plastic shopping bags—and most importantly you looked unharmed.

You spot Rambley awaiting you on the screen and approach him excitedly, showing the bags of your latest outing. “I scored some good stuff!”Rambley pressed his face further into the screen, his face a mix of worry and relief all in one. “You’ve been gone for one hour and thirty-two minutes!” He leaned away from the screen but kept his hands on the edges of the screen. If he could shake the monitor you know he would. “I’ve been worried sick! What if something happened to you? I-I can’t help you if that happens!”

Although it’s not uncommon for Rambley to have a little freak out every time you leave Indigo Park, this was a little more than his usual freakout. A brief look of worry washes over you as you step away and further into the park, missing Rambley’s expression as he frantically follows to a different screen as you head straight for one of the screens more at your height in the shop.

“Hey, Rambley it’s okay! I’m okay.” You set the bags on the ground and give him a little spin around, showing you were completely unharmed. “I’m sorry for taking longer than my usual hour.”

Rambley’s eyes flick around the screen as he examines you, his ears pressed flat before he determines you don’t look more messy than normal. “Okay…” His mood completely shifts, ears perk, and eyes curious. “So whatcha get?!” Surely you got good stuff if it took an extra thirty-two minutes and forty-three seconds to get.”

Turning away from him you roll your eyes and lift the bags up, setting them on the nearby counter. “The first aid kits here still have bandages but any ointments are expired, so I managed to get some antibacterial ointment and a little bottle of iodine.”

The raccoon oo’s and ah’s each item you pull out, chin resting on his little paws with fascination and curiosity.

“The lady was also really nice and gave me a discount for the toiletries.” You placed down two bottles, one of shampoo and another of conditioner, as well as two cheaply wrapped bars of soap. It’d probably feel like shit on your skin but the scent was okay and it beat staying covered in filth all the time.

Beggers can’t be choosers after all.

His nose twitched slightly when he saw the soap bars, he couldn’t smell it but he just had an inkling those little bars held a cheap perfume smell to them. Stinky.

You show him a cheap little sewing kit with some thread to fix up your old clothes, a bottle of pain meds and two cheap washcloths. Rambley eyes another bag behind you that seemed far more full than this bag had been.

“What about that bag?” He pokes the screen and you look at the bag he’s pointing at before abandoning the items in your hand with excitement.

“Ah!” The bag rips slightly as you pull it across the countertop and open it up. “The lady also gave me a really good deal for these cans, they’re all dented but otherwise completely fine.”

You hold one of the dented cans up for him to see and his face scrunched up. “Is that safe to eat still? It’s not damaged?”

“It’s not opened and that’s all I care about.” You shrug your shoulder and start taking the cans out of the bag, rattling off the various canned goodies.

Rambley’s face shifts through each food you list off, some with curiosity and some with disgust. Thank god he can’t eat, some of those sound awful! When you’re finished showing him the cans he exhales and watches you from his usual position on screen.

“Well, I’m glad you got a lucky haul!” He shrinks a little on-screen and fidgets with his hands. “So… this means you won’t have to leave the park for a few days at least, yeah?”

After you finish checking over that you weren’t missing anything you hum in thought. “I should be good for a little bit yeah, I still have the rest of my stuff.” You glance over at the pile of things Rambley kept safe for you when you were gone, making sure it was still there.

Of course, it was, nobody but you had been dumb enough to break into the park and wander around. In hindsight you’re very grateful that you did, it led you to Rambley, which led to having a consistent place to sleep, a home.

“Oh goodie!” Rambley danced on the screen before flicking to one of the much larger screens. “How about you put that all away and tell me about all the things you saw? Don’t leave any details out!”You tuck your new belongings with your old ones and make yourself comfortable at the counter, not sparing a detail as you recount your trip into the city.

[anlian-aishang]

Tags: levi ackerman x reader, mutual pining [coworkers] to smut, only one bed, non-sexual spitting, alcohol mention, reader wears levi’s shirt, cunnilingus, penetration, modern AU, fem!reader Word count: 10,000 A/N: thank you to @lostinwildflowers for betaing this! Birch is one my writing idols, so I am truly honored. I hope you enjoy <3

This can’t be happening.

Unknowingly, the two of you shared a silent sentiment. After a late taxi, long lines of airport security, and racing to the terminal only to be delayed for several hours, the cherry on the shit sundae - as he would put it - was the midnight arrival to a hotel with only one bed.

“You’re sure?”

The look on the nervous teenager’s face conveyed the answer before he even uttered the question. Still, Levi knew he had to ask, audibly enough for you to hear - just so you would know that he did. In the face of liability, you had to acknowledge that he had tried his best.  

“I’m really sorry, sir.” Their eyes were darting in panic between you and Levi as if you were the antidote to this angry customer. But he wasn’t angry, at least, not at them. Wasn’t the brat’s fault that Erwin booked the wrong room. “I have that in the afternoon of September the 15th, E. Smith booked a single king bed for one adult guest.”

“Two adult guests.”

They shared a lengthy eye contact. From the background, you watched their miscommunication unfold and cringed with secondhand embarrassment. You nearly burst into nervous laughter when they shrugged, “I can provide you with extra complimentary toiletries.”

At his sides, Levi unclenched his fists in defeat, “...We’ll manage.”

The plastic key cards made a satisfying sound as the receptionist slid them across the marble countertop - equal and opposite to the dissatisfaction on Levi’s face. In one smooth motion, he handed you your copy while simultaneously whipping out his cell phone. Two clicks - speed dial and call. Two rings - Erwin answered.

You couldn’t hear the other end, but you had your guesses.

Hello?

“You fucked up.”

Sorry?

“As you should be.”

For what? 

“Stuffing two adults in one bed, what made you think we’d appreciate that accommodation?”

Given the looks you’ve been giving each other at the office, I thought you might. 

Levi violently snapped his phone closed in hopes you couldn’t hear that. Thrusting his phone in his pocket, he used his free hand to snatch luggage from yours. “Give me that.” 

A kind gesture, but irritation in his voice made it confusing. You thought to grab it back and insist that you could handle it, but instead, held your tongue. Clearly, he was steaming. Any objection, even a well-intended one, you doubted it would better his mood. Walking towards the lift, you concluded that nothing you had to say would supply ice to his ire. Though, the walk, time, and your calming presence, seemed to be working, you thought as you watched him delicately pad the UP button. 

In the intimacy of the elevator, Levi allowed himself one venting word, “Idiot.” He sighed, placed his thumb and pointer finger on each of his temples, and rubbed wrinkles into his skin. “As if we haven’t already been through enough.”

Today and long before, the two of you had been through plenty together. Tonight was the first time you would pin it on Erwin. All other times, it had been your own selves and each other to blame. 

He loved the way you looked in those small pencil skirts and see-through tights, but he hated what it did to him. Meetings in which he could only stare, absorbing nothing. In the middle of a phone call, when you walked by, he would forget its purpose and stammer aimlessly. Nights kept awake, staring at his ceiling, a blank canvas for projecting his wandering thoughts: how you would look with the skirt yanked up and the tights pulled down, how you took your outfit off after work, and if you wanted his help with that. 

Countless times, you had cursed the man you crushed on. The way he ran his fingers through his hair when overworked made you want to try it yourself, to take his stressors away - or better yet - serve as the relief to them. On hot days, he loosened his top button. On lucky days, the top two. On his way out the door, he would tug his tie out from under his collar, creating a loop wide enough for you to slip your hand through and use it to pull his lips to yours - or so you imagined. Each day, Levi had fed you tastes. Over time, your craving for him had grown unbearable. 

Ultimately, this out-of-town assignment was a test, and a final exam at that. Years of studying one another were culminating in one night, on one bed. The chime of the elevator interrupted your thoughts as if it was a warning: ground yourself. The plain of Levi’s expression and calm in his pace on the way to room 845 echoed its sense: he was unriled, uninterested. 

Your read was wrong. Levi was thankful that you trailed him: with his back to you, you could not see his rouge tint, the bite of his lip, or the twitch of his cheek. As he pressed his key to the reader, held the heavy hotel door, and slugged both of your belongings atop the desk and dresser, you admired the way he moved so suavely - when actually, he considered his motions stiff, careful, and calculated. 

Neither of you bothered to turn on the light. Taxed bodies, tired eyes, and tempted temperaments shared a desire to finally climb in bed. No need to delay things any longer. Levi unzipped his suitcase, the sound garnered your attention. Immediately, you noticed now neatly he had packed, admired his organization and pristine folds, then planned that when it came your time to unpack, you would aim to shield your messy methods from the clean freak’s vision.

A gray cotton tee - matching his eyes, black sweatpants - same shade as his hair. A navy canvas travel bag topped the pile. Levi leaned effortlessly against the white bathroom door and stated, “I’ll change in here.”

You nodded vehemently, as if he had ordered you on an important mission, “I’ll be out here.” 

Cute. And at that intrusive thought, he silently ducked away. 

Unbuckling his belt, tugging his zipper, freeing his legs from his slacks, Levi tipped his head back against the wall and sighed. Every muscle in his body finally untensed, he was set free from one cage of many. His business-casual confines had been done away with. Now, he just had professionalism, work relationships, and his fucking hormones to maintain. 

His boxer briefs were agitatingly taut, struggling to constrain years’ worth of tension in their cotton threads. Levi looked down to his lap and cursed himself. Hovering around thirty, yet all the composure of a fresh young bachelor. Gradually, Levi hooked his thumb beneath the elastic waistband and loosened just a little, allowing him room to breathe. Too much room maybe as the chill thermostat air contrasted harshly with his warmed passion and drew a loud hiss. Levi clenched his teeth hard in an attempt to bar his vocals, praying to whatever power that you wouldn’t knock on the door and call Levi, you alright? It was just the kind of person you were, and Levi had come to know you well. 

That anxiety turned out to be false, for your ears were ringing: ignorant of his desires, overwhelmed by your own. Gingerly, you unzipped your luggage and fret at the sight: a little black nightgown with lace on the hems. Its sight hit you like a load of bricks, lightning to the thunderous memory of your midnight, sleep-deprived, frantic packing. That woman was giddy for the business trip with her office crush and, in that frenzy, picked her sexiest pajamas for the special occasion. Goddammit! If only you knew that he wouldn’t be seeing it from across the room as a tease, he would be sleeping next to it, maybe even feeling it if one of you crossed your half of the mattress. Cursing yourself, you dug frantically in search of something - anything - else to wear to bed, but were rudely met with only pantsuits and blouses. You bunched your nightgown in your trembling fists, but its thinness and shortness allowed it to fit wholly in your hands - foiling your coping strategy. All you could do was tip your head back and sigh to the ceiling, Fuck me.

That feeling echoed when you draped it over yourself and saw your reflection in the hotel window. Your hair was disheveled from the long day. Makeup smeared and ran down your face, eyeliner to eyeshadow. Wrinkles in your silk dress. Looks like you were already fucked. 

On the other side of the door, Levi was thinking the same thing: he was absolutely fucked. His erection stood high after minutes of waiting. Cold water splashed on his face, but his fever seemed to evaporate it. Trying to think about humbling topics, but he couldn’t get you off his mind. To make his arousal vanish, there was one thing he could do, but there wasn’t enough time for that. Even if the shower were running, Levi doubted that the downpour of water would be able to suppress the noises of slapping skin or his embarrassingly heightened vocals. Fuck. Levi clutched the bathroom countertop and sighed at his reflection. His exhale fogged the mirror just before he hung his head down and conceded. God, help me. 

His prayers ignored, you ended up knocking on the bathroom door eventually: “Levi?”

Every nerve in his body froze. He stammered more times than he would have liked before managing a stern “What?”

“Sorry! I just -” humiliated heat seemed to radiate off of you, “- take your time, I just -”

Half listening, half panicking, Levi seemed not to pay mind to your take your time - stepping into his joggers and throwing on his shirt as fast as he could.

“- can I brush my teeth?”

You were startled when his response was a quick and loud turn of the handle, wordlessly letting you in. Levi was surprised to see you the way you were: temptress dress with a toothbrush and toothpaste innocently perched in each hand. The eye contact lasted for three seconds, but you could have sworn that it was that many years long. 

The twitch of your hands and your heart’s lofty goals placed a dollop of toothpaste twice as big as you normally would. Had to have perfect breath, just in case. Not even just in case, you were going to lay beside him - mere inches away - for the next several hours. In those seconds of pondering, gravity began to spill your toothpaste off the bristles and towards the pristine marble vanity. With haste, you jammed the toothbrush into your mouth, causing you to gag on your device. 

Levi felt his erection press against his waistband and rolled his eyes at his own stupid urges. You assumed that eye roll was for you and offered an innocent grin. Not so innocent, however, was your curiosity. His t-shirt was tight, leaving little to the imagination. One arm’s reach from an array of muscles, you kept your eyes deliberately on the mirror ahead. However, your doppelganger had a mind of her own apparently, gaze falling from eye contact and onto his chest, waist, abdomen. Without even having to turn his head, Levi could see your staring, obviously more obvious than you thought it would be. With your attention on his lower half, Levi allowed himself a smirk. 

Such a silly thing, but was this the first time you brushed your teeth next to someone? This handful of minutes was inexplicably romantic, oddly domestic. Pajamas, double sinks, and the end of a long day. You had been coworkers, acquaintances, and unknowingly requited lovers, but for this one moment, you were husband and wife. 

White toothpaste lined the gap between his top and bottom lip, and for some reason, you felt your knees buckle. Levi ducked down to spit, a polite attempt to hide it. Your eyes rejected his offer, instead widening as your pupils honed in on the sight. Leaning forward ever so slightly, you savored yet loathed the way his rejection ran down the pipe. What a waste. 

Levi sheathed his toothbrush back in its protective case, a neat freak through and through, and slid it back into his tote. Sifting through, he stumbled upon a mini bottle of mouthwash, making him freeze with indecision: added freshness at the cost of spitting in front of you again? He felt that once had already been rude enough. Levi shot you a side-eye and made an unexpected eye contact: he was trying to read you, you were already staring. Mutually miscommunicated guilt, both of you felt you had been caught and snapped back to aversion. 

It came your turn to rinse your mouth, and he couldn’t help it. Levi could have blamed his peripheral vision, could have blamed the bright lights that lined the mirror, but hard-pressed, he could not come up with an excuse for why he watched you then. The streak of white that shot out of your mouth, its wake dribbling down your lips. Goddammit, you cursed your clumsiness and hastily wiped your mess with a washcloth. He knew it as well as you did: he should have been grossed out. Only Levi realized, though, how much he liked it, he was just too ashamed to admit it. 

Though his arousal screamed, his lips stayed silent. There was a time and place.

Was there? You’ve worked together for how long? All those years, they never had a time or place?

A long inhale, a slow exhale, his fingers curled underneath the cold countertop, hoping its chill would thwart the flush of his chest. Fuck how badly he wanted to kiss you then, to thumb that white stain off your chin and into his mouth, to clutch the backs of your thighs and hoist you onto that vanity. Your waist in his hands, your sex in line with his -

“Levi?”

“Yeah?”

His rapid response, you mistook it as anger. While the voice on his shoulder was lust, yours was insecurity. Surely, you’re the last straw. Having to share a bed with a dork like you? He’s had a tough day. Don’t make him endure this.

“Do you want me to take the floor?”

A dumbbell dropped to the pit of his stomach. Of course not, but for you to bring it up, he must have been hasty to assume that you would share the bed. Levi grit his teeth, annoyed with his lofty goals. Two slow blinks, “I can.”

That was the last thing you wanted. “N-No… I don’t - I don’t mean…” Your lips parted in stammer. Eyes darted as if the tile walls would whisper you the answer. For a moment, you cursed the beautiful neutrality of his face: impossible not to love, but impossible to read. His stillness was contagious, though, and brought you to settle on an answer, “I’ll meet you under the sheets.”

Ears burned red as they checked: was that selective hearing or was that what you really said? Before his eyes could study you, you turned on your heel and closed the door shut.

Once again, on opposite sides of the door, your sentiment was shared: Phew. 

He took a few minutes after that. When he finally walked out, he found that you had been lotioning your legs over that time. Dim glow of the bedside lamp reflected on your smooth skin. If not for the way he had come to know you, to respect and appreciate you, this sight could have been the cover of some sketchy magazine. Eagerness glazed your eyes. Your hands had been massaging your inner thighs, now a perfect shield for the gem between your legs. Levi gave the slightest shake of his head, not disapproval, but disbelief. How did you manage such effortless perfection?

Was that not everything about you, though? The most minute smile in meetings. Biting your lip when you were bored. A laugh so beautiful that it served as its own positive reinforcement, beckoning others to amuse you again. Were you the one? 

Or was it the eyes of your beholder? Maybe you weren’t perfect, maybe that’s why you were in his eyes. Despite all the signs of your singlehood - never in a rush to get home, never a mention of a date - he never truly believed it. It was a war of his flawless intuition and steep infatuation. Either you were the one for him, or he had been wrong all these years. 

Get in the bed, idiot. 

His stride was steady, captivating, as he made his way to the side of the bed. In habit, Levi crossed his arms across his torso, prepared to lift up, but caught himself halfway. No, he would not be sleeping shirtless tonight. Neither would he sleep in his loose and breathable boxer shorts, but instead, stifling fleece. Already, for one reason or another, he was sweating. Upon approach, the layers upon layers of sheets, blanket, and comforter looked even more suffocating. He caught a glimpse of the thermostat, but then of you, and found your skin laden with goosebumps. Lips rolled beneath his teeth, bargaining, but he could not bring himself to turn the AC up while your body temperature was down. Just as strongly, he refused to do anything that might make you uncomfortable, like taking off his clothes, no matter how badly he wanted to. More words would have served you both well, tearing down the artificial barrier your doubts were constructing. 

Can I take this off? 

I would love nothing more.

But you were both stupid to imagine that dialogue.

Levi slowly reclined back, sighing as he sunk into the sheets. Already, his skin was burning. He combed his fingers back through his bangs and released a heavy sigh. A heavenly trial, you read it as a hellish endurance, and instinctually apologized, “...I’m sorry about this.”

You have nothing to be sorry for, Levi pondered the response, but deemed it too much. Instead, he feigned a disinterested mumble, “It’s Erwin’s fault.”

You, on the other hand, indulged your gut feeling, “He’s done worse.”

Levi huffed a single exhale, his version of a chuckle.

You turned on your side. He loved that you chose to face him rather than the wall. He hated that he even thought of that. You were so close, he could feel the mattress dip between you, could feel your breath cool against his skin. Eyes fluttering shut, your voice was either sultry or exhausted, a glass-half-full kind of thing. “Good night, Levi.”

Fuck, what a fight, battling the urge to kiss you then and there. Your eyes sparkling, noses nearly touching, he had sworn that this was how all the shitty romcoms went, but he failed to find anything lackluster about this scene. His lips yearned to close that distance, arms ached to perch themselves at your sides. Levi redirected that energy to his hands, fisting the comforter hard as he draped it gently over your shoulders, “Night, (Y/N).”

But how were you going to sleep like this? Although you were running off a 20-hour day, you felt that sleep would be a waste. Queueing for tickets to see your favorite artist, only to close the window the moment your turn came. Styling your hair just to go and get it cut straight after. Champagne dumped down the drain. Mentally, it was an unbearable thought. Physically, your body was even more resistant to the idea. Your middle was fucking throbbing. Nipples stood tall against their skimpy silk covering as if reaching for more contact, his contact. Legs squirmed against one another, trying to smother the burn between them, but you willed them frozen: don’t wake him up. 

In your best state of mind, you would have recalled the symptoms of his insomnia: always a tall thermos of caffeine on his desk, perpetual circles under his eyes, especially the times you both worked late. On your way out, you would peek through the pane of glass on his door to wave good-bye. Now and then, he would be hunched over his desk, imprints of the keyboard on his cheek - a makeshift pillow for his crash naps. With a shred of thought, you would have realized he was likely already awake, but you were incapable of even that. It was midnight when you crawled into the king bed. Red digits at your side now read 1:40 AM, yet you knew that not one of those one-hundred minutes had been spent in sleep. Coffee in the morning, nerves on the plane, hormones now, you had left composure back at your apartment and you weren’t sure you’d get it back at any point of this business trip. I mean shit, you swore, this was only the first night.

Only the first night. One of many sure to come, right? How many nights had he gone to bed alone, kept awake with longing of having you by his side? How many mornings had he woken himself up with a sleepy mumble of your name, only to find one half of his bed empty? It couldn’t all be for nothing. Now that he was sharing the bed with you, it was all he ever wanted, yet you were still out of reach. Uncharacteristic, the most reliable man you knew was spiraling in thought. 

But to you, it would make sense: the only one who could bring Levi Ackerman down was none other than himself. He saw it a different way: you were the only one who could dismantle him like this.

You could feel his heat emanating, could see his sweat reflecting. Before you could stop yourself, your affection had boiled over, “Levi…” your voice was hoarse, having gone hours without as much as a whisper, and unexpectedly loud. His silver gaze drifted to you, depleting the last of your reserves, you mused, “...you’re hot.”

A statement, not a question. In near pitch blackness, he allowed himself a rare smirk. Levi waited until it faded to turn towards you. 

You pinched the hem of his shirt in your fingertips, nails accidentally scraped his abdomen on the way. “Want this off?” You tugged lightly, “I don’t mind.”

At the same time, you shivered, and Levi filled in the blanks to ground his wandering mind. “Cold?” His hands brushed yours on the way to the bottom of the garment. Levi bunched fists in his fabric and lifted it effortlessly up, over, off his head - as he wanted to do all those hours ago. Pent-up relief, he thrust his shirt to you and offered, “Could’ve just asked.”

You were right all along. All along, those loose button-up shirts had covered a chiseled body. He must have been curling with arms like that. A pull-up bar on the back of his bedroom door, how many repetitions did it take to get these muscles? Your eyes scanned every inch of him but could find not one flaw. Your lips were moving, but words failed to emerge. There were a million things you wanted to say to him, to tell him, but only one came through. You received his gift gingerly and muttered, “Thanks.”

This was a moment you had distantly fantasized over for years. Turns out, this was even better than you dreamed. His shirt carried a garden of mint, lavender, and tea leaves in its scent. In putting it on, you felt that you gained a glimpse into Eden. The fabric was satin soft and sheer thin. In watching you wear it, Levi felt in the presence of an angel. It highlighted the curves he loved and introduced him to ones he had never noticed before. Brows narrowed, pupils dilated in his gaze - concerned and deviant. The straight cut forced your waist and hips to confine. The small-pattern chest was clearly never meant to accommodate a body like yours. Threads were spread taut by your cleavage, nearly torn apart as they strained to cover you. In his eyes, he thought it fit you perfectly. 

Arms finally through the sleeves. Beneath them, your hairs stood on end. Again, you shivered, but could not pinpoint why. It did not take the shiver, though, to convey your state. Your erect points stood above all. Levi looked to you with both pity and admiration, his voice their lovechild: “Look at you.”

You simmered, embarrassed yet teasing, “Looking isn't helping.” You crossed your arms before your chest and bundled yourself together, “If you really care -”

He did.

“- then do something about it.”

Unfolding the quilt from the foot of the bed, turning up the room’s temperature - those were the most straightforward solutions. But Levi was not thinking straight, and he had a feeling that was what you wanted. Slowly, Levi sifted his arm behind your shoulders, when you snuggled in, he sealed his wrap with a hand at your side. 

“Better?”

“Yeah.”

His gaze descended to meet yours. Likewise, you raised your gaze to meet. Painfully aware that this was a first for the both of you - neither his passion nor your arousal would shut up about it. At the same time, watching you shiver reminded him of all the times he had silently substituted your needs. Behind on work, you never asked for assistance, but would hurriedly throw things his way if Levi offered his help. When your car wouldn’t start that one winter day, who knows how long you would’ve paced in the parking lot had he not pulled his sedan beside yours and given you a jump? A sharp pang seized his heart in realization: he thought you were close, and now you were physically there, yet you still were not comfortable enough to ask him for anything - even though you both wanted it.

“Y’know,” his thumb rubbed your shoulder, “you should learn to just ask for what you want.” 

Indeed, 2 AM haze was shrouding his awareness, too - particularly his self-awareness. Was it not him who steeped your tea in the mornings and tidied your desk before he left each night? He could have - should have - just asked you out all those times. How much sooner would this night have come if he had? Levi swore to live without regrets, but that did not stop him from acknowledging the opportunities he had missed thus far. He tossed you the takeaway he wished he had learned long ago: “Makes things a lot easier.”

At first, you thought he was chastising you. The stern monotone of his voice could chill you to the bone at times, but when you took in his expression, you felt warm all over. His brows were not knit, but perched in a tender lift. His breaths were not terse, like when he got annoyed, but slow and calm. At the same time, though, you could feel his heart pounding hard, could hear it when you placed your ear over his chest. Clouded moonlight softened those hardlined features, and again, you wondered if this was your first night together or actually your honeymoon: wasn’t this kind of pillow talk reserved for spouses alone?

A deep swallow, and the last time you checked yourself. Could he have looked any more genuine? Any more readable? Transparent? You didn’t think so. For the man of few words, this was all but an admission of his feelings for you, and it was the best look you had ever seen on him. His advice, his command, invited you to try that outfit on.

“Practice with me?”

One slight nod, so slight - you knew no one would have noticed it but you. In that, you felt your confidence soar, pulling the words from your heart to the air between you both, “Hold me tighter?”

He did.

“Pull me closer?”

He did.

“And kiss me already.”

Levi could not describe it, the feeling that overcame him when he heard your demand. Proud of you. Relieved. At peace yet exhilarated. The serenity that all was right in the world, yet the anticipation of what he had wanted all along. The nature of the kiss aligned with the latter. For two agonizing seconds, he examined you. Assured by the sight of your smile, he longed to taste it for himself. Thumb pressed to the curve of your chin, index finger perched under it, slowly yet with unwavering passion - that was the way Levi brought your lips together. 

Soft, as he expected. Expert, as you had. Initial contact was delicate, the warmup slow. Levi always went so hard at everything he did, held such a sharp tongue, which was why the way he brushed against you made your heart stop. You knew strength to be his greatest, most innate feature, and therefore you deciphered that this tenderness was a display of exertion. Levi showed no signs of struggle, though. Touch-starved for you, yet his lips chose to waltz rather than tango. His hand on your chin drifted to the back of your neck. Nape cupped in his palm, he used that leverage to drift you here and there, allowing him to taste all of you - encouraging you to do the same with him. 

Levi tasted like peppermint, the brand so sharp that it made you sneeze now and then, he had learned after enough lunch breaks. You tasted like cinnamon, the stick that baristas stuck in his chai come the colder months. When your tongues met, they created a new taste. After minutes of exchange, they became addicted to it. Their craving demanded all efforts in that search: Levi’s grip pulled you closer, you threw an arm over his back. Breaths turned to gasps, a wordless understanding of all you would do for the other: grab his mail on the way in, walk you to your car at night, and kiss until you were out of breath.

The thought had never crossed your mind, but his actions disintegrated it - the possibility that this was some selfish, opportunistic spell. Levi was nearly shaking with anticipation, his erection pained with neglect, but that did not influence his pace. Each time you thought the makeout might end, he would catch his breath with “pretty girl…” before joining you once again. His kiss was lovely, as was the spark at your middle, but his ardor was gas to your flame, and before you knew it, you were ablaze. You found your body rise against his, pushing off the mattress, and rolling to grind against the friction of his rigid figure. Levi was everything you ever wanted, and maybe you were just that desperate or just that greedy - the fact that you needed more. He wouldn’t have you any other way.

You thought twice before breaking from the kiss, one last deep plunge of your tongue to his throat before pulling away, conscious to savor the taste. “Levi…” you sighed.

A string of saliva hung between you, the clean freak calmly closed his fist over it, and you felt yourself shudder again, “can we keep practicing?”

His lips were one degree north of flat, about as big of a smile as anyone would see on Ackerman. Tonight, just the two of you here, it felt inexplicably, particularly special. “Make love to me.”

An advanced learner, you always went the extra mile. Back then, Levi had no doubt, it was the reason you had been promoted so quickly. Now, it was that you had aced the first lesson and jumped to the next: no longer asking, demanding already. Sentimental was not a feeling he knew, but proof that you were this comfortable with him was indeed something. 

His praise reflected that feeling back onto you, “That’s right, good girl.” The back of his hand brushed unruly strands from your face. A kiss on your forehead rewarded, “like that.”

Once more, he pressed his lips to yours, but it was not even a second that he stayed - just a starting point to the journey that was exploring your body. Lips slid to the corner of your mouth, down your jawline, neck, then chest. A trail of hickeys and teeth grazes was left - tomorrow’s meetings and your professionalism having vanished from his mind. His hands joined the excursion: one gentle yet relishing in its caress of your neck, the other crawled up your - his - shirt. The familiar texture of his old garment contrasted with the novel feel of your skin. Muscles twitched with satisfaction, disrupting the fluidity of his motions, but you found beauty in the unpredictability of his touch. Rose-colored lenses were blind to the signs of his weakness, instead chalking those movements up to Levi’s expertise. As you tipped your head back and sighed, Levi figured it was the first misunderstanding that had done you two any good tonight. 

On his descent, he could not help but take a stop at your breasts. Turns out, it was never just his imagination, but given your curvature, of course your buttons would have been stretched to contain you. Those blouses had been his guilty favorite for that very reason, but his tight t-shirt was taking a close second. No, that slip you wore when you joined him in the bathroom, that must’ve been the best, right? Blood rushed, pupils dilated, his body anxious for a visual refresher.

You were going faster than he could have hoped. Already, he was proud of you for having graduated to demands. Now, you had learned to act on your own - either having read his mind or listening to your own desires. Levi could not decide which possibility he preferred, but when you lifted your top and perched it at your clavicle, he was ashamed to admit that his mind had discarded all other affairs. 

Levi nestled his cheek in your cleavage, and though you were over a thousand miles away, he felt he was at home. Warm pillows cupped him, and both of you felt that the space was made for him to fill. Levi’s breath was hot on your skin, yet your nipples appeared as though you were in a winter wilderness. Of course, he took notice in all your details, and sighed in mutual enamor, “Fuck, baby…” 

It was a tone you had never heard in his voice before. Desperation and desire in a man so ever assured and disinterested, you felt your panties drip from damped to soaked. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You, too, was what you thought to say, but somehow, the word seemed inadequate. His body was artwork: a symmetric abdomen, muscular forearms, veins that stood against his skin, you longed to trace him as such. Bangs that fell perfectly imperfectly over his face, begging that you run your fingers through them: mess with them now, gel them straight in the morning. You could slice paper on that jawline, could get lost in his eyes. No matter how long you stared, and stared you had, Levi was like the sunset: even after a hard day, always breathtakingly gorgeous.

Especially with the perspective you had now. One hand cupped your waist, the other your breast, perching you into his mouth, eye contact deliberately maintained throughout his movements.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Levi’s tongue swirled your nipple before his lips audibly slurped. “To get what you want…” 

Again, the fog of the nameless hours between night and day had blinded him to the relevance his words had to himself. How long had he wanted this? How good did it feel? He had no verbal answer for it, only the fervor of his actions: sprightly tongue and rocks of his hips. As you always had, you filled his gaps: while he could not fathom the words, yours overflowed. 

“Oh, Levi… Fuck, Levi…!” your desperate cries of his name made him leak onto the hotel sheets, no longer pristine. Your harsh exhales ran currents through his hair, and suddenly, it seemed you two had traded temperatures. Now, he was the one shivering while you sweat through the shirt. For his fever, he craved one antidote. Crawling down your body, his approach to the medicine cabinet. He prepared to ask for his dosage.

“My turn.”

Huh? 

You propped yourself up on your elbows and took a good look. A good look: Levi had wedged himself between your legs. Fingers caressed your thighs with a precise pressure, a touch that tickled in a way that made you want more, yet was strong enough that he could push your hips to the mattress and pry your legs apart. You had to bunch your fists and rub your eyes to check, maybe 3 AM was just fucking with you. 

Levi read your search for reassurance and inserted conviction into his tone. His stare and voice unwavering, “Can I taste you?”

Yeah, 3 AM was definitely fucking with you, for this was too good to be true. His sharp chin dwindled above the soft of your sex. His gaze set on your soul. Both of you agreed: his hands had never felt so calloused until they met your smooth thighs. It was a dream you would have woken up thankful to have had bestowed on you, but the grip he had on you was so perpetually undeniable: this was real. Head spinning, mind raced to catch up, yet Levi’s wait was so astonishingly still. Levi knew he would make you feel good. Based on your state, it seemed he was already doing that. Now, you just had to say yes, but he would not push you towards any one answer, nor would he do anything more until you arrived at it. If you wanted it, you had to ask for it, sweetheart.

A flood of thoughts swirled in your mind, each one screaming over the other, you felt you were drowning. In your search for stability, you relied on your sense of sight: Levi Ackerman between your legs. What the fuck are you waiting for? 

“Y’Yes, Levi.” You reached down and held his forehead. As you brushed his bangs from his face, he offered another half-smile, but it was brief, for he was past the point of eager. Still, the calm in his pace remained. Slowly, his hands snaked from the backs of your thighs to the sides of your hips. Thumbs hooked between the straps of your panties and your skin. His fingers clenched over them, bringing the garment past your knees, down your shins, and off your ankles. From chest to toes, you were now entirely exposed. At first, you wrangled with embarrassment, but his infatuation was your comfort. Hunger seized his vision, thirst drove his actions. You had nothing to be afraid of. 

His earlier route, lips to neck, neck to chest, chest to torso, was now mirrored. Levi cupped your heels in his hand and lifted your feet, allowing him to plant kisses up and up your legs, drags of his tongue followed to connect the dots. Minutes gone by, and even after having pocketed your consent, he still had yet to put his mouth there. Spending time to appreciate your thighs, he wanted you to know how long he had been anticipating this, and now that he had finally landed his spot, he would be damn sure to save the best bite for last. 

Left arm wrapped around your thigh, Levi nestled his head against it, allowing his perspective to stay sound on your sex. His right hand trailed from your knee to your middle, and at last, you knew he was getting started. At first, it was his fingertips, and at that mere first touch came your sudden awakening as to how dire your desire had grown. Your hands flew back and clutched your pillow, Levi admired the tendons that rose in your wrist, and your voice, “A’Ahh!!” 

He shot one glance up to check on you, but the look on your face ensured you were more than okay. With that, he decided to repeat the pattern of his rubs. Index and middle finger paired as they rode the sliver between your lips, your arousal slickened his knuckles. Once wet enough, he would split his digits into a V, each one taking responsibility for one of your folds. When that friction ran dry, he would return to your core, a seemingly never-ending source of lubrication, to run the process back again. You should not have been surprised, for everything with him was purposed - in the office or in the bedroom. With your interior and exterior in a coat of your own clear, he would have the freedom to run his mouth, no need to lick his lips or garner more saliva. Years of anticipation, now that the moment had arrived, he was going to spend the extra seconds to make sure this went according to plan.

Your glisten was so thorough, looking at you, Levi swore he could see his own weak reflection, the blush on his cheeks, the sweat on his forehead. In that way, his plunge was accelerated: preferring to trade the sight of his unruly state for the taste of you. Lips circled to match your curves, and you quickly identified this as a familiar feeling in an unfamiliar place. Levi was kissing you with the same tenderness he had displayed in your makeout, only now, he was between your legs. His jaw stretched wide to ensure he could reach every inch, from the top of your cleft, along your crescent sides, and to the spot where they rejoined. With his mouth in control, he let his hands indulge in your body, adorned upon your delectable waist, light squeezes of your ass, and massaging the divots of your inner thighs. His lips practiced that motion with a goal of perfection. Meanwhile, his tongue distracted you from any signs of his learning. Slow, purposed drags from bottom to top made your love pool on the tip of his tongue - each accumulation swallowed with a satisfied groan. Levi’s oral was pristine, only an occasional slurp and smack, allowing both of your vocals to take the stage. Your sky-high gasps, his low and satiated moans. He lived for the moments you would syllabize his name “Le-vi…” His “there you go” always followed, implicitly begging for more.

His neck began to bob in support of his movements. With that came a whole new level of pressure and slate of angles. His sharp nose slanted against your curves, lovely opposite to your soft. Your scent and your taste moved mountains within him, and in that, he noticed: his emotional pull was just as strong as his physical. All his life, he had grown to love bitter tastes, perhaps because they had been force fed to him. You were the first cube of sugar to have landed in his drink. Now, he had honey straight from the source. Levi felt his erection press hard against the mattress, “Fuck…” he whined, “you taste so good.”

Breath caught in your throat, all you could manage was a light sigh. As your lips twitched, he generously helped, taking the words right out of your mouth. “You have no idea…no idea -” Levi moaned, “how fucking long I’ve been waiting for this.”

At those words alone, you felt you might climax right then. Had he been eavesdropping on your dreams? How did he know that you had been fantasizing over that exact sentence for an unspeakable amount of time? “Me - Me too, Levi…” 

Your admission was even sweeter, lifting his feelings from indulgence to fulfillment. All the nights he had spent awake, wondering if you were thinking of him the way he was of you, your confession was confirmation that this had been requited all that time. Levi found it both gratifying and maddening: gratifying to have discovered that your feelings were mutual, maddening how many years had gone by until that discovery. Levi grew determined to make up for all that time, revenge reflected in the acceleration of his actions.

Levi shoved his arms beneath your thighs, lifting you into a shameless, unhideable angle. Good thing, he mused, no more hiding. Shoulders propped at your midthigh, keeping you perched apart. Fingers wrapped around your skin, he pulled you down the bed and crashed you onto his face. Your gasp was exhausted as you tried to keep up. Both of you knew, though: you were no match. As his tongue thrust to unfathomable depths, you likewise could not conjure any idea of how to withstand this. Nose rubbed against your swollen bud, brows narrowed in determination, he looked nearly angry. Working hard for your climax, harder than he had for anything else, even his own. 

Shit…!

If this keeps up…

A telltale tide turned in your tummy, spasms sparkled along your legs. Fingernails pierced the pillowcase, fighting off your impending loss of control. You could not delay it, not unless he - You fisted your hand in his hair, and he thought this was it. Instead, you pushed him away. “L’Le-vi…” a series of rapid pants, “hah, hah, ho’ld… on!” 

His tongue flattened still. Between the vertex of your legs, his steel attention rose to you. Not anxious, but concerned, You alright? 

“I, I want -”

At those words, he once again simmered with pride, thankful you had taken his ask for what you want to heart. After a few more breaths, you managed the minimum composure to plead, “I wanna cum with you.” 

Levi’s first thought was one of generosity, you know you can have - I can give you - more than one, right? But he knew you better, and he knew what you meant. You wanted your first to be with him, and though he was parched with thirst, desperate for the taste of your cum in his mouth, your wants were foremost his. With a deep, patient breath, he watched your twitches slow to still. When the threat of your orgasm vanished, he calmly laid one final kiss to your core, etching your taste into his memory. His silver stare swallowed you down, a mental polaroid of your pose. His palm massaged your sex in physical praise, promising that he would never make you wait again, and that he’d definitely make you cum next time.

He started to ascend back up your body, but you flung yourself forward and met him halfway. Brows arched in shock, his eyes widened briefly, you closed them with another kiss. Mint flavor of before had been washed away by the taste of you. Further evidence of his devotion, you desired to prove that you were just as committed to him. You hooked your elbow to his nape and threaded fingers through his undercut - your turn to pull him here and there, granting yourself the freedom to explore the parts of him that you had always wanted to. Most of all, the length growing harder and harder to ignore. 

Still, you were conscious to withhold your rush. You endeavored to slow your pace so that you could match the one he had performed on you. How good it felt - he deserved to feel it, too. You ran your hands down his chest the way rain slid down a windshield. Levi felt his boxers turn wet when your palms pressed upon his pecs, the buds of your hands kneading his tender patches. His exhales turned crackly, his inhales uneven. Laying kisses on each of his abs, down and down his torso, your contact held the compliments you were too shy to say. He heard them and reciprocated them: arm wrapped around your waist, bruises where his fingertips pressed - he hoped they would stay till morning, and that when you saw them, you would remember the love he had shown you tonight 

Finally, you dipped your fingertips below his waistband. Sweat glazed his hips, allowing you to slide your hands in, but at this point, there was not much room for you. His erection had taken all his threads had to offer. You spared him the begging, sliding his cotton down his outstretched legs and finally releasing him from their confinement. Soaked in his own anticipation, veins visible, his arc steep. The shade of his member matched the one of his cheeks: the pink of a vulnerable blush, the crimson of ardent lust. As he watched you watch him, another dribble of clear dripped down his length. Levi grit his teeth and cursed. From stifling heat to cool air, that drench turned from comforting to exhilarating. In the wake of his tried swears, you gently cupped your hand around his girth and cleaned him as best as you could, spreading the leakage of his tip down to his base - his shaft your path. Contrast to his stress, you soothed him as you always had, just a different context this time. 

It was his turn to cling to the sheets. Hands clawed into the comforter, you watched without shame, enchanted by the way his forearms flexed. Heels ground to the mattress, toes curled in sheets. Each motion was accompanied by either a sharp inhale or short exhale. Was it sadistic or considerate of you to keep pumping him despite that? 

Levi loathed the way he stuttered through your name, on the other hand, you adored it. Levi cupped the back of your head in his hand and tugged your ear to his lips. His breath was hot on your cusp, yet somehow, it sent chills through you. Your sex had landed atop his lap, his cock nestled between your folds, still wet from his prior excursion. Pleasure had him growling, the look in his eyes both commanding and desperate, “Let me take you.”

Obliging and insisting: as one, you leaned back and he pressed forward. Your head landed atop the plump pillow, his hand beside it. Before you could blink, he had plummeted onto your lips again. This kiss was so opposite of all prior: his tongue demanding entrance, grazes of his teeth, and bites of your lip, loud and messy. You had cut Levi Ackerman to his last thread of composure, that was where you had always wanted him.

And this was how he had always wanted you: your most unabashed, honest, purest and filthiest self. He always found it so painfully obvious, how much you strained to stay prim and proper, polite and professional at work. It was why he lived for the times you slipped up: an eye roll in meetings, the long sigh after a conference call. Levi knew that the real you was there, and now you were here: in this shared bed with his shadow cast over your skin. 

There was just one thing, though, that differed from his expectations. Desire was painted on each of your features, but they were glossed in nerves. Twitches in your lip, rattle in your lungs, eyes glistening, he feared they were tears. You cinched your hand around his wrist, and he recognized that smile. It was the kind you donned when you spilled your coffee or showed up late. Adorable, but unassured, and that would not do in this context.

“You’re nervous.” Levi did not ask you, for he knew his intuition was accurate. “Wanna stop?”

You shook your head and insisted vehemently, “No.” With a tilt of your chin and arch of your back, your lips brushed his with each word you spoke. Seeped down his throat, understanding swallowed: “I want to start.”

Levi returned your characteristic smile with one of his own. Tipping your foreheads together, “You’ll let me know if you change your mind.”

An order or a question? Either way, your heart scoffed at the idea. You know how long I’ve been waiting for this? There was no chance in hell you would change your mind.

“Or if it gets too much.”

That, there was a chance of. It had taken him mere minutes between your legs to bring you to the point of screaming and to the brink of climax, but that was what you wanted. His consideration fed you calm, you fed him reassurance. The flicker in your gaze settled, meeting his of solid steel. You tucked his bangs behind his ear and affirmed, “I’m ready, Levi.”

Fronts pressed, heartbeats matching, there was only one connection left to make. By the grips of his hands on the backs of your shoulders, Levi pulled himself those last crucial inches, and closed that final gap. His tip slick with precum, your slit dripping with anticipation, yet accommodating him was no easy fit. He had spent all that time down there with the goal of making it easy on you, but watching your face scrunch and hearing your voice whine was not half bad, either. 

In fact, he had not even made it halfway in yet, and you were already writhing. Levi bit the inside of his cheek and knit his brows, careful not to push you too hard, conscious for signs of your apprehension. You sensed his wavering and clawed his back, pulling yourself further down his length.

Looking up, his expression was strained. Reaching new depths, pushing past your initial walls, his voice poured exertion. Still, he did not stop pushing. Toes arched into the mattress, calves flexed with each labored drive. Each fuck brought the two of you closer. For him, one more inch of his length. For you, one more stretch of pleasure. For the couple, a proximity you had always wanted. Each of you felt a tremendous responsibility to be the one to close that distance.

Repetition after repetition, his muted grunts melted to audible groans. The air between you was no longer saturated by your gasps alone, but his as well. His strain was the only thing that could ground you from nirvana and back down to earth. Despite his squint, he caught that transition: from the throes of sensation to the snap back to reality, all because you were concerned for his well-being. More than any sense of pleasure, your affection was what made his heart pound in his chest. Doe eyes gazed upon him, You okay?

After a series of hahs and ahs, Levi managed just a couple words, “It feels - It feels…”

Good? Bad? Your heart tensed in anticipation. Pleading and ordering, “Tell me, Levi.” 

Knuckles tight, fingers trembling, “...good!” Levi clenched his teeth and pulled himself forward with an aim of backing his words with his actions. After struggling to past your entrance, the force of this fuck brought his tip to your end, drawing shrieks from you and shock from him. Strength of his magnitude had pros and cons, he supposed. His flaws, you deemed them his perfections.

The damp of your cunt was audible, resounding throughout the room. You found yourself at an impossible choice: which was more embarrassing, your voice or your sex? Levi’s thought was similar and opposite, the same choices, just which was better? Levi decided that their symphony was best, and realized he could turn up its volume if he accelerated his pace. 

“Levi, Levi…!” To say his name came naturally, practically a swear word: the satisfaction of cursing after injury or mistake, so wrong yet so right to scream it out loud. 

Pleasurable pain when he hit your weakest points, a delightful exercise as your walls stretched to accommodate him. His eyes remained set on your face, ears tuned to your voice, translating your body language into instructions. Rapid thrusts to make you pant, but only until you started to choke on your own gasps. Then, he would decelerate, replacing speed with strength. When he filled you up, you would sigh and roll your eyes back. To Levi, that was the sign to dial it back up and get you there. 

Since this started, his read on you had been perfectly accurate. You were almost there. Simultaneously yet unknowingly, your inner voices warned: you won’t last much longer. The thing was, you didn’t want to, for you had endured so much already. The heat in your middle was unbearable now. Each nerve had been fried to its last end. This sex had gone on for hours, but your yearning had been years long. In your haze, you were blind towards any reason to deny yourself any longer. You wrapped your legs around his waist and relied on your calves to pull him closer. Bringing him to your end made Levi approach his. “Fuck…!” His voice was a low singsong, an adult lullaby. “(Y/N), (Y/N)...!” No longer a choice between deep or fast, Levi somehow managed both. Physiology threatened to overrule now. No, already…!

“(Y/N), I…I’m - ! ” His mind was racing now. Should he ask to cum or tell you he was? Should he withdraw so that you could get there first? Levi labored to open his eyes, looking to you for an answer. His senses of sight and touch told him: you were already there.

The pulsation around his cock, the steep arch of your spine, your parted lips and blissed-out face. The scrape of your nails down his back, ignorant to the possibility of hurting him. This was how Levi had always wanted it: to be the one you clung to, to offer himself when you were overwhelmed. Count on me. The orgasm that overwhelmed you now, that had been his doing, right?

Once again, it was as if you had read his mind. Without him having to ask, you answered: “Levi, Levi!!” Your hands squeezed him tight, white patches beneath your fingertips. Clinging to him, the life raft through each of your waves. “Y’Yours… I’m yours…” 

He had gifted you tissues for your crying spells at work, had picked up your lunch on the way back from break, but this provision was far preferable, much more fulfilling. Even as you turned his skin red, even as your legs clenched him and squeezed air from his lungs - no, even better - those were precisely the motions that pushed him over the edge. 

One hand clutched the top of the headboard, tight enough that you heard the wood wince. The other caressed your face with feathered tenderness. In that difference, you were once again reminded of his duality: on one hand, a hardass, but for you, a soft spot. Those dimensions were reflected in his voice, too: swears that made your ears burn and groans that turned the air heavy, yet arid gasps that lifted your soul and praise fit for a princess. While your cunt had run raw and slippery from his fucking, his warm cum filled you and soothed your stings. 

As you both came to, Levi lingered inside, patiently waiting until each of your waves crashed - savoring them. With a deep swallow and a delicate nod, he ensured he would handle your aftercare. Kleenex from the nightstand folded and padded against your sex. You sat up in panic, worried about the clean freak’s reaction, but he seemed particularly satisfied. Maybe it wasn’t that he hated filth, but that he loved clean-up. You bit your lip and bit back a smile, believing that the sex tonight had evidenced that.

Though his aftercare was doing much for your affection, it did pathetically little when it came to cleanliness. Both of you realized, not even the entire box would be enough. Levi looked at the wad of tissues in his hand, shook his head, and scowled, nearly laughing at the ineffectiveness. “We’re filthy.” 

Slowly, you made your way to his side. Carefully, you reached your arms around his back. Wrapped within your grasp, you leaned him back against your chest and whispered into his ear, “Good thing there’s a shower.”

Levi spun just enough to meet your eye contact, once again checking to see if he had heard you right. Three hours ago, he would have defaulted towards the no, always having believed one could not be let down if they did not get their hopes up. Over the years and especially tonight, your optimism was swaying that opinion. Your sound smile and unafraid stare confirmed: after all that mess, you were also keen for cleanliness. In post-coital clarity, he saw how stupid he had been to wait this long, and Levi almost said those three sacred words right then and there. 

But this was only the first night of the trip.

And the first day of the rest of your lives.

// masterlist //

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unorthodox 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you bring order to the disordered life of Captain Syverson.

Characters: Captain Syverson, this reader is known as Izzie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

The rumble keeps you awake. A storm but not the type in the sky. You yawn and lean against the hummer door, jostling with the wheels as the roaring snores fill the compartment. Pierson drives and sends dark looks in the rear view, equally as disturbed by the burly man snorting and snuffing beside you. Neither of you dare disturb him. You’re not that dumb. 

The man is intimidating even in slumber. You pull on the seat belt and adjust your posture. The hours spent in the back seat have you stiff and restless. You envy Syverson. He can sleep through anything. You really believe that. If it wasn't for you, he'd oversleep the alarm in his phone every time. 

You yawn as you sense Pierson's attitude shift. You're almost there. He nods at you in the mirror and you sigh. You reach to grab the thermos that will be lukewarm at best by now. Still, you have to appease the bear. 

You reach to squeeze Sy's shoulder. He snorts and sucks in a deep breath. You try to shake him, an impossible task for most. You brush your fingers down his sleep and poke his muscle. 

"Syverson," you say tersely, "time to wake up." 

He slumps away from you and snores even louder. You roll your eyes. He's stubborn even when he's asleep. You pull your hand back and snap your knuckles against his arm. 

"Sy! Up." 

Still he is unaffected. You undo your seat belt and move closer. You uncap the thermos and reach around him, hovering it under his nose. He quiets and sniffs, grumbling. He moves stuntedly to wrap his hand around yours and slide the metal cup free. He sits up and purrs over the brim.  

"Coffee," he growls and gulps deep. 

"About there," Pierson states. 

Sy hums flatly and finishes the coffee in another swig. He hands back the empty cup and you shimmy back to other end of the seat. You cap the thermos and put it back in the plastic holder. 

"Remind me," he flicks two fingers at you. 

You stir around and bring out your tablet, sliding back the protective cover. You tap and bring up the contract, flicking through the maps as you go over the numbers. Units in the east, with another party coming from the north. Estimates are about sixty men total, fifteen vehicles, and ammunition to match. 

"They're tryin' to short us," Sy insists. "I can sell half as many for double." 

"Yes, you can," you agree, "but you also need to network." 

He chortles, "this isn't a boardroom, Izzie." 

"Don't I know it," you utter. You miss those days sometimes. Sand and sun make you long for climate control and complimentary coffee. "Money is money, I get it, but this is a big one. Could open a lot of doors. Make it so you can demand your worth." 

"Mm, so wise," he praises in his grizzly way, "kit." 

You fold up the tablet cover and once more search around the pack. You take out the toiletry pouch and hand it over. He finds the mini toothbrush and uses a gulp of the bottled water to wash up, spitting out the window. As he checks his watch, you reach over with a tissue to wipe a spot of paste from his beard. 

"Thanks, Iz." 

You go about cleaning up yourself. Worse than the cold caffeine and sleepless night, its the lack of hygiene that gets to you most. You use a face wipe on your skin and ball it up. The money is convincing and as much as you might long for the old ways, those office walls drove you mad. 

"I need a fuckin' drink," Sy grumbles as he rubs his eyes. 

"Tell me about it," you scoff. 

"Huh? You never do." 

"Not with you," you counter. "Don't drink on the clock." 

"Mm, so you do partake?" 

"None of your business." 

"Ah, come on, Iz, you can't dangle the bait in front of me like that." 

"You got your vest on?" You ask. 

"Always. Don't change the subject." 

"Not much else to say about it," you zip up the pack and sit back, watching through the windshield, a cage between the front and backseats.  

Sy straps on his fingerless gloves and furls and unfurls his fists. He's getting impatient. He always gets a bit uppity before a meeting. Especially with money on the line. You don't doubt him for a minute. He handles numbers as well as he does a gun. 

"Let's say I get them to tack on another fifty," he says, "will you drink to that?" 

You look at him from the corner of your eye, "depends." 

"Depends on what?" He challenges. 

"No Titos." 

He's quiet as he drags his boot tread on the floor. Even in such a large vehicle, he's cramped. 

"How'd you know?" 

"Someone has to keep your pantry stocked," you tut. 

He chuckles, "s'pose." 

You tidy yourself as best as you can and set your jaw. It took a lot to get used to the whole not smiling thing. You were never very keen on it but every job you had before required it. 

"You get this one, you get a lot more than money," you gird. "I know you will." 

"Ah, you trust me, Izzie." 

"Trust is a strong word. I know you'll handle it," you say as you stretch your legs, checking your own vest as you tighten the straps.  You sense him watching you. 

"Eh, I think I might let you take lead," he snorts, "you can be terrifying when ya want to." 

"Whatever," you shrug off the joke. Scary? You? 

What's scary is walking into a job interview with a brute sharpening a hunting knife as casually he might clean his nails. Scarier even is to say yes to the offer. Life does lead you to the most unexpected places. Still, you prefer it to the purgatory of predictability house in the white corporate walls of the past.  

[formulaoneandonly]

Prepping For The Prix: Lando Norris Edition

You were sitting in the middle of Lando’s apartment surrounded by clothes trying to get everything prepped and packed before you had to get on a plane to the next Prix, in this case the schedule called for Barcelona.

Lando was always a little scattered when it came to packing

You knew to make sure to pack his essentials first: socks, boxers, his travel toiletries, deodorant and cologne he liked to bring with him

You knew he was particular about his sneakers but you laid out his favorites for him to choose from

You would be surrounded by outfits he would pick from for his weekend paddock walks

You always packed him first knowing he would change his mind about something and you’d have to swap some things out

You packed yourself second and left plenty of changes for shoes between flats and heels for yourself knowing how long the days could be in the paddock

You always get a little space in your suitcase for his spill over

You always packed your favorite shirts of his that you stole to sleep in

You kept your travel bag ready with travel wallets and passports and neck pillows for him to use when he would inevitably fall asleep on the way there

You made sure to keep his headphones close by and a hoodie in case he wanted it during your travels

Whenever you were packing you’d find Lando doing one of three things: gaming and screaming “NO!” throughout the house, napping close by just follow the sounds of his snoring or he’d end up in your space observing everything you did and helping you with decisions

You always made sure that he got his proper amount of rest gearing up to departure

You packed in a plastic bag all of his fan given friendship bracelets so he could take his papaya fans with him wherever he went

[sleep-i-ness]

Maybe They're Born With It, Maybe It's Trauma

Summary: You make a new friend at rehab.

Content Warning: Drugs, rehab

TUA MASTERLIST | GENERAL MASTERLIST

“I hoped we wouldn’t be seeing you back here so soon.” The dour face of Dr Hartleben greeted you as you waltzed into the rehab centre, a grin splitting your face in two.

“How could I stay away? I simply adore the early morning yoga sessions and going around in a circle after lunch explaining why we’re all so fucked up.”

Dr Hartleben’s pursed lips and sour expression conveyed all she had to say on the matter as you turned sharply on the ball of your foot. She took large strides down the corridor, and you had to jog to catch up, your scruffy trainers squeaking on the shiny linoleum floor. This place was like a second home to you, having been in and out every few months for the past 7 or so years.

You’d tried to hold down a steady job, really, you had. But all you had to show for it was a place as a flautist in the local orchestra, which did not pay, and a spacious but surprisingly cheap apartment in the dodgy part of the city. That you’d bought with money from your past life, when everything had been fine and on track to at least a minimal amount of success. But all in all, you’d decided that there was no point in trying to regain some semblance of normalcy in your life when all you ever did was try to escape the ghosts from your past.

Dr Hartleben pushed open the dull aluminium door with your foot, a shaft of sunlight illuminating the room. Ah, home sweet home. The stale scent of iodoform and sweat wafted out and you breathed deeply. This was the one thing that never changed, no matter what.

“You know your way around, the top bunk on the far left is vacant. I expect to see you adding your name to the duty rosters and coming to group therapy this afternoon,” Dr Hartleben was itching to leave you in the confined patient dormitories, barely even standing on the faded doorstep of the room. “Your stuff will be brought to you as soon as it has all been checked.”

You scoffed. “I’m always a model patient, I’d never jeopardise my spot in this wonderful place by bringing shit in with me.”

“Then why are you back again? I’ll leave you to get settled and make your bed. Your sheets should be on the end of your bunk. The others are in the garden, one of the nurses will be round in 10 minutes to escort you.”

With that, the door swung closed, and you were left standing in the dank and poorly lit room. The frosted windows were too grimy to let much light in and the bulb in the lamp buzzed a faint yellow. At least this time you had a top bunk, which was clearly the superior spot.

That was the problem in having so many drug overdoses on your medical record; every so often you’d be sent back into rehab, with or without a court order to stay. You had forgotten the strict rules that had to be followed and the lack of freedom; you didn’t need a babysitter. At least in rehab you wouldn’t be quite so lonely, you had roommates to keep you company now. And everyone had their own demons to face, otherwise they wouldn’t be here. There was no room for judging.

The crisp sheets smelt of starched linen, over washed and firm to the touch. No more comfy bed sheets, you mourned. The mattress was lumpy and had a suspicious dark stain on the plastic that you straight up refused to touch, choosing to flip it over instead and hope that the other side was less grimy.

“Y/N?” A knock sounded at the door and a nurse popped his head round the door, clutching your overflowing crochet shoulder bag. It was a face you hadn’t seen before, and you quickly plastered on your friendliest grin.

“Hi, yep, that’s me. Is my stuff all okay for me to take?” All there was in the bag was a change of clothes, some toiletries and spare underwear. No point bringing anything too nice, someone was bound to nick it otherwise.

“Yeah, yeah.” The nurse returned your smile, holding out the bag for you to quickly grab and sling over the end of your bed. He was quite young, you would guess late 20s to early 30s. You pitied the poor guy, having to deal with them all the time. Well, he had chosen this.

“Dr Hartleben said that the other patients were all in the garden, can I join them?” You skipped over to the door, your colourfully patterned skirt swishing round your ankles. You hadn’t been quite sure that your outfit was particularly fitting for the centre; it had felt a bit too bohemian but seeing the drab and dreary walls reminded you that a pop of colour would do this place some good.

The garden was a bit of an overstatement really. It was more of a paved courtyard with weeds growing between the cracks in the slabs and a couple of small flowerbeds, one of which had been a vegetable garden the last time you had been here but now appeared to have been taken over by weeds. It was the space for the newest patients, who couldn’t be trusted to go into the slightly more expansive grounds yet. It was depressingly barren, and you eyed the patients morosely milling around with a grimace. How boring.

“What’s growing in the beds at the moment?” You turned to the nurse, whose name you hadn’t learnt yet, with a dazzling smile.

“I don’t think there’s anything particular being grown.”

You pursed your lips. How sad. Any life or nature in this place really was stifled and stamped out in the end.

--

You trudged into the group therapy room, eyes following your feet as they left scuff marks on the shiny floor. You slipped into a spare seat, barely making eye contact with anyone else. If you could get out of this without a single person trying to become your new bosom pal, you’d count it as a win.

“Hi, I’m Ella and today we have someone new joining us, so I’d like everyone to go round in the circle and introduce themselves by saying their name and why they’re here. Louisa, if you wouldn’t mind starting off for us.” The irritatingly cheery voice of the therapist was grating on your nerves, you hated these sessions with a passion. What was the need in sharing the same stories every week?

“I’m Louisa and I’m an alcoholic.”

“I’m Mark and I’m a heroin addict.”

“I’m Susanna and I’m a drug addict.”

“I’m Brent and I’m an alcoholic.”

The droning of voices soon became a wave of background noise that washed over you like a sea of calm, each introduction as monotonously boring as the next. The person to your left spoke and you yawned softly, daintily lifting a hand to cover your mouth. “I’m Y/N and I’m an addict.”

There was something so tiring about rehab. Between the withdrawals and the endless therapy and need to be in touch with emotions, it was draining both physically and mentally. You couldn’t wait to get out; you only had a couple more weeks to go.

“And, our newest member, would you like to introduce yourself?” You could practically hear the beaming grin in Ella’s voice, and you rolled your eyes. Bit much.

“I’m Klaus and I’d like to say I’m a tortured soul-” Your head snapped up to look curiously at the newbie. Heavily eyelinered brown eyes stared back at you, a mischievous twinkle shining in them. “But to stick with the same pattern as everyone else, I’m an addict.”

He lifted a ringed hand to wave to the circle, winking at you. And you felt yourself flush, ducking your head from his intense gaze.

Group therapy had never felt so long as today, not that you could recall anything discussed, not when your eyes kept straying towards Klaus. And boy, did he notice. Every time his eyes met yours, he held the eye contact, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and you flushed redder and redder.

How unfair that someone this gorgeous was at rehab; how were you meant to even attempt to recover when he kept looking at you!

It wasn’t until the end of the session, as you all shuffled out, that he properly made his way over to you, a cheeky grin on his face. You glanced at him, turning your head back to the door with a small smile which you tried your hardest to fight back.

“Hello, Y/N,” he murmured, voice so low it felt like a conversation that was only for you. And you bit at the inside of your cheek to squash the blush crawling up inside you.

“Hiya,” you whispered, hoping you didn’t sound quite as excited as you felt.

“Come here often?”

You giggled, hating how much like a schoolgirl you sounded, and finally plucked up the courage to make eye contact with him. “Yes, unfortunately.”

“Court mandated as well?”

You nodded, picking at a stray thread on your skirt.

“Well, we’ve got each other now.”

And you chewed at your bottom lip, beaming grin splitting across your face as a heady rush of giddiness filled your chest. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

“Want to go see the garden with me?”

You nodded, a little too quickly and eagerly, and he just chuckled at you.

Maybe rehab wouldn’t be as bad this time around.

[wooahaes]

a place you can come to, a place I can go to

pairing: non-idol!wonwoo x fem!reader, ft coworkers!96z

genre: romance. kinda fluffy. just a very soft fic of wonwoo coming home. established relationship.

warnings: mentions of reader and wonwoo discussing having kids one day. reader has bad eyesight. reader is mentioned to be introverted.

word count: 1.8k~

daisy's notes: title taken from the lyrics for home

Wonwoo woke up to the sound of the captain speaking, announcing that the plane would be landing within the next hour or so. With a stifled yawn, he popped open his glasses case and began to compose himself. He reached underneath the seat, pulling out his backpack and rifling through it. He found a small bag of cheap toiletries, snagged his water bottle, and squeezed past Soonyoung with a soft apology for waking him up. 

He made his way to the plane bathroom, and rubbed at his eyes after a moment. He popped open the bottle of water, wetting his toothbrush before he began doing a little bit of basic hygiene. He could have waited until he was in the airport, but he wasn’t traveling alone. Soonyoung was out there asleep, and he’d passed by where Jihoon was awake and on his laptop (always working, Wonwoo swore) next to a half-awake Jun. With his teeth brushed, he threw away the disposable  toothbrush—his own was tucked away properly in his bag, and he didn’t trust breaking it out in an airplane bathroom unless he was going to boil the thing later. Then he paused, taking a better look at himself. He looked a little tired. Would you notice that? How would you wax poetic about him this time? You once told Wonwoo that you saw him in every romantic lead you wrote, and he’d been flattered. 

He finally left the bathroom, squeezing past someone else with a quiet apology for taking so long, and passed by Jihoon once again. His coworker looked up, giving him a polite nod before looking back at his laptop for a moment. Wonwoo popped open the overhead, zipping the toiletries into his carry-on instead. The cap of his mouthwash felt faulty when he screwed it back on, and he’d rather spare his laptop from an accidental spill by shoving the cheap, plastic baggie back into his backpack. A moment later, he met Jihoon’s eyes again.

“It’s her birthday today, isn’t it?” He said, far too awake for how early it was. All Wonwoo gave him was a silent nod, and Jihoon shut his laptop. “Hold on, then.” 

Wonwoo just pressed himself against the side of Soonyoung’s seat as a single father passed by with his baby still curled up against his chest. He caught a glance of the sleeping child, chubby cheeks squished against her father’s chest. Would that be Wonwoo one day? Quietly moving to the front to ask a stewardess about something, just to avoid rousing any of the other passengers, his child asleep in his arms while you slept in your seat? He found himself diving into this daydream a little too much. He hoped his child would have your eyes, even though you’d always mused aloud saying you hoped that any kids you had would be like him. Smart, patient, kind, and they’d hopefully have some of his looks. 

“Hopefully they won’t get our eyesight,” you’d giggled at the thought, head resting against his shoulder. “God, imagine how fucked that would be.”

It earned a soft chuckle from him. He had made peace with the fact you cursed long ago. It was nice that you cut down on the habit for him, though (although he’d heard you when you were heated at someone over the phone). You respected him enough to cut back, and he respected you enough to understand that you would never entirely quit because you were you. If anything, you’d thanked him once for it: you slipped up sometimes at work and always apologized profusely for it, and dating Wonwoo helped you slow down and be conscious of what you were saying. 

He did agree, though: thankfully, eyesight was something easily taken care of, but it would be pretty fucked up if your kids had both vision problems the two of you had. You’d laughed when he told you those exact words, too, before kissing him and joking that you were a bad influence after all. He’d hold back what he thought, though. You could never be a bad influence on him. Not when you brought him so much joy.

Jihoon reached forward, tapping something against his side to get his attention back. Wonwoo turned, and it was just a plain envelope, although a little thicker than if it just contained paper. He accepted it from him with a quiet thanks.

“It’s just money and one of those pins you said she likes.” Jihoon ran his thumb along the side of his laptop. “You chose between a few of them and I bought the one you put back. Tell her I said happy birthday.” 

Not all of his friends were like this with you. Wonwoo knew Jihoon was, because it had been Jihoon and Soonyoung who introduced you two to one another. You had been a longtime friend of Soonyoung’s, and it was Jihoon who thought that you would get along well with Wonwoo. He’d only meant it in a friendly way, but Wonwoo remembered when he told Jihoon the two of you started dating. He’d looked up, blinked a few times, and then congratulated him on the new relationship. 

You told him at one point that you had lunch with the pair. After Soonyoung left to use the bathroom, Jihoon quietly asked you to take care of Wonwoo. It had made Wonwoo blush to know that Jihoon was looking after him so carefully, and he’d later offhandedly mentioned it to Jihoon. He joked that he usually saw the situation reversed in fiction: a leading lady’s friends telling him to take care of you.

Jihoon had looked up again. “I know you’ll take care of her,” was what he said, “so I wanted to make sure she does the same for you.” 

Wonwoo tucked the envelope into his bag once he settled back in, and a moment later felt Soonyoung shift and rest his head on Wonwoo’s shoulder. He just shut his eyes, resting his own head against Soonyoung’s as he enjoyed a few minutes of peace. Traveling for work wasn’t something out of the question for him—he was usually one of the ones going somewhere if anyone was going. But traveling without you? It felt weird after the first time. He would see things and quietly muse about how you would respond to them. The two of you went to Japan almost three years ago now, and he made sure that the two of you went when the cherry blossoms were blooming. His phone background was you staring up at the pink flowers, a candid he was thankful to have taken. The soft, amazed look in your eyes, the way your lips were slightly parted, all too astonished at how beautiful nature could be. It was saved for his home screen, though. A little memory exclusive to him and you and anyone who happened to notice you in that moment. His lock screen would always be a picture of the two of you together with you centered, the apple of his eye and love of his life. 

The plane eventually landed, and Wonwoo stood with Soonyoung as the pair waited for Jihoon and Jun to rejoin them. Soonyoung had been half-asleep, swaying into Wonwoo’s side a few too many times. Wonwoo just wrapped an arm around him, patting his head. He’d been unable to sleep with the turbulence earlier in the flight, and Wonwoo couldn’t blame him. 

Even still… His mind was on you. Would you be awake by the time he came home? As much as he hated knowing it, you had to work today. The two of you had already set the plans in stone before he left for this trip: he would take you out tonight to celebrate your birthday, and then the two of you would probably cuddle and sleep while recovering from work and travel. A comfortable night for two introverts in love.

Wonwoo was the one who drove everyone home with the company car. First Soonyoung, who had Jihoon following after him to make sure he didn’t trip on the stairs up to his apartment and bust something in the fall. Then Jun, who waved him onward while insisting that he go ahead and drop Jihoon off and hurry back to you. Jihoon had thanked Wonwoo for returning the car to the company, heading up to his own house with his bag hanging off of his shoulder. And then it was just Wonwoo, listening to the radio as he relaxed against the driver’s seat. Soon enough, he was on his way home to you. The cab dropped him off outside the little home he owned with you, and he walked up the stone pathway. Had you taken care of the yard, keeping it all nice and neat? Or did you get Mingyu to do it, like Wonwoo said you could? You had always insisted that you could handle everything just fine, but Wonwoo had always believed there was no shame in passing the work onto someone else (especially someone who had offered) if you wanted to rest instead. In the end, it didn’t matter. The work had been done. 

Wonwoo unlocked the front door, quietly making his way inside. He set his bag down, stretching one final time before he started to put himself in order. Tennis shoes on the shelf next to your own, house slippers pulled out from where you must have put them while cleaning the entryway, keys back on their hook… It was nice to be home again. He had bought home new things to decorate your home with, but he’d unpack them from his luggage later. Wonwoo just picked his bag back up, and made his way to your bedroom together. He cracked the door open, smiling to himself when he saw you still curled up asleep. You still had time before you had to get up for work, thankfully. And he…

Well. As much as he wanted to stay awake longer, he needed a little more sleep, too. So he left his bag by the door and crawled into bed with you, leaving his glasses on the nightstand. He turned over, ready to curl up and fall asleep, only to stop and admire you. He’d tease you later for drooling in your sleep (you made fun of his bed head so, so many times by now—it was a love language between the two of you). He just reached forward, pulling the blanket back over you so you could sleep comfortably.

Yet you stirred awake right after, eyes searching for his own in the low light. “Wonwoo…” Your voice was hoarse and quiet, but he still heard his name clear as day. You tugged at his shirt, drawing closer as you curled up in his arms. Then he felt you press a sleepy kiss to the underside of his jaw before snuggling back in. “You’re home.”

He just held you closer, eyes fluttering shut. “I’m home,” he confirmed once your arms were around him. “Happy birthday, my love.”

taglist: @twancingyunhao@synthetickitsune@wonuziex@porridgesblog@staranghae @weird-bookworm @bangchansbae @laylasbunbunny @bewoyewo