#wrapped up in her sweater and curled up with her on the sofa

[smileysuh]

crossroads

🌙 starring. Kim Mingyu & Jeon Wonwoo x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. If one neighbour is a Doberman, then the other is a Golden Retriever. They’re like night and day, and yet, you’re drawn to both, as if some gravitational or celestial power is pulling you to them… it also helps that they both have motorcycles. How had it been so easy to ghost Wonwoo in the past, only to find yourself at a crossroads with his roommate seven months later?

tw/cw. Threesome, unprotected sex, multiple sex scenes, big dick Mingyu, creampie, oral (f/m receiving), blow job, deep throating, hand job, Eiffel tower/spit roasting, breast worship, nipple pinching, nipple licking, panty kink, eating pussy through panties, fingering, squirting, pussy stretching, praise, dirty talk, ‘sir’, dom!Wonwoo, switch!mingyu, blindfold/sensory deprivation, voyeurism, listening to your neighbour have sex, masturbation, reader reads erotica, mutual masturbation, slight dacryphilia, blindfold/sensory deprivation, inklings of humiliation, etc… I pet names: (hers) angel, baby. (Mingyu’s) gyu. (Wonwoo’s) sir. 

👹 rating.18+ explicit I wc. 19.8k

🍭 aus. Biker!meanie, booktok!reader, neighbours!au, etc…

☀️ mlist + an. This was not supposed to be this long. I don’t know how this happened. 

Prologue 

“Who keeps messaging you?” your cousin asks, trying to act nonchalant as he sips his margarita, but you can feel his eyes on you as you stare at your phone.

“The Harley dude,” you sigh, quickly reading the text message.

“The guy who missed your first date because he was napping?” Jeonghan nearly chokes on his drink, setting it down in favor of flashing you a judgemental look.

“Yeah, the same guy who also tried to rebook our first date as a group ride night with all his friends,” you roll your own eyes at the stupidity of men. While the idea is fun, it’s not the way to get to know someone new. 

Jeonghan lets out a low whistle. “Sheesh.”

“You can say that again.” You set your phone down, grabbing at your bellini, and relaxing against the patio chair, trying to soak up the sunshine in an effort to calm yourself.

“Well? What did he say?” your cousin presses.

“He said his entire week is free if I want to meet up.”

“And what did you say?” 

“Nothing.” You tip your head back, letting out a contented breath. “He had two chances, I’m not about to give him a third.”

“Summer is almost over,” Jeonghan points out. “I know you wanted to find some hot dude with a motorcycle and ride off into the sunset. You’re getting low on time.”

“Honestly, Hannie? This Jeon guy is not worth it.”

One

After a long winter, it’s finally getting warm enough that you can open your apartment windows and enjoy the fresh air. Trees are beginning to blossom, birds are singing songs that act as white noise while you sit at your dining table completing the last few emails for your remote job.

As you’re finishing up your very last correspondence of the day, new noises join in with the robbins and wrens. These noises, however, are nowhere near as pleasant.

There’s a banging outside your door, a few thumps, and a distinctly male voice cursing. 

Living in a fairly quiet apartment complex, these sorts of sounds aren’t something you’re used to, and they can only mean one thing; your landlord finally found new tenants for the two-bedroom next door that’s been vacant for over a month. 

With a sigh, you close your laptop, wrapping your sweater tightly around your body as you venture toward your door. You can’t help the curiosity bubbling inside of you, and after another deep breath, you decide to take a peak into the hallway beyond.

Two men are struggling to get a couch through the doorway into unit 317. You stay silent, watching the way one man’s biceps bulge with each maneuver. His hair is on the longer side, dark strands licking and curling at his throat, which is covered in a light sheen of sweat from the effort of moving. 

“Come on Cheol, we’re almost there,” he encourages the man holding up the other end of the sofa. 

“Fuck you, Mingyu,” the other says, stepping back into the apartment and out of your view.

You wait patiently, and after a minute or so, the pretty man moves into the hallway again, giving you a full view of his face. He lets out a deep breath, shaking out his muscular arms- that’s when his eyes meet yours, and you swear your heart skips a beat in your chest.

His mouth curves into a wide grin. “Hi! Sorry if we bugged you with the noise- that couch was not making moving easy.”

“It’s okay,” you assure him quickly. “You must be my new neighbours.” Your gaze shifts past him to the second man, who has appeared in the hallway too.

“Nah- I mean, I am, but this is Cheol, he’s just a friend,” the pretty man tries to explain, stopping in front of you. He wipes his hand along his jean leg, then holds it out to you, “I’m Mingyu.”

You allow him to shake your hand. Despite his attempt to wipe some of the sweat away, his palm is still a little clammy, although, you’re shocked to find that the physical contact isn’t unpleasant. 

You tell him your name, watching Cheol trudge past you to the elevator. “So if that guy isn’t your roommate, who is?”

“My buddy Wonwoo. He’s actually visiting family in Korea right now, won’t be moving in till the end of the month.”

“I see,” you nod. “Well, welcome to the building.” 

“Thanks,” Mingyu beams again. “If all our neighbours are as friendly as you, I think we’ll like it here.”

“If I’m being honest, we’re a quiet building, lots of us are kind of reclusive,” you try to explain, choosing your words carefully. 

You hear Cheol let out a chuckle as he waits for the elevator, and you wonder what he’s found so funny.

“Quiet,” Mingyu repeats, letting out a breath. “Noted. We’ll do our best not to be a disruption.”

You want to believe him, but something in his grin tells you not to. 

Two 

It’s been about a month and a half since Mingyu moved in. You’ve not seen him, or his roommate, although, you have heard them through your shared wall a few times. One of them - Wonwoo you’re guessing- is pretty into video games, because yelled lines like ‘I’m trying to revive you, dipshit!’ and ‘stop fucking dying so much then!’ have irritated you and interrupted your soft girl movie nights. 

From what you can tell, Mingyu’s elusive friend who was visiting Korea is now sharing his bedroom wall with you, and at two AM on a Tuesday night, your suspicion is confirmed. You wake to noises that aren’t gamer screams, they’re screams of pleasure. 

Muffled cries of “harder, daddy!” and “please!” have your skin tingling as you shift under your duvet, feeling suddenly very hot. 

As you lay there and listen to the sound of a headboard beginning to hit the wall, you try to decide if you’re annoyed, or horny. The tingling between your thighs, and the heat along your neck makes you think it might be a combination of both.

Part of you wants to bang your fist against the wall, but you’re much too shy to risk any sort of confrontation. Instead, you simply lay there, fighting the need to slip your hand down your sleeping shorts.

You figure the sex will be over soon, but five minutes stretches into fifteen. The woman’s cries have stopped, but the low thumping of a bedframe against the wall has only gotten more intense. 

You’re no stranger to kinky shit- you’re an avid reader of smut afterall, and being a voracious reader, your mind comes up with reasons why the girl may have stopped begging. Had Wonwoo put something in her mouth to shut her up? Panties perhapse? Or had he flipped her into doggy position, pressing a hand to the back of her head to force her face against the pillows?

If Mingyu had been hot, his best friend must be sexy too- guys like that travel in packs, and Cheol hadn’t been bad on the eyes either. You imagine a faceless man, muscled and gorgeous, railing some girl not four feet away from you, with only a wall keeping you from seeing the perverse act. You feel dirty, like a voyeur, and you’re equal parts relieved and saddened when the noise finally stops. 

You sit in silence, listening to your own heavy breaths for a few minutes, wondering if the sounds will pick up again.

They don’t, and soon, you’re drifting off into a lusty sleep.

Three 

You’ve been awoken to the sounds of sex three times now. The idea of approaching the property manager to file a noise complaint has been on your mind, but you can’t find it within yourself to make waves.

Due to all of this, when you finally bump into Mingyu in the building’s shared laundry room, you see it as the perfect chance to quietly resolve the issue without causing trouble. 

He’s dressed in gym shorts and a black muscle shirt that shows off his expansive shoulders as he moves wet clothes into the dryer. Standing in the doorway of the laundry room, you’re once again struck by how beautiful your new neighbour is.

With a deep breath to find courage, you appraoch him, going for the washing machine next to his. “Hi,” you greet him.

“Oh, hey neighbour,” Mingyu grins, pausing what he’s doing to look you up and down.

You’re hyper aware of the sleeping shorts that hardly cover your legs, and the sweater you’d tossed on does little to hide the fact that you’re currently braless. Even so, if you don’t bring up the noises now, you’re not sure when you’ll get another chance.

“Hey, do you uh…” your words come out quiet, and you try to raise your voice a little, wanting to sound confident, “do you think you could ask your roommate and his girlfriend to keep it down?” 

“Huh?” Mingyu’s brows furrow in confusion.

“The person whose room is next to mine,” you try to explain. “They’ve been kind of loud with uh… a girl, recently.”

“Oh!” You can practically see the lighbulb go off in Mingyu’s eyes. “Sorry, you said girlfriend, and that part stumped me. The last time was about a week ago, yeah?”

“Something like that.”

“Don’t worry, I already talked to him a few days ago. Told him to get his fuck buddies to keep it down- they’re annoying, huh? I thought I was the only one losing sleep over it.”

“Definitely not the only one,” you let out a small laugh. “If I’m being honest, I was considering talking to the property manager about it, but I don’t like to cause issues, so I’m glad we’re on the same page about this.”

“We’re for sure on the same page,” Mingyu assures you. “Thanks for not talking to the manager about this- hey, listen, what if I give you my number, and if it happens again, you just have to text me and I’ll go bang on his door or something?”

“I’d appreciate that,” you grin, watching him pull out his phone so he can grab your digits. “Honestly, I work from home, and for the most part, you guys have been pretty great neighbours.”

“Ooh, one of those post covid remote jobs,” Mingyu nods in understanding. “I mean, I’m out during the days usually, I work at a tattoo shop across town, and Wonwoo sleeps most of the time so he can be awake for his evening bar job.”

“That actually kind of makes sense,” you admit. “I never see you guys around.” 

“Well…” Mingyu leans against the dryer, flashing you a boyish grin. “We could change that. You could come over sometime.”

Your heart leaps into your throat. From his body language, and the suggestion, you’re pretty sure this gorgeous man is flirting with you. “I, uh…” you swallow thickly, “maybe.” 

“Well, I have your number, and now…” Mingyu types something into his phone and a moment later yours dings, “you have mine. So if you want to take me up on that offer, just shoot me a text.” 

“Okay.” The words comes out kind of shaky, and you internally smack yourself for becoming so shy from this pretty man hitting on you.

With a wink, Mingyu leaves the laundry room, and your thoughts are scattered for the rest of the day.

Four 

It’s been too long since you’ve seen all your friends from highschool. Soonyoung, Seokmin and Seungkwan are three of the rowdiest guys you know. They love doing bar crawls with you whenever they’re all in town and can find the time. 

Seungkwan lives in another city these days, studying law at a prestigious university. Soonyoung travels the country with dance troup. And Seokmin spends hours every day at the theater practicing for new performances and productions.

They’ve taken you to a bar you’ve never been to, and you’re enjoying the booth style seating. Millennial and old classics are playing through the speakers, and every time a good song comes on, the three men start singing, whether it be Cher, or Britney, or even Kesha. 

You’re a few drinks deep, but they’re even deeper, and it’s gotten to the part of the evening where they want to hear everything about your love life. 

“Okay, book girlie,” Soonyoung slurs, throwing his arm around your shoulders, “spill the beans. Who you fucking?”

You laugh, pushing at his cheek to get his face away from yours. He wreaks of tequila and the Gucci cologne he practically drowns himself in every night before going out. It’s not the most pleasant combination.

“I’m single,” you insist.

“We all know you always have your eye on someone,” Seungkwan insists, leaning over the table to point his finger at you. “Tell us.”

“Okay, maybe there is someone I’m interested in,” you admit.

All three men let out delighted squeals and laughs. “We knew it!” Seokmin exclaims.

“The issue is, he’s my neighbour, and dating in your apartment building can get messy,” you explain. 

“We love messy,” Soonyoung insists. 

“You love messy,” you correct.

“So who’s this hot neighbour?” Seungkwan asks, wanting to dive into the gossip.

“His name is Mingyu.” You let out a sigh. “He’s tall, and handsome, and his arms-”

“Does he have a motorcycle?” Soonyoung interrupts you. “We know you love men with bikes.”

“I don’t think so,” you shake your head. “But it doesn’t matter. My motorcycle phase was last summer.”

“Baby,” Seungwan frowns dramatically, “Honey, sweetheart- You’re a booktok girl. We all know kinky little sluts like you need their bikertok boy to make their fantasies come true.”

You hate it when Seungkwan reads you to filth like this, and you hate it even more that he’s so right. You’ll always have a soft spot for men on motorcycles- or is it a wet spot?

“Anyways, Mingyu is cute, he gave me his number and invited me over-”

“Bitch, go fuck him!” Soonyoung bellows a little too loudly, and you immediately slap a hand over his mouth, looking around to see if anyone heard him.

That’s when your eyes land on a man behind the bar. His curly dark hair is cute, but when you study his regally handsome face, you realize you recougnize him.

“Fuck,” you whisper, immediately lifting your drink to hide behind it.

“What?” Seungkwan turns in his seat. “The bartender?”

“Babes, he’s been checking you out all night,” Soonyoung grins, cuddling closer to you.

It’s only Seokmin who studies you and asks, “Do you know him?”

“The bartender?” Seungkwan scoffs, as if it’s a stupid idea, although, when he turns to look at you again, his jaw drops. “Fuck, you do know him! Girl, spill!” 

“Do you guys remember that Harley dude from the summer? Jeon? The one I ghosted after he missed our first date then suggested a ride night with all his friends to make up for it?” you ask, lowering your voice and continuing to hide behind the glass in your hand.

“Shit, that’s the Harley dude?” Seokmin’s eyes widen in realization. 

“Fuck me, this is awkward,” you groan, taking a large sip from your drink. “Can we get out of here?”

“Babes, we just ordered another round,” Seungkwan points out, lifting his full Gin and Tonic to show you. 

“Don’t be like this,” Soonyoung pouts. “Harley man is a bartender, so what? He can’t ruin our night. Maybe he doesn’t even recougnize you!”

“If he’s been staring, I bet you he does,” Seungkwan points out, taking a swig of his drink.

“Thanks, Seungkwan,” you say sarcastically, “that really makes me feel so much better.”

Your friend only grins, raising his glass. 

You do your best to be calm, but you can’t control the racing of your heart. Your gaze keeps shifting to Jeon, and then, the night takes a turn for the worse: Mingyu walks in, followed closely by Cheol, and some other guy you haven’t met.

The group walks right up to the bartop, and you note the way Mingyu grins at Jeon, holding out a hand so the two can do a slight hug over the counter before the three men take their seats. 

“Shit,” you whisper, downing your drink. 

“What?” Soonyoung also whispers, following your gaze.

“That’s my neighbour,” you explain. “This is not good.”

“Looks like they know each other,” Seungkwan points out.

“Again,” you sigh, “not helping. Fuck me, I need to go to the bathroom.”

You stand abruptly from the table, darting off to the space at the back of the bar. In the ladies room, you splash your hands with cold water, trying to chase away the fire that licks across your skin. Your heart is still thundering in your chest, and deep breaths don’t do anything to help. 

You feel like you’re caged in- like there’s no way out of this bar without running into Jeon and Mingyu. 

You’re not sure how long you stay in the washroom, trying to relax- you give your friends time to finish their drinks, and you’re hoping that when you exit, you can simply escape with them, using the three men as a human shield.

When you exit the bathroom, however, you run directly into Mingyu, who’s just coming out of the men’s room.

“Sorry-” he apologizes, only to look you up and down. “No way! Neighbour? Damn, I didn’t expect to see you here!”

“Oh, hi,” you say awkwardly, forcing a smile.

“How’s your night going?” You usually like Mingyu’s happy energy, but right now, it feels nearly overwhelming.

“Good, you?”

“My night’s going great- hey, listen, I want you to meet someone!” Mingyu grabs your hand, and before you can stop him, your large neighbour is dragging you back out into the bar. 

As he tugs you closer and closer to Jeon, pieces begin to click in your head, and when you reach the bartop, you’re not even surprised when Mingyu says, “This is Wonwoo, my roommate!” He had mentioned Wonwoo worked at a bar, after all. 

“Hi,” you say awkwardly, forcing get another smile.

Jeon - or Wonwoo - looks you up and down. God, he’s even more handsome than his Tinder pictures had made him out to be. But fuck, you’ve heard him fucking other girls through your bedroom wall over three times- and you’d ghosted him-

“Hi,” Wonwoo echoes, his voice all deep and sexy in the loud noise of the bar.

You feel like the wind has been knocked out of you. 

“Wonwoo, this is our neighbour, you know, the one I mentioned.” There’s an insinuation in Mingyu’s tone, and the fact that he’d talked about you to Wonwoo has your stomach erupting into erratic butterflies that threaten to catch in your throat.

“Right.” Wonwoo’s tone is so unimpressed, and you’d bet your life the man is holding a grudge over the whole ghosting thing.

“Wait, Y/N, you should join us for a drink!” Mingyu suggests.

“Actually, I’m here with friends, I should really get back to them,” you say awkwardly, tugging your hand away from Mingyu’s grip. “Thanks for the offer though.”

“Right, yeah, okay.” God, Mingyu looks like a kicked puppy, but then he flashes you a smile and your heart melts. “Listen, text me, just to let me know when you get home safe.”

“You got it,” you agree quickly, giving him a tight lipped grin before you nearly stumble over yourself to get back to your table. “Guys, we have to leave, now.” 

“What happened?” Seokmin asks, clearly concerned while Seungkwan sighs and pulls out a wad of cash.

“They do know each other,” Soonyoung blurts out.

“Turns out Harley Jeon isn’t just Harley Jeon, he’s also Wonwoo, Mingyu’s roommate,” you quickly explain, grabbing your jacket to wrap around your body.

Soonyoung’s eyes light up in realization. “And they were roommates,” he whispers.

“And I ghosted one of them!” you whisper yell back. “The same one who I’ve heard fucking multiple girls through my wall over three times!”

Seungkwan lets out a chuckle. “Girl. You’re fucked.” 

Five 

Jeonghan lets out a deep sigh. “You know, when Seokmin texted me to come check on you for some Grade-A Tea, I never expected any of this.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes. “I know I’m in deep shit.”

“Nah, you’re good,” your cousin assures you, standing and stretching. “You’ll figure it out.”

“I wish I had the confidence in myself that you have in me,” you breathe, also rising to your feet. Jeonghan’s been over for a while now, and after giving him all the gossip, you feel like you could use some time to yourself. 

“You’ll get there,” your cousin assures you, heading toward your front door so he can slip into his shoes. “Keep me updated.”

“I will. Thanks for coming to see me.”

“Of course,” Jeonghan opens your front door, stepping into the hallway before pulling you into a hug. “If I didn’t have a board meeting tomorrow, you know I’d stay longer.”

“I know. But I’m good,” you assure him. “I think I’ll sleep early tonight. This week has been a lot.”

“Sounds like it,” he nods, releasing you in favor of heading over to the elevator. Before he can press the button, however, the elevator dings, the doors opening. Wonwoo steps out. He stops infront of Jeonghan, giving him a once over before his eyes shift to you, still standing by the doorway to your unit.

Then, to your annoyance, Wonwoo grins, shaking his head and brushing past your cousin.

Jeonghan gets into the elevator, the doors closing, and as Wonwoo walks past you, you can’t help but make waves. “What?”

“I never said anything.” Wonwoo stops in front of you, hands nonchalantly tucked in the leather pockets of his jacket.

“You gave me a look,” you insist. 

He shrugs. “It’s just gonna break Gyu’s heart to know you already have a man in your life, that’s all.”

You roll your eyes. “That was my cousin.”

“Sure it was.”

“It was!” You can’t help the way your voice is raising.

“And the guys at the bar?”

“Friends!” 

“Right.” 

He turns to leave, and you swallow thickly, mind reeling for a comeback.

“I just don’t see how you can be making assumptions about me,” you state.

Wonwoo stops, gaze finding you again. “What do you mean?”

“Just that.. I mean… I’ve heard you fucking girls, mister Jeon, if that’s even your real name!” 

He actually grins at your words, eye brows raising in surprise. “Girl, actually, singular. It was one girl. A recent hookup. She’s not into gags like the others, they’re generally pretty quiet for you, aren’t they?” 

You’re so shocked by what he’s just said that you physically take a step back, jaw dropping.

“Oh, and by the way,” Wonwoo heads to his door, reaching into his jacket for his keys. “Mister Jeon is what people call my father, I’m sure you know that I prefer to be called Daddy.” 

He unlocks his apartment, flashing you a wink before he heads inside. You stand in your doorway for a solid ten seconds, processing his words before you go back to your room to scream into a pillow.

Six

After the events of the week, and work on top of that, a nap the moment you're done sending the last emails of the day is exactly what you need.

Birds are singing outside, your window ajar. The warming air carries the scent of blossoming buds, and you relax against your pillow, enjoying the feeling of your duvet against your skin.

You’re just drifting off when a loud engine jolts you back into consciousness. You flop onto your back, staring at the ceiling. 

You’ve been a motorcycle fan for long enough to know the sound of one when you hear it, and as the revving continues, you’d bet your right hand that some jackass is doing burnouts in the alley outside.

It’s probably some enthusiastic douchebag who has finally brought their motorcycle out of the garage after a long winter-

Actually, wait. You know an asshole with a motorcycle. An asshole with a Harley to be exact. 

Fucking Jeon Wonwoo. 

God, you hate that man.

Grabbing your pillow, you burry your head under it, wishing for the sounds to stop. 

Surprisingly, soon enough, you hear the motorcycle take off, with two more engines revving up to follow. 

Your apartment complex used to be so nice and peaceful.

It used to be.

Seven

After your nap had been interrupted, you’d trudged around for a while. It’s the evening now, and you have no energy to cook, so you’ve ordered takeout. When you head down to the lobby to  grab your food, you bump into Mingyu.

“Look at us, always running into each other,” he grins, watching you step by him to bend down and pick up your takeout.

“Seems like a common theme,” you agree, letting out a sigh.

“You good, neighbour? You look tired.”

“You want the truth?” you ask, straightening to look at him.

“Always.” He holds the door open for you to come back into the apartment complex. 

As you head to the elevator, you choose your words carefully, after all, you’re pretty sure Wonwoo was culprit behind the motorcycle incident two hours ago. “I just… I was trying to have a nap after work, been tired lately, and some guy was revving his motorcycle outside my window. He woke me up and I was too irritated to go back to sleep.”

As you enter the elevator, you notice Mingyu’s skin turning pink, and his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. “Actually… uh… I, uh…” He rubs the back of his neck. “I have a Harley, but uh, I got a new sportsbike, and that was me doing burnouts to test it out a little.”

Your heart lurches into your throat, your jaw dropping. When it comes to your neighbours in 317, you always find yourself conflicted. You’re annoyed at him, but at the same time, the fact that he also has a motorcycle makes this ten out of ten man even ten times hotter-

“Oh,” you look down at your takeout. 

“I’m really sorry,” he apologizes quickly. “It won’t happen again- you won’t tell our building manager it was me right? Like, we’re good?”

“Yeah, we’re good,” you let out a breath. “I mean, technically quiet hours don’t start till ten pm, and this was like, five, so I guess it’s my own fault for trying to nap so early.”

“Not your fault,” he assures you. “You definitely look like you need some rest- if it helps, I promise no burnouts near the apartment.” Mingyu even crosses his heart, and your body relaxes, shoulders slumping as you crack a smile.

“Okay, that would be nice.”

The elevator dings as it reaches your floor, and the two of you exit together, closing the short distance to your door. 

“Your takeout smells good,” Mingyu notes. “Maybe you could put yourself in a food coma and pass out for a bit, I promise there will be no noise issues tonight.”

“That sounds nice, actually,” you admit.

“Also uh… you know, you still haven’t taken me up on that offer about coming over sometime.”

When you look over at Mingyu, you find him leaning against the hallway wall, staring down at you with soft puppy dog eyes.

“Yeah, I’ve been busy-” you search for an excuse. “Also, I mean, I don’t know if Wonwoo would be good with me coming over.”

“Why wouldn’t he be?” Mingyu shrugs, which is when you realize that Wonwoo must not have told Mingyu anything about your failed dates or the ghosting. 

“He just didn’t seem to like me very much when you introduced us,” you blurt out, grasping for straws.

“He always has a resting bitch face, don’t take it personally,” Mingyu assures you. “Seriously, come over sometime, we don’t bite.”

Mingyu might not, but you get the sneaking suspicion that Wonwoo does.

Eight

The reverse harem adult romance your reading had drawn you in when you’d first opened it, but as time goes by, your mind keeps wandering when you reach the sex scenes. 

Threesomes have you imagining Wonwoo and Mingyu, and try as you might, you can’t shake the image from your head.

It doesn’t help that they fit the character personalities, one puppylike lover, and one more stoic and dominant. You can’t help but wonder what the two would be like in bed, and with a groan of frustration, you slot your bookmark between the pages and set the novel down on the bed next to you.

As you sit there, deep in thought, you think about what Mingyu had said about owning a Harley. 

That’s when you realize, last summer, when Wonwoo had suggested a Harley ride night as a date- if you had gone with him, would you have met Mingyu?

You decide that Mingyu definitely would have been there.

It’s interesting how the domino effect works- or maybe this is invisible string theory; the idea that, you can pass someone, or have missed chances, but one way or another, that person will always end up in your life.

What would have happened if you’d met Mingyu that way? 

What would have happened if you’d met Wonwoo that way? 

At the moment, there’s no question as to which of the two neighbours you prefer. Mingyu is happy and welcoming, he always has a smile, and you could see yourself having a great relationship with him- if things were to take a turn that way.

But on the flip side, Wonwoo is more similar to the type you’ve dated in the past.

If one neighbour is a Doberman, then the other is a Golden Retriever. They’re like night and day, and yet, you’re drawn to both, as if some gravitational or celestial power is pulling you to them… it also helps that they both have motorcycles. 

How had it been so easy to ghost Wonwoo in the past, only to find yourself at a crossroads with his roommate seven months later?

Nine

You’re outside your apartment waiting for an Uber when two familiar men on motorcycles pull up in front of you. 

Wonwoo’s on his Harley. It’s all black, and although you’re not very well verses with motorcycle types, you’re pretty sure it’s a Fat Boy or a Street Bob- but as you stare at the wheels, you begin to lean toward Street Bob. 

Mingyu, in contrast, is on a red Kawasaki Ninja, which is evident by the name on the side. He lifts up his visor when he comes to a stop two feet away. “Hey, neighbour,” he greets you. “Waiting for someone?”

“An Uber is picking me up.”

“An Uber?” Mingyu looks around. “Where are you headed?”

“A family thing. We’re going to be drinking so I figured I shouldn’t drive,” you explain.

“Good idea,” he nods, then, without skipping a beat, he asks, “Wanna ride?”

You gaze shifts from Mingyu to Wonwoo, and you can practically see the Harley rider roll his eyes. With an aggressive rev of his engine, Wonwoo bolts off, leaving you and Mingyu in his dust.

“Uh, don’t you two have plans?” you ask.

“We did, but we were just going for a ride. I can take you where you need to be and meet him later,” Mingyu shrugs. “Seriously, don’t mind him.”

You’ve been on a motorcycle once before, and you know enough to understand that the short romper and light spring jacket you’re wearing is not enough to protect you on the back of a bike. And that’s the least of your worries. “I don’t have a helmet-”

Mingyu begins to undo his, and you watch in shock as he pulls it off, shaking out his hair and offering you the red head gear. “Take mine.”

“Isn’t it illegal to ride without one?”

“We’ll be fast- but not dangerous, I’ll be good, I promise. Where are we going?”

With a deep breath, you pull up your Aunt’s house on your phone’s map app, showing it to Mingyu. 

“I can get you there in ten minutes, easy,” he says. 

“This is not a good idea,” you warn, although you accept the helmet. 

“Cancel your Uber,” Mingyu urges softly. “Let me do this for you.”

With one last sigh, you cancel your ride, then, you allow Mingyu to help you onto the back of his bike. 

“Have you ever been on one of these before?” he asks.

“Once,” you admit, adjusting the helmet on your head before you tentatively wrap your arms around Mingyu’s large body. 

“Just hold on tight.”

“Take care of me,” you retort.

Mingyu grins. “Always.”

A moment later, he’s revving his engine, and the two of you take off on his bike, your clothes whipping around and contorting flat to the curves of your form.

You hold Mingyu tighter, and he takes one hand off his handlebars to rest it over yours for a second, giving you a reassuring squeeze.

When he pulls onto the main road, Mingyu is true to his word about not being dangerous. He doesn’t lane split or push the bike too hard. When you come up to traffic, he waits patiently, resting his elbow on your knee as if this is something the two of you have done together a hundred times before.

You become so lost in how attracted you are to Mingyu- how you have to hug him tight when he accelerates, that the trip is over before you know it. He pulls up to your aunts house, turning to offer you a hand so you can get off the Ninja. 

Your legs feel wobbly as you step on solid ground, and Mingyu helps you with the chin clasp of the helmet, removing it easily. 

“Thanks for being my backpack,” he smiles.

“Thanks for giving me a ride,” you grin back.

“If you want, you can text me when you’re done, and I’ll get you home safe. I’ll even bring a spare helmet this time, and maybe a proper riding jacket for you.”

“That would be really nice actually.”

“You got it, angel,” Mingyu flashes you a wink before he pulls the helmet onto his head. You move to the sidewalk, standing there to watch him as he gives you one last nod and takes off, the engine loud enough to be heard even as he makes it two blocks away in record time.

A low whistle startles you, and you turn to see Jeonghan standing in the driveway. “Damn, that dude was hot.”

“That’s my neighbour,” you sigh.

“Which one?”

“The good one!”

“You should take him up on that offer of hanging out,” Jeonghan suggests.

“And you should keep your nose out of my love life.”

Your cousin simply laughs. “Never going to happen.”

Ten

The jacket Mingyu brings for you when he picks you up from your family gathering is long enough to be a dress. You struggle with the thick material as you try to get on his bike, and you can see Mingyu grinning from the opening in his full face helmet.

“That’s it,” he encourages you, allowing you to settle behind him.

You pat his thigh when you’re good to go, and the two of you slot down your visors before he takes off.

It’s the late evening now, and being on his bike feels different in the dark. The city lights whip past you, and the lanes are pretty empty for Mingyu to go faster. Now that you’re both in full protective gear, there’s not as much of a need to be safe, although, as you hold tightly to your neighbour, you realize this might be as safe as you’ve ever felt.

You trust Mingyu, in a way that you can’t quite explain. 

As it was before, it’s easy to get lost in the act of being on Mingyu’s motorcycle, and before you know it, he’s pulling into your apartment complex’s underground garage. 

You hate that the ride has ended so quickly, and you hate it even more that you have to let go of Mingyu’s large, warm body. You stand next to the motorcycle while he gets off of it, and you wait patiently for him to take off his helmet before he helps you with your own.

“Do you have plans for the rest of the night?” Mingyu asks while the two of you walk toward the elevator.

“Not really,” you admit. In fact, you’re feeling a little tired. You hadn’t drank as much at the family dinner as you thought you would, and sleep sounds pretty good right about now.

“Do you wanna come see my place?”

“I really shouldn’t-”

“If you’re worried about Wonwoo, he went to work before I came to pick you up,”  Mingyu tells you. “Come on, just one drink or something. Don’t you wanna compare your one bedroom to my two bedroom?”

You are curious to see what sort of decorations these two men have- they’re mid to late twenties at best, and you love to laugh. 

“Fine, one drink,” you let out a breath as you enter the elevator, turning to look up at Mingyu. “Why do you care so much if I come over? Like, honestly?”

Mingyu meets your gaze, fiddling with the helmet in his hand. “I guess maybe… because I like you.” He shrugs. “You’re a good neighbour, and an even better backpack. You look cute in my jacket- why wouldn’t I want to get to know you better?”

“That’s a good answer,” you admit with a laugh.

“I’m glad you liked it,” he grins. 

When the two of you exit the elevator, you follow Mingyu past your apartment to his own door. You watch the way he pulls out his keys, fumbling a little to get into his place. He lets you enter first, and you step into the foreign home with a curious gaze.

You slip out of your shoes, undoing his jacket around your shoulders as you wander further into the apartment. The two men are cleaner than you would have expected. The furniture is minimalist, and mostly cream coloured- which isn’t a shade you would have thought would match the motorcycle riding, black wearing men. You wonder how the couch in the den is so well kept- there’s not a hint of stains on the nicely textured cover, no beer or food-

There’s no dirty dishes in the sink, no miscellaneous bowl of car keys and other shit that guys always tend to carry in their pockets.

In fact, this place almost looks like a ‘girl sanctuary,’ the type of pintrest board apartment inspo you’d find online. 

“What do you think?” Mingyu asks, coming up behind you and helping you take off his jacket.

“It’s really nice,” you say honestly. “Not what I expected.”

“I’m a bit of a neat freak,” he admits with a chuckle.

So he’s big, muscled, kind, rides a motorcycle, and he knows how to do housewife cleaning duties? How did you ever manage to score a jackpot like him for a neighbour? 

“Anyways, take a seat on the couch, I’ll grab some beer. You drink beer, right?”

“Sure.” You move to settle into the sofa, and Mingyu brings over two cans of lager from the fridge, cracking one open before he hands it to you. 

“Cheers,” he grins, gently clinking his can against your own. 

You take a sip, focusing on the way Mingyu sits on the other end of the couch, angling his body toward you. “So… you mentioned you work at a tattoo parlour? How did you get into that?”

“I’ve always been into art,” he explains. “My buddy Cheol was more into tattoos with me, opened up his own shop and encouraged me to apprentice with him after I graduated from uni with my arts degree. I wish there was more to it, but I really just got kind of lucky.”

The list of his good qualities just keeps getting better and better- a university educated man? Yes please.

“I guess, maybe what I’m wondering is why you don’t have any tattoos yourself?” you ask, looking at the beautiful unblemished skin shown off by his muscle shirt.

Mingyu laughs, also gazing down at his arms. “Would you judge me if I told you I’m scared of needles.”

“That’s cute,” you grin, sipping your beer. 

“You’re cute,” he retorts, mirroring your motion and trying to hide his smile behind the can in his hand. “Anyways, you said you’d been on a motorcycle before?”

“Yeah, just once.”

“Tell me about it?”

“There’s nothing much to say,” you admit. “Went on a date with a guy, he mentioned he had a sports bike, offered to take me for a ride, so I said yes.”

“So…” Mingyu taps his fingers along his beer can, “you like guys with bikes?”

You let out a laugh. “Maybe.” 

“I’m feeling better and better about my odds,” Mingyu smiles. 

“Your odds are very good,” you tell him. Now it’s your turn to drink in an effort to hide the massive grin on your face.

“Yeah? I was a little worried, I mean, I gave you my number and you didn’t text- took a little bit of convincing to get you on my bike, to get you into the apartment- I hope I didn’t overstep anything there.”

“No, you’re fine,” you assure him. “I can just… be a bit shy sometimes.”

“It’s cute though.”

Your skin heats at the compliment, heart thundering in your rib cage. “What about you? I’m into bikes, are you into cute girls?”

“A hundred percent,” he nods. “They’re my favourite kind.”

“Do you have any experience dating neighbours?”

“No, but I’d like that to change.”

“Do you think being neighbours could complicate things?” you enquire.

“I mean… if I didn’t see you as girlfriend material, then yeah, I’d never turn a neighbour into a hookup, but then again, I’m not huge into hookups to begin with,” Mingyu explains.

“You know… I’m trying to find even one red flag about you, and I’m seriously coming up empty.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

You smile, looking down at your nearly finished beer. “I guess not.”

“How about you? Any red flags?” he asks. 

Aside from the downright pornographic books you read on the daily? “Probably not.”

“Probably not, huh?” Mingyu chuckles. “Maybe I should be the one keeping a look out for red, but then again, with rose tinted glasses, red wouldn’t stand out that much to me anyways.” 

You’d not expected your night to turn out like this. You’d figured it would be a nice family dinner, some drinking, then an Uber home and sleep. Instead, you’ve been on Mingyu’s bike twice, worn his jacket, his helmet- and now you’re here in his house, with your hot neighbour flirting with you in the most wholesome way-

In your tired state, you’re feeling a little overwhelmed. Your shyness is taking over- the fear of the unknown, of making a misstep, clouding your enjoyment of the peaceful space Mingyu has created in his apartment.

“Listen, don’t take this the wrong way,” you sigh, finishing your beer, “But I’m really tired-”

“Yeah, no worries, I said just one beer and it looks like you’re done,” Mingyu is quick to down the rest of his, reaching out to take your can so he can move to the kitchen. He places the empties under his sink, and you follow, keeping your distance.

“Thank you for this though. I know we didn’t talk for that long, but I feel like I know you better,” you admit. 

“I’ve still got a lot of questions for you,” he grins. “But I’ll save those for another time. I’m not about to get in the way of a girl and her beauty sleep.”

“I appreciate that.” The two of you head to his door, and you slip your shoes on.

“Can I give you a goodbye hug or something?” Mingyu suggests. “It would feel weird letting you leave without one.”

You nod, allowing Mingyu to pull you close to his chest. He’s so tall, your cheek pressed tight to his well defined pecs- and fuck, he smells good. This isn’t the overpowering Gucci type cologne that Soonyoung wears, it’s a more muted, spicy yet clean scent. It’s the type of scent that encourages you to take a deep breath, your body relaxing as your neighbour hugs you.

“Thanks for coming over,” Mingyu whispers.

When you go to pull away, you find yourself tilting your head to look up at him. Your eyes meet, and it feels as if you’re hanging in a moment frozen in time. Your breath catches when his gaze dips down to your mouth, and you know what’s coming next.

His hand cups your cheek, stroking your skin, and he gives you ample opportunity to pull away, but you don’t. You simply stare into his beautiful chocolate brown eyes, waiting for him to make the move that you know is going to capture your heart completely.

When his lips finally touch yours, that sense of relief washes over you again. You shift in his embrace, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck to pull him closer. Mingyu lets out a soft sigh of contentment, parting his mouth ever so slightly so he can lick at your lower lip.

You mirror the motion, your tongues gently clashing. 

You’ve met some guys who try to force their way into your mouth, who try to dominate you- but Mingyu isn’t like that. He’s soft and fluid, reacting to your movements moreso than anything else. His hands slip down to your hips, holding you close while you kiss each other.

No first kiss has ever felt this natural, and like with riding the bike, it becomes so easy to get lost in your neighbour.

When you finally break away, you’re both breathing heavily. You can taste the beer on your lips, and it makes you release a small laugh, giddy joy surging through your entire body.

“That was…” Mingyu swallows thickly, “wow.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Wow.” 

Eleven

It’s been two weeks since you started getting to know Mingyu better. You’ve gone on motorcycle dates, stopped at food trucks while enjoying the sunshine of spring, and when Wonwoo’s not around, Mingyu has invited you over for movie nights.

While there’s been lots of kissing, and a growing desire for more, the two of you haven’t gone much farther than second base. You kind of like taking things slow with Mingyu, he’s very good at not applying any pressure, and you adore that about him.

You’re hanging out in your apartment when Mingyu calls you, asking if you have any garlic he can borrow for his meal plan. Part of you thinks it’s a little late for dinner, but you agree anyways. 

Sometimes you think he comes up with this sort of thing just to see you, stealing kisses at your door- but this time, when he comes over to grab ingredients, he doesn’t simply wait in the hallway.

“Can I come in?” he asks, peering at your apartment beyond.

“Come in?” you repeat.

“Yeah, I mean, you’ve seen my place, and I haven’t really gotten to see yours yet.” He sounds nonchalant, but you can tell that your personal space - the way you conduct yourself in your own home - is something that makes him curious.

“Okay.” You step away from the door. “Come on in.”

Mingyu bends down to kiss you as he steps over the threshold, and you grin against his lips, enjoying the way his hands softly grab your waist. 

“I’m guessing you didn’t really need garlic, did you?” you tease.

“Nope, I ate dinner after work.” Mingyu takes his shoes off while you close the door behind him, and he looks around your apartment. “It’s nice in here.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to give me a tour?” he asks.

You let out a giggle. “Okay.” 

You’ve never given a formal tour of your apartment before, but you do your best, showing him through the kitchen and the small living room area. You’ve got certain knick knacks that are special to you, and you explain them to Mingyu while he listens with a smile.

Finally, you make it to your bedroom. Before you can even open your mouth to say anything, Mingyu’s arms are wrapping around you, his chest pressed to your back, lips on your throat.

He already knows your sweet spots, and you let out a soft sigh, tilting your head to make things easier for him.

“Gyu…”

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispers in your ear, nibbling gently on the lobe.

“No.”

You hadn’t expected this tonight, but you’re at a point now where you don’t want to wait. Mingyu isn’t the type to use you and leave you. He’s made his intentions clear, and the sexual chemistry between the two of you is undeniable. 

You find yourself turning in Mingyu’s embrace, cupping his cheek so you can draw his lips to yours. He lets out an immediate groan of satisfaction, and it goes straight to your core, which flutters with delight. You kiss him deeply, pouring all your wants and desires into the meeting of your mouths.

Then your hands find the bottom of his shirt, and before you know it, you’re stripping the fabric from Mingyu’s body and tracing your hands over the muscles you love so much.

His body jolts when you tease your nails across his lower abdomen, and it prompts Mingyu to reach down, cupping your ass and easily lifting you up. Your legs wrap around his hips, tongues clashing in a lusty battle as he carries you to your bed.

Your hands trace along his strong shoulders as he lays you onto the mattress, looking down at you with blown pupils. He’s breathing heavily already, and you can see the bulge of his cock through his jeans. 

You’ve grinded against him before, sitting on his lap on his couch while he rubs your tits through your comfortable evening sweaters, so you know how big Mingyu is, but knowing he’s about to be inside of you makes your heart race in an entirely different way.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” Mingyu asks again, straightening to look down at you.

“Uh huh,” you sit up, meeting his gaze. Then you reach out, undoing his buckle while keeping steady eye contact. 

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans, chest heaving with each breath. “You don’t have to-”

“Don’t have to what?” you tease, moving onto the zipper, which you tug down roughly.

“Don’t have to-” he swallows thickly. “I want to make you feel good.” 

“What if you do that after?” you suggest. “I want to make you feel good first.” 

“Fuck, Angel, okay.” 

“Yeah?” You raise a brow at him, hooking your fingers in his jeans and briefs.

“Yeah,” he nods quickly. “Do whatever you want- whatever you want.”

You tug his pants down, allowing them to bag at his knees. You’re already much too focused on the cock in front of you to care about getting him fully undressed.

Your eyes take in Mingyu’s rock hard length. You’re not great with measurements, but you swear he must be seven or eight inches. He’s got a pretty mushroom tip, all flushed and pink. There’s a prominent vein running along the underside of him, and it makes your mouth water.

You haven’t sucked cock in a while, but you’d read a very good erotica about it last night, and you know exactly what to do. 

Grabbing the base of him, you angle Mingyu’s cock slightly upward, running your tongue along the vein.

“Shit,” Mingyu groans, hands flying to your head. He doesn’t apply any pressure, simply strokes you as you take the tip past your lips, suckling on it and twirling your tongue. “You’re- fuck, you’re good at this.”

You let out a happy hum, and the vibration makes him twitch, pushing him further into your mouth. 

Your eyes are closed now, and you allow yourself to enjoy the act of pleasuring Mingyu. After being so patient with you over the past few weeks, he deserves it. The sounds he’s letting out are more than enough encouragement for you, and soon, your drool begins to drip down to your fingers, making it easier for you to pump his neglected shaft.

There’s no way in Hell you’ll ever be able to fit all of him in your mouth, but unless he’s used to dating women schooled in oral aerobics or some shit, you doubt any of his past lovers have ever achieved that feat either.

Instead, you focus most of your attention on the tip, knowing that the head of his cock is where he’s got a lot of his nerve endings. 

Your tongue dips along his slit, tasting the salty precum. Mingyu moans loudly above you, fingers threading through your hair.

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna cum too fast,” he warns you.

Part of you wants him to cum, so you go even harder- only for Mingyu to gently pull you off of him.

You blink up at the gorgeous man, pleased to find that he’s flushed. His chest, shoulders, neck and cheeks are all a pretty pink colour, and he’s panting heavily. “Seriously, Angel, I don’t want to cum yet.”

“What if I want you to cum?”

“I’m not making you swallow the first time we sleep together,” Mingyu states, and you can tell that it’s a hard boundary. “And I’m not cumming on you either- I think…” he licks his lips, “I think it’s my turn to make you feel good now.” 

“Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

Then Mingyu leans down over you, grabbing your shirt and tugging it off. Your pants are discarded next, left on the floor next to his own while he adjusts you on your bed.

He’s left your bra and panties on, and when his lips find yours again, you kind of appreciate that he’s intent on more foreplay.

Your core is aching through the cotton fabric, and your nipples are pressing up toward the cups still confining them. It’s driving you crazy as he kisses you deeply, but then one of his hands reaches up to massage you through your bra, and you let out a sinful whine.

“Take it off,” you whimper, “please.”

Mingyu’s mouth moves from your lips to your throat, and he reaches under you, undoing the clasp. He gently pulls the bra from your form, and his kisses finally make it to your breasts. 

His soft hair is teasing your skin with each kiss, but when his lips wrap around your sensitive nipple, you can’t even find it within yourself to care about the slight ticklish sensation. Mingyu’s got your full attention now, his teeth gently dragging across the hardened bud, making you cry out even louder.

You grab at his broad shoulders, holding onto him for dear life, wriggling under his large form. 

His cock is pressing between your legs, rubbing against your pussy through the thin fabric of your panties.

“Fuck, Gyu-” you whimper. “I want you so bad.”

He groans in response, moving to your other breast to pay it as much attention as he had the first. Your neighbour takes his time, and you enjoy every second of it, although you’re absolutely desperate for more.

You want him to take the lead, as you lean more toward a submissive temperament in bed, despite the ballsy way you’d approach sucking his cock for the first time.

You wonder if he’s aching the way you are- if he’s throbbing with need for you the way your pussy is already trying to clench around nothing, anticipating the cock that’s going to split you open in a way that no man ever has before. 

Unable to help yourself anymore, you reach down between your bodies, grabbing his length and pumping him gently. Mingyu groans against your breasts, giving you one last lick before he brings his mouth up to your own again.

“Angel, fuck-” he practically whimpers, thrusting toward your hand. “You’re not ready yet.”

“I’m ready,” you try to assure him.

“Trust me,” Mingyu’s hand slips into your panties, two fingers teasing your core, “As wet as you are, you’re not ready for me.”

“Gyu-” You want to argue, but when he pushes two digits into your core, you realize he’s right. Because even with two fingers, you feel like he’s stretching your tight walls. 

You’re so wet that it makes it easy for Mingyu to begin finger fucking you, his mouth finding your throat so he can kiss your sweet spot desperately while you continue to stroke his cock. 

“Wanna make you cum once,” he groans, “before- fuck, before I take you.”

Your core throbs at his words, and it’s clear from the smile you feel against your skin that Mingyu can feel the way your body is reacting to him.

“Do you like when I talk dirty to you, Angel?” he asks.

“Yeah.” You nod, applying more pressure as you stroke him off.

“You’re already taking my fingers so well, who got you this wet?”

“You did, Gyu,” you whimper.

“Can you cum with just fingers? Or should I rub your sensitive little clit too?”

“My clit-”

His palm immediately finds the bud of nerves, and you let out a strangled gasp, your eyes rolling into the back of your head. “Fuck-” Your hand stops on his cock in favour of grabbing both of his shoulders.

“Like this?” he asks, applying a little more pressure that has you wiggling beneath him. 

“Yeah, just like that,” you groan, threading your fingers through his hair, guiding him to continue kissing your throat while he finger fucks you open.

“Have you wanted this as much as I have?”

“Even more,” you confess.

“Not possible,” he retorts, but by the squelching of your pussy, you’re pretty sure you have him beat. You don’t have the energy or the mental focus to fight him on this, so you simply give in to the pleasure he’s providing you. “So good for me.”

“Gyu-” you whimper, legs shaking as your orgasm builds much too fast in the pit of your stomach.

“Always so good for me,” he continues. “The best backpack. The best neighbour. The best girl-”

You cry out as your orgasm slams into you with no warning. Something about this brand of praise has made you feral, and your core throbs around Mingyu’s fingers as he works you through your high.

“Just like that,” he coos. “So good for me.”

You draw his lips to yours, kissing him breathlessly. He kisses you back, tongue invading your mouth and gently stroking your own.

You’re practically shaking by the time your orgasm is over, and Mingyu pulls his hand out of your panties. “I’m gonna take these off now,” he tells you, pressing a kiss to your nose. “And grab a condom.”

“Actually…” You bite at your lip, meeting his gaze. “I’m on birth control.”

He pauses for a moment, and you can see the wheels practically turning in his head. “And… I mean, I know I’m clean-”

“I’m clean too,” you assure him. ‘It’s uh… it’s been a while for me, since I… well, you know.”

You can feel your skin heating at the admission of your near celibacy over the past few months. While you’ve imagined fucking all sorts of heros and villains in your books, the only thing that’s been inside you recently has been your six inch glittery pink dildo.

“And you uh… you want me to cum inside?” Mingyu clarifies.

“Please?”

Mingyu lets out a shaky breath, then he nods. “Okay, yeah, I can do that.”

He tugs your panties down your legs, and before you know it, the two of you are completely naked. Mingyu returns between your thighs, his arm muscles bulging as he holds himself over you, one hand grabbing the base of his cock so he can tease himself through your pussy lips.

“Can I convince you to let me eat you out first?”

“I need you,” you tell him, on the verge of crying if you don’t get your way.

“Another time, then.”

“Another time,” you agree with a laugh.

The tip of his cock teases by your clit and it makes your entire body jolt at the sensitivity.

“If it’s uh… if it’s too much,” Mingyu licks his lips, tearing his gaze from your core so he can look you in the eyes, “if it’s too much just let me know and I’ll stop.”

“Gyu, please, I’ll be okay-” you try to assure him, although, you’re not sure if you’re even certain with yourself on this one. There’s a possibility you might not even be able to walk tomorrow, but that’s a risk you’re more than willing to take.

He brings the tip of his cock down to your wet hole, gently pushing into you. The head alone is enough to have you moaning, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and throwing your head back against the pillows.

“Fuck-”

“Yeah,” his breath is hot against your chest, “I know, I’m sorry.”

It’s so endearing that the man is sorry his cock is so big.

“Don’t be sorry,” you let out a laugh, “I’ll just have to get used to you.”

“I like the sound of that,” Mingyu admits, pushing another inch past your wet walls. “Fuck, you have no idea how good you feel.”

“Just wait till you’re fully inside of me,” you whisper, closing your eyes and doing your best to relax your body so you can take him.

Mingyu lets out a groan, hips gently thrusting so he can coat his cock in your wet juices. Each movement has him burying deeper and deeper, earning sounds of pleasure from your lips. 

Your nails claw at his shoulders, but it’s clear that Mingyu is too focused on your pussy to even care or notice. 

“Almost there,” he tells you, capturing his bottom lip between his teeth.

Nothing in the world has ever felt like Mingyu, and as his hips finally come flush to your own and he lets out a sigh of relief, you know that there’s no coming back from this. 

You both groan “Fuck” in unison, crashing your lips together a moment later as he begins to move. He starts off slow and gentle, his cock hitting spots so deep that you swear he’s rearranging your guts

You’ve spent years reading erotica, imagining what great sex would really look like, and now, you’re finally experiencing it for yourself.

You’ve never gone completely mind numb for someone before, but with Mingyu, you’re reduced to feral instinct. Sounds like the ones leaving your lips right now are not sounds that have ever come out of you before, and you swear you’ve never been this wet in your life.

Each thrust has Mingyu’s tip rubbing against a place that has you seeing stars, and as he picks up his pace, it’s the most you can do to keep kissing him even while wanting to scream with pleasure.

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and when Mingyu releases a grunt, bringing his mouth to your throat so he can gently bite at your skin, you realize he kind of likes the pain.

The thought has your pussy tingling with even more delight, and Mingyu groans loudly.

“So good,” he moans. “So fucking good.”

“Don’t stop, please, fuck- no one has ever fucked me like this before-”

From the way Mingyu fucks you even harder, it’s clear he also has a praise kink. It’s funny how often praise and pain go hand in hand in pleasure.

You’re thankful for all the books you’ve read about this sort of thing, because they allow you to read Mingyu in a way that you’ve never imagined being able to read someone. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and you adore it.

Mingyu lifts his thigh, angling himself better on the bed so each thrust can go as deep as possible. Your headboard is hitting the wall now, and part of you almost wishes Wonwoo was home so you could annoy him with the sound as much as he’s annoyed you with it.

But at the same time, you’re glad Wonwoo is probably at work. As interesting as being a vouyer is when you’re the one listening in, due to your interesting past with your Harley loving neighbour, you’re not sure how you’d feel about him being privy to this intimate moment you’re sharing with Mingyu.

It’s clear Mingyu is completely present with you. From the sounds escaping him, you know that he’s not thinking about anyone else listening in. His ability to be completely enraptured by you makes it easier for you to get lost in him again, and when you draw his lips to yours, your mind goes pleasantly blank once more.

You’re not sure how long he fucks you like this, but soon, his hand finds your clit again, and you realize he wants you to cum with him.

“Can you give me one more?” he asks, looking down at you with those eyes you’ve come to adore.

“Yeah,” you nod, already feeling the tightening of your abdominal muscles. You’re still sensitive from your first orgasm, and it’s way too easy for him to get you there again, especially with the way his cock drags against your inner walls and sets your entire body on fire.

“Fuck, you’re getting so tight, Angel, holy shit-” Mingyu groans deeply, pressing his forehead against your own. Each panting breath, each whimpered moan and grunt that escapes Mingyu has you closer and closer to the edge.

He should seriously consider getting a job reading erotica for money, like on the Quinn app or something, because fuck, no man has ever sounded this sexy before. 

“Come on,” he encourages you, “I won’t be able to last, fuck- you’re gonna cum with me, right?”

“Yeah-”

“You’re close?”

“Yes-” You dig your nails into his shoulders, closing your eyes and focusing on the way he’s circling your clit. 

“Please, please, please,” he practically begs, bringing his lips to your ear. “Be a good girl and cum for me again, come on, Angel, cum on my cock.”

You explode around him, crying out. Your legs tighten around his hips, and Mingyu’s entire body shudders as he cums with you. You can feel your core throbbing around him, milking him of his cum as he fills you to your absolute limit.

You’re both gasping, holding each other like life lines while orgasms ravage your bodies. It’s Heaven, but from the way your muscles are contracting, it’s also a little bit of Hell. Nothing has felt this good, but you know you’re going to be exhausted in the morning- fuck, you’re already exhausted.

Mingyu’s thrusts have faltered, but he tries to ride you through your highs. Soon, he’s half collapsing on top of you, your sweaty chests pressed together. Then he’s kissing you desperately, and it feels like you’re both pouring a thousand unsaid words into the meeting of your lips.

You make out for a short while, and then Mingyu pulls out of you, reaching for the kleenex box on your nightstand. “Here,” he offers, holding it between your thighs to stop any cum from dripping onto the bed.

“Thanks,” you let out a small laugh. “I’m gonna head to the bathroom.”

“Good idea.”

Your legs are wobbly when you stand up, and it reminds you of the first time you’d gotten off the back of his bike.

You don’t mind Mingyu making it hard for you to walk, in both ways.

Inside the bathroom, you do your best to use the toilet and clean up the cum. After double checking yourself in the mirror and deciding to brush your teeth for good measure, you head back to your bedroom… which is where you find Mingyu flipping through the most recent book you’ve been reading.

Your heart lurches into your throat, body freezing in the doorway. 

“I didn’t know you read this sort of thing,” Mingyu muses, looking up at you.

“What?” you squeak.

“Erotica,” he responds casually. “This seems interesting though.”

You slowly approach the bed, joining Mingyu under the covers while he reaches to put your book back on your nightstand. 

“Uh…” you don’t even know what to say. “I didn’t mean for you to see that.”

Mingyu laughs, pulling you close to his chest. “Why not? It’s not like I’m judging you.”

“You’re not?”

“Nope. Why would I? I think I read somewhere that men like visual porn and women lean towards the written stuff, nothing to be ashamed of.”

He really is the perfect man.

“Plus, I keep seeing shit on tiktok about booktok girls needing their bikertok boy, I don’t mind filling that role for you.” Another nonchalant comment that makes your heart do somersaults. “Although… aren’t all of you booktok girls into masked men and threesomes and shit?”

His words make you hide your face against his chest, shyness overcoming you. 

“Sorry, was that an overstep?” he laughs, rubbing your back with a large, warm hand.

“No, I’m just not used to talking about this, especially not with guys I just slept with.”

“The erotica you read is the fantasy you’re interested in, it would be a shame never to talk about it,” Mingyu muses. “That threesome between the demon knight and the guardian angel seemed pretty interesting.”

“God, you really weren’t supposed to read the book on my nightstand.” You can feel your skin getting hotter with embarrassment with each passing second.

“You’re adorable.” Mingyu cuddles you closer. “Look, I’m just going to put this out there, and if your answer is a no, then it’s a no… If you ever did want to try a threesome, Wonwoo would be into it.”

Now your heart is really racing, and your entire body stiffens in Mingyu’s embrace.

“Shit, my bad for even suggesting it,” Mingyu apologizes immediately.

“It’s not that…” you take a deep breath. If you’re going to continue things with Mingyu, he needs to know about your past - however unimportant it is - with Wonwoo. “Look… I uh… I matched with Wonwoo on a dating app last summer, nothing came out of it, but, I don’t know, I still feel awkward around him.”

Mingyu is silent for a few seconds, and you’re too scared to look up at his face, too scared of the expression you might find there.

“That would actually explain a lot,” Mingyu says finally. 

“It would?”

“Yeah, when I first introduced you two, he was more of an asshole than usual. And that first time I offered you a ride on my bike, he just took off. I kind of chalked it up to him being socially awkward sometimes around cute girls, but, now things make a bit more sense.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”

“It’s all good,” Mingyu assures you, rubbing your back. “Honestly, I’m pretty tired. How do you feel about the two of us staying here tonight, cuddling till we fall asleep, and talking more about this in the morning?”

You let out a sigh of relief. “That actually sounds perfect.”

Twelve - Wonwoo

As if listening to you and Mingyu fuck the first time wasn’t enough, Wonwoo had been woken up at three am, and then again at seven to the sound of your moans carrying through his walls.

His room is dark thanks to his black out curtains, but in the blackness of his room, Wonwoo finally snaps. He’d done his best to wear noise cancellers the first time, to put his head under his pillow the second, but now, Wonwoo has lost all of his resolve.

Your small whimpers are simply too hard to resist, and as Wonwoo’s hand slips down to his aching cock, he can’t help but wonder what would have happened if things had worked out with you all those months ago. It could be him that you’re under right now, not his best friend, and that’s a conflicting thought. 

Wonwoo lets out a quiet sigh as he begins to stroke his hard length. He closes his eyes, focusing on the muffled sounds of pleasure that make it through the walls.

When Mingyu had first mentioned that Wonwoo’s escapades had been keeping you up, he’d dismissed it, but now after being woken three times, he can see your annoyance. 

He’ll have to try to go easier on you. 

As Wonwoo works himself up to your moans, he wonders if you’ve ever been in this exact situation; touching yourself while he got off with someone else just a few feet through a wall.

The thought sends a shiver up Wonwoo’s spine and he shifts under his duvet, tossing the fabric off of himself, abdominal muscles clenching with delight.

From the sound of Mingyu’s thrusts and the headboard hitting the wall, Wonwoo’s pretty sure Mingyu is close already- fuck, he would be too if he had you to bury his morning wood into. And from the noises escaping you, Wonwoo knows you’re just as close.

He applies more pressure to his aching cock, speeding up his strokes- Wonwoo wants to cum with you and his roommate, although he’s not quite sure why. 

Sure, once you both cum, his entertainment is over, but there’s a need to be paired with you both, something that goes beyond a voyeuristic act like watching porn, which he could easily switch to when you’re finished if he wanted to prolong the experience.

A muffled “Fuck, I’m close” has Wonwoo’s entire body tensing, and as your moans crescendo, the tightly wound knot inside of him snaps. He lets out a gasp, pumping his cock while ropes of his own cum paint his chest. 

He wishes his hand was you, but the image of you instead of his hand is enough to make another wave of pleasure pass over him. He works himself through it to the point of overstimulation, finally stopping when the headboard sounds cease.

Wonwoo lays there for a moment, eyes closed, catching his breath.

When he finally turns his phone flashlight on and looks down at his chest, he realizes he’s cum more listening to you and Mingyu fuck than he’s probably ever cum inside of a girl.

It’s then that Wonwoo realizes how truly screwed he is. 

Thirteen

Seungkwan had nearly spat out his drink when you’d revealed Mingyu’s offer to invite Wonwoo into your bed. Soonyoung’s jaw had dropped, and it’s stayed that way. Seokmin looks like he’s having a panic attack, his cheeks all flushed, his hands tugging at the neckline of his dress shirt.

“So what are you going to do?” Seungkwan asks finally, taking a sip of his Gin and Tonic with his wide eyes glued to you.

“I’m honestly not sure,” you admit, letting out a sigh.

“Bitch,” Seungkwan rolls his eyes, “don’t give us that. You read smutty threesome shit all the time, and here you are, being propositioned by your hot neighbour and his best friend, who both ride motorcycles, I might add- this is a fucking no brainer and we all know it.”

“You’ve been wanting a proper fuck session forever,” Soonyoung agrees.

“It’s actually like… one of your biggest things,” Seokmin points out, nodding. 

“But don’t you think this would be messy?” you ask. “Like, if these were randoms I’d never see again, it would be one thing- but they live next to me, and I’m low key dating Mingyu. Wonwoo doesn’t seem like the polyamory type.”

“Babes,” Seungkwan reaches a hand across the table to squeeze your forearm, “This doesn’t have to be polyamory. Wonwoo can just be some dude that fucks you with his bestie sometimes. You can mostly focus on Mingyu, I mean, after all, we all know you and Wonwoo don’t even really like each other after the whole… ghosting thing.” 

“Which is so valid,” Seokmin assures you, also reaching out to grab your hand. “Who suggests a group motorcycle trip as a first date, that was very stupid.”

“Plus, didn’t you mention hearing Wonwoo fuck some girl through your wall?” Soonyoung asks, playing with the straw in his bellini. “I bet you’re wondering why she was being so loud. I mean, obviously his dick game must be good.”

“I have been wondering,” you admit. “Mingyu is so soft with me, so good and gentle- Wonwoo seems like he might be the opposite.”

“And you’ll never really know until you give this a try.” Seungkwan pats your hand encouragingly. “I think you have your answer, babes. Go make those smutty dreams of yours come true, or you’ll regret it the rest of your life.” 

Fourteen

Mingyu’s been coming over more and more often. Even though his place is just next door, he tends to have a preference for holding you until he passes out in your bed. You don’t mind, being in his arms helps you get the best rest you’ve had in ages, and you never feel closer to him than you do when you wake up next to him in the morning.

It’s a Sunday, and you’re laying in bed. Mingyu had gotten up, decided he’d wanted you for breakfast, fucked your brains out, and now, you’re stroking each others skin while you catch your breaths.

“Are you thinking about something?” Mingyu asks, and you realize he must have noted your silence.

You take a deep breath, looking up into his eyes. He’s done his best to foster an environment of safety- you know you can talk to him about anything, and now seems as good a time as any to broach a few subjects that have been weighing you down.

“What are we doing?” you ask.

“We’re cuddling?”

You let out a laugh. “No, I mean… what are we doing? Like… I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you, and from the way you spoke at the start of all of this, it sounded like you were looking for a relationship, but ever since you mentioned inviting Wonwoo into bed, I guess I’m just a little confused about… the trajectory of this. Sharing the girl you want to date exclusively with your bestie just doesn’t seem like a usual start to a new relationship.” 

“Valid question,” he nods. “I can see where I caused some confusion… I guess, I mean- It’s not that I want to date you exclusively, I already am dating you exclusively, and I have been since the start.”

While this is news to you, you suppose it’s not the most surprising thing. Mingyu has been spending so much time with you lately, he’d have to be Superman or the world’s more snakey person to be able to juggle anyone else.

“When it comes to the whole Wonwoo thing- If I’m being honest, we’ve been friends forever. We’ve had like… three or four threesomes together? So I guess I feel comfortable inviting him because we have that foundation of trust there, and based on the stuff you read - correct me if I’m wrong - but I think a threesome is on your bucket list.”

Now this is some hot gossip. You’d never for a moment considered the idea that Wonwoo and Mingyu have shared girls together before- but now that the idea is out in the open, you feel stupid for it having never crossed your mind. 

“So there really wouldn’t be any jealousy or any problems if Wonwoo joined us?” you clarify.

“There never have been before. Wonwoo’s not the relationship type. If I honestly thought there would be a problem, I wouldn’t have brought it up,” Mingyu tells you. “Sounds like you’re open to it.”

“I am,” you admit. “Also… I’m exclusively seeing you too, by the way.”

Mingyu laughs. “I know, Angel. Wonwoo is an exception, the only exception.”

“Agreed.” 

“So…” Mingyu pulls you tighter to his chest. “Are we gonna bring this up with him?”

“Do you want to ask him?”

“I think we should do it together.”

The idea of bringing this up with Wonwoo makes your heart race. “You think he’ll react okay?”

“Angel, he matched with you on Tinder before, and tried to take you out three times, even if you did ghost him, you’re way too sexy for him to ever say no to.”

Fifteen

When you’d arrived at Mingyu’s place after dinner, he’d suggested a movie night. Wonwoo usually gets off work around one am, and with his Harley, Mingyu expected him to be back at one thirty at the latest. 

Around midnight, you’d fallen asleep, with Mingyu following close behind, and when the sound of the front door unlocking finally pulls you from your slumber, a quick check at the clock tells you it’s already past two.

Mingyu groans behind you, pulling you closer, pressing his lips to the back of your neck. 

Wonwoo walks into the den area in time to see the exchange, and he pauses by the open concept kitchen, staring at you in the dim darkness of the space. 

“What are you doing out here on the couch?” he asks.

“We were waiting for you,” you say softly, pushing at Mingyu’s hand in an effort to wake him up fully.

Wonwoo stays quiet, and after a moment, Mingyu finally groans and sits up, turning to look at his best friend. Mingyu rubs at his eyes, yawning. “We have something to talk to you about,” he mumbles.

“Let's hear it,” Wonwoo sighs, setting his helmet and gloves onto the kitchen counter before he goes to remove his leather jacket.

“You know what… maybe it’s too late for this,” you suggest, turning to look at Mingyu.

“Don’t be shy,” he encourages you, pulling you closer and kissing your throat. 

You note the way your body reacts, head tilting to the side to give him better access. It’s clear that you’re not as afraid of being watched as you’d thought you might be, and when your gaze shifts to Wonwoo, you find him staring at the place where you and Mingyu’s bodies connect.

A muscle in his jaw feathers, and you see the way his fist clenches at his side, but he stays silent.

“Do you want me to do it?” Mingyu asks.

“Yes, please.”

Mingyu gives a reassuring kiss to your cheek. “I know you two have a past-” he begins.

“She told you about that, did she?” Wonwoo interrupts.

“Uh huh, she’s a good girl like that,” Mingyu holds you tighter. “Anyways, I know you two have a past, and I know you’re attracted to each other-”

“Mingyu.” There’s a warning tone in Wonwoo’s voice now, and it makes your skin tingle. 

“I’m too tired to do this right,” Mingyu sighs, “but listen, she wants to try a threesome, we’ve done threesomes, I figured I’d put it on the table, if you’re interested.”

Wonwoo stands in the kitchen for a moment, then he lets out a sigh, turning and placing both of his hands on the counter. He looks down at the ground, and you wonder what’s going through his head.

“Aren’t you two dating?” he asks finally.

You open your mouth to respond but decide to shut it, turning to Mingyu to allow him to answer. “Yeah, I mean, we’re exclusive.”

“How can you be exclusive if you’re inviting me into a fucking threesome?” Wonwoo snaps.

“Because you’re you,” Mingyu shrugs. “Why do you seem mad?”

Wonwoo lets out a deep sigh. “This isn’t the right way to start a relationship, Gyu.”

You find it comical that Wonwoo - of all people - is trying to school Mingyu on how to treat a girl. 

“I’m pretty confident in us,” Mingyu grins, pressing a kiss to your cheek. You kind of love how sure he is, and it makes your trust in the budding relationship feel even stronger. “Look, if you don’t want to-”

“I want to.” 

It feels like the air is knocked from your lungs. Yes, you’ve considered this for weeks, but part of you never really thought it would get this far, never thought Wonwoo would actually agree-

“I’ve been listening to you two fuck through a wall for weeks,” Wonwoo continues. “Of course I fucking want to.”

“So what’s the problem?” Mingyu asks, brows furrowing at why his friend still sounds so angry.

Wonwoo turns to look at you. “This is going to complicate things.”

“Only if you let it,” Mingyu argues. “Look, you’re both overthinkers, and I get that, but with me here, I’ll keep us all grounded, I promise.”

“It’s not that easy,” Wonwoo sighs.

“It can be, if you both let it be.” He sounds so sure, and you want to believe him on this-

“So is this just going to be a one time thing?” Wonwoo asks, and you note the way his gaze shifts from his roommate to you. Then you feel Mingyu’s eyes too.

“Uh… I hadn’t thought that far,” you admit.

“We could always just go with the flow,” Mingyu suggests.

“You know I’m not that kind of guy,” Wonwoo retorts.

“Honestly, I know it was just a simple case of ghosting, but you two don’t seem to actually like each other that much,” Mingyu points out, “unless I’m misreading something. So how about we give it a shot, and go from there?”

Wonwoo looks to you, and after a moment to consider it, you nod, he mirrors the motion soon after.

“Fine. I’m in.”

“Can you try to sound more enthusiastic?” Mingyu teases. “This is my Angel I’m letting you get a taste of.”

“Don’t test your luck,” Wonwoo warns. “Are we doing this right now?”

“I’m already half hard just thinking about it,” Mingyu grins. “Are you up for this, Angel?”

Things are happening a little fast for you, but you worry that if you don’t bite the bullet and try this now, you might chicken out if you give yourself enough time to overthink and talk yourself out of it. 

“Let’s do it,” you respond. 

Wonwoo stares at you from the kitchen, and you wait to see who will move first. Finally, Wonwoo nods. “Okay, my room.”

He walks away without another word. Mingyu is quick to get up, reaching down to tug you to your feet. You’re a little shocked at how abrupt Wonwoo is being, and how quick Mingyu is to act on Wonwoo’s locational choice.

You’ve never seen the inside of Wonwoo’s room, and you find it even more minimally furnished than the rest of the apartment. With nothing but a bed, a dresser and a gaming station set up, Wonwoo clearly has very few loves in his life. There are no books, no clothes strewn about- it almost looks like a room straight from the Ikea Catalogue with the theme ‘my ocd teenage gamer’s sanctuary.’

The only thing of any true interest, is a tiled wall mount light piece, and from the way Wonwoo is standing near it and looking down at his phone, you’re pretty sure it’s bluetooth. As Mingyu leads you to go sit with him on the bed, the tiles begin to change colour, and you’re not even surprised when Wonwoo goes for a red hue that makes this entire situation feel correctly sinful.

Mingyu sits behind you, prompting you to settle on his lap. His hands find your thighs, stroking you through your sweatpants. You can tell he’s waiting on something, and when Wonwoo finally looks up at the two of you, setting his phone down, you realize just how much power you’re about to hand over to the man you’d ghosted all those months ago.

Wonwoo approaches you and Mingyu, coming to stand right in front of you. He meets your gaze, but he’s quiet. You hold your tongue, knowing that now is not the time to start being a brat.

“So,” Wonwoo says finally. “My guess is Mingyu’s been going easy on you since you started fucking.”

Mingyu lets out a laugh behind you, and you find yourself wanting to defend him. “I wouldn’t say he’s been going easy on me-”

“I’m going to make an assessment, and you’re going to tell me if I’m wrong,” Wonwoo states. “You look like the kind of girl who wants to be dominated. The shy ones can sometimes be the kinkiest girls you’ll ever meet, and something tells me that if you’re interested in a threesome - interested enough to let me be the one to come in here and fuck you - you’ve got some specific itches that need to be scratched. Mingyu’s a vanilla boy. He doesn’t even like to call sleeping with a girl fucking. I’m betting he gives you everything you want, never makes you work for it, or beg for it, or any of that shit. The guy wakes up three times a night to rail you for fuck’s sake. So I’m guessing, even though he probably meets most of your needs, there’s something you’re missing that Mingyu thinks I can provide.”

Mingyu’s mouth finds your throat, pressing soft kisses that wordlessly tell you he’s not about to answer this assessment, it’s fully on you.

“I…” you swallow thickly. “I guess, I mean, that sounds correct.”

“You’re happy with Mingyu.” It’s more of a statement than a question, but you find the need to answer it anyways, so you nod quickly. 

“Very happy.”

“But he doesn’t dominate you.”

You shake your head.

“And tonight, you want someone to tell you what to do.”

You nod.

“You want someone to make you scream the way I made that other girl scream, the girl that kept you up at night. You want what I was giving her.”

“God, yes,” you admit, letting out a shuddery breath. You can feel Mingyu smile against your throat, and he wraps his arms tighter around you, holding you close to his chest. You can feel his cock straining up against your ass, and it’s driving you wild already.

“What’s off the table?” Wonwoo asks. “Be thorough.”

“I think… no anal. Hard pass on anal, at least, right now,” you start. “And… please don’t be mean to me? Like… don’t degrade me?”

“If you’re our good girl, there will be no reason to degrade you, will there?” Wonwoo says smoothly, reaching out to cup your jaw. His thumb brushes by your lips and you open your mouth for him, accepting the digit that presses flat to your tongue. “See, you’re just a good girl looking for direction, there won’t be a problem tonight.”

He removes his hand, and part of you mourns the loss. 

“Everything else is on the table?” he clarifies.

“Nothing gross.”

“Nothing gross,” Wonwoo repeats with a laugh. “I guess that’s all subjective, but I get what you mean.”

God, you wonder what dirty, nasty things this man has done in his lifetime. 

“Safeword?” Wonwoo asks next.

You take a deep breath, only needing a moment to consider one. “Harley.” 

Mingyu groans behind you, his hands teasing up your thighs, closer and closer to where you need him while he begins to suck on your sweet spot. You can tell from his reaction that the safe word pleased him, and you know that everyone is aware how close you are to letting the fun actually begin.

Wonwoo has done his due diligence, now, he just has to do you.

“Gyu, how about you get her warmed up?” Wonwoo suggests, and the man you’re sitting on wastes no time with the request. Mingyu immediately slips his hand under the waistband of your sweatpants, fingers finding your clit through your panties while you squirm on his lap.

“Fuck,” Mingyu groans, “she’s so wet already.”

“That’s no surprise,” Wonwoo says nonchalantly, pivoting and moving away.

You watch him go, curious as to what he’s up to. Mingyu, meanwhile, is focused on getting your attention. He pushes your panties to the side, stroking your pussy, teasing as if he’s about to dip his fingers into you, only to circle your clit again.

You snap way too easily, turning to press kisses along his jaw. You reach a hand up to cup his cheek, prompting him to meet your lips. All it takes is a little tongue action for Mingyu to also break, finally slipping a digit into your wet core.

You whimper at the feeling, grinding down on his hand. The wiggling of your hips adds friction to the front of Mingyu’s pants, and he releases his own groan of pleasure. 

He adds a second finger and you find yourself gasping. Your thighs spread to accommodate Mingyu. His slow stroking is driving you wild, and the ever constant pressure on your clit only intensifies the situation.

“Lay her down,” Wonwoo’s voice snaps you out of your Mingyu haze, and you break the kiss to blink up at Wonwoo.

You notice something in his hands, but before you can get a better look, Mingyu is pulling his hand from your core and standing up, taking you with him. 

He gently places you onto the bed, tearing off your pants. His fingers go to hook in your underwear, but one tutting sound from Wonwoo makes him stop in his tracks.

“Leave those on for now,” Wonwoo instructs. “You might be skipping things because you’re needy, but I remember your panty kink.”

Panty kink? Mingyu has a panty kink?

Fuck.

You wonder how much Wonwoo knows about Mingyu’s sexual preferences, things that you haven’t even learned yet.

No matter how worried you were about this before you agreed to a threesome, it’s becoming more and more clear that Wonwoo might carry the keys to unlocking Mingyu’s full potential in bed- now, you’re worried what that means for the fully monogamous aspect of your relationship.

“Take off your shirt and bra for us,” Wonwoo prompts next. “I want to see you.”

His voice had softened at the end of the request, and the fact that Wonwoo has a good mix between commanding, and a tone that’s almost on the pleading side, has you immediately making good on what he’s just asked of you.

You slip your shirt off, tossing it onto the floor. Arching your back, you get at the clasp of your bra, and soon, it joins the discarded fabric next to the bed.

Mingyu gets onto the mattress between your thighs, his hands stroking up your legs, which spread for him again.

“Here,” Wonwoo tosses the thing he’d been holding onto your chest.

When you pick it up, you realize it’s a blindfold.

Wonwoo meets your questioning gaze. “Put that on. You trust us, right?” 

You swallow thickly, then, you slip on the blindfold, obscuring your vision completely.

“That’s our good girl,” Wonwoo muses, and his satisfaction has your core throbbing. He’s being a lot nicer than you’d hoped he would be- part of you had wondered if this would a rage fueled fuck, revenge for the ghosting. But the way Wonwoo’s treating you- it’s clear he has no animosity toward you for your past, regardless of the cold way he’s been acting toward you up until tonight.

Even with the blindfold, it’s clear who’s still rubbing your legs. And when Mingyu shifts his weight, bending down to press kisses along your inner thighs, you know it’s still him.

Although there aren’t any surprises happening in terms of who is touching you, with your vision cut off, every brush of Mingyu against your skin feels even more intense. Without the pressure of keeping your eyes open, or following the action with your gaze, you can simply lay back and enjoy what’s happening.

Mingyu’s mouth reaches your core, and his breath through the fabric makes you twitch.

When his tongue makes contact with your wet panties, you both let out groans. The world seems suspended in anticipated pleasure, if even just for a moment, before Mingyu practically dives in.

His tongue pushes at your panties, and the teasing aspect of his muscle prodding at your core has your stomach already twisting into knots. It’s like he’s trying to devour your underwear, trying to push his tongue through so he can get at you-

You’d never imagined keeping your pussy covered with a thin piece of fabric would reveal to you how desperate Mingyu is to properly be eating you.

Your hands reach down, tangling in Mingyu’s hair, and you begin to grind against his face, using his nose to add pressure to your clit.

Something brushes by your nipple, and you practically jump at the contact. Then, the soft bud is pinched between two fingers. It’s not a hard pinch, not enough to hurt, but enough to have your pussy throbbing even more from the idea of pain. 

You also know that it’s Wonwoo who has finally decided to touch you, and you’re kind of scared of the effect that’s having.

Mingyu doesn’t even notice his friend beginning to play with your tits, he’s much too distracted by licking your core through your panties. You’d bet that if you took your blind fold off right now, you’d find his own eyes closed, his mind completely consumed by the act of being close to your pussy without really being able to get at it.

“Does he feel good?” Wonwoo asks.

“Uh huh,” you nod, tightening your grip in Mingyu’s hair so you can grind harder against his mouth.

“He’s already nearly breaking,” Wonwoo muses, “how far along are you?”

“I-” You swallow thickly. “I don’t know.”

“I want you to enjoy the teasing, want you to be brought to the edge like this, and when you’re finally about to snap, I’ll let him pull your panties to the side. You can ride his face while you cum for us.”

Your muscles clench at his words, and you nod quickly. “Okay.”

“Where are your manners?” He pinches your nipple even more roughly, and you let out a delighted squeal.

“Okay, yes, thank you, thank you, Wonwoo,” you correct yourself.

“Good girl.” The pinching subsides, but you almost miss the pain. “You look good like this.”

“Thank you!” you blurt out, not wanting to fumble your manners so early just because he’s being sweet to you.

Wonwoo’s fingers leave your breast, and your focus shifts to Mingyu again. He’s begun rubbing his nose against your clit, and you’d bet that Wonwoo’s words about getting you to the edge have inspired the motion.

Mingyu knows that clit stimulus will get you there faster than the teasing of his tongue along your panties, and you give yourself to the pleasure he’s providing.

Wet lips wrap around your nipple and your body jolts. One your hands immediately flies to the back of Wonwoo’s head, threading through his soft curls while he sucks on you. He releases a groan of satisfaction. You respond with a whimper of your own, pushing your chest up toward his mouth.

Nothing has ever felt like this.

Having two sexy men worship you is making your body short circuit faster than it ever has before.

You can feel your orgasm rising in your stomach, and before you even know it, you’re letting out a gasp. “Fuck, I’m close- shit, thank you, fuck, I’m gonna-”

You can’t even finish your sentence, Mingyu tugs your panties to the side, pushing two digits into your hole while his lips find your clit, sucking the sensitive bud while he groans like a starved man.

Wonwoo’s teeth simultaneously graze your nipple, and the combination of stimuli is enough to throw you over the edge.

Your pussy clamps down on Mingyu’s fingers, waves of pleasure exploding out from your core. The loudest moan you’ve ever released sings out of you, and your grip tightens in both of their curls. You’re used to having one anchor, Mingyu, who you hold onto to keep you from floating too high to cloud nine, but now, even with two anchors, you still find yourself drifting away into a state of bliss you’ve never even dreamed of.

Wonwoo’s free hand finds your neglected breast, and a pinch at your nipple has even more electric energy surging through you, your back arching at how intense this all is.

Mingyu hasn’t stopped between your thighs, his fingers are unrelenting inside of your throbbing core, his tongue flicking your clit better than any vibrator or toy ever has.

You cum, and cum, and cum-

Mingyu releases a sinful groan, and you can feel something splash your inner thighs. Mingyu pulls away from your clit, licking up the liquid-

Wonwoo’s mouth leaves your breasts, and you can feel his gaze slipping between your legs.

“Fuck, I didn’t know you could squirt, baby,” he muses, massaging your breast in a way that almost feels loving.

“I didn’t-” you struggle to speak amidst your moans, “I can’t-

“No one’s ever made you squirt before?” Wonwoo finishes your sentence for you.

“No, sir, I mean- yes, sir-”

You hear Wonwoo let out a chuckle, and he pinches your nipple, making you cry out even more. “Sir, huh? Looks like our good girl has really learned her manners, Gyu.”

You’re not sure where the title had come from, but calling Wonwoo ‘sir’ had just felt right, it still feels right, as you writhe against his bed sheets.

“Okay, I think that’s enough,” Wonwoo sighs. Fingers brush by your cheek, and the sudden touch makes you flinch. “She’s crying, Gyu.”

Mingyu groans deeply, his fingers coming to a stop in your pussy. When he removes them, and both men pull away, you can finally take a deep breath after the intensity of your orgasm. Your entire body shudders as you try to steady yourself after what they’ve just given you.

In the periphery, you can hear a wet sucking sound, and you’d bet your life that Mingyu is licking his fingers clean.

“Squirting all over him like that got your boyfriend hard as fuck, baby, I think I’ll be nice and let him fuck you now.”

God, there’s so much you want to think about with that sentence- specifically the way Wonwoo just referred to Mingyu as your boyfriend, a term that you haven’t yet used- but you’re also so needy for Mingyu’s cock now that you can’t sit and ponder the relationship development. 

“Yes, please, Mingyu, fuck, need your cock-” you whine, reaching down to tug your panties off-

Another set of hands grabs the fabric, and before you can fumble to get your underwear down your legs, Mingyu simply tears them in two to get at you.

His cockhead is rubbing against your soaked folds a moment later, and you let out a whimper of desperation. 

“Fuck, Angel, you’re doing so good for us,” Mingyu groans, slipping the head into you.

“Gyu-” you whimper, grabbing at the bed sheets, your eyes rolling into the back of your head from the stretch of his girthy tip.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he tells you, one hand flattening on your abdomen to keep you still. “I could slide all the way in like this-”

“Do it,” Wonwoo says simply. “Bet she’d fucking love that.”

“I would,” you agree, whimpering at the idea of him filling you up with one powerful thrust. “Please, split me open-”

The words no sooner leave your mouth than Mingyu is doing just as you’d asked. In one motion, he sinks the entirety of his cock into your wet, ready hole. 

His hips hit flush to your own, and you release something between a cry and a scream. Your inner walls struggle desperately to accommodate the large intrusion that your body is still not used to even after fucking Mingyu countless times.

Before Mingyu, ‘Like a Virgin’ had just been a Madonna song, now, it’s something you understand completely.

Mingyu’s mouth finds your neck as he leans his entire, large, muscled body over your own. His lips are hot as they suckle on your sweet spot, and you grab at his strong shoulders, wrapping your legs around his hips.

He starts slow with his motions, only pulling out slightly. With each small rut, his cock sinks so deep that it hits a spot that makes you go mind numb.

You’re a gasping, wriggling mess for Mingyu, and from the sounds leaving his own lips, you know he loves it.

His pace starts to increase. You can feel your pussy tingling with each thrust, the vein along the underside of his cock stimulating your walls perfectly.

Mingyu draws your lips to his own, and you find yourself in a desperate clash of tongues. 

“How cute,” Wonwoo’s voice draws you back to reality. “For the record, baby, I’ve never seen Mingyu this into someone.”

God, why is he being so nice to you?

Why does the thought that you make Mingyu come undone unlike anyone else have your pussy throbbing?

Your hand moves before your mind even registers what you’re doing. It flails out toward Wonwoo’s voice, and you’re pretty sure you make contact with his thigh.

“What are you doing?” Wonwoo asks, tone shifting.

You break the kiss with Mingyu, and his lips find your throat while you address his friend. “Wanna touch.”

Wonwoo is silent, and moments feel like minutes. Then, you hear a belt buckle, and a zipper being pulled down.

“You just wanna touch?” Wonwoo prompts. 

Before you can even respond, Mingyu is nipping at your ear. He’s breathing heavily, fucking you faster. “Do you wanna suck him off, Angel? I won’t be mad if you do.”

This is a threesome, it wouldn’t be fair if Wonwoo didn’t get a bit of you too…

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” Wonwoo prompts.

“Yes, I wanna suck you off,” you clarify, doing your best to make your voice sound confident.

Mingyu groans, and then he pulls off of you. You whine at the loss of him, but he flips you onto all fours, pulling your ass into the air so he can push his cock into you again. You do your best to steady yourself on your hands, and the bed dips in front of you, signaling Wonwoo’s arrival.

“Here,” Wonwoo’s voice is soft, as soft as his touch when he pulls the blindfold off of you. “Wanna see that pretty face when you choke around my cock.”

In the red light from the tiled wall mount, Wonwoo looks insane. Yeah, a little insane in the crazy way, but insanely sexy too.

He’s taken his shirt off, and you’re shocked to find washboard abs that make you drool immediately. His curls are all flouncy and illuminated by the red, like a halo, or even devil horns. His jeans are undone, but he doesn’t have his cock out yet, which you kind of appreciate.

Although you can see his length straining against the black denim, he didn’t immediately stick his dick down your throat, he’s giving you time to adjust to the new position.

You blink up at him, and Wonwoo smiles, cupping your cheek. “You’re doing so good, baby.”

“So good,” Mingyu echoes, digging his fingers into your hips as he begins to fuck you like a mad man.

“Sir,” you breathe.

“Yes, baby?”

“Can I suck you off now?”

Wonwoo’s grin widens. “Go for it.”

You realize he’s not going to help you take his cock out, not yet at least. It’s difficult to hold yourself up with one hand while Mingyu fucks you, your free one reaching for his jeans. You hook your fingers in the fabric, trying to tug them down.

Part of you thinks Wonwoo likes watching you struggle. He’s said he’d be nice, wouldn’t degrade you, and he’s not, but this feels like it’s bordering on humiliation. 

Here you are, getting fucked stupid, holding yourself up on one shaky hand while the other tugs desperately at his pants, trying to free his cock so you can have it sink down your throat-

“You’re cute,” Wonwoo muses, finally giving in.

He pushes his pants down, his cock springing up against his abdomen.

He’s long. Maybe not as long as Mingyu, and not as thick either, but that just means you might actually be able to take him fully into your mouth, unlike your boyfriend’s monster cock that you can’t even fully suck halfway.

Even though Wonwoo isn’t as big as Mingyu, he’s confident in himself, and that makes things all the more sexy.

He grabs the base of his length, holding the tip out for you.

Meeting his eyes, you open your mouth, sticking out your tongue.

Wonwoo taps himself along the wet muscle, then he teases the tip just past your lips- you go to wrap your mouth around him, only for him to pull back with a laugh. “Eager, are you?”

You nod, “uh huh.”

He doesn’t even tut at you for your lack of manners, after all, you’re still holding your mouth open for him, unwilling to close it if even for a few moments to say a ‘yes, sir.’

“I guess I can give it to you,” Wonwoo sighs. Although he’s trying to sound unbothered, you can tell from his leaky red tip that he’s just as turned on by this as you are. You can see through Wonwoo now, and you wonder how that’s going to impact your opinion of him.

This man who likes to seem hard and domineering, who likes to appear nonchalant- you wonder what kind of thoughts are swimming in that pretty head of is.

Wonwoo slips his cock into your mouth, and you immediately begin to suck it, twirling your tongue along the tip. He pushes in another inch, testing your abilities. His eyes are fixed on yours, and you stare up at him, wanting to please.

Mingyu fucks you harder, prompting you forward onto Wonwoo’s cock. You take more and more of him, doing your best to relax and focus on the pleasure Mingyu is giving you, rather than the uncomfortable feeling of a heavy dick on your tongue.

You enjoy giving oral, but you’ve always found it easier to have some other stimulus to anchor yourself- Mingyu’s cock splitting you open is just the right amount of distraction. When Wonwoo hits the back of your throat, you hardly choke, too enraptured by Mingyu behind you to carefully about your gag reflex.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Wonwoo tells you, having watched for your limits and reactions.

He begins to thrust now, matching Mingyu’s motions. It’s a push pull, and you kind of love being used like this, having two cock filling you up. They’re almost synchronized, and it turns you on that they’ve done this before, that they’re familiar with each other.

You couldn’t imagine a better pair to lose your threesome virginity to.

Wonwoo’s hand grabs your hair, and you watch as he throws his head bad, letting out a groan.

Fuck, he’s so sexy- they both are. Mingyu’s grip on your hips is even tighter, and you know what that means.

“I’m close,” your boyfriend announces.

“Well I just started,” Wonwoo retorts. “Hold it.”

You’re shocked that Mingyu doesn’t even fight back, his thrusts simply slow down a notch. Wonwoo, meanwhile, speeds up, and you do your best to hollow your cheeks around his cock, sucking on him like you’ve never sucked on anyone before.

“You’re good with your mouth, baby,” Wonwoo praises you.

“She’s so good,” Mingyu agrees, reaching a hand around your body so he can rub your clit.

You jolt at the contact, pussy clenching desperately around Mingyu’s cock.

“Fuck, Woo, we’re both close-” Mingyu groans, resting his forehead against your shoulder, his breath hot across your skin.  

“I guess I can make this quick,” Wonwoo grunts, hips shuddering.

Mingyu draws fluid, lazy circles on your clit, speckling your shoulders with kisses while he ruts slowly into your core. You suck on Wonwoo diligently, like it’s your job- after all, it is your job to make him cum in order for you and Mingyu to get there too.

The pressure in your abdomen is getting tighter and tighter, you’re not sure how much longer you can hold off, especially with the sounds Mingyu’s making-

“You two are so needy,” Wonwoo muses, letting out a small chuckle. “Fuck.” 

“You gotta let her cum,” Mingyu practically begs. “She’s squeezing me like a fucking vice, dude- this is torture.”

Wonwoo’s hips jolt at Mingyu’s words, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat. You feel your muscles constrict around both of them, and they both groan in response.

“You’re too good at this,” Wonwoo tells you. “When I cum, you both get to cum.”

It’s not an outward admittance that he’s close, but you can tell he is. His stomach muscles are clenching with effort as he uses your face, and the small groans of pleasure leaving him are higher in number now.

He fucks your face even faster, and Mingyu takes this as a cue to begin fucking you properly again. “Can you rub your clit, Angel?” he asks. “I need to grab your hips.”

You moan a sound of affirmation around Wonwoo, holding yourself up on one wobbly hand while the other slips between your legs.

“That’s it,” Mingyu groans, straightening behind you and taking hold of your hips with both hands. His pace matches Wonwoo’s now, and you can feel your orgasm so close-

You can almost taste it.

In fact, you can taste Wonwoo’s, a strangled gasp escaping him as he cums down your throat suddenly.

“Our turn, Angel,” Mingyu moans, pace quickening to a speed that would almost be painful if it wasn’t so pleasurable. Your fingers are rough on your own clit, and you do your best to swallow every drop of Wonwoo’s spend.

When he pulls out of your mouth, you breathe in a strangled gasp- only for moans of pleasure to escape you uncensored.

“Fuck, that’s it, Angel, almost there, almost there-” Mingyu groans. “Fuck, cum for me, cum for us- fuck, cum on my cock-”

His words throw you over the edge. You lean forward, resting your cheek against Wonwoo’s thigh while your orgasm overtakes you. Waves of pleasure surge through your body, making you shake- Mingyu’s hands hold your hips steady, keeping you where he wants you while he fucks you through your high, coating your insides with his thick cum.

You’re both moaning messes, completely given over to the ecstasy that you find in each other.

Your hand falls from between your legs, and soon, Mingyu’s motions stop. He keeps himself buried inside of you, trying to catch his breath.

“I’ll get some tissue,” Wonwoo says. He pulls away from you, and you collapse face first onto the bed, shuddering from the aftershocks of your high.

Mingyu’s hands begin to stoke your body, a silent assurance that you did well for them.

Wonwoo comes back with tissues, and Mingyu pulls out. You bring the kleenex to your dripping hole, careful not to get any cum onto Wonwoo’s bed-

Which is when you remember you squirted all over the comforter already.

You lay on your back, giggling to yourself.

“What’s so funny?” Wonwoo asks. Fingers go to pinch your nipple and you flinch, rolling away from him.

“I got squirt all over your bed,” you tell him.

“Naughty girl,” he says, but there’s an inkling of pride in his tone.

“It’s okay,” Mingyu says, reaching to pull you off the bed. “I’m going to go clean her up, you can throw your stuff in the laundry, and we can stay in my room tonight.”

You’re not sure why the idea of sleeping next to Wonwoo feels more intimate than the fact that he just came down your throat, but ten minutes later, when you’re snuggling between the two men, you find yourself almost unsure of how to act.

Mingyu’s already passed out, soft snores filling the room, and it’s Wonwoo who notices your unease as you shift under the sheets.

“Relax,” he tells you, his hands drawing you to his chest. “You’re safe with us.”

For some reason, his words actually calm you down, and after a few more deep breaths, you pass out on the chest of the man you’d ghosted over half a year ago.

Epilogue

It’s been two months since you and Mingyu invited Wonwoo into your bed. Two months of great sex, but it’s even deeper than that.

Mingyu is outwardly your boyfriend, and he loves showing his claim over you every chance he gets, but Wonwoo is still on the fence about where he fits in your relationship. 

You’re at the bar where Wonwoo works, it’s a place you’ve been becoming more of a regular at. Mingyu is out with Cheol, but he’ll be meeting you shortly. Right now, all there is to do is wait and try not to flirt with Wonwoo too hard while he mixes drinks. 

Wonwoo is chatting with another regular, an old guy who keeps looking over at you. Finally, the man asks, “How do you two know each other?”

You and Wonwoo exchange a look. You wait for him to define the relationship, after all, out of everyone in your odd little throuple, Wonwoo’s the one who likes to go slowest when it comes to relationship milestones.

After a moment of consideration, Wonwoo responds, “She’s a friend. Dating my roommate.”

“Ah, okay,” the man nods.

It hurts for Wonwoo to not claim you the way you wish he would, but at the same time, you understand his hesitancy. 

When you’d first started fucking Wonwoo, you’d thought he was a doberman to Mingyu’s golden retriever, but now, you think he’s more of a black cat. If you move too fast or too sudden, you’re afraid of scaring him off, and that’s the last thing you’d want to do.

With a sigh, you lift your drink to your lips. You suppose having one boyfriend who claims you with all of his heart makes up for having another who is still unsure about what to call you.

But it doesn’t mean things hurt any less. 

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! I'm happy I was able to get this fic out in time for spring :) when I tell you this shit was five months in the making-

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🔮 preview.  Mingyu gives you all the love you’ve ever dreamed of from your romance novels. And Wonwoo gives you all the kinky sex you’ve fantasized about from the erotica you read. It’s the best of both worlds, and as Wonwoo sinks his cock into your wet pussy, you begin to suck on Mingyu.

cw/ tw. Exhibitionism, unprotected sex, sex in an alley, sex over a Harley motorcycle, eiffle tower/ spit roasting, quickie, blow job, deep throating, dirty talk, praise, cum/filling kink, inklings of humiliation, Wonwoo is a little rough,  etc…   I petnames. (hers) baby.  

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.7k I teaser wc. 220

🌙 staring. Wonwoo & Mingyu x afab!reader

bonus

“I’m just gonna head outside with Cheol for a quick vape break,” Mingyu tells you, giving you a kiss on the cheek before he exits the bar with his buddy.

You turn to Wonwoo, who is busy mixing some elaborate drink for a group of cougars a few seats down. It’s a decent night here at his workplace, it’s summer now, so most evenings are good for him.

“Is this seat taken?” You turn to see the regular from a few months ago standing there, and you’re quick to offer him the chair, after all, you and Mingyu will be leaving soon anyways. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?” the man asks.

You exchange a look with Wonwoo. “Yeah, I uh… I met you a few months ago,” you try to explain, pointing at your bartender. “I’m this guy’s friend.”

“Right, dating his roommate, now I remember,” the man nods.

Wonwoo has stopped what he’s doing, and he’s staring at you.

There’s a hint of danger in his eyes, and you’re not quite sure why. Then he sets down his drink, coming around the bar, and grabbing your arm. “Come outside,” he instructs. 

“What? Now?” you ask in shock, looking around at the bartop that's full of people who need drinks. “You’re working!”

“I don’t care. Come.”

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[leighsartworks216]

There Is No Love Purer Than Mine

Sylus x gn!Reader

Based on a video I can't find where a girl on one of those dating tv shows says "I love you" to a guy, and he asks her to repeat it again and again as his voice cracks. It's always stuck with me, and now I'm pulling it out of cold storage

Warnings: kissing, crying, declarations of love, mild hurt/comfort

Word Count: 625

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

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The words stole the air from your lungs. You stare at Sylus, wide-eyed and trying to remember how to breathe, while he has the audacity to lounge nonchalantly against the sofa and watch.

He smirks at your reaction. His arms are stretched along the back of the couch. His sweater steals the intimidation from his face and invites you to curl into his side. You had been, moments ago, but then he said… He said…

“What’s the matter, kitten?” he asks. It’s playful, but his arm falls to brush a hand against your cheek, betraying the real concern behind the bravado.

You swallow. Your voice comes out as a whisper, still breathless and shaky. “Say it again.”

His smirk softens into a smile. He brushes some hair behind your ear. “I love you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. “Again.”

This time, he sits forward. His other arm reaches out to hold your hand where it sits in your lap. He says it reverently. “I love you.”

It feels like your body has been dunked in a cold bath. Chills run up your arms. Your chest feels tight. He pulls your blanket tighter around you. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes. “Again…”

“I love you.” He leans forward until your foreheads touch. “I love you.” He cups your cheek and brushes away a tear with his thumb. His eyes never leave yours. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

You close your eyes and lean into his touch - pressing your forehead insistently against his, tilting your face into his hand, shifting closer on the couch. Tears stick to your eyelashes before they fall down your cheeks. He brushes them away diligently. You squeeze his hand tightly.

“Is this okay?” he asks, voice low and gentle.

You nod immediately. His long fingers curl around your jaw, fingertips in your hair, holding you to him.

“I love you.”

It’s so soft you almost don’t feel it. The brush of his lips over yours. If you hadn’t feel his breath warming them, you wouldn’t have realized at all. You crack your eyes open to watch when you tilt your chin up, seeking a full, proper kiss.

He answers your demand. Stuttered and solid breaths merge, gasping every time your lips separate, preparing for the next moment they connect. Over and over. The salt of the popcorn clings to his lips, complimenting the salt of your tears. His tongue carries the distinct fruitiness of his wine as it seeks yours out. Tempered moans and sighs pass between each other.

When he pulls away, you strain your neck forward for more, but he presses his thumb to your lips instead. You blink your eyes open at him, glistening and red from crying.

For a second, you’re scared. Scared he’ll take it back. Scared he’ll toss you aside, laugh in your face, leave you behind. Scared he’ll leave a scar on your heart that will never fully mend.

But he doesn’t.

He kisses the corner of your mouth. Your cheek. Under your eye. Over your closed eyelid. When he pulls back, he doesn’t stray far.

“Come here, my beloved,” he coos as he pulls you into his side. You wrap your arms around his torso, bury your wet face into his sweater. He wraps both arms around you, too, a silent promise not to let go.

The movie is just background noise now. You have no idea what’s happening in the story and you can’t give a damn. When you rest your chin against him to look at his face, he’s not watching either.

“I love you…” you whisper, tentative. Testing the shark-infested waters and trusting he’ll save you.

And he does.

“I love you, too, kitten.”

---

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41

[ofthemorningstars]

Movie Night (kabukiaku AU)

TerzoMega ~ Smut below the cut

2.1k words

Ao3 Version

Based on the character depictions of Terzo and Omega that have been lovingly crafted by @kabukiaku , thank you so much for allowing me to create something based off of your characters, and for giving me guidance and insight along the way! They truly are so special to me, and writing them has been such a fun process!

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Omega is ready for date night with Terzo. Or is he?

---

Omega fidgeted in front of the door to Terzo’s chambers. He scanned his surroundings, making sure he hadn’t been spotted. Clutching the bouquet of roses in his hand a little tighter, he steeled himself and made his first tentative knock, wondering idly when the butterflies would still. Deep down, he knew they wouldn’t. 

Terzo wasted no time in answering, greeting him with a dazzling smile. Omega’s stomach did a backflip. 

“Ciao bello,” Terzo greeted him warmly, taking a moment to look him up and down. “Aren’t you looking dashing tonight,” he assessed, approving of Omega’s powder pink sweater vest and dark grey slacks.  Terzo stood on his toes expectantly, Omega leaning down to allow a kiss to the cold metal cheek of his mask.

“Come in, come in. Put your things down,” Terzo said, ushering him inside and taking the flowers with a playful bow. Omega obliged, setting his bag by the door. He’d needed to stop by his own chambers before their date; even though he practically lived at Terzo’s at this point, he had needed to refresh his ever-growing wardrobe that was accumulating in Terzo’s closet. Omega shuffled his feet, waiting awkwardly for Terzo to come back with a vase. Omega still needed him to take the lead, even after all this time. After a moment Terzo returned, carefully arranging the flowers before taking his hand and drawing him to the sitting room.

“Sit, sit. Make yourself comfortable,” Terzo instructed, letting his hand slide up Omega’s arm, lingering at his shoulder for a moment. Omega did as he was told, settling down at one end of Terzo’s plush purple suede sofa, propping himself up on an armrest. He watched as Terzo fussed with his beloved Stella, the antique projector that was his most prized possession; tonight was movie night. When he had selected a film and successfully set everything up, he beamed at Omega before shutting off the lights.

“You’re in for a treat tonight, my darling ghoul,” Terzo said as he took his seat at the other end of the sofa, curling his legs up under himself. “We’re watching The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. A true piece of cinema history. I think that you will love it.”

Omega felt himself begin to relax more as the images flickered before him. He wondered why date nights always set his heart to fluttering; for all intents and purposes, they lived together, after all. But there was just… something about the formal nature of calling it a date. It was something that Omega had never really done before, not until he met Terzo. Terzo was different. He was special. He made Omega want to step outside of his comfort zone. To learn.

Terzo drifted closer and closer as the film progressed, spouting facts about the movie and its production all the while, and when his head finally came to rest on Omega’s shoulder, it was a welcome relief. Omega wrapped his arm around Terzo’s much smaller frame and pulled him snugly against his body. Terzo let out a little sigh.

When the film was over, they sat in silence for a few long moments, content in each others arms.

“So, what did you think, amore?” Terzo asked, running a hand across Omega’s chest. Omega was grateful that the growing blush across his cheeks was concealed behind his mask. He swallowed hard before clearing his throat. 

“I enjoyed it. I felt like the themes were very reflective of the time it was made in, yet still timeless.” He really had been listening intently to Terzo’s impromptu lesson. He always did, and he wanted to affirm to Terzo that he hadn’t been just talking to himself. “I can see many similarities to the more modern-day films you’ve shown me. It must have been very influential.”

Terzo looked pleased, rewarding Omega with a peck on the forehead of his mask as he went to stand up. “My my, you are such a quick learner, mia ombra.” Omega grinned.

They ended the night as they often did, with Terzo’s favorite, Metropolis. This time when Terzo returned to the sofa, he resumed his previous position, nestling firmly into Omega’s side. Omega hummed, content. Throughout the movie Omega found himself stealing longing glances at the human tucked beneath his arm, lost in the comfort of his warmth and weight and hanging on his every word as he continued to talk about what they were watching. He was enraptured. Omega would happily watch this film every night for the rest of his life if it meant that he got to hear this passion in Terzo’s voice. The film ended too soon, as always, and again they sat together in the quiet darkness.

Terzo turned to nuzzle his face into Omega’s chest, inhaling deeply, breathing in his scent, his hands beginning to wander. When Terzo’s fingers teased their way under the hem of Omega’s shirt and began sliding up his stomach, Omega’s breath hitched. 

“Grazie, mio caro. I know you have seen that one many times. It is just the perfect way to end a date, don’t you agree?” Terzo said, looking up at Omega through lowered lashes.

“Y-yes. It’s, uh… It’s an excellent portrayal of class divide. Really speaks to those at the bottom. To searching for a better tomorrow…” Omega stammered before trailing off as Terzo’s hand grazed his pecks. His face was getting hot. 

“Mmm, you are such a good listener.” Terzo craned his face up to place a kiss to Omega’s neck, then another, trailing his way up to the edge of Omega’s mask. He climbed onto Omega’s lap, tongue snaking out to take a lick up Omega’s thoat. Omega let his head fall back as Terzo began to move his hips, gently grinding down on him. Omega felt himself stir, repressed excitement that had built up all throughout the night bubbling to the surface.

Terzo’s hands resumed their explorations under Omega’s shirt before going to lift it from the bottom. Terzo’s eyes met his questioningly, asking for permission. Unable to find his voice, Omega nodded enthusiastically. Terzo’s answering smile made Omega’s heart skip a beat. Terzo removed Omega’s sweater vest and shirt in one go, being careful not to displace his mask when lifting it over his head. Omega sighed as the growing heat that had been trapped began to dissipate. Terzo’s hands greedily roamed the now-freed flesh, making stops along the way to tease, to tangle in the soft white hair he found there. His mouth reversed its course back down Omega’s neck, trailing licks and soft kisses down his chest. Terzo’s tongue swirled around a nipple and Omega tried and failed to bite back a moan, his breath echoing harshly in his mask. Terzo released him with a gentle smacking sound, looking up at him with hooded eyes. 

 “Would you like one more show before the night is over?” Terzo purred. Omega nodded, unsure of what Terzo was planning but eager to find out.

Terzo rose to his feet, slowly unbuttoning his shirt as he fixed Omega with a sultry stare. Terzo was close enough that their knees touched. He shrugged the garment from his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. His hands trailed down his own chest now, his stomach, teasing just under the waist of his pants. Terzo undid his belt, then his trousers, revealing a pair of black lace panties, the fabric straining against his erection. Those he took his time with, sensually sliding them inch by painful inch down long, shapely legs. By the time Terzo stood naked before him, save for his socks and garters, Omega’s own pants were painfully tight. Omega shifted in his seat, hands itching to touch but keeping patiently to themselves.

Terzo guided Omega into lying down on his back, fitting as much of his tall frame as he could on the sofa. Terzo straddled him, moving to undo Omega’s belt. He shimmied Omega’s pants down his hips, leaving his underwear on. Terzo cupped and rubbed Omega through the thin fabric, lingering at the growing wet spot sticking to Omega’s skin. Omega whimpered, hands drifting up above his head.

“Si. Mio amato monstro, always such a good listener,” Terzo cooed at Omega, leaning down to place a kiss where his mouth would be. Omega wished he’d taken off his mask, wished that he could kiss Terzo back, but with the way Terzo’s hand felt on him, he couldn’t have found the strength to remove it if he tried. Terzo began to move his hips rhythmically, his precum-wet cock gliding across the fabric of Omega’s underwear. Omega groaned.

Terzo’s hands teased beneath Omega’s waistband before dipping down below, pulling him free. Omega winced a little at the contact, overstimulated from the previous friction through the cloth. Terzo began stroking him with one hand, cradling his balls with the other. He bent down to run his tongue up Omega’s shaft, stopping to suck gently on his tip. Terzo touched himself, too excited by the noises Omega was making to wait. He fit as much of Omega as he could into his mouth and began to bob, Omega writhing beneath him. The room was beginning to spin.

Terzo pulled away to catch his breath, sitting up and leaning back on a palm, resuming pumping himself, his mismatched eyes boring into Omega. 

“You like what you see, amore?” Terzo said with a chuckle as a fresh drip of precum slowly trailed its way to Omega’s stomach. Indeed, he quite enjoyed what he saw. He must be a sight himself, he thought, sweaty and flushed and foggy as he was now.

Terzo leaned forward, rubbing their cocks together, and began to grind. One of Terzo’s hands found Omega’s above his head, fingers twining together. Omega’s free hand slid up Terzo’s thigh until it found its place on Terzo’s ample ass, squeezing firmly. Terzo’s mouth once more found a nipple and Omega threw his head back with an unrestrained moan. Terzo began caressing Omega’s chest, his belly, his hip, before reaching down to rub his inner thigh. Whimpering pitifully, Omega tangled his fingers in Terzo’s hair. His tail wound its way around Terzo's leg, needy. He wanted so badly to pull Terzo’s face down to meet his for a kiss, again cursing his lack of forethought.

When Terzo began to ride him faster, Omega let his arm fall uselessly to the sofa, fighting hard not to tear into the fabric with his claws. Terzo licked the side of Omega’s mask before nipping at his ear, his breath harsh against Omega’s skin.

“Omega…” Terzo whispered to him. “I want to hear you. I want to hear you say my name when you cum.”

Omega gritted his teeth, fighting with all of his strength not to finish on the spot. He began to move his hips in time with Terzo’s almost involuntarily, bucking hard when Terzo’s teeth sank into his shoulder. Fingernails scratched down Omega’s chest, stinging sweetly. Terzo released his bite to softly moan Omega’s name in his ear, over and over.

“Terzo!” Omega came with a cry, back arching, body trembling. Terzo gave a few more frantic thrusts before following behind, sighing beautifully. 

As Terzo fell to Omega’s heaving chest, Omega heard his own heart pounding wildly in his ears. They lay there in a heap together, a mess of tangled limbs, tail still clinging tightly. Omega rubbed soothing circles into Terzo’s back, although trying to steady himself more than his little human partner. When he had gathered the strength to do so, he lifted a shaking hand to his mask, taking it off with a sigh of relief before gently setting it down on the floor. He coaxed Terzo into lifting his head, finally pressing their lips together in a tender kiss. Terzo’s tongue licked up into his mouth, and Omega couldn’t help but smile.

“Mmm,” Terzo hummed, before letting out a small yawn. “Do you think we should go to bed now?” He looked dreamily sated.

Omega nodded, stretching languidly and becoming aware of how sticky his stomach was with both of their release. “Maybe a shower first, tesoro.”

“An excellent idea, my darling” Terzo said, cringing as he pried their bodies apart. He extended a hand to Omega after he’d made it to his feet, an offering Omega gladly took. His knees felt weak as he stripped his pants and underwear the rest of the way off, leaving them where they fell as they headed hand in hand toward the ensuite.

While they waited for the water to heat up, Terzo pulled him down for a kiss, soft at first, but quickly building. As they broke away to catch their breath, Terzo met his gaze, a hand finding its way to the back of Omega’s neck. 

Terzo smirked up at him, mischief in his eyes. “Maybe we have time for an encore, no?”

[geminiwritten]

hot dream ; billy butcher

fandom: the boys

pairing: billy x reader

summary: you fall asleep in butcher’s sweater and have a rather steamy dream, not realising that everyone heard you moaning butcher’s name in your sleep

notes: this is so bad, and it makes me so sad because i was so excited to write it, but work has been so blegh that i just feel like i failed??? i don’t know, it’s definitely not my best writing, but it’s something! hope y’all can still enjoy!

warnings: swearing, google-translated french, some very incorrect chemistry, and a tiny bit of smut (i’m working myself up to actually writing it, i promise!)

^ the sweater

word count: 4691

“It’s fucking cold in here,” you say, rubbing your arms as you step into the living room.

Frenchie and Kimiko are curled up under a blanket on the couch, and Butcher is lounging on the single seat sofa with his feet propped on top of the coffee table. You know MM is on his way back from Monique’s house with spare clothes and comforters, but you also know how caught up he can get when he spends time with Janine.

“You do not have a jumper?” Frenchie asks.

You shake your head, “The last sweatshirt I had was burnt to a crisp two weeks ago.”

New York City is quickly falling into winter, the air turning crisp and heavy clouds rolling overhead as news channels warn about impending snow within the week.

Kimiko looks up at you and wriggles her arms out of the blanket to sign an apology, gesturing to the jumper she wears as the only one she has.

Butcher sighs and pushes himself off the sofa, “I’ve got somethin’.”

The tiny butterflies in your stomach flitter to life, bouncing around excitedly at the thought of wearing Butcher’s clothing. You move a hand from your arm to your stomach and curse the stupid giddiness that this man aroused within you. It’s ridiculous, really, and just a stupid crush, but he never fails to elicit some sort of irritating physical reaction within your body every time he speaks.

He disappears into the main bedroom for a moment before remerging with a black garment in hand. “Here,” he says, handing it to you, “don’t get it burnt though, it’s my favourite.”

You give him a cheeky smile, “I make no promises.”

Your fingers brush his as you take the sweater from his hand, and his eyes capture yours in a stare you cannot break. His lip quirks into that gorgeous smirk you’ve come to enjoy so much, sending those stupid butterflies into a frenzy before he turns back toward the sofa.

You release a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding and with numb fingers, find the bottom of the sweatshirt before pulling it over your head. His scent hits you like a truck, rushing through your nose and burning all the way to your lungs. Your chest squeezes around your erratic heart, your ribs aching as they struggle to contain the throbbing muscle. It feels like you’ve been punched in the sternum, and your limbs feel like jelly wrapped in the soft material saturated by his scent.

You know this sweater almost too well, having admired him in it countless times. It’s a little too big on you, but on him, it’s perfect. The thick material hugs his shoulders and fits his torso in the most delicious way. It’s ridiculous that he can make something as plain as this sweater look downright sinful.

“Better?” Butcher asks, his eyes sparkling with a mischief that makes you wonder what he knows.

You nod, “Much.”

Kimiko shuffles over on the couch so that you can squeeze between her and the arm, the side closest to Butcher. You try to focus on the lame action film playing on the television, but the smell of the jumper clouds your mind, and you can feel Butcher’s gaze wandering over to you every few seconds. You want to say something, but every string of words that come to mind are laced with innuendo and teasing, and although you’re very fond of flirting with this man, you’re not sure you can handle it in your current state.

The sun is well below the horizon by the time MM arrives back, his arms full of blankets and second-hand clothing. Kimiko takes two jumpers and a blanket before seeing herself off to bed, and MM does the same shortly after. Frenchie throws another blanket over himself and invites you to share his warmth while Butcher remains on the single sofa with nothing but his trench coat. After almost three movies, your eyelids begin to droop, and you let your head fall onto Frenchie’s shoulder as sleep slowly consumes you.

You startle awake, your mind swirling with images of Butcher. You can still see him hovering over you, trailing open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, and his wicked grin as he settles between your thighs. Heat pulses between your legs at the fading memory, and your skin feels like it’s on fire, phantom touches lingering in the shape of Butcher’s hands on your hips, your breasts, your throat.

You have to blink a few times before the living room comes into focus, bright light flooding the space through the drawn curtains as dust mites float through the air. The blankets covering you suddenly feel like they weigh a tonne, and you have to throw them off your sweaty body before you pass out.

“Good morning, mon petit rayon de soleil,” Frenchie greets you, sitting in the sofa where you last consciously saw Butcher.

“Hey,” you mumble as you sit up.

His grin is wide and cheeky, “Did you have a good sleep?”

“It was okay,” you reply, rubbing your neck, “as good as it gets on this old couch.”

“I did not have the heart to wake you,” he says, “you looked so peaceful and were… humming so contently.”

You frown sceptically, “Okay…”

MM is in the kitchen, standing at the stove with a goofy smile as he watches the eggs in the pan cook.

“What time is it?”

“Almost ten,” Frenchie responds.

“What?” you demand, “You let me sleep for that long? Don’t we have things to do today?”

MM chuckles, “We didn’t want to wake you, as Frenchie said, you were so content.”

Spikes of panic begin prickling your skin and your eyes dart from Frenchie to MM, searching their impish faces for any sign of what could be making them so smug.

“Where’s Butcher?”

“Monsieur Charcutier had to excuse himself,” Frenchie says, “but he is awake.”

MM serves the eggs onto two plates and carries them over to the table where Kimiko is sat. She grins at him before digging in to her breakfast, and your own stomach begins to rumble.

“I suppose I will get my own,” Frenchie sighs, pushing himself off the sofa and walking toward the kitchen.

“I’ll have some too,” you call after him, “thanks, Frenchie.”

He smirks at you with the carton of eggs in hand, “Anything for you, mon amour. How do you like your eggs?”

“Hard boiled,” MM replies before you can, snickering as he takes a bite of toast.

Frenchie giggles too, and he quickly turns toward the stove to avoid your dubious stare.

“What the fuck are you two on this morning?”

They don’t respond as their laughter continues to bubble. Frenchie waves a hand dismissively, still refusing to look at you, before placing a pot and a pan on top of the stove.

“I prefer fried,” you mutter, still frowning.

He nods and moves the pot back into the cupboard just as the doors to the main bedroom creak open. Butcher steps out in faded jeans and yet another hideous Hawaiian shirt with only three of the lower buttons fastened. His hair is a complete mess and his cheeks flushed red; he looks as if he’d just sprinted several blocks.

“You’re awake,” he states.

You nod, “So are you.”

He chuckles, “Been awake for a couple’a hours, love.”

MM is struggling with his breakfast, his laughter refusing to subside though he does his best to quell it, his whole face turning red. Frenchie has turned his back to you completely now, but you can still see his shoulders shaking as he giggles into his hand.

“Did I miss something?” you ask Butcher as he falls into the single sofa.

His smirk just as devilish as Frenchie’s, “Nothin’ at all, in fact, I think it’s me who missed somethin’.”

“Okay,” you sigh, “you’re all being weird, and I’m incredibly sweaty, so I’m going to shower.”

“Breakfast will be ready for you when you return, mon amour,” Frenchie says, “take your time cleaning your- uh, humidité.”

Butcher chuckles as another wave of mirth hits MM, and he begins to choke on his mouthful of food. You roll your eyes before turning on your heel and stomping toward the bathroom, leaving them to their stupidity.

The cold air nips at your bare skin as you strip in the bathroom, carefully laying Butcher’s sweater on the vanity before stepping under the warm shower spray. You take your time washing your hair and scrubbing your body, hazy flashes of hot touches and wet kisses invading your mind as you close your eyes and let the water soak your skin. By the time you shut the shower off, you’re thoroughly clean and a little dizzy with desire. You dry off before wrapping the towel around your body and gathering your clothes to dash across the hall toward your bedroom.

You can’t help glancing in the direction of the living room when you step out, your eyes locking with Butcher’s dark gaze for the split second it takes you to reach your room. Your pulse is thrumming at a ridiculous pace as you unwrap the towel and turn toward your dresser. You slip on a fresh pair of panties and jeans, and turn to the sweater you’d tossed on your bed. Your stomach grumbles impatiently while you procrastinate, and you curse quietly to yourself before slipping the sweater over your head without anything underneath.

The living room wreaks of burnt toast when you remerge from your bedroom, and Frenchie is swearing at the toaster in such fast French, you can’t possibly try to understand it.

“Did you ruin my breakfast?” you ask, walking past Butcher and leaning your hip on the kitchen bench.

“I did not ruin anything,” Frenchie says with a frown, “this good for nothing piece of shit machine did.”

You can feel a pair of eyes burning into the back of your head and you know it’s Butcher, but you refuse to turn around, instead joining Frenchie in the kitchen to take over the toaster. After a few minutes of patience, the toast pops perfectly grilled and you place two pieces on each of your plates before Frenchie tops it with eggs.

“So,” MM says when you and Frenchie join him at the table, “what’s today’s plan?”

“We need to go back to the old safe house,” Frenchie replies.

“The basement,” you note between bites of toast.

He nods, “We need to gather anything we left behind that might be useful. I am running out of materials and I know we left a stash of ammunition there.”

“Who’s to say it isn’t already gone?” MM queries.

Frenchie shrugs, “We do not know, but it is worth a try.”

You want to point out that it isn’t really necessary for all of you to go, but you know that will only end in an argument, so you focus on finishing your breakfast. Once you’re all done, MM collects the empty plates and begins washing up while the rest of you go to gather your things.

You pack a small crossbody bag with your phone and keys before tucking a sheathed dagger into the back of your jeans, just in case. When you step back into the living room, Frenchie and MM are waiting by the door, whispering and giggling about something until they see you approach. You want to demand they let you in on whatever stupid joke you’d missed out on this morning, but Butcher’s heavy footsteps capture your attention before you can speak.

“Righ’ then, lads,” he says, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat, “let’s get on with it.”

Your gaze lingers on his lips as he speaks before trailing down his neck and bare chest, finding a mere two more buttons fastened than before. Heat rises to your cheeks, creeping all the way up to the tips of your ears as your mouth begins to water and another blurry image of Butcher fills your mind. You see him on his knees before you, looking up with hungry eyes and parted lips, murmuring something filthy that doesn’t quite reach your ears.

You gasp, blinking rapidly to return to reality and finding three curious faces staring back at you.

“Are you okay?” Frenchie asks.

You nod, “I’m good, let’s go.”

You step between him and MM and walk out the door first, turning down the hall without bothering to wait. They’re giggling again by the time they catch up to you in the lobby, and even Butcher is wearing an amused smirk. He winks as he walks past you, pulling his car keys from his pocket before holding the front door open for the rest of you. Unlike every other time you’ve all been walking toward the car, no one calls shot gun. Frenchie simply opens the back door for Kimiko to slide in before he does, and MM follows without a single complaint.

You look at Butcher, “What the fuck?”

He shrugs, but his smirk is still saturated with amusement and the glint in his eyes tells you that this has something to do with whatever they were all being so smug about.

“You’re all pissing me off today,” you sigh, before walking around the car to the passenger’s side.

You’re not upset about getting the front seat, nor are you annoyed that you get to sit beside Butcher and practically drool over him while he has to pay attention to the road. You are, however, beginning to panic about what it is that they’re not telling you.

The drive isn’t long, and you spend most of it watching Butcher’s hands on the wheel, fantasising about how they would feel caressing every inch of your skin. It almost feels like a memory as you picture his fingers digging into your hips or wrapped gently around your throat, and you can feel your body growing hot within the thick material of his sweater. You practically fall out of the car when it finally stops, gasping for cool air and willing your mind to focus on the task at hand.

Frenchie leads the way down a narrow alley and pushes open the familiar metal door before the rest of you follow him into the dark, damp corridor of what used to be your hide out. You all stay silent for a few minutes, creeping around and checking for any unusual activity or signs that the place might be bugged or trapped. It’s definitely been ransacked, but there are thin films of dust blanketing almost every surface which indicates that whoever was looking in here had given up a long time ago.

“Okay,” Frenchie speaks up once deciding that you’re safe, “let’s see what we’ve got left.”

You split up and wander around the huge, open basement. There are two curtain dividers sectioning the space into what you used as ‘bedrooms’, and a single chipped, wooden door leading to the tiny bathroom at the very back. MM goes in there first, rummaging around for half a minute before declaring it empty.

“Is there anything in particular that we’re looking for?” you ask, turning to Frenchie, “Because there’s a lot of crap in here, and as much as I’d love for you all to rummage through my old underwear drawer, maybe we should-”

Before you can finish your sentence, Frenchie and Butcher take off, abandoning the shelves they were searching and knocking one of the curtain dividers over as they scramble toward the old dresser you used to use.

“Hey!” you shout, your eyes growing wide as you hurry after them.

They’re giggling like maniacs as they wrench the drawers open one by one, tossing out the few items of clothing that still remained in there before realising that there was, in fact, no underwear left behind.

“I was joking,” you say, “fucking pervs.”

Frenchie chuckles, “Can you blame us, mon amour?”

“Yes!”

MM is snickering in the small kitchenette as he picks through the lower cupboards one by one. As much as you want to enjoy the rare light-heartedness within the group right now, you can’t stop wondering why the hell they were all in such a giddy mood. Are they all high?

“Alrigh’ you lot,” Butcher says, running a hand through his dishevelled hair as his laughter subsides, “stop messin’ about, we’ve got a job to do.”

You roll your eyes and trudge toward where MM is, starting on the top cupboards of the small kitchen while they begin opening old crates and suitcases. Frenchie starts a pile by the stairs, stacking up anything he finds that might be useful or too valuable to abandon. There isn’t much, but there are still a couple of cases of ammunition and packets of powders that you know are combustible in some way.

“Wait!” Frenchie shouts suddenly, crouching beside an electrical socket. “Be careful. Somebody has shorted the wiring, intentionally or not, I do not know, but do not touch the outlets or anything still plugged in.”

You slowly retract your hand from beside the rusty old microwave. “What will happen?”

“You will probably be electrocuted.”

“Good to know,” Butcher sighs.

You all return to your ransacking with cautious hands and watchful eyes, skirting around anything electrical or made of metal. When you approach the refrigerator, you can hear a soft, crackling hum, and MM looks at you with wide eyes. It was never a reliable machine, but now it is most definitely a death trap.

You continue your search through the cupboards, knocking half-full packets of rice and flour off the shelves as you stretch up onto your toes to see inside. This job is probably better suited to someone with more of a height advantage, but you’ve always been stubborn, so you don’t bother asking for help.

The cupboard above the sink, adjacent to the stove – you always thought it was stupid to put the sink right beside the stove – reveals a cluster of cleaning products. You reach as far as you can, straining your arms to reach the bottles on the top shelf and groaning at the tension in your body.

Behind you, MM mimics the noise, only louder, ���Ungh.”

You hear Frenchie snicker, “No, no, it was more like, mmmh.”

Your fingertips scrape the bottle closest to the front of the cupboard and you huff in frustration.

“Nngh,” MM groans again.

“Ahhh,” Frenchie moans loudly, before dissolving into another fit of giggles.

Determined to ignore them, you try to stretch up even further. Your back aches but your fingers find the bottle once again, scratching at it in an attempt to get it to move.

MM sighs seductively, “Ohh, yeah.”

“Mmm, Butcher,” Frenchie gasps.

Your stomach drops and you lose your balance, stumbling as you whirl around to face them. “What the fuck?”

Frenchie giggles as he meets your stare, “Oops.”

The bottle from the top shelf of the cupboard falls forward and knocks your shoulder, popping the cap off. The liquid inside spills all over your chest just as realisation hits you.

“That’s what all this has been about?!” you exclaim, “you heard me having a fucking sex dream and instead of waking me up, you listened?”

MM can’t stop laughing, with one hand holding his stomach while the other supports his body against the old dining room table. You’ve never seen this man so flustered, and if you weren’t so embarrassed, you might have enjoyed seeing him so overwhelmed with laughter.

Frenchie, however, has gone completely pale, stepping forward with a petrified expression. “Y/N, listen-”

“No,” you snap, “I won’t listen! You are such a-”

“Y/N!” he shouts, “do not move.”

The room falls silent and panic ripples through your body.

“Please, mon amour, stay still,” he pleads as he hurries toward you.

He steps carefully around the puddles on the floor before reaching down to pick up the now empty bottle. He studies the label for less than a second before looking back at you with panicked eyes.

“You need to take off your jumper, now.”

You frown, “What? Why?”

“This is isopropyl alcohol,” he says, “it is highly flammable. If anything in this place so much as sparks, it will catch fire and if the vapours ignite, this whole building could explode.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, looking down at the soaked front of Butcher’s sweater.

Frenchie turns to MM, “Get something, get a bag, and get ready to go.”

You remain still as your pulse quickens, “Frenchie.”

“Butcher,” he says, “you and Kimiko start taking things up the stairs, do not come over here.”

Butcher frowns, “Like hell I’m leavin’ her.”

“Frenchie,” you repeat.

“I will get her out, okay? Just take what we’ve got and let’s get out.”

“I don’t give a fuck about this crap,” Butcher argues, “I care about her, and I’m not leavin’ ‘til I know she’s safe.”

“Frenchie!” you exclaim, “I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

The room falls quiet once again, and you can feel blood rushing to your cheeks as each of them turn to you with curious eyes.

“Nothin’?” Butcher asks, fighting the smirk tugging at his lips.

“Nothing,” you reply.

Despite the situation, Frenchie is the first to snicker.

“Come ‘ere,” Butcher says, “slowly.”

You step carefully out of the kitchen, avoiding every surface as your boots squelch against the wet floor. Once you’re in front of him, he shrugs off his coat and gestures for you to remove the sweater. Your heart pounds as you turn your back to him, and he holds his jacket up to shield you, though not quite high enough to block his own view. You hold your breath and pull the sweater up, squeezing your eyes shut as it slips over your head. You can feel his breath on your back as soon as it’s bare, and a whole different kind of heat rushes through you.

He drops his coat around your shoulders and you quickly hug it against your chest. His scent envelops you, even more so than it had with the sweater, and your nerves begin to ease almost immediately.

“Give it to me,” Frenchie says, holding a plastic bag open toward you.

You drop the sweater in and he ties it off.

“Let’s go.”

MM, Kimiko, and Butcher grab what they can before you all ascend the stairs. You hurry through the corridor and out into the alley, not stopping until you’re all safe inside the car.

“Did you get any on your pants, mon amour?” Frenchie asks.

You push the bottom of Butcher’s jacket off your legs to inspect. “Only a little.”

“It will not damage the clothing, but we should wash everything right away.”

You nod before glancing toward Butcher. His face is a mixture of concern and mischief, his eyes struggling to watch the road instead of you, sitting beside him and wrapped in his favourite coat.

“Should we tell someone about that situation back there?” MM pipes up.

“I will call somebody to clean it up,” Frenchie replies.

It isn’t long before you’re all quietly climbing out of the car and carrying your finds up to the apartment. Everyone kicks their shoes off at the door, per Frenchie’s instructions, and begins sorting through the bags and boxes of old materials and equipment.

Frenchie turns to you, “Give me your jeans.”

“Right now?”

He nods and you sigh, deciding not to argue. You turn away from them and open the coat, quickly unbuttoning your jeans and slipping them off before wrapping yourself back up. When you turn back around, he’s adorning that same silly grin that he’d been wearing all morning.

“Is this how it started in your dream?”

You roll your eyes and shove your jeans into his outstretched hand. “Just because you kind of saved my life, doesn’t mean I’m not still annoyed at you.”

He giggles as he takes your clothes and walks down the hall to the laundry.

“In his defence,” Butcher smirks, “I told ‘em not to wake you.”

“You what?”

He steps toward you and shrugs, “I liked hearin’ those pretty little noises you were makin’.”

The butterflies in your stomach burst to life and your pulse begins to race.

He leans forward as he whispers, “Liked it a little too much.”

You suddenly remember what Frenchie had said this morning when you asked where Butcher was: ‘Monsieur Charcutier had to excuse himself’.

“Now,” Butcher clears his throat, “you gon’a give me my coat back before you spill somethin’ else on it?”

You raise your brows, “You want it back right now? Right here?”

He glances over his shoulder toward MM and Kimiko before turning back to you, “Maybe not righ’ here.”

You step around him and walk through the kitchen toward the main bedroom, avoiding MM’s eyes as you pass the dining room table. You don’t bother closing the doors behind you, because sure enough, a pair of heavy footsteps follow closely behind. The door clicks shut and you turn around to look at Butcher. You let your eyes wander over his body, your mouth watering as you follow the collar of his shirt down his bare chest where the top buttons lay open.

“I’m not gon’a lie,” he says, his hungry gaze pinning you to the floor, “as much as I fuckin’ loved hearin’ you whisper my name… I can’t wait to make you scream it.”

His words punch you in the chest, knocking all the air from your legs as heat pools between your legs.

“Now, love,” he steps forward, “can I ‘ave my coat back?”

Your fingers tremble as you grip the lapels of the jacket, moving your shoulders so the material falls off before you open it up and let it drop to the floor. He draws one sharp breath, his eyes growing wide as they move up and down your body, devouring every inch of it as if he’s never seen anything so perfect.

He closes the distance between you and wraps his hands around your waist, fingertips digging into the flesh of your back with bruising pressure.

“D’you know how hard I came to the thought of you this morning?” he murmurs.

You can’t do anything but stare back at him, your lips aching to taste him, all of him.

“So fuckin’ hard,” he whispers before capturing your mouth with his.

You moan as you melt against him, your arms wrapping around his neck and your fingers tangling through his hair as he claims your mouth. His hands squeeze your waist and pull you closer, pressing your naked body against him. The friction of his shirt against your nipples makes you gasp, and he takes advantage of your open mouth, sliding his tongue past your lips.

“Can’t fuckin’ imagine,” he mumbles against your mouth, “how hard I’m gon’a come with you on my cock.”

The ball of tension throbbing below your stomach explodes, and you use all of your strength to push him back toward the bed. He chuckles as he falls back, his hand catching your wrist to pull you down on top of him.

“Tell me ‘bout your dream, love,” he says as you hover over him, “where was I?”

You plant an open-mouthed kiss on his collarbone before biting down and making him groan.

“You were everywhere,” you whisper against his skin, “marking me, claiming me.”

He moans again as you grind your hips down, the friction of his jeans sending jolts of pleasure up your spine.

“I don’t fuckin’ need to claim you,” he growls, his hands holding your hips as he thrusts up, “you’re already mine.”

He lifts you up enough to flip you onto your back, his body moving with yours and settling between your legs as he hovers over you. He dips down, his lips finding your neck and sucking on the sensitive skin before biting down hard. You moan loudly, and quickly smack a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise.

“I don’t think so, love,” he murmurs, taking your hand and pinning it to the bed, “I said, I wan’a hear you fuckin’ scream.”

END.

[esouliie]

– HAPPY GILMORE

– pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

– synopsis: natasha always looks good, even when she’s dressed like adam sandler.

– warnings: fluff, thigh riding, make out sesh, oral fixation. (18+)

Natasha had always found your fascination with her hair odd. It was nothing special- just a casual red. She’s seen plenty of women on the street with the same colour. Even your best friend, Wanda, had red hair. And yet you were obsessed with just hers.

“Nat!” You call from the living room.

It was 8am on a Saturday- Natasha’s only day off- and she had just finished her morning run. You, too tired and lazy to come, decided to wait on the sofa for the redhead’s return, promising to not fall asleep. But, you did.

Leaving the bedroom, she finds you curled up with Liho, the news playing freely in the background.

“Natasha!” You call again without realising the woman was right next to you.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Natasha leans down to place a kiss to your forehead, stroking the black cat on top of you gently.

“No.” You groan, an arm covering the place she just kissed.

“You promised you wouldn’t fall back asleep.” Natasha snorts as she shoos Liho off your lap. The cat trudges away grudgingly, eyeing the woman as she sits next to you.

You hum, giving up on speaking to your girlfriend, sleep lulling on the edge.

She laughs again.

Peeking slightly, you notice Natasha sat watching the TV. Her beautiful side profile highlighted by the morning sun- all sharp lines and soft skin sit in contrast. Her short hair was damp- the red bleeding into a deep brown. She looked so hot; dressed in a wife beater, a purple sweater wrapped around her waist, and grey shorts, but she didn’t need to know that.

Her ego was big enough already.

“You know, you dress like Adam Sandler.” You announce, catching the woman off guard. She watched you face contort as you try to hold in your laughter.

Unfazed by your joke, she replies, “or Adam Sandler dresses like me.”

With that, you lose it. Hard laughter echos the apartment, drowning out the news anchors above. The last remnants of sleep slipaway.

You sit up, unable to breathe between your laughter.“That’s not the flex you think it is.”

Natasha’s brow twitches, “Whatever.” She turns away from you, attention back on the boring TV.

“Oh, cmon.” You swing a leg over her, placing your full weight on her lap.

You pinch her cheek softly. “It’s just a bit of fun, little baby.”

She swats your hand away, ignoring you.

“Haven’t you heard? Goofy is the new handsome.” You quote from a Sandler movie with a shit eating grin, as you tuck a loose bang behind Natasha’s ear.

She doesn’t swat your hand away this time.

“You know, you’d look good as a brunette.” Her gaze shifts to you.

A quirk in her brow. She could work with this.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” you shuffle closer, “like really good. I’m surprised you’ve never done brown before.”

Her arms wrap tighter, your fronts flushed together, lips angled expertly to press against your neck.

“I thought you liked the red.” She whispers, knowing her breath tickles your sensitive skin.

“I fucking love the red!” You reply all breathy. She loves how easily she can affect you. Just a little graze of her lips and you’re a puddle.

Natasha replies by latching on to your neck, soft kisses travelling down and across your collarbone. She takes her time, red marks follow in haste, as she caresses, licks, bites.

Working her way up, teeth graze your jaw. A hand unwinds from your waist and long fingers take ahold of your chin, turning you to meet soft lips. The hot embrace closing in on your tongue, a shared wetness and heavy sighs fill the silence between you both.

Her kisses are intoxicating; the bold scent of her cologne floods your senses. She always smells so fucking good, you cant help but jump her bones. You take ahold of the bottom of the white vest, tugging the material up, revealing her toned abs.

You pull away, sitting to her side, eyes drifting down to look at the sculpted woman beneath you.

“You like, baby?” Her voice comes out husky, a tongue runs across her bottom lip. She’s leaning back, an arm over the back of the sofa, efficiently “man spreading” with you still perched on her knee.

You place a hand where the vest covers skin, fingers dipping underneath the material, grazing against the woman’s under boob. Slowly, you trail down; palm gliding over every curve, every dip of Natasha’s abdomen, until you reach the waistband of her shorts. Boldly, you slide your fingers under the thick material, tips stopping just above the waistband of her boxers.

Natasha lets out a shuddered breath, her heart beat racing as she watches your hand disappear.

“You like, baby?” You copy condescendingly, loving the power trip you’re experiencing right now.

She groans, head resting even more against the sofa. Her hand wraps around your wrist easily, pushing your fingers down till slickness coats them.

You move up and down, then lightly circle her nerves. Her wetness making it’s appearance with each movement.“Listen to you, Tasha. That all for me?”

Before you could slide down to her entrance, her grip on your wrist returns, pulling your hand out of her shorts.

Natasha brings your soaked digits up to your face and you take them in, her essence coating your tongue as you moan lowly at the taste.

With a hand at the back of your neck, she holds you steady. The other manipulating your fingers to slide deeper down your throat. Your eyes flutter shut, as the last of your attitude flies out the window.

Natasha smiles at the sight, “There’s my girl.”

Your fingers leave your mouth as she tugs you forward, lips crashing onto yours. Large hands fix perfectly to your waist, tugging you forward and back. The ache between your legs building as you sigh into the kiss.

“I’m fucking you till I’m bored.”

To which she did.

~~

Hours later, Natasha finally got tired. The woman was constantly complaining about the ache in her jaw as if she wasn’t the one who decided to eat you out until you couldn’t cum anymore.

You roll your eyes at the memory.

The morning sun had turned into the evening sun and the city below buzzed with life. You were both still on the sofa- wrapped in a blanket and in each other’s embrace. Liho had returned- finally able to rest on you- without Natasha disturbing her.

Happy Gilmore played on the TV, and despite your earlier taunts, Natasha was laughing at the screen alongside you.

She had to give it to him. The guy was hilarious.

“Actually, I change my mind.” Your voice gains her attention.

The shit eating grin is back.

“It’s probably best you don’t dye your hair brown.”

Natasha turns her head to the side in confusion.

“You’ll look even more like Adam Sandler.” You point at the screen as the actor checks himself out in the mirror, a comb running through his dark hair.

“I’m breaking up with you.”

[empthy1]

Sydney Adamu - Blessed

for @wandaszn, who asked for some bottom!syd x reader :D warnings: soft smut, a lot of yapping, I've never seen the bear or been to Chicago so apologies for any inconsistencies in character or setting. also Cleo Sol reference b/c I was listening to her while writing this anyways first fic yippee!!

Small blessings.

That's what Sydney had.

A shitty apartment- but hey. The rent's low, and it has a small kitchen. She can't have a cat- her landlord would crucify her- but she wouldn't have time to take care of one anyway, with how much she works.

She has to take a bus that smells to work everyday it rains. Which is often. But it's only one stop and takes ten minutes, tops. She can deal with the woman with the yappy dog at seven in the morning, and the guy who always smelled like weed.

She found happiness in small things. Perfecting a recipe. A good day at the restaurant. Walking through the park on her one day off a month, getting pastries from a shop only a block from her apartment.

The big things came after she met you.

Now, she gets to come home after a long day to a bigger apartment, one that's less shitty. This one permits pets, allowing her to feel the brush of a orange, furred mass between her stepping feet as she crosses the threshold.

She can smell the takeout you'd gotten, the one night a week she's permitted you to (if she can cook for you, she sees no reason why you have to pay for someone to make it. She's totally not jealous). There's probably a plate set up, already in the microwave for her to heat.

She's not interested in that.

Her coat and bag are soon hanging from one of the racks on the wall, her boots discarded as well. She's already pulling off her sweater as she approaches your curled up form on the couch, your head already peeking out from the blankets. She can hear the soft voice of Cleo Sol in the air, the vinyl spinning happily with no potential noise complaint to worry about. Good neighbors are another unexpected godsend.

"Hey, Syd." Comes your soft, sleepy greeting. You're sitting up, the fabric slipping off of your form like water. Despite the cold temperatures outside, you're still warm as she sinks into you.

"Hi." She really, really doesn't feel like talking. It'd been a stressful day, the rush taking it out of the kitchen more than usual- especially with Carmy's ever-increasing perfectionism. Your coos in her ear are a welcome distraction, the kisses pressed to her neck a balm to her very soul.

Her hand wraps around the back of your neck, drawing your mouth to hers. She's ever so pliant after stressful days; she follows your lead easily as you lay her down on the soft cushions of the sofa you found (another blessing). The kiss you share is lazy, your warm hands softly snaking under her cotton bra to palm at her.

She can't focus on anything other than your hands, her lips stalling under yours- only opening to let soft, pleased sounds escape. It allows your mouth to focus on her neck, to drag down a beautiful throat, gleaming in the low lamplight.

She doesn't protest as you unclip her bra. A sigh of relief escapes her, the almost painful underwire that'd plagued her for hours no longer a problem. Another sigh, this one more a moan, sounds when your mouth meets the skin of her chest and envelops a peaked bud.

You linger there for a minute, pressing gentle kisses to every inch of skin you can. It makes the heat in her gut grow, like a bear rousing from hibernation- ever present, but dormant. Her strong hands meet your shoulders, her one callused finger rough. She's pushing you down towards the curling warmth.

Her hips lift as your hands meet the waistband of her jeans. The button slipping free makes her jolt impatiently. The slow drag of the zipper forces a whine free from her tensed throat. She's kicking the denim off before it even reaches her ankles, drawing a laugh from your throat. She almost kicked you in her neediness.

With the show you made of her pants, she's relieved when her damp panties soon follow. The sound torn from her chest when your mouth meets her is nothing short of guttural. Your tongue is warm as it sweeps through her folds, gently exploring the flesh you're so familiar with as if it's the first time. Little whines escape her, soft noises of pleasure filling the open living-room, joining the sweet mix of instruments and voice.

She almost sobs when you lap at her clit, her hands fumbling for something to grab- soon finding your roaming fingers, interlacing with them and resting, joined, on her heaving chest.

Her climax isn't something unexpected, doesn't creep up on her; it's a soft, slow build, the feeling of your tongue on her soaked flesh and your fingers in hers getting more and more intense with every passing minute. When your tongue moves, slipping down and in, her hips raise with a groan, fingers squeezing yours as she gushes on your tongue.

Her mind is gone to the heavens, even after you withdraw. When you curl next to her, throwing one of the many blankets over the both of you. Her lips lazily meet yours as she wraps her bare arms around you. Her expert tongue, refined from hours of study in the kitchen, tastes your mouth. The mix of sour her and sweet you may be the most exquisite thing she's every had.

Despite her nakedness, and the chill seeping in from outside, she drifts off, warmer than she's ever been, feeling so blessed to have your soft, solid form against hers and a lazy cat at your feet.

The music plays on. The snow still falls. However, nothing breaks the bubble, the home you've made with each other.

[whorediaries-09]

sweater weather;

pairing- roommate!sirius black x reader warning(s)- fluff, some silly banter, tad bit suggestive. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- aghhh just a brain rot 😞🤍. also this whole series is so self indulgent 🤭

masterlist of 'the seven lives;' series

the slut club

and now, so let me hold both your hands in the holes of my sweater

he doesn’t like cats.

much to his dismay, you’re bending down and cooing at the little kitten that curls up against your ankle. it has got soft blue eyes which reflect innocence. you run your fingers through its black fur, picking the small animal up. he likes the soft smile on your face. it fills his chest with a warm fuzzy feeling he can’t explain. neither can he explain why his heart skips a few beats when he notices the twinkling in your eyes. it almost makes him drown into a frenzy of warmth.

‘can we keep her?’ you ask. there’s something in your voice that sends sparks of electricity down his spine. it’s as if he’s known you his whole life. he doesn’t want to say no, but he can’t help it. he digs the edge of his boot on the loose gravel of the path. twirling around the loops grocery packet between his fingers, he whispers, scared to let the joy in your eyes leave.

‘no,’ he tries to predict your reaction, but fails to. surely the joy in your eyes melts, but the hope doesn’t. from what he knows about you, he knows you’re a stubborn person who stands their ground. you always get your way around in some way or the other. but you’re also a people pleaser. you hate it when you’ve to truly go against somebody’s wishes to do something you want.

so, he watches as you wrap the little kitten between the folds flannel you’re wearing. there’s a mischievous glint in your eyes, a small smirk between the curve of your smile. it’s the same one you wear when you read something mildly suggestive in your books.

‘please, sirius,’ you drawl. the kitten mewls from the folds of the fabric, her eyes glinting the same mischief as yours do. he feels his breath palpitate when you move closer, putting the face of the kitten closer to his.

‘look she wants to come with us too, that’s why she’s mewing,’ you justify. he gulps slowly, his barrier of rigidity slowly breaking. he feels his thoughts melt when he stares at your lips. even though he’s never touched them before, he suddenly thinks he knows them. he feels he can carve every shape, every curve of your body with his eyes closed.

‘okay,’ he gulps. you squeal, a quiet sound from your lips.

he thinks it’s melody to his ears.

*-

‘sirius!’ you shout across the room. your kitten, binx, is curled across your chest, purring away silently as you rub your fingers through her fur. you’re laying down, your feet thrown across the sofa, letting the nail paint on your toes dry. the mild winter allows a soft sunbeam to peek through the windows.

‘what?’ he asks, coming out of his door. he has nothing but a towel wrapped around his narrow waist. several tattoos are inked upon his porcelain skin with happy trail on his abdomen which traces down, leaving less to imagination. his hair is wet and droplets of water trace down his defined pectorals. while you’d been living with him for nearly 8 months now, you’d definitely never seen him shirtless. it makes your chest fill with a strange warmth. it makes your brain short circuit for a moment when he smiles, walking towards you.

‘like what you see?’ he teases, wiggling his eyebrow. you gulp slowly, before you regain your composure.

‘i can’t hear you over the loud music,’ you say, getting up. binx falls on your lap, and she scratches your arms with her nails.

‘hey hey, calm down little woman!’ sirius says, noticing her scratching you. he takes her into her arms, her little paws trying to scratch at a surface.

‘don’t do that to your mum,’ he says, looking into her eyes. she stops fidgeting for a bit, before she mews loudly throwing her paws on his chest and leaving a long scratch across it. it digs deep into his skin, letting out blood.

‘binx! you naughty menace!’ you scold as she scurries off, jumping from sirius’ hold.

‘asshole,’ he murmurs, grasping his wound.

‘i’ll patch it up for you,’ you say.

*-

‘do you trust me?’ you ask, holding the cotton soaked with the antiseptic with a pair of tweezers. you’re standing in between his thighs. he’s wearing nothing but grey sweatpants, being overly dramatic for the scratch on his chest. while you think it’s adorable, you’re sure it’s just for the shits and giggles.

‘i do, but i feel like I shouldn’t?’ he answers, grinning mischievously. he likes your form between his legs he thinks. it makes him go feral, you looking down at him while you fix his wounds. it makes his imagination go wild. the idea of you touching him while he’s half naked thrills something inside his stomach.

you slap him across his shoulder. it’s a soft playful blow and he laughs. his hands suddenly grip your waist, as he pulls you closer, almost mushing his face with your breasts. he watches the breath get stuck on your throat, as you wet your lip, tongue slowly darting out over your lower lips. you’re unconsciously leaning over his face, soaking the cotton ball into his blood.

he sneers as a soft burning pain grows, and his fingers dig deeper into your waist. you unconsciously arch your hips towards him, your hands falling on shoulder. the tension grows, and the heartbeats palpitate between the both of you. there’s a look of dreaminess in your eyes he’s never seen before. he thinks it makes him weak in the knees. you trail your fingernail on a tattoo, before rubbing the antiseptic on his wound.

your breaths are ragged when you finally close his wound with a patch. your job was done, you’d move away. you should move away. but his touch burns into your soul, but it isn’t enough. it feels familiar on your skin, yet so unfamiliar. you lean closer unconsciously as if from muscle memory. you cradle his face, your noses rubbing-

a loud noise of shattering glass distracts you. you pull apart, a flustered look on your face. heat occupies your skin as you crumble into a shell of embarrassment. he lets go of your waist, and you stutter,

‘binx- the little fucking minx-‘you say, before you run off.

*-

you’re carrying a cup of coffee in your hand, running late for your job. a piece of toast hangs from your lips, and you’re running around the house, trying to find your tie.

‘you can wear mineeeee,’ sirius drawls, closing the battered copy of ‘the picture of dorian gray’.

‘i could if you gave it to me!’ you shout, swallowing the last piece of the butter smothered bread.

‘you’ve a nice swallow game, i see,’ he muses. you groan, gulping down the last bit of your bitter coffee.

‘that’s a really bad one!’ you say, tucking your shirt into your trousers. screaming internally, you realize you can’t find your belt either. sirius enters his room, seemingly searching for his tie.

‘can you give me a belt too?’ you ask, hurrying off behind him. binx runs in front of your feet, and in an attempt to not fall on her, you fall on the floor with a thump, followed by sirius who trips on you.

his locks tickle your face, his grey eyes staring into yours with an intensity which reminds you a memory you never had. it’s a minor flash, something of a haze like dream, but you remember it so clearly. your breathing rages, hotness searing through you as his scent and warmth looms over you. there’s a glint in his eyes you can’t decipher, but your memory has it engrained. as if you’ve seen it a thousand times.

‘i like it when you’re under me,’ he whispers. it’s a low rasp, one you’ve never heard before, yet it ignites something in you.

something that excites you.

*-

he’s fleeing when he receives your call. your voice was a timid whisper when you’d called him, laced with fear. he hated it, he hated how it sounded. but when he arrives at the bar, he finds you completely safe, surrounded by your friends. you’re chatting happily, your skin flushed with the alcohol that renders through your body. he’s perplexed, till one of your friends spot him. she bats her eyelashes at you, whistling as he walks towards you.

‘what happened?’ he asks. he holds your fingers, gripping them tight. he’s trying to read through your emotions. he’s trying to read you through the happy smile and shining eyes. but he’s too distracted by how happy you look.

‘it wasz a prankh!’ you cheer happily, your drunk state rendering your words.

‘seriously?’ he asks, rolling his eyes. he’s smiling, he can’t help it. you laugh,

‘yess!’ you try to stand up, but trip on your heels instead. he holds you closer, letting you support your weight on him.

‘you’ve had too much to drink,’ he scolds. you gaze at him happily, your hormones getting the best of you.

‘i know!’ you exclaim, feeling the collywobbles consume you as his scent tantalizes into your senses.

‘don’t you think we should leave?’ he asks.

‘should we?’

‘yes,’ he says, pulling you closer. his fingers dig into your skin, feeling your touch. it calms his nerves. still, he needs to hold you closer, to feel you, to know you’re safe.

‘okay i’ll go. will you take me home?’ you ask, an innocence provoked in your voice. he feels himself melt, scarring him and his memories.

‘i’ll do. i’ll always take you home.’

*-

the stars are shining bright on the dark sky. you’ve his leather jacket wrapped around your form, as he holds you close. you reek of alcohol, but he doesn’t mind it. it’s infused distinctly with your perfume, and he finds his comfort in it.

‘hi,’ you say, wrapping your arm across his waist, pulling him closer. he presses a kiss on your hair, breathing you in. it’s perplexing, the burning emotions you let flee in his chest. the warmth he feels with your presence.

‘hi,’ he whispers back. there’s a glazed look in your eyes. he knows it. he remembers it. it reflects him, and he feels as if there’s no one in the world but you and him. his heart beats raggedly, and he’s afraid it’ll pop out of his chest, when you lean closer to him, pressing a soft kiss on his jaw.

‘you’re so beautiful,’ you say, snuggling against him. your heels click against the loose gravel of the path. it’s a moment of softness he wants to cherish forever.

‘but you’re hurting me…so much. i wish i could kiss you. i wish i could hold you like this forever. i wish i could keep you close with me, just for me,’ you ramble.

‘then why don’t you?’ he asks, his fingers cradling your jaw.

‘you’ll kiss me?’ he looks down at you, his eyes scanning your features. the cold air waves over your hair, and he holds your face between his hands. his fingers ghost over your lips. you lean into his hand, as he presses a soft peck on your chin.

‘i’ll do, when you’re sober,’ he promises.

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

taglist - @reggieisfit @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader @jamespottergf @eternallybipanicking (if you want to be tagged please reply under this post!)

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Still Pretty

Sirius Black x fem!reader

[1K] drunk sirius, something cute and fluffy that I stopped too soon ‘cause toothache got to me sorry

Sirius was wearing half the clothes he’d left with by the time you walked into the Potter’s home.

He was lazing on the couch, half on Remus, dark hair a mess, white shirt rumpled and sleeves rolled to his elbows, three - no four - buttons undone, tie lost, sweater missing. The party had long wrapped up, the usual suspects left with the music low, butterbeer and firewhiskey bottles almost empty.

Lily had called, sounding too relieved when you answered, not long home from work. She’d murmured a soft apology, hoping you weren’t too tired, but your boyfriend was taking up residency on her couch and her own husband was only encouraging it.

You’d laughed, fond and knowing, telling her you’d be over soon to collect what was yours. So you fed your cat, scratching him behind his black fur ears as he curled around your legs in thanks, leaving the living room lights on low for your return. You switched out your work shirt for a sweater Sirius had left at yours, a faded thing that was once black but always soft, shoving your feet into some tennis shoes and setting off to the Potter’s.

You didn’t knock, didn’t have to, walking into the familiar house that smelled like pumpkin spice and honey. You found your friends in the living room, sprawled over loveseats and armchairs, talking quietly, laughing loudly. Remus smiled lazily when he saw you, tapping at Sirius’ legs which were slung over his lap. Lily waved from the armchair she was squished beside James on, her husband half asleep with his head on her chest.

“Pads,” Remus whispered, “your taxi is here.”

Disgruntled, Sirius slapped blindly at his friend, his head hanging off of the couch, hair wild, silver earring dangling against his temple. He was all flushed, pink and tipsy, eyes closed and lashes fanning over cheeks. “Fuck off,” Sirius moaned, sleepy sounding. “M’staying here. This is my bed.” He slapped the couch cushions, indignant. “You’re in my bed, Remus.”

Lily rolled her eyes and Remus tried not to laugh as you crept over, bending to smooth your hand over your boyfriend’s forehead, brushing back the stray hairs that were curling over his eyes, around his temples. He grinned before you could even speak.

“Wouldn’t be the first time, would it?” You mused softly, voice teasing.

Sirius’ eyes opened, dark as always, warm with butterbeer and wine, warmer from seeing you. They crinkled in the corners, sticky sweet. “Hi, darling.”

“Hi, pretty boy,” you murmured back, smiling when Sirius lifted his head, neck craning to bump his nose against your cheek, kissing you a little off kilter, clumsy but sweet. You hummed, pleased with his affection, even if Remus pretended to gag from beside you both. “Would you like to come to my bed instead?”

Sirius gasped, scandalised, eyes wide and flashing dangerously at you. His grin was wolfish. “Christ woman, are you flirting with me?” He leaned up again, pushing a kiss to your jawline, snickering into your skin when Remus finally shoved him off.

“I’ll flirt with you more if you let poor Lily get to her bed,” you reasoned, helping the boy right himself on the couch, carding your fingers through his hair, smiling when he caught your palm and pressed a kiss there too.

“You’re both awful,” Remus mused, standing and stretching, readying himself to leave too. He was full of affection as he said it, bending to press his own kisses to your and Sirius’ heads, doing the same to Lily and a sleeping James before he slipped out the door.

“I’m not awful,” Sirius responded a beat too late, frowning at the closed door. “M’the best. Aren’t I, darling?”

You snorted, nodding placatingly as you dragged Sirius from the sofa, groaning as you tried your best to heave all his long limbs up from the cushions. He finally stood, heavy boots keeping him rooted to the spot despite the way he swayed a little, his wide hands warm on your waist, silver rings glinting in the candlelight.

He smiled down at you, sleepy and soft, a little lovesick and it made your heart jump in your chest. He was too pretty, full lips, dark features, strong jaw, sharp cheekbones, wild hair.

“Nice sweater,” he hummed, voice dropping to a level you recognised all too well. Low, raspy, too warm. “Suits you.”

You burned under his attention, forehead butting against his chest as you ducked away from his heavy gaze, murmuring a quiet warning into the bare strip of skin between his open buttons. “Sirius, behave.”

He didn’t. He never did.

Sirius misbehaved all the way home, hands sneaking around your waist mid walk, catching you just to bring you against his chest to tell you how pretty you looked, how nice you smelled, how much better his shirt looked on you than him - but wouldn’t it look even better on the bedroom floor?

“You’re drunk,” you told him, pleased with his attempt at flirting all the same, flushed and flustered, ‘cause even after years, Sirius Black knew how to make you weak in the knees.

He hummed, kiss over your neck and the skin he made appear on your shoulder, greedy hands tugging at your collar. “That I am,” he agreed. He swayed a little again, a hiccup leaving his lips as you unlocked your front door. “But you’re pretty. And when I’m hungover and suffering in the morning, you’ll still be pretty.”

[hypersonic04]

'Tis The Damn Season

I know it's only september, but i just love writing christmas one shots so much lol. i hope you all love this because it was so comforting and cosy to write!!

word count: 3,574

Your boots crunch in the snow, muffled in the emptiness of the path you were dragging your suitcase down. You check your watch - half past two. You'd promised to be there by 1 o'clock, but work had kept you at your desk in London for an extra couple of hours.

If only they hadn't chosen a cottage in the middle of nowhere to be the family Christmas destination.

It was tradition: every year, on the 24th of December, everyone descended on your mother's best friends' cottage, hidden out in the snowy countryside. Fond memories of opening presents with your brothers and her sons, building their newly gifted race car tracks and trying to fit your Barbie dolls in their monster trucks. Now, though, things are different, evenings spent drinking wine and listening to how successful your brother's business is, rather than playing Monopoly and falling asleep on a 15 year old Ross Macdonald's shoulder. You cringe to yourself even now as you remember how clumsy and awkward you were - he was a couple of years older than you, and you vividly remember listening to him shyly talk about his band at the Christmas dinner table, cheeks turning pink and yours even pinker when he met your graceless, 14-year-old-crush gaze. You'd seen his success, and you were immeasurably proud of him, but there was always something that made your heart ache, seeing him on magazines and at awards shows, and knowing that your distant childhood memories were that, really: distant.

You almost cry with happiness when you spot the house in the distance. Your pace quickens, dragging the hefty suitcase along behind you. The sky is unbelievably clear and blue, the air crisp with December cold, a scarf wrapped around your neck and tucked into your coat. Your boots are rubbing at your ankles, your nose red and freezing - opening the door to the cottage you've been to every Christmas of your life has never felt as joyous as it does right now.

A room full of warm, lit up faces.

"She's here!"

The room glows with love. You're engulfed in hugs, kisses to your rosy, cold cheeks, your mum taking your scarf from you and a glass of mulled wine shoved into your hand. The Christmas tree stands in the corner, familiar ornaments hanging there like they'd been up since the previous year. You were the last person to arrive, one of your brothers sat on the sofa, Ross' brother attempting to kindle the fire, your other brother having an in depth chat with Ross' dad about Formula 1.

"You're freezing cold, my girl," Bella, your mother's friend, holds your hands in hers, "how have you been?"

She moves to hold you at arms length, looking at you like she did when you were a little girl. A fondness in her eyes, warm and homely, a sense of knowing.

"I'm okay! You know, busy with work and everything." Smiling at her, you squeeze her hands gently. Her eyes linger on you for a few seconds, lips forming a line.

"Well, you look as gorgeous as ever, darling." She tucks a curl behind your ear, tilting her head a little.

The creak of the stairs is what draws you away from her indistinguishable expression.

He's wearing a maroon knit sweater, dark wash, blue jeans, white socks padding down the staircase. His hair is what makes you swallow heavily, pulled back into a bun and his beard seemingly darker and a little longer than last time. He ducks his head under the beam when he reaches the last step.

"I've sorted the spare room, Mum-"

His face softens when he sees you. His mouth agape a little, stopping mid-sentence, the corners of his mouth curling upwards softly. He stutters over his words for a second before a string of 'hello's' and 'didn't know you'd got here's tumbled out of his mouth.

You can't hold back the smile that graces your face at the sight of him. It's Ross.

His mum steps to the side for a second as he makes his way over, raising her eyebrows at your mum like gossiping teenagers. You know exactly what they're insinuating, the same thing they've insinuated every year since you were about 13.

He smiles at you so softly, eyes creasing in the corner as he leans down to give you a hug. One arm wrapped around you shoulders, the other around your back, yours around his waist. The fabric of his sweater is so soft under your touch, his aftershave pleasant as you inhale gently. Closing your eyes for a second, you allow yourself to slot into his hold, the familiar pair of arms around you warming you up more than any fireplace or red wine ever could.

"What time did you get here?" He says, pulling away from you and shoving a hand into his pocket, the other coming up to scratch the back of his neck.

"About five minutes ago, I was running late anyway, but then the taxi driver wouldn't drive any further down the footpath." You laugh lightly.

"I'd have come to give you a hand if I'd have known, sorry, I-" He has an apologetic expression, eyebrows raising a little.

"No, it's fine!" You frown a little with a shake of your head, "I had no signal anyway, wouldn't have been able to ring you."

He nods in agreement, rolling his eyes, "I ask them all the time why they picked to live in the middle of a field." He laughs.

"Ross, did you take the turkey out of the freezer earlier?" His mum calls to him, the sound of her in the kitchen filling both your ears and nostrils, the delicious smell of Bella's famous Christmas Eve feast filling the room. He purses his lips, eyes going wide and a giggle escaping your lips, hand coming over your mouth.

"Shit." He laughs boyishly, "Didn't you ask Dad to do that?" He calls after her, walking off into the kitchen.

You stand there for a second, the grin on your face immovable, arms folded over your stomach.

"What are you smiling at, hm?" Your eldest brother raises his eyebrows at you teasingly, picking up your suitcase for you.

"Shut up." You huff, rolling your eyes in classic younger sister fashion.

The teasing about your crush on Ross had been a constant in your life. You'd never explicitly told anyone about it, but the way you reacted when they'd bring him up in conversation was enough.

"He's single, you know?" He mumbles as you follow him upstairs, into your spare room.

"Who's single?" You play dumb, keeping your eyes on the floor as he turns his head to you, scoffing.

"Oh, give it a rest. You bloody know who."

Setting your suitcase on the bed, he leaves you to unpack and get settled. It's the same room you stayed in every year - a singular, rectangular window overlooking the front garden, flowered wallpaper at Bella's persistence, her excuse being that she never had girls. The light blue bedspread brings back memories of Christmas mornings gone by, the boys waking you up because you were always the last one awake. Your mind wanders as you unpack, setting sweaters and mini skirts and sparkly New Years' dresses on the bed, so the tap at the door takes you by surprise.

"Sorry, 'didn't mean to make you jump." Ross stands in the doorway, greeting you with a creased grin.

"Oh, it's fine." You laugh softly, awkwardly even, playing with the hem of the pyjama bottoms in your hand. "Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, I was just wondering if you fancied going to the pub later? Rob said it's a pub quiz or something, thought you'd like it."

"Sure, yeah. I'll come." You nod with a sweet smile, watching as he nods back at you with pursed lips.

"We're leaving in about an hour, so..." His voice trails off a little, and you notice how his eyes move up and down your figure, blinking profusely. You suddenly feel conscious, standing there in a pair of old mom jeans and the most basic of t shirts, something you'd thrown on in a hurry. Christ knows what your hair looks like.

His eyes linger for a second, dropping down to the suitcase laid out flat on the bed. A smirk graces his lips, before turning on his heel and heading back downstairs, his footsteps light on the wooden floorboards. Your cheeks flush bright red when you turn back to the open suitcase - a pair of your laciest knickers, black with little frills on the sides, placed almost perfectly in his eye line, right next to a matching red pair. You stand for a second with your lips pulled inwards, closing your eyes. That did not just happen.

Post-unpacking, you head back downstairs and try to pretend that Ross seeing your underwear isn't the only thing consuming your mind. Everyone's sat around the living room, some Christmas special on the television, the faintest falling of snow like a picture through the window. It's getting darker, the warm glow of Bella's fairy lights in every nook and cranny bathing the cottage in the most festive light. It's freezing outside, but the company in the house makes it the warmest it's been all year.

Coats and scarves are donned, boots pulled on and hats on heads. It's the five of us, and the familiarity and nostalgia of it makes me feel warm. I look at their faces for a second, older yet the memories of our youth peeking through their boyish smiles and loud laughs.

"Be careful, you lot, it's really coming down now." Your mum looks through the kitchen window.

"And remember your key, Ross. I don't want you waking us up at God knows what time."

"Mum, I'm 34 years old, I've got my key." He rolls his eyes with a laugh, his mum fondly hitting his fleece-covered arm.

Your mum was right, the snow was really coming down now.

"Shit." You mumble as you stumble down the path a little, boots sticking in the snow.

The boys are a bit further ahead, as per usual, but Ross hangs back when he sees you struggling. He looks to them for a second, like he wants to tell them to wait for you both, but he decides against it.

"Shouldn't have worn those boots, you know. Docs are rubbish in the snow." He says, holding his hand out to you as you near him. You take it gladly, the material of your gloves sticking together. His hold is firm, keeping you stable.

"Alright, 'dad', bloody hell." You tease, the sound of his laugh heavenly.

"Sorry, sorry." He smiles, glancing down at you. He grins at the way the snowflakes settle in your hair, watching as you brush them off your eyelashes. "Always walking off and leaving us." He gestures to the three of them ahead.

"Some things never change, hm?"

"Yeah, I guess not."

He looks down at you for a second and you meet his gaze. There's something unspoken there, some ulterior meaning. He runs his thumb over your gloved hand, and you rest your head on his arm affectionately, feeling him squeeze your hand. There's a smile on both of your faces, knowing, just like his mum earlier.

"How's things with the band?" You ask after lifting your head from his bicep, looking up at him.

"Good, yeah. Really good." There's a look on his face that you don't always see when you're all sat around talking about work. He seems truly content, proud. "You should come and see us play. We're on tour in February."

Your face lights up at the suggestion and his stomach twists, the way your eyes widen and lips curve upwards making him toasty in the cold of the snow. It's darker now, street lamps lighting the path as you all trundle down it, but the glow that seems to exist when you're together is brighter than any of them.

"That would be wonderful." You smile sweetly and hold his arm with your other hand.

The boys wait up for you, and you find yourselves suddenly letting go of each other. They roll their eyes, surprised that the two of you are still keeping up with the 'we're totally not in love with each other' act.

The pub is bustling when you get there. Groups of friends who have evidently been day drinking laughing loudly, couples stood in dimly lit corners, music playing over the speakers. It's trimmed up with garlands and wreaths on every door, candles lit at every table. Ross heads to the bar whilst the rest of you find a table to sit at. You take the booth seat, as does Ross when he returns with five pints and a packet of peanuts, your favourite.

You do the quiz, and despite not winning, you treat yourself to a shot in the excuse of it being Christmas. Time passes on, people recommending songs and the night slowly turning into karaoke. You laugh into Ross' arm, slowly getting closer and closer to each other throughout the night until you're pressed into each other's side.

"I think I might go back, I'm shattered." Ross' brother yawns, your own nodding in agreement. You frown a little, looking at your still half full pint from the round that you'd payed for.

"We can stay, if you want." Ross nudges your side, your faces inches apart. "We're going to stay until y/n's finished her pint, lads."

They look between each other for a second before nodding in agreement, exchanging hugs with you and a brief "get back safe" before leaving. Your youngest brother pushes the door open with his back, giving you a thumbs up as he leaves, immediately making you roll your eyes at him.

"Do you want to stay for one more?" Ross asks as he watches you drink your current pint. You open your mouth and close it again, nodding perhaps a little too eagerly.

You never want the night to end. The rest of the evening is spent giggling together like teenagers over things that happened years ago, talking about past failed relationships, and everything in between. His arm is around you, the occasional kiss to your forehead or a hold of his hand.

"He didn't deserve you, y/n." He looks down at you with raised eyebrows and lips pulled inwards. "I knew it from the second I met him."

"Did you really?" You wince at the thought of everyone around you being able to see that your boyfriend is a dickhead, but you.

"Mhm, hated him. That was the worst Christmas of my life."

"Jesus Christ, Ross. I don't think he was that bad!" You laugh loudly and he shakes his head.

"What, watching him all over you for a week? Torture."

It takes you by surprise, and you can tell he's shocked at his bravery when he tales a rather large gulp of beer. You analyse his face for a second, a look of what might be panic on his face. He meets your gaze for a second before averting his eyes back to the dodgy singer doing a rendition of Last Christmas.

"Well, I never really liked any of your girlfriends, either." You quip, watching as he relaxes a little, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Oh, really? Which one?" He cocks his head upwards, looking at you with intrigue.

"What was she called, the really tall one? She pretended I didn't exist the whole time I was here, Ross."

"Oh, yeah..." He scrunches his nose up, "Sorry about that."

"It's okay, it was ages ago." You shrug.

You sit in silence for a few seconds, both of you pretending to watch karaoke, but rather pondering what the other had just said.

"I don't think I'd like any of your boyfriends, y/n." He says suddenly, looking at you intensely. You try to read his mind, to see if he's actually just said what you'd heard.

"Why's that?" You frown.

"You know why." He scoffs. Your eye contact is intense, immovable, the brown of his eyes almost like a honey colour in the light of the pub. Your eyes flick down to his lips, then back up to his eyes. You've been close to things like this before with him, sat perhaps a little too close together on the sofa on Boxing Day, or sharing a cigarette outside on the seat swing when everyone else is asleep, but never like this.

"I don't know why, Ross." You play dumb, the faintest smirk forming on your lips. He watches your mouth as it curves, his own mirroring you.

"Don't be like this." He laughs airily, his arm along the back of your seat, body tilted towards you.

The call for last orders takes you both out of your moment, almost like coming back down to Earth.

"We should probably go home."

"Yeah, you're right."

You stumble out of the pub, the snow still falling gently, your bellies warm from the alcohol and company.

"Come on, you." He teases, hooking his arm through yours.

"If I remember right, I think it was you that nearly decked it last time we went out, so I should be looking after you, really." You giggle, watching as he groans a bit, shaking his head.

"Why are you bringing that up, seriously?" He laughs, admiring how funny you find the memory.

"Wasn't it about here, as well?" You point at the street.

"Oh, give it a rest." He holds the hand that's hooked through his arm.

The walk back seems to take forever, the two of you laughing loudly and being silly, the smile on your face the biggest all year. The lights are still on when you get home, the cottage glowing like a beacon in the dark, white-covered field.

"Do you ever miss being at home? You know, when it looks so pretty, like this." You ask, walking hand in hand, a little drunkenly.

"I mean, sometimes. I think it's more about missing the people and what being at home usually means. Y'know, being with my mum and dad, and you and everyone."

You come to a halt on the path leading up to the house, turning to him for a second. He's illuminated by the warmth of the house, his coat zipped up right around his neck, cheeks rosy and eyes drowsy.

"Can't we just pretend for the weekend, Ross?" You look at him pleadingly and he frowns.

"Pretend what?"

"Like we're not terrified of ruining everything. Just for one Christmas, can't we just pretend that we're not scared of what might happen?"

He looks at you for a second, his eyes scanning over your face for some kind of secret, hidden message.

"Are you sure?"

You nod, your brow down-turned for a second as you worry that you have, in fact, ruined everything.

The kiss he places on your lips proves that wrong. He holds your face in both hands, yours firmly wrapped around his wrists, leaning into his kiss. It's even better than you ever dreamed of. It's warm, and gentle, and perfect. His eyes are starry when he pulls away, dazed even, and your heart feels as though it could burst.

"Can we stay together tonight?" He says lowly, faces inches apart and still resting in the tenderness of his hands. You hum with a nod, following him onto the porch and into the house. Bella must've left the lights on, because everyone's asleep. It's silent, TV off and bedroom doors shut, and it's like you're teenagers sneaking around.

You head upstairs and change into the checked pyjamas you'd bought especially for Christmas Eve. Looking in the mirror, your cheeks are full and aglow, curls soaked from the snow that'd melted.

The familiar knock at your door doesn't startle you this time. He's wearing a t-shirt and plaid bottoms, his hands on your hips already comfortable. He walks you back towards the bed, the backs of your legs hitting it and his hold keeping you steady. You can feel him smiling as he kisses you, pulling away for a second.

"I can't even tell you how much I've thought about this." He whispers, looking down at your lips. You run your hands through his hair, now down and making your stomach twist in ways you didn't know it could.

"Me too." You whisper back.

The opening of a bedroom door and feet in the hallway makes you freeze on the spot. Your eyes widen when the bathroom door opens, the room next to your bedroom, whilst his crease in muffled laughter. You hit his shoulder, hiding your face in his chest. The two of you stand silence until the footsteps have gone back the way they came and doors are closed.

"Oh my god." You sigh, shaking your head with a laugh.

The two of you settle in the single bed in your room, his warm hands under your pyjama top, calloused and rough fingertips against your smooth skin. It feels like making up for lost time, lost touches, nights when you've slept in an empty bed and wondered whether he's thinking of you too.

And although it's the same room you've always slept in for Christmas, the same bed sheets, its the warmest bed you've ever known that evening.

[ghosttotheparty]

a mess of holy things 10 also on ao3 // prev. // next

Two essays have been turned in. A third is halfway through its final draft. There are two stacks of flashcards stacked on Steve’s desk by the window, the corners of the cards curled from how many times Steve had shuffled them.

And Steve is tired.

He’s tired in a way he’s never been before. Not just physically tired, but completely drained. He barely wants to open his eyes when his alarm clock rings, barely wants to move enough to turn it off. He can barely think, barely focus his own eyes.

But it’s Saturday, and Steve hasn’t seen Eddie in two days. So he forces himself up. Forces himself to get dressed, brush his teeth, fix his hair, barely even noticing himself do it all, like he’s in a daze.

He’s grabbing his keys from where they hang from the doorknob when his phone rings, and he stops short. Looks at it.

Somehow he knows it’s his mother.

He sees her in his head, lounging on the sofa in the hallway, holding the phone, idly flipping through a catalogue. Waiting for Steve to pick up, to ask him how his classes are, go pretend nothing happened when he was home last. To make conversation for a minute and then to say Alright.

He doesn’t pick up.

The phone is still ringing when he shuts the door behind himself. And it’s like he can still hear it ringing even as he walks down the sidewalk, as he finds an empty seat on the bus, clanging around his head like it’s haunting him.

It only stops when the door swings open, and Steve’s eyes meet Eddie’s. His head falls quiet, and he wants to fall to his knees right there in the doorway.

“Hi.”

“Hey, beautiful.”

Steve cracks a smile, and he reaches up to wrap his arms around Eddie’s neck, stepping forward so Eddie can pull him inside, hugging him as Steve kisses him. Steve closes his eyes, lets his weight fall against Eddie, vaguely hears the door shut behind him. Eddie tilts his head, holds Steve’s face in his hands, kisses him harder.

Steve lets out a weak noise, and he gasps when they part.

Eddie’s thumbs brush over his cheeks. His lips brush Steve’s when he speaks.

“I got a client in my room right now, you wanna wait in the living room?”

Steve nods without opening his eyes.

“It should only take a few minutes, okay?” Eddie says softly, like he knows how desperate Steve is.

“Can I have another kiss first?” Steve asks quietly, almost whispering, and Eddie smiles, kissing him again. He licks across Steve’s lips, and Steve gasps, opening his mouth for him, fingers grasping the neckline of Eddie’s sweater. He clutches at him, clinging to him desperately, and Eddie’s hands are strong and warm as he holds Steve’s jaw and pulls away, teeth tugging at his lower lip.

“Open,” he says softly, and Steve looks at him, letting his head tilt back as his mouth falls open. Eddie is smiling, rough fingers pressing so gently into Steve’s skin, and he pauses before opening his own mouth. Steve sees his tongue flash, and he lets out a weak whine as Eddie’s spit falls to his tongue.

Eddie kisses him again as he’s swallowing, still holding his jaw, and then he whispers into his mouth.

“Gimme your jacket.”

Steve shrugs it off, lets Eddie take it, and it’s like his body is getting more and more tired with every second he spends here.

“Good boy,” Eddie murmurs, reaching past Steve to hang the jacket up on a hook. “Go on and wait in the living room for me, I’ll be right there.”

Steve nods, kissing Eddie chastely one last time before he goes, toeing his shoes off and pushing them aside. He hears a man’s voice as he’s grabbing a blanket from where it’s tossed into the corner of the sofa and wrapping it around himself.

“The fuck’s taking so long?”

And Eddie’s voice, sharp but still quiet like he knows Steve can hear them.

“I was saying hi to my boyfriend, you got a fucking problem with that?”

Boyfriend.

Steve likes that. He smiles to himself as he crawls onto the sofa and lays down heavily.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Eddie lowers his voice, and Steve lets his eyes fall shut, pulling the edge of the blanket up to his face, taking a deep breath, inhaling the faint smell of cigarettes and cologne. He drifts somewhere between awake and asleep, his body heavy on the sofa even though he kind of feels like he’s floating above it, like his body is falling. The floor outside the living room creaks after a while, and he hears Eddie’s voice, hushed and muffled.

“You wake him up and I’m never selling to you again. Get outta here.”

Steve smiles into the blanket. He hears the door open and shut, hears Eddie go to his room and tidy up, hears him go to the kitchen and wash the dishes. And Steve falls asleep.

He wakes up to Eddie’s fingertips trailing over the side of his face, light and gentle. His eyes flutter open and he inhales as they focus on Eddie’s face; he’s crouched on the floor next to the sofa, almost eye-level with Steve.

“Hi,” Steve says softly, sleepily.

“Hi, baby,” Eddie says. “You sleep okay?”

Steve nods, his cheek squishing against the sofa. Eddie’s fingers tuck his hair back, brushing it out of the way gently.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly. Steve shrugs weakly.

“Tired.”

Eddie keeps touching his face, tracing a line between two moles, caressing his cheek.

“What time’d you go to bed last night?”

“…Midnight. Ish.”

Eddie lets out a breath like he’s disappointed, and Steve suddenly wants to cry.

“I have a big test coming up,” he says shakily, hand tightening on the edge of the blanket. “I was studying.”

“Studying ain’t gonna do much if you haven’t been sleeping.”

“I know,” Steve says softly.

“You’re gonna burn yourself out, Stevie.”

Steve looks away. He wants to hide his face under the blanket, but that would make it so Eddie can’t touch him. He wants Eddie to touch him.

God, he wants Eddie to touch him.

“You gotta rest,” Eddie says gently.

“I don’t know how,” Steve says, looking at him again. “No one ever taught me to rest.”

Eddie lets out another breath, but he just looks sad now.

“How do you want to rest?”

Steve shrugs.

“I don’t…” He hesitates, and he doesn’t want to make Eddie sad, but Eddie somehow silently prompts him to speak. “I don’t feel like I can rest.”

Eddie blinks, brushing his knuckles over Steve’s cheek.

“Like you’re not allowed? Or like you literally can’t?”

Steve pauses.

“…Both?”

Eddie clicks his tongue.

“Baby…”

Steve sighs and pushes himself to sit up. Eddie’s hand falls away, but he stays on the floor, looking up at Steve as he sits cross-legged, tugging the blanket so it’s wrapped around his shoulders. Eddie moves closer, shifting onto his knees and leaning so he can rest his face on Steve’s knee.

He looks up at Steve like he’s begging for something, like he’s a puppy, and he’s so adorable Steve can’t suppress a smile. He reaches out to touch him, running his fingers through his hair.

He touches his face next. Runs a fingertip down the bridge of his nose, over his piercing.

“You’re cute,” he says quietly.

Eddie blinks at him, smiling.

Steve traces his smile, runs his fingertip lightly over his lips. Eddie kisses it. He straightens his head when Steve leans down to kiss him.

Eddie smiles against his mouth, tilting his chin up to reach, and his hands are gentle when they find Steve’s knees, holding him lightly.

“I missed you,” Steve whispers into his mouth.

“‘S two days,” Eddie murmurs between kisses.

“God, I know,” Steve whines, and he knows it’s stupid that he’s so damn clingy, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind, whispering a soft Oh, baby under his breath before he kisses Steve harder.

Steve holds his face, shrugging his shoulders, furrowing his eyebrows with the desperation of it. Eddie kisses him back just as desperately, rising onto his knees before he moves even closer, moving slowly, carefully, like he’s worried about scaring Steve off as he moves up onto the sofa.

He sits next to Steve, holding his face tenderly as he sucks on his lower lip. Steve hums, his shoulders falling. He bites back after a moment, his teeth catching Eddie’s lip, and Eddie grins, fingers sliding to hold Steve’s neck.

And the way he’s gripping him feels almost possessive, like he’s never going to let Steve go. And Steve likes it.

He lets out a weak noise, and Eddie pulls away. Steve’s eyes flutter open.

“Is this okay?” Eddie asks quietly.

Steve nods and reaches for his face, pulling him into another kiss.

“‘M resting,” he mumbles against his mouth. Eddie laughs, grinning, and Steve is kissing his teeth now, but he doesn’t mind. He wants to kiss anything he can, anything he can reach.

He whines when Eddie licks into his mouth, clutching at the front of Eddie’s sweater before he pushes him back. Eddie pulls away again, his mouth open as he breathes hard, lips shining, and Steve pushes him again until he falls back against the armrest of the sofa.

Eddie grins again, tugging Steve down with him.

“Alright?” he checks as Steve makes his way onto Eddie’s lap, as they get situated breathlessly, and Steve nods.

“Kiss me.”

“Gladly,” Eddie mutters, pulling him down. Steve lets him, smiling, holding his face, and he slides his fingers to Eddie’s neck. He’s warm here, and Steve can feel his pulse under his skin.

And then Steve can’t hear anything except Eddie’s breathing, except his soft hums and the wet sounds of their tongues sliding, licking, pressing. Eddie’s hands are firm as they run over Steve’s sides, squeezing and pulling.

When they part, they’re both panting, and there’s a string of spit between their mouths. Steve catches it on his tongue without thinking, and Eddie groans, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back.

“Sorry,” Steve breathes.

“The fuck are you apologizing for?” Eddie says, eyes still closed. Steve giggles, and Eddie smiles lazily.

He opens his eyes, and they’re dark and shining as he looks up at Steve. His hair is caught on the armrest, spread around his head, and he looks…

Heavenly.

Or something.

Eddie’s eyes drift. They find the cross hanging from Steve’s neck.

It’s dangling down, hanging in front of Eddie’s face, glinting in the light from the window, and Steve wants to rip it off and throw it across the room.

The air is tense as their eyes meet again, and Steve blinks his eyes as they start to sting. He wants to apologize, to move off of him and hide his face.

But Eddie just lifts his head a little bit, moving forward enough to catch the cross between his teeth. And he rests his head again, letting the cross fall into his mouth, past the line of his teeth, into the dip under his tongue.

Steve exhales, eyes tracing the gold chain that’s draping in the air, leading from his neck to Eddie’s mouth, and his whole body aches.

He leans down and kisses him.

The chain is cold where it’s pressed against Steve’s lips, but Eddie’s mouth is so warm. Eddie’s hands press more firmly against Steve’s waist, and Steve’s hands move to his neck, pressing under his jaw to find his pulse.

He pulls away after a moment. Eddie looks up at him.

Eddie opens his mouth after a moment, his tongue flashing at Steve as it dips to pick up the cross, and then he’s holding it out to Steve.

Steve looks at it. It’s shining, glistening with Eddie’s spit, resting on his tongue like a communion wafer.

Steve leans down again, kisses him open-mouthed and desperate, and Eddie lets out a small noise. Steve squeezes his eyes shut, furrowing his brows, hands pressing harder.

Eddie’s tongue slides between his lips, passing the cross into his mouth, and a moan escapes Steve. It’s warm from Eddie’s mouth, slick and clicking against Steve’s teeth as he kisses him. He pushes it back into Eddie’s mouth, smiling when Eddie’s breath catches.

Eddie’s hands tighten on Steve’s waist, squeezing him, and then he pushes himself to sit up, holding Steve in his lap. Steve whines, squeezing his eyes shut, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck, burying his hands in his hair. Eddie shifts again, pushing Steve back, carefully, gently setting him on his back, pressing him into the sofa. The cross falls into Steve’s mouth, clattering off his teeth.

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie murmurs, lifting his head to look at him blearily, and Steve likes how he says his name. He usually prefers Stevie, sweetheart, baby, but just Steve’s name is enough like this: breathless and soft and tender.

Steve lets out another whine, closing his mouth and sucking on the cross, pressing it to the roof of his mouth. Eddie lowers again and kisses him.

Though kisses him may be a generous phrasing; it’s more tongue than lips, slipping across the seam of Steve’s mouth, and Steve groans, melting into the sofa, hands grasping the fabric of Eddie’s sweater. Eddie does it again, and he’s just licking Steve now, lapping at his lips, at the corners of his mouth.

Steve’s mouth falls open.

Eddie shifts to rest his weight on his arm, and he reaches up with his other hand, hooking a finger on the chain and carefully pulling it so the cross comes out with it. Steve watches it go. It’s gleaming with his spit, and Eddie’s eyes are trained on it before he lifts it to his own mouth, sucking on it for a moment before he lets it fall back to Steve’s chest.

Steve grabs Eddie’s hair and pulls him into another kiss, and it’s messy now, desperate and starved, like they’ve been away from each other for years.

Eddie’s teeth catch on Steve’s lip, and his tongue is slick as it presses into Steve’s mouth. Steve feels like he’s floating, like Eddie’s spit is some kind of drug, and he wonders how something so good can be bad.

Eddie lifts his head enough to spit into his mouth, and Steve groans, his eyes rolling back into his head. He wraps his legs around Eddie’s hips, pulling him closer.

When Eddie pulls away, gasping for breath, Steve’s skin is slick with spit.

“Okay?” Eddie says breathlessly.

“Mm.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “…Like it when you kiss me like that.”

“Like what?” Eddie whispers. His breath cools the spit on Steve’s skin.

Steve swallows, exhaling.

“Messy.”

“Yeah?” Eddie murmurs again, leaning down to brush his nose against Steve’s. “You like it messy?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, and then he gasps and exhales shakily.

“Breathe,” Eddie whispers slowly.

Steve’s eyes flutter open, and he looks up at him.

He inhales slowly, and Eddie nods.

He exhales, almost sighing, and for a brief moment, it’s the only sound in existence. The soft rush of his breath, and then silence.

“Good boy,” Eddie says softly. It’s gentle in a way no one’s ever been to Steve, like he’s small, like he needs it. Steve’s eyes sting, and he blinks.

Eddie caresses his cheek gently, tracing a line over his skin, and he seems to hesitate for a moment, eyes flickering across Steve’s face.

“…You know I’d give you anything,” he murmurs.

Steve nods.

“You wanna feel messy?” Eddie whispers.

Steve nods again.

“You remember your colors?”

“Yes.”

Eddie smiles.

And it’s like the sun is beaming down at Steve. Like the sky has opened up above him, like the clouds have parted like the Red Sea.

Steve has never felt like this. He’s never seen anything like this, anything that’s made his heart skip a beat, that’s made his stomach do a somersault. He’s never seen anything so beautiful that he feels beautiful just by looking at it.

“God,” Steve breathes.

Eddie blinks.

“What?”

Steve blinks tears back, and his throat is tight as he looks at him. At the freckles on his nose, at the warm flush of his cheeks. At the metal pierced through his skin and the shine of his eyes.

“You’re so beautiful.”

Eddie blinks again, and his lips curve into a slow smile.

“You’re the only person that’s ever said that to me.”

Steve shakes his head.

“…That makes me mad.”

Eddie laughs lightly, leaning down and kissing his cheek gently.

“You’re sweet.”

Steve gazes up at him.

Eddie’s hair is falling around them like a curtain, and the weight of his body is pressing him into the sofa, and he’s surrounding him.

“I like how you make me feel,” he says softly.

“How do I make you feel?” Eddie asks, leaning down to nuzzle into his cheek again, his hair tickling Steve’s face. Steve closes his eyes.

“Good,” he breathes. “You make me feel so good.”

Eddie hums softly, pressing lazy kisses over Steve’s cheek.

“You deserve to feel good.”

Steve exhales, lifting a hand to hold the back of Eddie’s head, pushing his fingers into his hair.

A whimper escapes Steve’s throat when Eddie’s tongue brushes his cheek.

“Okay?” Eddie whispers against his skin.

Steve nods desperately. Eddie does it again, leaves a wet trail on Steve’s skin.

And he knows it’s odd. Eddie licking his cheek like this, like he’s ice cream or something.

But it feels good.

And when Eddie slips his tongue over the shell of Steve’s ear, the sound of it sends a chill down Steve’s spine. He clutches at Eddie’s hair, gasping. Eddie hums softly when he tugs at it.

Eddie kisses his cheek again, pressing kiss after kiss after kiss to him before he moves downward, his weight shifting over Steve’s body, and he kisses Steve’s jaw. Steve lifts his chin, taking a breath. Eddie’s teeth catch on his skin, and he lets out a whine.

“God, you sound so good,” Eddie whispers into his neck.

Steve hums weakly, pressing his head into the sofa, wordlessly begging for more.

“Is it okay if I leave a bruise?” Eddie asks softly.

“A bruise?” Steve repeats, his voice slurred, mumbly. Eddie hums affirmatively, pressing a slow, wet kiss to Steve’s neck, just under his ear.

“Right here.”

“Mm. Yeah.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, please.”

Eddie hums, nosing at his neck.

“So polite, baby.”

Steve beams up at the ceiling, humming as Eddie kisses his neck again.

“Wanna be good for you.”

“You are,” Eddie breathes. “Always so good for me.”

─────────────────

He’s glad this lecture is scheduled for the afternoon.

Because if he had to wake up even an hour earlier than he got up today, he would have just skipped and hoped for the best.

But it starts at one, in a few minutes, and he’s got a paper cup full of coffee set next to his notebook and the sleeves of Eddie’s hoodie pull down to cover his hands, the ends gripped in tired fists.

His eyes watch his professor prepare her notes, flipping through some sheets of paper. It’s quiet in the lecture theatre, his classmates talking quietly amongst themselves, laughing and passing papers back and forth.

He’s started by a hand landing heavily on top of his head, and he looks up to find Robin dropping her bag onto the ground, holding Steve’s head like a basketball.

“Morning,” she says dryly.

“It’s not,” he says in response, watching her sit down and draw her legs to her chest. She’s wearing colorful plaid pants, one pant leg yellow and the other red, and Steve realizes after a moment that they’re covered in patches of different plaid patterns, color-matched and hand-stitched.

“Why would I care?” she asks, leaning back in her seat, her shins resting against the edge of the desk in front of them. She looks at him, her eyes covered by her overgrown bangs, and Steve’s face flushes with heat when her eyes skim down to his neck and her eyebrows raise. “Fun weekend?”

“Yep,” he chirps, looking away bashfully, and she grins. “You’re not getting details.”

Her grin turns into a grimace.

“I didn’t ask,” she says before she leans closer, looking at him intently. “But if you’re offering—”

“I’m not—”

“C’mon,” she complains. “Gimme the hot goss, Steve-o, did you guys fuck?”

He looks at her sharply, glaring, face hot, and she grins again.

“Did you want to?”

“I didn’t even answer you.”

“You don’t have to, I can read your mind. Did you want to?”

“If you can read my mind, why are you asking me any questions at all?” Steve asks dryly, looking at her.

“Haven't quite honed my skills,” she says dismissively. “Did you want to?”

“Jesus, I— I don’t know. Maybe.”

She squeals, reaching out to poke his face, and he shushes her.

“It’s not a… It’s not a thing,” he says, quieting his voice as he swats at her once more. “We just… It’s new. Kind of.”

Kind of.

The kissing is new. The licking. The spitting. The humming and murmuring and whining. The soft babys and good boys.

But the fuzzy, floaty feeling that Eddie gives Steve isn’t entirely new. He hadn’t really noticed it until recently, but every time Eddie talks to him all gently and kindly, every time he touches him like he’s bound to break, Steve feels like he melts. Like he becomes a little less human and a little more… whatever he is.

Robin pokes Steve’s side and he jumps. She’s grinning when he looks at her.

“You’re so annoying,” he says.

He looks down at where their professor was, but she’s gone. She’s always forgetting something before the lecture starts.

Steve exhales. Robin is still looking at him as though in anticipation.

“Okay,” he says finally, turning to face her, twisting his fingers together nervously. “I’ve never actually dated anyone, or had… relations.”

“God, I forgot you’re from a cult.”

“It’s not a cult.”

She waves a hand dismissively.

“Go on.”

“I… Okay. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Like…”

He gives her a look, and realization dawns on her.

“Oh. Just experiment,” she says lightly.

“Experiment.”

“Okay,” she says, turning to face him, stretching a leg out to rest it on the edge of Steve’s seat. Their faces are close, and their voices are hushed so they’re almost whispering. Steve is very glad there’s no one around them. “Is this person you’re seeing nice?”

“Very.”

“So…” She shrugs. “Talk. Say you don’t know what you’re doing and try things together. See what you like.”

“Oh, God.” He lowers his head and covers his face, and she giggles, ruffling his hair.

“Or just experiment by yourself. See what you like before you do it together.”

“By myself?” he repeats, looking up at her, cringing. She gives him a look, raising her eyebrows. “Like… masturbating?” he says quietly, weakly, his face hot, and she laughs again.

“Yes, Steve, masturbating.”

He covers his face again, and she pokes his shoulder.

“Come on,” she says, keeping her voice down. “It’s normal. People do it.” He looks up at her. “Just give yourself a little—” She whistles, making an up and down gesture with a loose fist. “And Bob’s your uncle. You know what you like.”

Steve groans weakly.

He’d be lying if he said he hasn’t thought about it. Touching himself like that.

He thought about it last night.

He’d been working at his desk, and he’d set his hand on his neck as he leaned over his textbook. The heel of his hand pressed into the bruise Eddie gave him.

The pressure of it felt good. Not as good as when Eddie made it, when he dug his teeth into Steve’s skin and sucked hard enough that it ached. But good enough that it was distracting.

Steve’s thoughts wandered.

To Eddie’s mouth. To his teeth. His tongue.

His hands.

To the way he lifted his head when Steve whimpered to check on him. Asked him for his color, eyes shining with worry. And the way he lightened and smiled like the sun again when Steve chokes out a Green, Eddie, please—

So Steve kind of already knows something he likes.

Because obviously Eddie biting his neck had hurt. But he liked it.

God, he liked it.

So when he finally went to bed, stared up at the ceiling in the dark, he thought about it again.

He couldn’t not.

It wouldn’t leave him alone. The thought of Eddie’s teeth on him. Of the sound his tongue made against Steve’s ear. Of the weight of his body holding Steve into the sofa.

And Steve had…

Well.

His body responded.

So he took a cold shower.

Robin pokes him again and he startles. She’s grinning.

“You’re thinking about it.”

“Shut up,” he says, pushing her leg off his seat and turning away, but she just cackles. Steve hesitates, scanning the room for the professor again, but she isn’t there. “Uhm, have you…”

“Fucked?”

He huffs.

“Yeah.”

She takes a breath, finally looking away.

“I hooked up with a guy in high school, but I…” She trails off, gaze still averted. “I don’t think it’s really my thing.”

He pauses, looking at her curiously. She doesn’t say anything else, her nails flicking as she picks at the skin around her thumbnail, the same place Steve bites when he’s stressed. Her cheeks are tinted pink now.

“…Guys?” he asks softly, and she glances at him.

And then nods.

And he hates how scared she looks. Like he’d ever have a foul word to say about her.

“‘S my thing,” he says, shifting to face forward again, and a moment passes before her head turns toward him. He looks back at her, and their eyes meet.

Hers are wide, her lips parted, and then her eyebrows raise.

“His name’s Eddie,” Steve says quietly. “This hoodie’s his.”

“I knew you didn’t listen to Megadeth,” she hisses, and a laugh bursts out of him. “You’re serious?”

“Yeah,” Steve says shyly, turning toward her again. “He, uhm… He’s really great.”

She stares at him, and her eyes are shining more than usual, like she’s about to burst into tears.

And then she’s throwing her arms around his neck, nearly falling off her seat as she hugs him tightly, and he’s hugging her back before he even processes what’s happening. He squeezes his eyes shut, and a moment it feels like Steve’s been waiting for her all his life. Like she’s supposed to be here, in his arms, her hair tickling his face.

His arms tighten around her, and a part of him wants to pull her into his lap, but the lights dim and the professor’s voice sounds from down by the projector. They let go of each other and Robin turns her head away, her hair falling into her face as she grabs her bag and finds her notebook and a pen.

She scribbles down some notes with a shaky hand, and he wonders if anyone else knows about her. If he’s the first person she’s told.

He reaches over and holds his hand out, the back of it pressing to the cold surface of the desk, and she looks at it before she takes it, lacing their fingers. Her nails are painted red, the polish chipped and cracked. He squeezes.

─────────────────

He can’t stop thinking about it. It might not be healthy at this point.

He hasn’t done it. But he’s considered it.

But every time he’s thought about doing it, it’s like the crucifix on the shelf is glowing, burning a hole into his head like the red laser point of a sniper rifle. Like if his hand shifts even an inch toward his lap, God will take him out.

So he thinks about Eddie.

If Eddie touches himself. What he looks like when he does it. What he sounds like.

Steve likes how he sounds when they kiss. The soft hums and breathy murmurs he gives Steve like they’re gifts, carefully wrapped with a ribbon, tied with a bow. And he likes how Eddie touches him. Gently, tenderly. Like he’s tracing Steve’s veins from over his skin.

And Steve kind of longs for it. For Eddie’s touch.

He wants him to touch him everywhere. To cover Steve's skin with his fingerprints, his palm prints, to wipe away every inkling of fear Steve’s ever felt. To cleanse him. To make him brand new, born again.

It kind of feels like what’s what he’s doing every time he touches Steve. Even like this, just brushing his fingertips over the back of Steve’s hand, absentmindedly, like touching Steve is second nature.

They’re watching a movie. But Steve is distracted.

He watches Eddie’s hand touching his, looks at his trimmed nails that are covered with chipped black polish. (His ring fingernail is completely bare.) He looks at the way the lines of his tattoos have blurred a little bit. At the veins that stand out on his hand.

Steve spreads his hand open and lets their fingers lace. Eddie squeezes gently.

Steve looks at the side of his face. His expression is light, his eyes shining, reflecting the shifting lights of the movie and the golden light of the lamps.

Eddie lifts Steve’s hand to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to the back of it before he loses it and rubs his thumb across it like he’s rubbing the kiss into his skin.

And Steve gazes at him. He feels settled here, like his body is heavy, falling into the sofa, into Eddie. Safe.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah, baby.”

“…Can I ask you a question?”

Eddie squeezes his hand.

“Yeah, ‘course. What is it?”

Steve hesitates, watching the way Eddie’s eyelashes flutter when he blinks.

“Do you… Do you touch yourself?”

His voice is soft, nervous, and Eddie smiles at the television for a moment before he rolls his head along the back of the sofa, looking at Steve with shining eyes.

“Sometimes, yeah.”

Steve looks away, at their hands. He fidgets with Eddie’s fingers, squeezing.

“How?”

Eddie squeezes back like he’s reassuring him.

“My hand usually. Occasionally I’ll use a toy but my hand usually suffices.”

Steve’s mind reels at the idea of a toy, spinning as it tries to imagine what it could look like, what it could do—

“Can I see?” he asks quietly.

He finally lifts his eyes, looking at Eddie, who’s gazing back at him, amused, smiling.

“You wanna see me jack off?”

Steve’s face flushes with heat as he realizes what he just said, what he just asked for, and it’s so weird, why would he say that—

“If— You don’t have to,” he stammers out, shifting where he’s leaning against Eddie, and Eddie’s fingers tighten on his so he can’t move away. “It’s weird, I—”

“Hey,” Eddie says gently.

He pulls at Steve’s hand, and Steve looks at him. Eddie’s eyes are dark, and his tongue teases the corner of his mouth for a moment as he looks at Steve, scanning his face.

“You remember your colors?”

Steve nods. Eddie’s lips quirk into a smile.

“You can change your mind,” he says softly. “Whenever. You tell me to stop and I will.”

“You too,” Steve says, shifting closer. “You don’t— You don’t have to.”

Eddie looks at him, smiling.

“You’re sweet,” he says.

“‘S bare minimum shit, Eddie.”

Eddie’s smile spreads, and he leans in to kiss Steve, nipping at his bottom lip.

“Alright?” he asks when they part. Steve nods.

Their hands detach, and Steve shifts to face him more, some space between them to watch as Eddie reaches down to his lap and rubs himself over his sweatpants. Steve swallows.

“What do you think about?” he asks quietly. The movie is still on, but neither of them are paying attention to it.

“Lately? You.”

Steve blinks.

“Really?”

“Jesus. Yeah.”

Steve thinks about it.

Eddie touching himself, thinking about Steve. Laying in his bed, his hand pressing over his crotch like he’s doing now, eyes squeezed shut in pleasure.

“What do you think about?” Steve asks, eyes trained on Eddie’s hand, rubbing over his sweatpants. He’s grown under the fabric, tenting it, and Steve kind of wants to touch him.

Eddie looks at him, hesitating.

“Tell me,” Steve whispers, shifting forward a little bit. “I— I’ll tell you if I don’t like it, I just… I wanna know.”

Eddie’s head falls to the back of the sofa, hissing out an exhale, and he slides his hand under the waistband of his sweatpants. The hem of his shirt slides up, and Steve can see the edge of a tattoo on his stomach.

“Fuck,” Eddie says softly. “Just…”

“Tell me,” Steve whispers again.

“Think about…” His hand shifts under his pants, moving up and down, and he winces, gritting his teeth, his brows furrowing. “Shit. How fucking pretty you are.”

“Yeah?”

Eddie hums breathily, nodding, his hand moving again. Steve watches.

“What else?” he whispers.

Eddie is quiet for a moment, and Steve hears a soft, wet noise that makes his mouth water. His eyes follow the movement of Eddie’s hand under the fabric of his sweatpants.

“How fucking good you look under me.”

Steve’s cheeks are warm. He shifts closer and lifts a hand to trace a line over the side of Eddie’s neck.

“Feel good under you,” he says softly. Eddie groans, his hips shifting, pushing up into his hand, and he bites his lower lip. “Tell me more.”

Eddie’s eyes flutter open, and they’re glassy when they look at Steve. He looks like he’s going to cry, like he’s desperate, like he’s begging Steve for something he can’t say. And Steve wants to give it to him.

“Your body,” Eddie says quietly.

Something floods Steve’s veins, rushing through his body.

“What about my body?”

“Shit, Steve.”

“Please,” Steve says weakly, so close his chest brushes Eddie’s shoulder with every inhale. “I wanna know.”

Eddie looks at the ceiling as though praying for strength, and Steve smiles, gazing at the flush of his cheek.

“Your ass is fucking perfect,” he says, his voice wavering. Steve’s face lights up. Eddie scoffs.

“What else?”

“Your arms.”

Steve giggles, hiding his face in Eddie’s shoulder, tucked against his side. Eddie laughs lightly, shaking his head.

“My arms?” Steve says, still giggling, smiling brightly.

“So fucking hot, Steve.” They’re laughing, and Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. He lets out a soft moan, still grinning. “And your hands, fuck…”

“Really?” Steve laughs.

“God, yeah, you’re so…”

“What else?” Steve asks, setting his chin on Eddie’s shoulder, looking at him. Eddie is smiling absently. The wet sounds come faster, and Steve bites his lip, humming.

“The pretty noises you make when you feel good.”

“You like how I sound?” Steve asks softly, almost whispering. Eddie nods, furrowing his brows, his jaw clenching.

And Steve doesn’t know why, but it hits him hard. Eddie liking how he sounds, Eddie wanting to hear him.

No one’s ever wanted to hear Steve. He’s always been told to lower his voice, to keep quiet, to shut up.

Steve’s chest aches.

He lifts a hand and takes Eddie’s chin, turning his head toward him before he leans in and kisses him. Eddie lets out a surprised hum, his lips parted.

Steve kisses him desperately, holding his face, sucking at his lower lip, and Eddie hums again, turning toward him, grinning against his mouth when Steve lets out a groan. Steve’s whole body feels hot.

He opens his mouth. Lets Eddie lick his tongue.

And he moans softly, low in his throat.

Eddie hisses, pulling back, furrowing his brows again, eyes squeezed shut.

“Shit,” he says sharply. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit—”

He breathes heavily, and Steve looks at where his hand has stopped moving, holding himself tightly. There’s a damp spot on his sweatpants.

“Can I see?”

The words escape him before he can even think properly, and Eddie smiles loosely, lazily, kissing him again. He looks away, still close to Steve as he reaches down, pushing the waistband of his sweatpants down, bringing his boxers with them.

The skin of his hips and thighs is pale, milky white, dusted with dark hair, and Steve is mesmerized by it. There’s a tattoo on his upper thigh, the ink greyish-blue and faded, of an open safety pin. It’s small.

Steve’s eyes trail over his skin, tracing the soft blue veins that are visible beneath his skin, over the lettered stabbed into his skin, over the burning church. Until he finds where Eddie’s hand is wrapped around himself, fist loose as he shifts the skin up and down. The tip is flushed, and Steve’s favorite color might be red now.

He realizes he’s staring, but Eddie doesn’t seem to mind. He’s touching himself idly, stroking and pushing like he’s performing for Steve.

Who kind of wants to touch him. To feel the heat of his skin, the sticky wetness, the soft thatch of curls.

“Fuck,” Steve mutters.

His eyes jump to Eddie’s face, and Eddie is already looking back at him, eyes wide, a smile teasing his lips.

“Say it again,” he says softly.

Steve’s eyes fall to his mouth. His lips are shining, his bottom lip reddened from his teeth tugging at it.

“Fuck.”

Eddie grins, fingers touching Steve’s chin to pull him into a kiss, rewarding him sweetly for saying something so filthy.

Steve lets him lick his mouth open, reaching to hold his wrist in his hands, and he hums softly. His eyes are closed as their tongues slide, and he hears Eddie’s hand speed up again, smiling.

“Shit,” Eddie hisses into his mouth, his hand holding the side of his face. He’s breathing hard again, his forehead pressed to Steve’s, and Steve wants to take every breath straight from his lungs.

“God, Eddie.”

Eddie looks at him blearily, and Steve kisses him before he can have any doubts.

“Don’t stop,” he murmurs.

“Fuck.”

They look at each other. Eddie’s cheeks are red and his lips are parted as he breathes and his eyes are shining, and the movements of his hand jostles him enough that the thin ends of his hair sways a little bit.

And then he stops. Groans. Drops his head. Shudders.

“Steve.”

“Yeah?”

He lifts his head, panting, and then he’s releasing himself, lifting his hand between them.

“Spit in my palm,” he says breathlessly.

Steve looks at his hand. His palm is slick, shining, and Steve can’t help but reach to hold his wrist, pulling his hand closer so he can slide his tongue over it.

It’s a little salty, but he likes it.

He looks up at Eddie, head still lowered, and he feels oddly beautiful under his gaze; he’s looking at him like he’s in awe, like Steve is beautiful or something.

Steve holds his gaze as he gathers spit in his mouth, and then he lets it drop, watching Eddie watch him.

He releases his wrist, and Eddie pulls him into another kiss, sucking at his lip. Steve sighs, reaching to hold his face, and as he pushes his tongue into Eddie’s mouth, he wonders if he can taste himself. It makes his face flush with heat.

“Thank you, baby,” Eddie mumbles against his mouth. “Such a good boy.”

Steve whines, kissing him again.

Eddie hisses out a breath again, and the wet sounds resume, somehow louder than the movie that they’ve both forgotten about. Steve pulls away to watch, breathless, and Eddie takes the opportunity to kiss his cheek and then down his jaw and his neck. Steve lets him, tilting his head, letting out a soft noise when Eddie’s teeth tease his skin, watching Eddie’s hand move, watching him twist his wrist just right, sliding his skin back and forth.

“Does it feel good?” Steve asks, his voice rough. Eddie moans into his neck, nodding.

“Fuck, yeah,” Eddie chokes. “Feels so fucking good.”

His lips brush Steve’s neck as he speaks, and Steve hums, burying a hand in his hair, tugging lightly.

“I’m gonna fucking come, Stevie,” Eddie says against his skin. “I’m gonna come, I—”

“‘S okay,” Steve says breathlessly, whimpering when Eddie’s teeth close on his neck, biting as he grunts, his hips pushing up into his hand.

“Fuck—”

Eddie lets out a whine, breathing hard, and Steve feels like he’s fucking hypnotized, watching as Eddie comes, as it spills over his fingers, drips over his knuckles. Eddie lets out a choked off moan, his body shaking, and the air fills with the sound of his hand moving, his come slicking his way even more, until he finally slows to a stop with a shaky exhale against Steve’s neck.

“Fucking hell,” he grumbles into Steve’s neck, his hand falling away. Steve grins, running a hand over the back of his head, combing through his hair. The room falls quiet except the dialogue from the movie they were watching, but it sounds sort of muffled now, like Steve is underwater.

“You okay?” Steve says softly. Eddie hums. He’s still breathing hard, and Steve watches his stomach rise and fall, eyeing the end of the tattoo, wondering what it is.

“You?” Eddie asks roughly. Steve scoffs.

“I’m great.”

Eddie finally lifts his head, looking at Steve like he has to make sure, and Steve kisses him before he can say anything. Eddie’s come-covered hand lifts into the air like he doesn’t know what to do with it, like he’s surrendering, and Steve’s chest feels warm at the notion that Eddie doesn’t want to get him dirty. (He would let him.)

Steve licks into his mouth, moving closer, shifting onto his knees, and Eddie hums, tilting his head back to meet him.

“You’re so hot,” Steve murmurs into his mouth, and Eddie beams, squeezing his eyes shut. Steve kisses his teeth.

“Yeah?”

“Mm. Yeah. Fuck.”

“God, I love it when you say that.”

Steve giggles, wrapping his arms around his neck and kissing him again. Eddie lets go of him long enough to tuck himself back into his sweatpants, and then he pulls him closer with his clean hand, his dirty one still hovering in the air.

And Steve realizes he’s hard.

He doesn’t stop kissing Eddie. He tugs his hair a little bit, draws the curls into a fist and pulls, listens to the way Eddie moans softly. He lowers back down so Eddie’s head isn’t tilted back, and he holds Eddie’s face in his hands, cradles it, hums at the way Eddie’s hand finds his neck and holds it the way Steve apparently loves, with his palm to his throat, fingers wrapped around it.

“What do you want?” Eddie murmurs when they part to breathe (because unfortunately they both still need that; Steve wishes he could hold his breath longer, for hours on end, just so he could kiss Eddie endlessly).

Steve kisses him again as he thinks.

Because he wants a lot. He wants this. He wants Eddie.

He wants Eddie to touch him the way he’s thought about. All over, gently and tenderly and reverently, wiping away his sins and his fears. He wants to make Eddie moan again. He wants to come.

But the thought of it makes his stomach flip unpleasantly.

And he knows Eddie would give him anything.

“Just this,” he breathes, his lips brushing Eddie’s. “Just this for now.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, already kissing him again.

They’re there for a while before Eddie finally pulls away and says, “I need to wash my hands,” having forgotten about the come on his skin, tacky and unpleasant now. And Steve giggles brightly, peppering kisses across his face before he finally lets him go. Eddie goes to his bedroom and then the bathroom, carrying a pair o f fresh boxers.

Steve goes to the bedroom and lays down, looking up at the ceiling, listening to the tap running in the bathroom. He rolls onto his front, sighing, closing his eyes, tired like he’s the one that orgasmed.

He doesn’t open his eyes when Eddie comes back, listening to his footsteps across the floorboard, listening to the floor creak under him, and he smiles against the pillow he’s laying on when Eddie says, “Remember what I said about your ass?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re giving me a great view right now.”

A laugh bursts out of Steve, and Eddie joins him on the bed, climbing on top of him and laying on his back.

“I’m sure you’re appreciating it.”

“Oh, I certainly am.” Eddie shifts to set his chin on Steve’s shoulder, softening his voice so he isn’t too loud in his ear. “That ass is a miracle, baby.”

Steve giggles again, and he hums, tilting his head, when Eddie tucks his face into his neck and kisses him. He knows Eddie is leaving a bruise on him again, and he thinks maybe Eddie likes to do that.

Leaving his mark on him.

Steve likes it too.

He drifts off in Eddie’s arms, his back to Eddie’s chest, Eddie’s heart beating against his spine. And Steve thinks he might be falling in love with the way Eddie’s heart beats. He can also feel it between his fingers when Eddie holds his hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently as his breathing slows and becomes heavier. The pulse on Steve’s hand is steady, small and gentle against the thin skin between his fingers.

It kind of feels like Steve is holding Eddie’s heart in his hand, and as his mind darkens, as his body feels a little like it’s floating and spinning, in some odd, fluid space between wake and sleep, he kind of wishes that he could hold it in his hands. That he could cradle it against his own chest, that he could press it to his own until their veins and arteries twine together like vines, inseparable. Until their shades of red are the same, until Steve can’t tell his own pulse from Eddie’s.

His hand tightens on Eddie’s like he’s squeezing his heart gently, and Eddie sleepily pulls him back against himself more firmly.

─────────────────

He can’t stop thinking about it. Again.

Eddie takes up a fair amount of real estate in his mind.

Steve finds himself getting distracted while he’s working on homework, on essays, while he’s getting ready for bed, while he’s walking to the bus, to class. Even when it’s been less than twelve hours since he’s last seen him, he misses him.

But along with Eddie, Steve also can’t stop thinking about what Robin told him.

It’s normal. People do it.

It makes his face hot to think about. The way Robin poked at him, the way she teased him. She’d called it his homework after their lecture, and he’d wanted to push her pencil bag into her mouth to shut her up. As they said goodbye, walking down the hallway in opposite directions, Robin made the up and down gesture again, winking exaggeratedly, and Steve’s face turned red as he rolled his eyes in a begrudgingly fond way.

He does his best to not think about it (it being Eddie, Eddie’s hands, Eddie’s voice, Eddie’s dick) while he works (and while he’s in public, lest his body respond again), but his efforts are largely for nought. It’s all still there. Sitting in his head. Taunting him.

It’s worse at night. When there’s nothing to distract him, when he’s surrounded by the dark and the sound of his own breathing, as he wishes he could be listening to Eddie’s breathing instead.

He’s been trying to fall asleep for at least an hour now, staring up at the ceiling and waiting. But sleep doesn’t come to him.

It’s been like this for a while, usually on nights he spends by himself instead of with Eddie. He doesn’t even feel particularly tired. He feels like it should be mid-day, like the sun should be shining through his window as he just sits here, looking up.

He sits up against the wall, sighing heavily as he flicks the light on.

He supposes he could read, even though it usually gives him a headache. Maybe it’ll bore him enough that he’ll fall asleep.

But he doesn’t feel like reading.

He feels like kissing Eddie.

He always feels like kissing Eddie lately.

Kissing him. Touching him. Listening to him.

Steve huffs, letting his head fall back against the wall behind him. His hand itches to reach for his lap, but something holds it back, like his wrist is pinned to his side. He swallows, blinking as his eyes get used to the dark, to the dim light from outside.

He thinks about how Eddie did it, sitting next to Steve on the sofa, how he groped himself over his sweatpants like it was the easiest thing in the world, like it was normal. How he exhaled, how his eyes fluttered, how his voice became breathier as he talked to Steve.

Steve bites his lip, closing his eyes again, listening to Eddie in his head. Hearing his soft Fuck.

Such a good boy.

Steve furrows his eyebrows, his hips shifting, his hands clenching into tight fists. He fucking loves when Eddie says stuff like that.

He wants to be good for Eddie. Wants to be his good boy.

He holds back a weak noise as he slides down the wall, squeezing his eyes shut, and he finally tears his hand away from where it’s pressed to his leg, reaching for his lap and touching himself.

It feels good.

He exhales sharply. Presses his lips together and bites down. Somehow hears Eddie’s voice say That’s it, baby, there you go.

“Fuck,” Steve gasps, his hand tightening again, shifting, pulling, squeezing. He wants to call Eddie, to listen to his voice and let him know. To hear his gentle encouragement, his soft praises, to be good for him. But Eddie is working at the Hideout tonight.

Steve whines, his back arching, his head pressing to the wall. He’s already breathing hard, panting, his other hand gripping his blanket tightly.

He pauses for a moment, pulling his hand away, blinking his eyes open in the dark again. His eyes adjust, and after a few moments he can see himself in the dark, straining against the fabric of his sweatpants. He stares for a moment before closing his eyes again, taking a breath.

He slides his hand under the waistband of his sweatpants. His head falls forward when he feels the heat of himself against his hand, his skin hot to the touch like his blood is boiling. He copies what Eddie did, sliding his hand up and down slowly, hesitantly, his mouth falling open as he holds back another noise.

He buries his face in the crook of his other arm, squeezing his eyes shut, whining again.

And he really wishes Eddie was here, talking him through it all. Telling him what to do, whispering in his ear. Telling him how good he’s being.

Steve hisses as his hand chafes against him, wincing, and he withdraws his hand, pausing to catch his breath, hesitating before he lifts his hand to his mouth and spits in his palm. It’s gross, but he whines pathetically as he reaches down again.

It feels better.

“Oh, God.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, stifling a groan in his arm.

Eddie’s voice echoes in his head, murmuring softly.

Such a good boy.

There you go, sweetheart.

Steve’s muscles somehow tighten even as he melts against the wall, moaning softly.

He wants Eddie to touch him.

He really wants Eddie to touch him.

His head falls forward as he imagines it, as he thinks about Eddie’s hand touching him like this, leaning close to murmur in his ear. Kissing his jaw, his hand warm, his rings becoming slick—

“Eddie—” Steve chokes, leaning forward with a groan, and he bites his lip to silence himself, realising with a flush of heat that he doesn’t know how thick the walls here are.

You deserve to feel good.

Steve exhales roughly, letting his head fall back against the wall, his other arm tight around himself as his hand shifts again. His back arches as he gasps, his fingers tightening, and he lets out a moan that doesn’t even sound like him, high-pitched and whiny. He almost sounds like a girl.

He claps a hand over his mouth, breathing hard, and his face flushes with heat again when he realizes he’s fucking drooling, his chin wet. And it just makes him think about the way Eddie’s tongue feels against his skin, and then he’s thinking about Eddie licking his spit away, hungrily, desperately, and Steve feels like he’s losing his mind.

He’s crying.

But it doesn't feel like it usually does when he cries, when he feels small and helpless and pathetic, when he’s scared and miserable.

He feels so fucking good.

He lets out a quiet, stifled sob, and he wants Eddie, he wants Eddie, he wants—

“Eddie, fuck, please—”

He cries into his arm, his hand moving rapidly now, desperately, and he knows there’s no one to beg right now, but he wants to. He wants to fall to his knees and plead for it, tears in his eyes, to beg to come.

It’s so good.

Until it’s suddenly less good. Overwhelming. Too much.

Steve jerks his hand away, letting out a whimper into his palm, and then he’s gasping for breath, crying.

Bad crying, this time.

He’s trembling, and he wraps his arms around himself, squeezing, shutting his eyes tightly as he tries to catch his breath. He buries his face in his arms as he curls up into a ball, like he’s trying to hide from the dark, from the moonlight, from the crucifix on his shelf.

And he stays there when he finally stops crying, when he wipes his tears away on his sleeves, as he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to will away the cloud that covers his body. Every inch of him feels filthy, but it doesn’t feel good the way Eddie makes it feel. He feels like he has to scrub his skin clean, like he needs to scrub it until he’s bleeding, until he can’t even remember what he did wrong.

His lip trembles as he tries to fall asleep, as he tries to pretend it never happened, as he pushes away to feeling that he needs to pray, to repent, to confess. He feels sick.

He wants Eddie to make it go away. To make it all go away.

♡ permanent taglist: @estrellami-1 @theplantscientist @spectrum-spectrum @carlprocastinator1000 @starman-jpg @romantiklen @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme ♡ holy things taglist: @stevesbipanic @pearynice @ao3whore @slowandsteddie @swordsandflowercrowns @dragonmama76 @mikeys-thoughts @sofadofax @cyranyx @kazalohiku @lostonceandneverfound @strangerfreaks @bitchysteveharrington @nailbatanddungeon @newtstabber (comment to be added/removed to/from either list!!)

♡ art of steve and eddie ♡ pinboard // playlist ♡ buy me a coffee

[sky-kiss]

Begging pleading requesting bribing with many likes and reblogs for more of the coffee shop / professor au 🥺 it brings me immense joy it's so cute

A/N: I’m so sorry, I remember you requested something spicy and this is SO SHORT. And not spicy.

_____

Raph x Tav: Let’s be Honest: His Shower is Nicer

_____

She works Saturday morning. She has dinner plans with Raphael that evening. 

She arrives at his door stinking of espresso and baked goods. Not awful. But she's smelled that way since 5 AM, and she's sick of it. Shadowheart calls out, and Tav is left to close shop around six that evening. Too close to dinner for a shower.  

She asks to reschedule. He insists she will be welcome regardless of her current state. And she wants to be with him. It's so fucking superior to spending a night huddled up on her sofa snacking on last night's takeout. 

Raphael favors her with a new expression: his nose scrunches up; his eyebrows tick down. And his mouth does something inexplicable where it manages to both purse and turn up. He's either about to laugh or constipated. The professor clears his throat, stepping aside to make room for her. She doesn't have a coat to take, so he smooths his hands over her shoulders, blessedly warm. He doesn't kiss her; that's too soft. He chucks her under the chin instead, huffing. “You're quite a sight.” 

“It was a long day.” 

“Mm.” He plucks a bit of something from her hair: coffee grounds. “So I see. Come, let’s see if we can’t turn the evening around.” 

She smiles despite herself, chewing her lower lip and dipping her chin. His apartment smells pleasantly of garlic and a medley of other smiles. The professor regards her for a moment, smirking when she shifts. “Uncomfortable, pet?” 

The moniker always does something horrible to her stomach. “You put so much effort into everything and I just…” she motions to herself, shrugging. 

“There’s something to be said for a more…rustic beauty.” Raphael hums. His eyes glitter. “You might avail yourself of my shower. And I could be induced to lend you something to wear.” 

Gods, the notion of curling up on the sofa in one of his sweaters, smelling of his body wash and cologne, appeals so strongly that the strength nearly leaves her legs. She holds her hands out to him, fluttering her eyelashes. “Any suggested inducements?” 

He laughs, low and smooth, dipping his head to kiss her and walk her back towards the shower. 

______

In a testament to his infernal heritage, Raphael’s showers may be classified by many as “too hot.” 

Tav would call them “this side of fucking scalding,” but she is cold enough that it sounds appealing. She shrugs out of her clothes (Raphael gathers and folds them, tsking). Raphael holds his arms out wide, arched in a challenge. It is her task to undress him. One she takes to with no small amount of vigor. She tracks every new inch of skin with her lips, hands carding over his chest and stomach. Tav smoothes her fingers through the smattering of hair across his pectorals, chuckling at how he purrs, crowding nearer. 

Tactile, tactile, brushing the back of his fingers up and over her ribs. She braces her hands on his shoulders, giving herself some leverage as she wraps her legs around his hips. Raphael adjusts her, arms linking beneath her ass to hold her steady. Tav leans in to kiss him, smiling against his lips, “How are you so handsome? You keep getting more handsome.” 

Raphael laughs, “A trade secret, pet. Mine to keep.” He steps forward, positioning them under the warm spray of water. Tav scratches her nails over the back of his scalp. Raphael lifts her again, enough to suck a bruise beneath her right breast. A scar, long since healed, but a distinctive mark. His favorite. 

“Bet I could get it out of you.” 

“Mm, the mouse's whiles against the fox's cunning? Whoever will prevail?” 

Tav can’t say she cares. In this one regard, she’s happy to lose. It’s warm: the water, him, everything. Tav kisses the crown of his skull, folding herself around him as best she can. It feels necessary. Every inch of her needs to touch him. 

[momentofch-aos]

Trick-or-Treat! I have come knocking on your Tumblr door asking for a treat. You can answer with a meme, a bit of art/fic, a fic recommendation, pictures of candy, or something else! Then go to your mutual’s Tumblr door and ask them for a treat! Happy Halloween! 🎃👻 (don’t answer until October 31)

My apologies this is a day late and I have no idea if it makes sense for this. Just a little Drabble I’ve been thinking about. (“200 words” I said. Yeah right.)

On a rare night off, Daisy was grateful that their apartment building didn’t have many trick or treaters. Not that she hated the kids that lived in their building, in fact there was a little 2-year-old girl who was obsessed with Daniel that she had a particular soft spot for. But they were out of town this week.

The past month has been tiring so when she came home to find Daniel having fallen asleep reading on the couch, it was very easy to shuck off her jacket and boots and curl up next to him.

In typical Sousa fashion, he woke up as she settled besides him, opening the blanket for her to crawl under, his arm wrapping tightly around her waist as she curled into him. He dropped a light kiss to her lips.

“How was your debrief?” He murmured as she rested her head on his shoulder.

“Good. Mack wanted to get home to Faith and Flint. Ended it a little early. Faith is dressing up as Rey from Star Wars.” Daisy replied softly.

“From the sequels right?” Daniel asked rubbing his eyes.

“Yup. I told him I wanted to see photos.” As if on queue Daisy’s phone buzzed from where she dumped it on the coffee table. “I’ll get it in a minute.”

“I ordered dinner. It’ll be at 7. Mexican? You mentioned tacos last night.”

“Hmmmm.” Daisy agreed “Nap first.”

She felt Daniel chuckled underneath her as he pulled her closer. The feel of his sweater under her hand and his slow steady breaths pulled her into an easy sleep.

An hour later, they somewhat startled as the doorbell rang. Daisy had rolled off the sofa, as she was pulled from sleep, Daniel’s hand still gripping hers.

“Must be the food.” Daniel said smiling at his girlfriend who was still trying to work out how she was on the floor.

“Yeah I’m on it.” Half asleep still, she shlepped her way to the front door, looking through the peephole.

On first glance, there was no one there so, Daisy assumed the food had been left on the doormat. But when she opened the door, she caught sight of the tiny human she missed the most.

Alya Fitzsimmons bounced excitedly on the door mat, before flinging herself around Daisy’s legs.

“Auntie Daisy!”

“Alya?” Her sleep fogged brain seems to lift as she squatted to properly hug her tiny niece, swinging her into her arms as she stood up. “What are you doing here?”

From around the corner, Jemma and Fitz appeared and Daisy immediately wrapped her arms around Jemma, Alya squashed between them.

“We thought a visit was in order.” Jemma whispered as she hugged her tight.

“And I thought it would be a nice pick-me-up after your missions and meetings.” Daniel said from behind them, shaking hands with Fitz.

“Uncle Daniel!” Alya practically leapt from Daisy’s arms towards Daniel who scooped her up.

“Hey kiddo.”

“Cannot believe you all kept this from me.” Daisy looked around the group of some of her favourite people. “You too Fitzy.” She hugged him tight before leading them all into the apartment

“We were definitely due a visit. But I don’t think you’ve properly noticed who Alya wanted to dress up as this year. Hey Al, you wanna show Auntie Daisy?” Placed back on the ground, Alya stood proudly in the middle of the kitchen, hands on her hips.

For the first time Daisy and Daniel took into consideration what the young girl was wearing. A tiny Quake suit, complete with purple accents and tiny fabric gauntlets.

“I’m you!” She shouted, holding her hand out and mimicking Daisy.

Daniel was chuckling as Daisy dropped to her knees with her hands over her mouth. Her heart warmed as the smallest Fitzsimmons moved like she was quaking different objects around the room.

“You really are! Look at you. It’s such a good suit.”

“Yup Daddy made it, just like he made yours!” She was bouncing again now between Fitz and Daisy.

“Her daddy has been working on it for weeks. He had to get it just right.” Jemma said, rolling her eyes at her husband.

“Hey it had to be accurate. Otherwise what’s the point?” Fitz smiled down at his daughter. “Oh I picked the food up off the driver by the way” He lifted the paper bag off the top of her suitcase.

“Thanks Fitz, I’ve made up the guest room for you all, if we want to pop your bags in before we eat?” Daniel said, taking the bag Jemma had dragged in off her and leading the way as Fitz followed him.

For the second time, Daisy looked around at her people and wondered just how planned this had been. Grateful that she had people who knew exactly what she needed. Jemma leaned into her shoulder as Alya chatted excitedly about her new suit and how she wore it on the Quinjet.

And when Daisy suggested she pick up her suit from base in the morning so they could take some photos together the following day, the excited energy in the apartment only doubled.

She was still tired, but with every moment in the company of some of her favourite people, Daisy felt like she wouldn’t need to sleep for at least a few more hours.

[whositmcwhatsit]

An Enjoyable Slide to Oblivion

Summary: Like a lot of girls, Chancy Crawford had once been able to call herself one of Elvis's girlfriends, but that was long time ago. Now, she called herself his friend, or his 'cousin' if any of his girlfriends asked. It was just easier that way. And their relationship was all about being comfortable and easy. Until she gets asked to come and join a tour that seems endless and cursed. Previous chapters

Chapter 4: Turbulence

Chancy’s eyes flickered open, the sepia of her dream fading out as the bright contemporary décor crystalised in her vision. She carefully slid her hand out from Elvis’s pyjama top, already missing the warmth. He had kicked off all the blankets at some point and they were tangled in a bundle by his feet. She turned her attention to his arm still wrapped around her and reasoned that even if his sleeping pills didn’t knock him out senseless, he had probably lost all feeling in that arm with her sleeping on it. She still moved cautiously to avoid disturbing him, eager for him to have as much rest as he could.

 Once she had disentangled herself and climbed out of bed, Chancy turned and beheld the sight spread before her. Elvis slept in the dead centre of the bed, because of course he did, his legs spread-eagle and his free arm thrown across his face. Her eyes slid down to where the bottom of his pyjama top had slipped up in the night, revealing a slice of pale belly puffing up from his hips and a light brown hair trail that disappeared into the waistband of his pyjama pants. Her first predatory instinct was a mouth-watering urge to bite the soft skin, but once she had tamped that down, it was replaced with a tenderness that frightened her more. She reached down to the bottom of the bed and shook out the blankets, pulling them up around him and tucking him in.   

After a hot shower where she reminisced about his skilful mouth as she lathered up, she changed into some black corduroy bellbottoms and a black sweater and pondered how to get coffee. Obviously, she could just call room service and order it, but then they might try to deliver it and get turned away by security. Or they might actually deliver it and knock on the door, waking up Elvis and disturbing his sleep. She was anxious to let him sleep, not just because he needed the rest, but because she herself needed some time and some space where his presence was not all encompassing.

In the end, with a lingering look at the figure in the bed, she slipped out of the hotel room. Dick was on duty outside, which pleased her, because she didn’t know him well enough to care about looking stupid.

“Morning,” she said quietly. He gave her his standard pleasant, polite smile and raised his eyebrows in anticipation of a request or question. She knew that he had once been a cop and she always felt a tingle of anxiety when she spoke to him because of it, as if she was a wrong word away from jail.

“Now this is going to sound silly, but I was wondering… I’d like to order something from room service, but I don’t want to wake Elvis and I wasn’t sure if there would be a problem if a waiter showed up?”

“What do you need?”

“I’m sorry, I know you have an important job to do. What do the other girls normally do? I bet they just call, don’t they, without all the fussing? Or they have the ability to function without food or drink maybe?”

“Honestly, it’s fine,” he replied, his smile warmer and more personal now. “I’m sure the Boss’ll appreciate the consideration.”

“Oh, but we’re not going to tell him, are we,” she returned quickly. “I’m pretty sure he knows what a fool I am, but let’s not confirm it.” He smirked slightly as he nodded.

“You got it. What can I get for you?”

Ten minutes later, she was curled up on the sofa with a mug of coffee and a pastry, reading her book. She felt almost normal, except she had to read by the light of a lamp at one in the afternoon because all the windows were covered and she had taken a blanket from the bed because the air conditioner was set to frostbite. Other than that…

A couple of hours later, she moved back to the bed, drawn by movement. Elvis had rolled onto his side, mumbling something as he stretched out his arm to where she had been laying earlier. She was just reflecting on how warm and comfortable she had been in bed and thinking about slipping back in, when there was a light knock on the door.

It was Ricky, the human alarm clock. She swept her arm to gesture for him to come in since she was sleeping in his workplace now. He wouldn’t meet her eye and hurried past her, reminding her of his face plant into the door the previous night.

This time, she forced herself to endure the wake-up routine, sitting half-turned away on the sofa as Ricky ministered over Elvis’s prone form. She heard the rattle of pill bottles and peered over warily.

Pills to get to sleep she could maybe understand, particularly in Elvis’s case with his legendary insomnia and restlessness. But then pills to wake up again seemed counter-intuitive, because it created a never-ending cycle where he was incapable of doing things that a body had been able to do for itself since human beings were created.

“Where’s Chancy?” She glanced up at the sound of her name, slurred and soft round the edges.

“She’s here, Boss.”

Chancy climbed over the arm of the sofa and padded over to the bed where Ricky was gathering pill bottles like he was raiding a pharmacy. He passed her and she followed his path with her eyes, watching him disappear into the adjoining bathroom. 

Elvis squinted up at her through bleary eyes despite the muted light in the room.

“Baby, why’d you get up?” he asked in a cracked voice, sounding disappointed.

“Woke up early,” she shrugged, “and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere. I read a little, ordered room service, and watched you sleep.”

“Weirdo,” he replied, a faint, crooked smile touching his lips.

“Takes one to know one,” she shot back in a soft singsong immediately. He lifted a weary hand and gestured for her.

“Get back in here, Cha-Cha, lemme love on you a little bit.” She obediently knelt on the mattress and folded herself down into his waiting arms. He was warm and smelt like the two of them, comfort and safety.  “I wanted to wake up with you.”

“Me, you and Ricky?” she asked pointedly, but he ignored her, which was probably for the best. She sighed as he nuzzled her neck, pressing quick, warm kisses onto her skin and grazing the curve of her jaw with his nose. Despite invoking his name, she was still surprised to see Ricky emerge from the bathroom and she abruptly sat up, earning an annoyed grunt from Elvis as she yanked herself out of his arms.

“You need anything else, Boss? Got coffee on the way up.” he said, keeping his eyes down, which Chancy was grateful for as the situation was awkward enough.

“No, we’re good. Just breakfast in a while.”

“Thank you, Ricky,” Chancy chimed in to be polite. The boy nodded and left quickly. She felt Elvis grab a handful of her sweater from behind and tug her back. She grimaced as she banged her head against the headboard.

“Whoops, sorry, baby,” he murmured with a sheepish smile. “You okay?”

“Which one of you asked me that?” she asked, crossing her eyes as she looked at him. He snorted and pulled her towards him, resting his head on her chest.

“Silly, crazy girl,” he muttered into her sweater. She laid her arm across his shoulder, smoothing his sleep-mussed hair down with her fingers as her other hand surreptitiously rubbed at the sore spot on her head.

There was another knock at the door and Elvis’s arms tightened around her waist, the pressure of his head against her chest preventing her from sitting up.

“Morning, Boss,” said Dick, carrying in two steaming mugs. “I have your coffee, and I took the liberty of ordering another for Chancy. Thankfully they managed to restock all their supplies of cream and sugar after her last one.” Yes, Dick was starting to grow on her, Chancy decided.

“Some people are sweet enough already and others gotta get it any way they can,” she remarked with a smile. “Thank you so much, Dick.”

“Yeah, thanks, man,” Elvis murmured, not lifting his head from his human pillow.

Chancy watched Dick close the door behind himself and then glanced down at Elvis’s dark head.

“Did you go back to sleep?” She ran her hand up and down his back, daring herself to reach lower each time.

“Nope, just listening. You know your heartbeat sounds like- like Tutt going batshit on the drums.”

“It does?”

“Hmm mmh, it’s so fast and so loud. Never used to be like that.”

Of all the parts of her that she had worried about him comparing to her teenage self, she never thought it would be her heartbeat that let her down.

“Well, Dick wasn’t really kidding about all the sugar and coffee I had earlier…”

“Acting so nervous and jumpy too.”

“I don’t think I’m nervous,” she mused, staring at his black locks, trying to work out what was going on in his brain.

“You got something on your mind, baby? Something you wanna tell me?”

“Okay, now I’m starting to feel nervous.” She tried to sit up, but again he pushed her back down. “Are you mad at me?” He finally sat up, reaching over her to grab his coffee.

“What would I be mad about?” he returned, taking a sip of the thick black syrupy liquid. Now she was sure of it, but couldn’t think for the life of her what she had done this time. He had only been awake fifteen minutes!

“I had a weird dream,” she told him. “It was all in black and white and had an old-timey piano playing the whole time like a silent movie. Alicia was the star and I was doing interpretative dance.” He squinted at her, his confusion tinged with amusement.

“Man, you are so strange.”

“I know, nervous and strange; so attractive, right?”

“Aw, you know I didn’t mean it like that.” He quickly put down his cup and grabbed her face, pressing insistent coffee-flavoured kisses into her mouth. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad, baby.”

Chancy could work with this; better this than the passive aggressive remarks that made her feel guilty for no reason. She slid down the pillows, drawing him over her and meeting his lips with hers. As his tongue explored her mouth, she slid her hand into the back of his pyjama pants and grabbed his butt cheek. He flinched and she was convinced she heard him squeak before he pulled back, his face glowing with surprise, delight, and consternation.

“You tricked me, you dirty little sneak… You ain’t upset!”

“Well, not now!” she returned. “You cured me.” He narrowed his eyes, but they were twinkling as he wrapped his fingers around her neck and pressed his forehead against hers, the line of his nose squashing the upturned tip of hers. 

“Yeah, me and my magical ass,” he muttered, moving to kiss her as she spluttered with laughter.

The laughter lasted only as long as it took for him to get frustrated with her clothing and died out as he roughly unfastened her pants and yanked them down. She shivered as he thrust his satin-covered thigh between her bare legs and turned his attention to her sweater.

“You got too many damn clothes on,” he murmured, peppering kisses across her breastbone and down the slight dip of her sternum, nuzzling her nipples through the lace of her bra with his nose.

“Well, what about you?!” she retorted, sliding both her hands down the back of his pants and squeezing. He had always had a perfect, full ass. She was pretty sure she had read even more love letters to it than his face when she had worked helping out Patsy with the fan mail.

“What about me, honey? You got something on your mind?” He was teasing her, comfortable with his control of the situation. After last night, they both knew he was in charge now.

Some wicked part of her, the same part that fiercely burnt at being called a ‘little girl’, wanted to upend that control, wanted him to squeak again, wanted to make the sex symbol blush. She grabbed his jaw and turned his head so that her lips were against the shell of his ear.

In her breathiest whisper, she told him exactly what she wanted to do to him, how she wanted to suck and lick him until her mouth went numb, take him deep in her throat until it ached, until she choked on him and swallowed him down. He shuddered against her and she eagerly shimmied under the blanket, only for him to grab her by the tops of her arms and pull her back up.

“That sounds amazing, darlin’,” he murmured, eyes turned downward. “But we ain’t there yet. I wanna cum kissing you, I’ve not kissed you nearly enough yet.”

It was another power play, another way of retaining the upper hand and not giving her exactly what she wanted. She recognised all of that, but couldn’t find it in herself to be disappointed. Not when he was staring at her like she was water in the desert.

“Give me your hand.”

She held out her palm hesitantly and he rolled his eyes as he turned it up and licked a strip from her wrist to the tips of her fingers. As she was realising what was happening, he tugged her arm down under the covers.

It turned out his pants were too tight for both his and her hand to manoeuvre comfortably, so he shimmied them down from his hips and kicked them off. His cock wasn’t completely hard yet; still waking up like the rest of him. He wrapped her hand around it and covered her fingers with his own, demonstrating the grip he liked. It was tighter than she imagined or remembered.

Wanting to watch, she reached for the blanket, but he grabbed her chin with his other hand and planted a wet, open-mouthed kiss on her, making her lose her rhythm and work against his hand as she tried to figure out what she was doing.

“Little tighter, baby,” he murmured, biting down on her bottom lip and sucking while she constricted her grip, feeling the vein appear as he got harder. “Uh huh, good girl.”

She watched him intently as he kissed her, his eyes closed and his thick, black lashes resting on his cheeks. She took in the crease between his dark brows and the old, faded scar at the corner of his left eyebrow from where a fake fight on a movie set became a little too real for a moment. She saw the pores, the laughter lines at the corner of his eyes, the soft jawline, and the dark stubble coming in (and rubbing the skin around her mouth raw). That same overpowering tenderness that had struck her earlier in the morning began to surge through her again, filling her chest and drowning her. Her chest heaved with a huge sigh as she struggled to get oxygen and his eyes flickered open, seeming surprised to find her staring.

“Lookin’ so damn serious,” he remarked in a low voice, his gentle laugh abruptly turning into a moan at the back of his throat as she went rogue and moved her hand faster beneath his, starting to stroke his balls with the fingers of her other hand. She turned her face away as his lips tried to catch hers again, gasping out that she couldn’t breathe, so he pushed hungry pecks against her cheeks, his teeth sliding against her jaw as he curled his lip under her care.

Under his manual direction, she squeezed a little tighter and moved a little rougher, his hips beginning to jerk towards her. The way he treated himself was such a contrast to the gentle, measured sweetness with which he had plied her the night before. Her hand was beginning to cramp with the force of her grip and her wrist ached from the harsh strokes she was giving him.

“Ugh, goddamn, you’re too far away,” he groaned breathlessly, releasing his grip on her hand and gathering her roughly into his arms, pulling her against him.

For a blinding moment, her wrist screamed in agony from being bent backwards and her hand spasmed open. His cock slid from her palm and he bucked, pressing himself against her. She could feel the head nudging insistently at the lace covering her warm entrance. She panicked and tried to grab hold again, but he thrust his hips hard at the same time, trapping both her hand and his cock between them, creating the most agonising and delicious pleasure that they both moaned. He didn’t give her time to regain her grip.

Shifting on top of her, he drew out both of her arms and wrapped them around his neck. He really couldn’t seem to get enough of kissing her; the bristle of his stubble had been a pleasant tingle at first, but now it was starting to sting. 

“I’m close,” he panted, his arms shaking as he grabbed for purchase on the pillows, using his weight to trap his cock between his hips and hers as he thrust with increasingly forceful sloppiness. She couldn’t reply; between being crushed and having the breath stolen from her swollen mouth, there was nothing left for words even if she had been capable of thinking them. She felt his body tense and begin to shake, so she grabbed his face, licking into his mouth.

“Baby, I-“ His hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat as he pressed it into hers and she brushed it from his face as she swallowed his long, low moan. She could feel him throbbing against her, but that was soon eclipsed by the pressure on her bones as he collapsed onto her.

“Sorry,” he mumbled finally, rolling off onto his back. She followed his movement, pressing into his side, not wanting to lose the pressure or the warmth. It made her feel better about being so needy when he immediately buried his face into the crook of her neck.

There was a soft tap on the door and Chancy resisted the overpowering urge to sigh.

“Are you going to get that or am I?” she asked, just to get him to respond.

“Well, you ain’t the one that’s half naked,” he pointed out, pulling back from her neck. “Where are my damn pants anyway?”

“Where they belong, on the floor somewhere,” she answered, pressing a kiss onto his salty temple. “It’s a very good look on you.” He rolled his eyes, finally emerging and pulling himself up on his elbows.

“That was- Was that okay?” she asked tentatively. Immediately, whatever strange cloud hanging over him dissipated as he shot her a sideways look and smiled that mischievous little smile that he excelled at. 

“It was much better than okay, darlin’.”

Mollified, she sighed, throwing back the covers and reaching for her robe to cover up before she opened the door. The food trolley was standing in the hallway, but Dick was nowhere to be seen.

“Your breakfast is here,” she announced, just in time to catch Elvis disappearing into the bathroom.

“Be there in a minute,” he called back.

Shrugging, she went to pull in the trolley and such a blinding pain went through her arm that she couldn’t even let out the squeal that bubbled up in her throat. She cradled her hand to her chest and used her other hand to tug in the trolley, kicking the door closed.

A few minutes later, Elvis emerged from the bathroom clad in his pyjama pants again. He looked to the coffee table where she had laid out his food and cutlery and then back the bed where she was sitting. In a minute, he had snatched up his plate and was climbing back into bed next to her.

“You already have breakfast?” he asked, giving her a double take as he noticed her lowered head. “Baby, you okay?”

Wordlessly, she held out her arm, supporting it with her other hand, to show that her wrist was puffy and swollen to the same size as her forearm.

“Oh God, baby, what ha-“ Chancy hissed as he touched her skin and he jerked back.

“I can move my fingers, so that means it’s not broken, right?” she asked. “I think I read that somewhere…”

“I-I don’t know,” he answered, his voice high. “What happened?!”

“When we were, you know,” she mumbled. “Near the end, I got my arm twisted. It really hurts!” His plate clattered as he climbed back out of bed and reached for the phone to call Joe.

Within half an hour, there was a doctor in the bedroom examining her wrist as she perched on the sofa in her peach robe. Elvis was sat on the other side of her, rubbing her back while she grimaced her way through the examination.

“Now, I suspect that it’s a nasty sprain, but I can’t be sure without an x-ray. I would recommend getting it checked to make sure,” said the doctor.

“Where’s the closest hospital?” Joe asked, his trusty notepad out ready to take down the details.

“I’m sure it’s not broken,” Chancy put in, feeling very silly sitting in her nightclothes surrounded by serious looking men. “It feels more like a sprain, I think.”

“Well, you never can tell,” the doctor intoned. “I tend to be cautious when there’s such significant swelling after a fall.” She dropped her head, chewing her lips to stop her brain from contradicting the lie she had told to explain the injury.

“Well, what if I wrap it up and see how I am tomorrow?” She turned to Elvis, trying not to flinch as the movement jarred her arm. “I don’t want to be stuck in an emergency room and miss your show.”

His frown softened for a moment into a small smile, before returning as he addressed the doctor.

“Sir, we’re flying to South Bend tonight after the show. She’ll get an x-ray as soon as we land, I’ll take her myself.” He gave her a warning look. “If it is broken, it won’t cause any lasting damage if we do that, right?” The doctor conceded this and said he would splint it until then.

“She’s gonna need something for the pain though, Sir,” Elvis put in quickly. “Demerol or Percodan probably.” The doctor blinked.

“Well, I don’t-”

“You said yourself, it could be broken,” Elvis reasoned intently. “She’s in a lot of pain, Sir, and she’s not one of them weak, girly girls. If Chancy says it hurts, it’s gotta be pretty bad.”

Chancy’s stomach churned as she watched the doctor’s face change, and something harder and more entrepreneurial replaced the bland, professional concern.

“Well, since she is in such great pain,” he murmured. “How long until she can get to a hospital, did you say?” Chancy turned her head, watching the exchange. Elvis’s face was unnaturally bland and still, Hollywood style. Acting.

“Could be up to twenty-four hours, I guess.”

She was going to be sick, the pain in her arm nothing compared to her disquiet at the exchange, which she could tell from Elvis’s demeanour was not his first. Even Joe was uncharacteristically blank-faced, examining his nails rather intently.

“I can get the script filled at the pharmacy nearby,” the doctor said shortly. “It’ll take me over my allotted call-out time though, so there will be additional fees I’m afraid.”

“Joe here will pay you whatever you’re owed, Sir,” Elvis replied. “We appreciate you coming out so fast.” 

The mood in the room was oppressive as the doctor splinted her wrist. Elvis was in the bathroom and Joe went to find out the closest hospital to the hotel in South Bend. Chancy hissed as the doctor bound the bandage, his movements seemed brusque and even severe since the conversation with Elvis. She knew she had been tarnished in his eyes by their transaction and she wanted to somehow let him know that she was not involved.

“I fell off a horse a few years ago and broke my foot,” she said, jarred by her own plaintive tone. “I didn’t even go to the doctor for a couple of days, not until my friend made me. The doctor scolded me and said I could’ve caused myself real problems if it had healed wrong.”

“Hmm, yes, that can happen.”

Chancy bowed her head, knowing that there was no saving this situation, and her chest filled with anger, at herself for passively becoming a part of it, at Elvis for his endless hunger for darkness, as well as his ability to get whatever the hell he wanted, and at the doctor for judging her and for giving in to what Elvis wanted.

The doctor left, telling Chancy that he would be back with her medication shortly.

When Elvis emerged from the bathroom, she was waiting to slide right in behind him. She closed the door and immediately turned on both of the faucets of the tub. No shower for her and her throbbing, mummified hand.

Everything took far longer with just one hand. Just taking off her nightie was a yoga demonstration and getting washed was a gymnastics routine. She thought about having to dry herself and get dressed and felt exhausted in advance. She considered just staying in the bath until she dissolved and didn’t have to worry about any of it anymore.

The tapping on the door made her bring her knees up to her chest into the rapidly cooling tub. She wondered when the sound of knocking had started making her heart start to race.

“Cha-Cha, honey, can I come in?”

Quite honestly, the last thing she wanted when she looked like a broken, drowned naked rat in a bathtub in an impersonal hotel far from home was for world famous entertainer and sex symbol Elvis Presley to come into the bathroom. However, she couldn’t tell him that.

“Sure,” she called, not recognising her own voice as it echoed off the tiles.

The unimposing way he entered and the sympathetic look on his face somehow made her feel worse. She hunched over her knees even tighter.

“How you doing, honey? You been in here a while,” he murmured, crouching down by the side of the tub. His hand was soothingly warm against her back, even the heavy metal of his gold bracelet seemed warmer than her goose-pimpled skin as it slid against it.

“I can’t believe I injured myself giving a hand job.”

“Yeah, well, we ain’t gonna be telling that to no one else, are we,” he replied, lifting his eyebrow.

“You will!” she muttered into her knees.

“No, I won’t goddamn it!” He sounded genuinely offended and hurt by the accusation.

“You will,” she contended. “You’ll be sitting around with the boys one night and it’ll seem like a real funny story and you’ll all laugh at me. I know.”

“So that’s what you really think of me, huh.”

Part of her wanted his hurt and irritation to set and create a cast around him so that he would get up and leave her to literally wallow in her misery. Of course, the more dominant part went into damage control mode, especially as he rose with a loud sigh.

“Elvis, I-“ He unfolded the towel from the rail and shook it out.

“C’mon, sulky, time to stop moping in the tub.”

“Don’t wanna,” she mumbled, even as she was pulling herself one-handed out of the water. She used her bandaged hand as an ineffective shield, trying to preserve her modesty, but she could still feel herself flushing under his appraising eyes, the blush spreading unhindered without clothes down her chest and the tops of her arms.

With patience and diligence she would not have thought him capable of, Elvis steered her into the bedroom and proceeded to dry her off. It took Chancy some time to relax into it and trust that it was a loving gesture in and of itself and not the preamble to a practical joke or a proposition. That was not to say that Elvis was not tender, but he usually lacked the patience and concentration to follow through on his good intentions. It had been such a long time since she had him to herself so completely free from distractions.

“That there’s one itty bitty sootie,” he murmured soft enough that it might have been only to himself. “Look at them pitty widdle toes. Gonna eat ‘em right up.”

Chancy melted into a smile at the baby voice, recognising it from its constant use at the Presley home back when Mrs Presley ruled. That home could sometimes seem like an island kingdom with its own laws, customs, and language. She understood that, to Elvis, it was associated with comfort and safety and he was trying to give it to her now.

“Now, we gots to get you dressed, bitty baby,” he mumbled, slowly rising from his knees with a flicker of a wince. She felt a pang of guilt that he was taking care of her when he was the one that really needed care and attention.

“Uh, where are all your clothes?” She glanced up at him as he frowned at the handful of dresses that someone (Chancy had no idea who) had taken from her suitcase and hung in one of the closets.

“I have some other things in my suitcase,” she shrugged. “Underwear and pants and such.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he stared at her with such disbelief on his face it was as if she had just admitted that she had never used electricity before.

“So, tomorrow we gotta take you to the hospital and shopping,” he said. “D’you even own anything that ain’t black?”

“There’s nothing wrong with the clothes I brought!” she returned hotly. “Not the amount or the colour.”

“Don’t go getting mad, honey,” he said quickly, sitting down on the bed beside her. “You always look good. I ain’t saying that you don’t. It’s just that when a girl’s with me she gets more attention, that’s all. You remember, don’t you? And I won’t have no-one saying that I can’t give my little baby all the pretty things she deserves.” He returned to the baby voice again, wielding it as a weapon against her nostalgic heart. It seemed particularly incongruous as he slid a pair of her black lace panties over her feet and up her bare legs.

Finally dressed, she watched him take a step back to admire his work, his frown of concentration flickering into a self-effacing grin as he met her eyes. She rose from the bed and stepped towards him until her forehead was pressed into his chest, and immediately, his hand rose to cup the back of her neck.

“Thank you for taking care of me, baby, you’re such a sweetheart.”

“S’only right since, you know...”

“It was an accident!” she insisted, glaring up at him. He smiled ruefully and pressed his lips to her forehead.

“I ain’t saying I did it on purpose, but, you know.” He rubbed his other hand up and down her upper arm. “How’s it feeling anyhow? You know, the doctor dropped off those painkillers.”

“I think I’m okay.”

“Baby, they’re medicine just like anything else. You don’t need to be suffering. I don’t want you hurting.” He crossed the room to grab a bottle of water and pulled the pill bottle from his pocket. “Just be a good girl and do what I tell you for once.”

Chancy rolled her eyes and opened her mouth, letting him place the pill on her tongue. She reached for the water, earning herself a tut and shake of his head as he lifted the neck of the bottle to her lips. After she had taken a sip, he wiped her lips with his thumb and gave her a smile like she was a dog that had done a particularly cute trick.

To her surprise, he then shook out another couple and threw them into his own mouth, washing it down with the rest of the water.

“Honey, you shouldn’t-”

In answer, he put the pills and the water on a nearby table and reached for the waistband of his pants.

“Don’t get all excited,” he said with an ironic smile, “I’m just showing you something.”

“Ain’t that what they all say,” she muttered, earning herself a snort as he pulled down his pants to his knees. Her eyes widened as she saw his right knee, or the swollen, purple and black area where his right knee should have been.

“What the heck?!” she gasped. “When? How?” He looked sheepish as he pulled up his pants again.

“Uh, every night for the past two weeks, and from being a giant ham on stage as usual.”

“From dropping to your knees to kiss all the girls that call to you,” she realised out loud. “Oh God, the two of us are something else…” She frowned with sympathy as she moved back to be close to him and rested her head against his arm.

“Yeah, at least we got each other, huh,” he remarked with a huff of a laugh.

By the time everyone was preparing for the show, Chancy was feeling positively weird. The initial cushioning of the medication had settled like heavy cream into her bones. She felt somehow far away from her own skin, which tingled and radiated heat like she was sunning herself under a tropical sun.

Every time she turned her head it took too long for her eyes to catch up and focus and she felt thirsty for air like she wasn’t taking in enough of it. She looked to Elvis, who was surrounded by the guys as they got him ready for the show. He didn’t seem affected like her, but she watched a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his temple at the same time as he gave a small shiver like he had caught a draught and that resonated in her.

On the plus side, the pain had died down. She looked at her hand as she flexed her fingers within the bandage.

“It still hurt?” She started, looking up to find Ricky standing to her right.

“Not so much now,” she replied. “Which I’m hoping means that it’s just sprained.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” he shrugged. “I played baseball in high school and one time I thought I sprained my ankle sliding home. Carried on limping through the rest of the game, thinking I’d ice it afterwards. Turned out that I’d broke my ankle. I was out most of the season of the season.”

“Baseball star, huh,” she commented. “Which year?”

“Huh?”

“Which year of high school? Senior?”

“No, junior. Dropped baseball before my senior year, took up too much of my time.”

“You met a girl,” she guessed with a grin. “Am I right?”

“Yeah, alright, maybe,” he mumbled, cheeks flushing. “You psychic or something?”

“Possibly,” she returned with a cryptic squint, breaking into a smile.

“Hey Ricky!” They both looked up at Joe’s sharp tone only to find themselves facing the majority of Elvis’s entourage shooting Ricky varying looks of ire, warning, and curiosity. Elvis stood amidst them looking unimpressed to say the least. “You got the suits? Get on the ball, kid!”

This seemed to be Chancy’s cue to depart for the relative peace and quiet of Jerry’s room next door. She had already asked Charlie to call Sandi to come help with her hair as that was definitely a job that required two functioning hands. Her head rushed when she rose and she reached out to grip the back of the sofa just in case. She was thankful that, with Elvis in the room, no one’s eyes were on her as she adjusted to being upright.

Elvis seemed to be talking intently to Red as she approached, so she placed her hand on the small of his back to let him know she was there. He reached round and pulled her in without even looking at her. She wondered how he knew it was her or if he simply did the same to any woman who came up to him.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, half-smiling down at her as Red left, giving him a clap on the shoulder.

“Hi, I’m gonna head next door with Sandi.”

She went to give him a peck as he leant down, but he had other ideas, his mouth already half open as he took her into his arms. Around them, she heard catcalling and Joe made some crack about ‘letting the poor girl breathe’.

When he drew back, Elvis had a very self-satisfied smile on his face and Chancy thought it was in no way a coincidence that poor Ricky was standing in front of them with a couple of Elvis’s stage suits draped over his shoulders. 

Sandi arrived at Jerry’s door armed with a bottle of vodka and her usual excitable puppy dog demeanour. She didn’t ask Chancy before she sloppily filled one of the glasses and handed it to her.

“Between the cop and this, you are getting in the wars, missy!” she remarked, draining her glass before she took up the hairdryer.

“Just lucky I guess,” Chancy muttered, handing her the big paddle brush that would help her smooth and scald the curls away.

“Maybe it’s a sign.”

Chancy frowned at that, but Sandi didn’t elaborate and Chancy didn’t pursue it, didn’t want to pursue it. Despite having decided not to drink the vodka on top of the pill fizzing away in her bloodstream, she downed her glass anyway. It at least gave her some refreshment to counter the hot waves running up and down her spine.

Back in Elvis’s room, the hotel manager was getting a photo with his famous guest and several local dignitaries were waiting to shake his hand alongside their wives and daughters. Chancy stayed back, lingering by Ricky and Lamar as they waited for Joe’s sign that it was time to wrap it up and leave.

“Been attacking cops again?” Lamar remarked, nodding at her arm. “Can’t take you anywhere.”

“Well, they should stop giving me lip,” she returned dryly.

Lamar laughed out loud, making everyone around them jump at his high-pitched giggle. Elvis seemed bemused as he looked over, his arms full of adoring women. Chancy shrugged as if she had no idea what had tickled Lamar so much.

“Lord, you’re quick-witted,” Lamar remarked. “It ain’t fair.”

“Aw, don’t worry, I’m sure you’ve got some positive qualities too.”

It was another high energy show, but Chancy found it more difficult to lose herself in it this time. She winced every time Elvis slid to his knees and she was amazed at how none of the pain he must have been feeling was revealed in his face; the benefit of adrenaline and medication, she supposed. His suit was even tighter than one he wore yesterday and she could tell that he was uncomfortable by the way his hands hovered by his belt when he was not completely absorbed in a song, trying to tug it up a little after the pressure of his slightly rounded stomach had pushed it towards his groin. He took a little longer to regain his breath between songs and some of his longer notes were cut off prematurely as he struggled to get enough air.

Looking around, she could see the spellbound faces of others in the audience and she almost envied them their distance from the man on stage as it allowed them to enjoy his gifts without worrying about the cost.

Back into the car for the ride to the airport, she let Ricky hold the cup of water without interceding and she didn’t interrupt the guys from offering their praise and compliments. Instead, she sat and listened to his breathing and helped him when the towel around his neck got caught on his collar.

At the plane, there was a representative of the record company waiting to give Elvis a commemorative plaque for selling records. He was accompanied by reporters and photographers.

Chancy thought it was unfair to spring that on Elvis when he was coming down from a show. Nevertheless, he stood by the steps to the plane, looking tired and sweaty but still smiling as the photographers got pictures of him holding the plaque and shaking hands with the record company rep. She could tell she wasn’t the only one annoyed by it.

“Why don’t you head onto the plane,” Joe murmured to her as they stood to the side looking on. “That way we can get going as soon as we are done with this fool.”

Elvis finally made it up the steps fifteen minutes later. He surveyed the interior like he was making sure all was well before his tired eyes fell on her. With a small half smile he nodded to the rear of the plane and held out his hand. She didn’t even pretend to rail against the summons, rising immediately and moving to catch his fingers. Ricky fell in behind them and they made their way to the private suite at the back of the plane.

Elvis paused at the door, gripped her chin, and gave her a soft kiss.

“Wait here for me, baby. Gonna have to fight for my freedom from this thing and it ain’t gonna be pretty.” She nodded and settled herself on the long couch that lined one wall of the plane. She listened to the talking and laughing as the rest of the guys got themselves situated further along. Her hand had begun to throb again and her stomach turned a little as the invisible fur coat she had been wearing started to wear thin.

The plane had already taken off by the time Ricky emerged, the suit and towel is his arms.

“Are you okay, Miss Crawford?” he asked, smiling a little when he said her name. “Can I get you anything?”

“Aw, I don’t want to be any trouble, but a soda would be great, Ricky, thank you. As long as you’re not too busy?”

“Not a problem. I’ll be back in a second.”

It was slightly longer than a second, but when he returned he had a bottle of Pepsi and platter of snacks- she glimpsed fruit, cookies, and chips.

“I grabbed this before the other guys destroyed it,” he said. “You’re looking a little pale, thought you might need something to eat.”

“That’s really thoughtful, Ricky, thank you.”

“I just know how hard it is to remember to eat, all the normal routines are messed up on tour.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to realise that. I don’t remember it being so chaotic before.” Their eyes met and it seemed they both understood why it was so different this time around.

“Yeah, well, anything else you need, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m just down there.” She opened her mouth to thank him again- he was such a sweetheart.

“Why, what else d’you wanna give her, boy?” Elvis asked flatly from the doorway. They turned in synch.

“Baby, Ricky got me a drink because I was feeling a little dizzy,” Chancy interjected before Ricky could make things worse. “Wasn’t that kind of him?”

“Uh huh, real kind. I think I can take it from here though, son. Off you go.”

Ricky flushed and nodded, almost going in the wrong direction as he scuttled off down the aisle towards the main part of the plane.

“I’m gonna end up having to kick his ass,” Elvis mused, watching him go.

“He’s just being nice.”

“Honey, a fella ain’t ever that nice to a chick without wanting something in return,” he replied, dropping down onto his back on the sofa, his head pillowed in her lap.

“That’s… depressing,” she reflected.

“Just the truth,” he sighed, closing his eyes. “You were quiet coming up here. What d’you think of the show?”

“Out of this world, again!” she replied emphatically. “I was flinching every time you knelt though, honey. It made my own knees start hurting worrying about you!” She kneaded her thumb lightly between his brows. He exhaled a laugh and smiled softly, eyelashes flickering against his cheeks.

“I’m okay, darlin’. Honestly, I was more worried about busting my suit. I could hear the seams creaking!”

“Only one solution,” she sighed. “You gotta stop kissing all those girls.”

“Only solution, huh,” he remarked, opening his eyes and grinning at her. The force of his gaze was like a sucker punch.

“Can’t think of no other,” she insisted with a playful smile, sticking out her tongue. He reached up his hand and let his knuckles glide lightly down her cheek.

“Damn, woman,” he murmured. “Makes my heart hurt looking at you sometimes.”

“Why, thank you, but the feeling is mutual.”

“No, but really. How did I even manage to score a chick like you in the first place?” She frowned slightly, realising he was waiting for an actual answer.

“You mean why did I want to date you back then?” she asked. He gave a whole-body shrug and nodded, reaching up to nudge her hand in his hair, prompting her to continue stroking.

“Well, you were really good looking even then,” she said, hating that it was the first thing that came to mind, but also knowing that he would want to hear it. Indeed, his lips lifted into a small smile. “And there was something special about you, though I didn’t have the words to say what it was yet. Then, once I got to know how sweet and funny you were and I met your family and saw how you were with them… It didn’t really feel like I had a choice. It’s just what was meant to happen, I guess.”   

“All part of His plan,” he said in a meditative tone.

“Sure.”

“That’s how I feel too,” he assured her with heart-breaking sincerity. “Especially now, this time.”

Chancy fought very hard to keep her face neutral as she shoved his words out of her brain and refused to acknowledge or parse them. If he noticed her silence, he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he gingerly touched her bandaged arm with his finger as she rested it on his chest.

“It hurting again?”

“Only a little.” He sat up and beckoned to her to follow.

Inside the bedroom, there was a black case sitting on the small coffee table between the lounge chairs. She recognised it from the bathroom back at the hotel room. Elvis kept his most personal possessions in it, all the things he wanted in one place so that he wouldn’t lose them like jewellery, guns, photos, and apparently all his pills, and hers.

“One for you,” he said, tipping it onto her palm, “and one for me.” She washed the little tablet down with the soda Ricky had brought her and Elvis took a swig too, though she was fairly sure he had managed to somehow swallow his dry.

“Baby, Red got a hold of the tapes from Monday night’s football. He’s gonna put them on next door. You mind?” It made her feel funny to realise he was asking her permission to do something as if he couldn’t just tell everyone on the plane what he wanted and get it. It felt like a present, him gifting her power over him, something he hated anyone having.

“Sure, you go ahead,” she replied instantly. “Spend some time with the boys. I can keep myself occupied.”

“No, you come too. I’m not leaving you all on your lonesome.”

“I won’t be lonely, y’all will be right next door.” She quickly realised she was arguing against a completely different mindset. For him, being alone in a room even with people nearby was hellish isolation.

“You sure?” he asked, ghosting kisses across her cheek.

“Yup, I got plenty of secret girl things I can be getting on with while you’re gone.”

“Aw, see now I wanna stay with you and see all your secret girl things,” he murmured, eyebrow wiggling. She giggled and shoved him.

“Go on now, and take your gutter mind with you.” He gathered her in by the waist and gave her a long, warm, wet kiss that had her wishing that she had not just forced him to leave her side.

“We’re right outside,” he said, moving to the door. “C’mon out if you get lonely or bored.” She nodded, amused by how he was behaving like he was leaving for a week-long vacation without her. What was less amusing was the way her heart lurched like he was too.

Once he was gone and she could hear voices outside the door, she went into the tiny adjoining bathroom and brushed her teeth. Then, with a sense of delicious anticipation, she climbed into the bed as the cosy numbness started spreading across her body and curled up.

Later, a dull ache woke her when she tucked her injured hand under the pillow her head was resting on. She opened her mouth wide to make her ears pop and the muffled buzzing turned into a much louder humming of the plane engines and voices.

After a quick refresh, she decided that she should show her face so it didn’t seem like she was being snooty. She had watched Priscilla battle in vain to be liked by the guys for years because she struggled to keep up or enjoy being in large groups, and she knew that it just made life easier when you weren’t fielding off underhanded digs and machinations from jealous friends and employees.

The lounge area was smoky and warm in comparison to the peace she had just left and she hesitated, but forced herself to step out. She had the impeccable timing to walk in when the camera cut to the cheerleaders and caught Sonny slumped on the sofa rhapsodizing about the way one of the women’s breasts looked in her sweater. Elvis was sitting with his back to her on an chair next to Sonny.

“Eh, I don’t know, man,” Elvis remarked, unimpressed. “You know I’m more of an-“

“Hey! Chancy!” Sonny cried, making everyone look up at her and Chancy almost jump out of her skin. She caught some of the guys sitting up straight like she was the teacher entering their classroom. They had never done that before.

Elvis swivelled his chair round, cigar between his teeth and a naughty smile on his face as he sprawled with his legs wide like an invitation.

“More of an ass and legs man, am I right?” she finished for him, wanting to make it very clear to all the guys that she was not a schoolmarm or their mother.

“S’right,” Elvis nodded. “See, man, she knows.” He beckoned her forward and drew her down onto his lap. Being more of an ass man didn’t stop him nuzzling his cheek into her breast as he looked up at her.

“How you doing, baby? Enjoy your sleep?”

“How’d you know?”

“I came and checked on you,” he replied, looking hurt that she hadn’t considered he would be that attentive. She brushed away a lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead, fussing over the flyaway hairs that had stuck to the thin sheen of sweat there.

“You okay?” she asked softly. “You’re sweating a bit, sweetie.”

“It’s a little warm in here,” he murmured, kneading her hip.

“Hmm, it is,” she agreed. “I could do with a drink actually.”

There was movement to her right, but before Chancy could turn, Elvis boomed:

“Sit your ass down, you overeager little shit!”

Chancy’s ears ringing, she looked to Ricky, who had been half out his seat but quickly dropped. Further up the sofa, Lamar rose and gave Ricky a sharp kick in the ankle as he passed by.

“Sit and stay, puppy,” he sneered as he lumbered out through the curtain. The rest of the guys were smirking, and Chancy felt awful for poor Ricky, who almost turned purple under the attention.

Elvis exhaled shakily through his nose and shook his head slightly, squeezing her tighter to him. She could see his pulse flickering fast beneath his clenched jaw. She waited to see if anyone else would try to defuse the situation, but even though Lamar returned with a case of Pepsi for everyone, the atmosphere remained subdued. She was considering whispering to Elvis, asking if she should leave, when he sighed dramatically and made a complaint about an official obviously favouring the other team.

Red jumped on this, saying that he heard that this particular official had a second house in the other team’s state and how the hell does a football official get enough money to have a second house unless they’re on the take?

Elvis took a puff on his cigar and squinted up at her, giving her a conspiratorial wink. It was one of those strange moments when he seemed to have unfettered access to her thoughts, acting on them without her having to voice them.

The talk in the room turned to their destination, Joe was saying that he was glad that shopping was on the itinerary because it was getting colder the further north they were going and he had forgotten to bring a coat. Elvis clarified that Joe had managed to organise a trip to get Chancy’s arm x-rayed and Joe confirmed, peering into his little book as he reeled off the name of the doctor that they were going to see, who had x-ray privileges at the local hospital.

Chancy was impressed. Obviously she knew that most of the guys must do more than just sit around and shoot the breeze with Elvis for a living, but it was easy to forget. Red went through the journey they would take to the hotel, explaining how the Chief of Police was going to meet them at the airport to personally guarantee their security.

“We have the whole of the top floor of the hotel,” Jerry put in. “The manager says there’s an override key we can use that stops the elevator going all the way up there, so the only points of entry would be the fire escape and the stairs.”

“Hey Jerry, tell Cha-Cha what you said earlier about the hotel,” Elvis urged, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. Chancy already knew she didn’t want to hear it even before she saw Jerry flush.

“No, E, c’mon!”

“Go on, man, it was funny!”

Jerry fixed his eyes on one of the windows, blackened against the night outside, and gritted out, “I said that hopefully the next hotel will have better soundproofing in the rooms than the last one.”

Chancy closed her eyes in a long blink as Elvis and the other guys burst out with boisterous laughter. She could feel them all watching her as it died down, waiting to see how she would respond. Priscilla would have stormed out, mortified to the point of tears. Linda would have rolled her eyes and good-naturedly called them all children, managing to sail above it like a lady. It was high time these good old boys learned that not all women were the same.  

“Me too, Jerry, me too. Listening to all that pillow talk between you and your hand was downright pitiful,” she said, shaking her head. The room erupted, even Jerry looking impressed. Several of the guys, Elvis included, were wiping away tears.

“Aw man,” Lamar panted. “It’s like I was saying, pretty chicks shouldn’t be allowed to be funny, it’s an unfair advantage.” That was almost a compliment, Chancy reasoned to herself, if you squinted.

“Well, on that note,” said Elvis, stubbing out his cigar and patting her on the butt to get her to rise. “We’re gonna go next door. Jerry, son, you might wanna turn that TV up and protect your sensitive nerves!”

“You’re gonna have to stop,” he said, as he closed the bedroom door behind them and headed into the bathroom, leaving the door open.

“Stop what?”

“Making them fall in love with you,” he said over the sound of the running water. “I can’t fight ‘em all to keep you, honey.”

“Yeah, okay,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. He emerged from the bathroom drying his hands.

“I mean it. You got Lamar on side and he don’t like no one, not even me half the time and that’s what I pay him to do!” He paused as he approached the bed and fixed her with a playful smile, before slowly and gently tackling her back onto the mattress, taking extra care to support her arm.

“Everybody likes you,” she countered, gazing up at him. “I just watched you make thousands of people fall in love with you.”

“Not with me.” He shook his head with a rueful smile, wrinkling his nose. “No, they love that famous fella, that singer, what’s his name, Ellis Pretzel?” She giggled, reaching up a hand to cup his beautiful, goofy face. “Me, the difficult, moody fool? Not too many folks love him.”

“That’s a barefaced lie.” She never got tired of watching the tiny changes in expression he could effect with just the twitch of his eyebrows or by tightening his jaw. She was almost afraid that she missed most of them.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He reached down to kiss her, his tongue sweeping into her mouth. He tasted like cigars, Pepsi and potato chips, not the most thrilling combination, but it was still Elvis. Again, as if he read her thoughts, he pulled back.

“Not good, huh? Want me to brush my teeth?” He pulled himself up and went back into the bathroom. “Uh, baby, I don’t know where my toothbrush is. Can I borrow yours?”

“I wish I’d thought to bring a camera.” Chancy stood in the doorway of the bathroom watching the object of a million women’s fantasies brushing his teeth with her hot pink toothbrush. He rolled his eyes and turned back to the sink.

“You know, come to think on it, honey, I might be an ass and legs girl…” She tilted her head in appreciation of the sight before her clad in tight black slacks and registered his intent only a second before he threw down the toothbrush and came for her, mouth still covered in toothpaste. She grabbed the towel off the rail and darted into the bedroom.

“No, no, no!” she squealed, shoving the towel in his face as he grabbed her.

“What? Ain’t this what you wanted?” he yelled, laughing over her protests, trying to duck her attempts to wipe his mouth. Eventually, backed into a corner, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and drew him in for a minty kiss. She felt his hands splay against her back, sliding down onto her hips and then lower.

“You,” he murmured, spacing his words with kisses, “are a big tease for such an itty-bitty girl.”

In one fluid motion, he sank down onto the bed, pulling her onto his lap. Without a word, he unfastened her pants from behind and slid his hand into her underwear. She felt his fingers part her hair and slip between her lips, rubbing gentle circles over the hood of her clit. Despite her anxiety, the tension flowed from her muscles as she sank deeper into his chest. 

“What do ya gotta say for yourself now, smarty pants?” he murmured in her ear, his other hand brushing against her mouth. She growled and snapped her teeth, making him jump and give her an equal jolt between her legs. Before he could scold her, she grabbed hold of his free hand and slipped two of his long fingers into her mouth, sucking on them.

“Good God, woman,” he groaned, pressing his face into the curve of her throat.

Twirling her tongue, she concentrated on keeping her breathing slow and steady through her nose as his other hand explored her and swirled ticklish shapes on the increasingly wet surface.

In contrast to her attempt at self-discipline, she could hear his breathing becoming more laboured, a faint whine catching the back of his throat as he moved his hips beneath her.

Enjoying this disparity in their levels of control, she ground down against him, not expecting him to grab her waist and lift her from his lap. She leant back on her elbows, smirking slightly as she watched him rise, the muscle flickering his jaw. He wasn’t smiling and his eyes blazed as they fixed on hers. He leant over her, attacking her with a fierce kiss.

The captain’s voice came over the speaker informed them that they may be shortly encountering some turbulence. Chancy turned towards the chairs and Elvis’ lips slid across her cheek.

“In a minute,” he murmured, his hair tickling her face as he looked down, trying to pull down her waistband so that he could return his hand to its rightful place. He seemed to have more trouble with this from the front and she had to suppress a giggle as he growled and yanked on the front of her pants.

“This is why chicks shouldn’t wear pants!” he snapped. “No more pants, dammit! I’m gonna go get a knife or a pair of scissors or a saw or a stick of dynamite or something to get you out of these…”

Biting down on so many sarcastic responses, she hooked her thumbs into her waistband and slid them down, shimmying them over her hips, before kicking them across the compartment where they hit a standard lamp. He raised a brow, stepped in between her legs, and tore away the front of her black lace underwear.

“Hey! I liked those!”

“Like I told you before, I like white.” He grinned the most infuriating lopsided grin and ran a fingernail lightly up the inside of her thigh. 

“Turnabout is fair play,” she countered, sitting up and pressing her palm to the bulge in the crease of his left thigh. “When do I get to tear these off you?”

He wrinkled his nose and put a warm, heavy hand on her shoulder as if to push her back down.

“I ain’t finished playing yet.”

Damn controlling bastard. She thought about complaining, but instead another, better, idea unfurled. Putting her hands meekly on her knees, she sat up straight, lowered her head and lifted up her eyes to gaze at him.

“Won’t you let me take care of you, baby?” She pouted. “You’re so good to me. So good. Please let me be good to you too, please?”

As she was talking, leaning heavily on a lisping babyish tone, his mouth dropped open and his eyes glazed over. He stared at her for what felt like a long time before hastily reaching for his belt.

It was hard work trying to maintain the meek, innocent façade while she helped him and watched with impatient eyes as he worked to unfasten his overtaxed button.

Once his pants sprang open, his stance changed. He went from being the superstar, the confident lover of hundreds, to a slightly self-conscious guy who wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen next.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said gently, petting her hair as she shuffled to the edge of the bed and licked her lips in anticipation.

“I know,” she said brightly, not taking her eyes from her task.

Almost as soon as she got her hands on his pants, he took a step back.

“Can we, uh… It’s a little… bright in here.”

Chancy didn’t waste a beat, rising hastily to shut off the panelled lighting and kicking the remnants of her underwear near to her discarded pants.

He clicked on a small reading light in the headboard and smiled bashfully as she sidled up to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. There was nothing shy about his kiss, his soft full lips massaging hers as his tongue brushed and teased inside her mouth.

It wasn’t long before he was again pressing into the soft part of her stomach. She slid down, gingerly using both hands to pull down his pants. As soon as she had them to the top of his thighs, his cock sprang out at attention. He really did not like those underwear lines!

“Hi, long time no see!” she whispered. Above her, Elvis hiccupped a laugh, despite or because of the tension. “I’ve missed you.”

“He’s missed you too, honey, so much.”

She pressed a tentative kiss to the head, trying not to hum in contentment at the sweet, salty scent she remembered so well. Then, because she was worried that he was about to bolt, she hurriedly took him into her mouth. She faintly heard him exhale, though he had clasped both sides of her head in his hands, palms against her ears.

Chancy couldn’t take him all at once, though she knew now much better than she did as a teenager that he was not huge. A fair size, practically perfect, just like in everything else. Using her tongue to provide swirling lubrication, she tightened her lips and began to draw down the shaft, using her hand to add pressure. Each time, she slipped lower, gagging slightly and feeling him twitch at the sensation.

Since it played into her current role, she looked up through her brows as she drew up, running the flat of her tongue over the top of his foreskin and tasting the slight tang of precum.

Elvis’s eyes were closed tight, his nose scrunched so that it creased at the bridge, just like he did when he was about to belt out a high note. The thought made her choke a little on a giggle and she quickly looked down and focused on her task.

Remembering how rough and hard he had wanted her hand on him, she moved sloppily, harshly, supporting all her movements with a tight grip of her hand. It turned out that he didn’t need that kind of heavy stimulation now, probably because he wasn’t fighting off the effects of sedatives. He drew back slightly, pulling at her hair a little.

“Too much,” he hissed. She went back to her lips and tongue, pressing the tip of him against the back of her throat with increasing force.

As he settled into it, his hands started to leave her hair and her head, fingertips brushing her shoulders and kneading her breasts. They felt small in his long hands and she wondered how big a woman’s breasts would be before they were spilling out of his grip.

The images this produced made her tingle and she squeezed her thighs together to put pressure on the nub of nerve endings. It felt naughtier that this titillated her when she knew that he found small breasts more appealing.

Her lips numb and her jaw beginning to ache, she started to speed up, using her tongue as well as her lips to put pressure on the length and tighten its sheath.

“Baby, I’m gonna- I’m-” he whispered, his hands back up in her hair, thumbs tenderly brushing her brows like she was a princess in a glass box needing to be woken.

In response, she increased her speed and when he tightened his fingers around the base of her skull and tried to pull her back, she just amplified the pressure until his cock was pulsing against the inside of her mouth and a slightly bitter taste coated the back of her throat. The noise he made was a fitting amalgamation of a moan and a growl.

Already warm, Chancy began to burn as she watched him staring down at her, his eyes twinkling and his face flushed.

“You weren’t kidding earlier,” he mumbled, quirking his eyebrow. “That is some damn good advertising!” He pulled up his pants, sucking in with a grimace to fasten them and reached out his hands for her, pulling her to her feet. She reached down to snatch up her pants, but he grabbed her by the waist and lifted her clean off her feet.

“Hey, relax, I got ya,” he chided playfully, as she grabbed at his shoulders even with her injured hand. “You know I’ll always take care of you, baby.”

She bit back her immediate thought, which was, ‘Yeah, but who is going to take care of you?!’ Instead saying, “I wonder how long until we land.”

“’Bout an hour I think,” he replied. He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“You could get a little bit of rest now. Even if you just lay down for a while with me?” He let his head drop back in a show of disappointment and then pretended (maybe) to lose his balance a little, making her grab him even tighter.

“Hey, easy!” He sat down on the bed with her sitting astride his lap. “You suffocate me and I’ll be resting forever!”

“Don’t joke about that,” she shuddered.

“You don’t think you’re getting rid of me that easy, do you?” he teased. “Not when I just got you back? Uh uh, no way.”

“You haven’t ‘got me back’,” she said, frowning. “I didn’t go anywhere.”

“Didn’t you?” he shot back coolly. “Where you been then?” His hands, which had been stroking, rubbing and kneading her, dropped down onto the mattress. She suddenly felt exposed and cold.

“Right here! I’ve been right here the whole time. You know I have.” She couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t acknowledge it. “I might always be just one of the faces in the crowd, but that doesn’t mean I weren’t always there.”

He scoffed, glaring at the far wall, refusing to look at her. Seconds later, he lifted her clean off his lap, letting her bounce onto the mattress as he rose.

“You always do that,” he snapped, clenching his jaw. “Act like the reason we weren’t together was because of me, or other girls, my career, or any of that horse shit, when we both know that it was you! You were the one who left!”

“What did I leave?” she snapped. “You were never home!” Her regret was instantaneous, surging in almost as she saw him register her words, eyes turning to cold steel.

“I was working!” he bellowed back. “I was- Fuck, why am I always having the same goddamn argument. What none of you goddamn women understand-“

“No!” she said sharply. “Don’t do that. I am not them.”

He exhaled loudly, his nostrils flaring and put his hands on his hips. She could feel the oppressive cloud of his temper filling the room, stifling the air. The heat of his fury took her breath away. Not that he could explode so suddenly, because that was something everyone around him had been grappling with for years and with increasing frequency. No, it was the bitterness in his voice and the acid that apparently bubbled away inside him. It was as if a mask had been removed, and the charming, loving disguise thrown down to expose the rage beneath.

“I don’t even know why I said anything. All this was a long time ago,” she managed, scrambling for words to fill her dry mouth.

“Oh, was it?” he retorted, his big black pupils and sneer making him a near stranger. “All water under the fuckin’ bridge then, except when you wanna rub it in my face.”

“I wasn’t- I was just trying to say that I’ve still been around,” she tried, hearing the plea in her voice and wincing inwardly. “We’re friends, right? We’ve always been there for each other.”

“Oh yeah,” he murmured scornfully, glaring up at the ceiling. “We’re such good friends.”

He let out a string of expletives that had no spaces or even breaths between them, his voice sliding up in volume like on a dial. Chancy watched him pace the close quarters, trying to hurriedly calculate the best way to distract him, but before she could decide, he turned and side swiped everything within reach. Lamps, ornaments, and books went flying. She staggered up from the bed in shock even as he drew back his arm and pounded his hand into the wall.

“Elvis, baby, no!” She rushed forward, putting her hand on the back of his arm, but instantly jerked away as he whirled round.

Insistent knocking began on the door and Jerry called out, asking if everything was okay. Chancy stared at Elvis and he stared right back at her; or at least his unfocussed eyes did; she didn’t recognise him behind them.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he snarled.

Every single muscle in his body seemed to be tensed, he was almost vibrating with adrenaline. She thought about whether she could get to the door before him. There was a chance, but then what? Jerry was his friend and his employee, could she trust he would do anything to help her? She blinked finally. Help her? Elvis wasn’t the only one who had lost his mind, what was she even thinking?!

“Everything’s okay!” she called, surprised by how normal her voice sounded, if a little breathless. “We’re fine, thank you, Jerry!”

“Are you sure?” he asked, after a long pause. Elvis finally unpinned her from his fiery gaze, it actually felt like a weight lifted, and strode to the door.

“You heard her. She’s okay.” He was blocking the doorway with his body, so Chancy couldn’t see the expression on Jerry’s face, but apparently it didn’t look too convinced. “Don’t I pay you enough to mind your own damn business?” Chancy hastily yanked on her pants.

“I’m worried about you too, E, you’re my friend-“

“You’re worried about me?” Elvis interjected. “You don’t have no need to worry about me, man, I’m fine. Y-you worry about yourself, jack, because if you don’t get your goddamn nose out of my affairs in the next five seconds, you’re the one who’s gonna be looking for a new fucking job when we land!”

Chancy knew how badly this could snowball, had seen it happen before. She reasoned that at least it was calm Jerry and not Red with his hair trigger temper or stubborn Sonny, who could never back down and let Elvis save face once he’d started to come back to himself. She steeled herself and approached the door, tentatively placing a hand on Elvis’s back. He turned sharply, his lip curled, and stared down his nose at her. She forced herself to keep her hand still, not daring to look at Jerry, who was a vague shape in the background. Elvis shut the door again without looking back at Jerry either, then knocked his head into it with a sharp thud. It made her flinch, but she focussed all her attention on keeping her hand on him like she could send calming wishes through her fingertips.

“Do you hate me?” she asked softly.

“Sometimes.” 

His voice as he said it was muffled and small, but it was out there now. No taking it back. Pain bloomed in her chest like the word had passed through her as a bullet, slicing through vital organs.

God, what was she doing there? Why was she standing on a plane thousands of miles above corn fields to be with a man who would never forgive her for trying to save herself fifteen years before? Why had he even asked her?

“I didn’t- I didn’t mean that,” he said suddenly, turning from the door as she stepped backwards. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, gathering her up in his arms as if he could protect her from his answer. “I didn’t mean it, Cha-Cha, honest.” Except, they both knew that he had.

“Goddamn it! Fuck!” He wrenched away from her and threw himself down onto the bed, burying his head in his hands. “What is wrong with me? Why am I fucking this up so bad?”

Chancy swayed by the door, reaching up to wrap her fingers across her forehead. She felt cold, like winter sinking into her bones, but her fingers registered the heat from her skin. Her stomach ached and her chest… Well, inside her chest she was sure she was bleeding out.

“Maybe it’s a sign,” she murmured. “That we’re forcing something that’s not meant to be. Life doesn’t give do-overs.” It sounded cold and final hanging in the air, the engines roaring and the endless sky outside uncaring.

“No.” She glanced up when he spoke finally. “No, fuck that! This is what I want and I don’t let no one decide what I can or can’t have. It ain’t up to anybody else. Me and you, that’s how it’s meant to be.”

“Except you sometimes hate me.” Even saying it herself made her stomach swoop and drop again.

“Baby, c’mon, you know I didn’t mean that. When I get mad, it’s like some other guy, a mean, spiteful sonovabitch, takes over my mouth. I can’t be held accountable for what that motherfucker says.”

“Or when you get mad you’re not able to tell your usual sweet-talking lies.”

“I don’t lie!” She couldn’t help herself, she snorted as the King of the bald-faced lie insisted he didn’t lie. “I don’t! Not really.”

“I guess it’s not really a lie if everyone knows it’s a lie,” she conceded.

“See, I know what this is,” he returned, pointing at her. “ I hurt your feelings so now you’re out gunning for me. That’s real petty and low a-a-and it won’t work.”

She could tell from his discomfort that if that had been her strategy it would have been a successful one. He jumped to his feet and marched over to her, hesitating before he grabbed her jaw with his fingers.

“I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. I ain’t never gonna hate you.”

Anyone faced with the full force of his penetrating gaze, the emphasis in his voice, and his proximity would have difficulty not believing him, but for some reason Chancy found herself immune. Maybe it was because riding the roller coaster of his mood swings in the past ten minutes had left her hollow and cold, or because nothing had ever sounded so true to her than that mumbled, ‘Sometimes’.

“C’mon, Cha-Cha, I said I didn’t mean it.”

In spite of herself, Chancy nodded and forced a semblance of a smile. It was easier that way, at least for now. She could tell he wasn’t fooled even as he smiled back, nodding with approval at her apparent acceptance.  

Biting his lip playfully, he walked her backwards towards the bed. The back of her knees hit the edge of the mattress and she dropped, only for him to step right onto the bed and throw himself down behind her, pulling her backwards towards him.

“Let’s just forget that whole thing,” he murmured into her neck as he pressed his lips against her pulse. “It was crazy. You make me crazy.” Chancy breathed meditatively, tensing at the plane began to rattle and swoop through the turbulence.

For @thatbanditqueen, who always demands more smut As always, thank you to everyone who commented, liked or read. Big love and many synonyms for penis to @be-my-ally, @ellie-24, @from-memphis-with-love, @vintageshanny, @missmaywemeetagain, @richardslady121, @dkayfixates, @c-rosenn, @fallinlovewithurlove, @notstefaniepresley, @heartbrake-hotel, @freudianslumber, @bbrtt777,@18lkpeters, @lookingforrainbows, @prompted-wordsmith, @literally-just-elvis-fics

[everythingdenied]

Hello! Love ur blog! Lil blurb idea - cos I’m in a similar situation - Ross helping his gf prepare for her “normal” job doing a big pitch to get a client and she’s all nervous….

hihihi bff <3 i hope whatever's going on work wise goes super well for u!!! good luck bb and endlessly proud no matter what!!! anyway's ross would literally be the cutest in this situation he is so domestic bf this is perfect!!

"Shit, Ross. I don't think I can do this" I huffed as I tripped over my words once again, frustratedly throwing the stack of papers in my hand onto the coffee table. "I think I'm just gonna call in sick or something."

From his cosy spot on the sofa, Ross shook his head, watching me with a look of concern as I anxiously paced around the living room, checking the time on my phone once more.

"No, no, no. Don't be silly. You're doing great. C'mon, you've got like...ten minutes. Just start from the beginning again, yeah?"

Ever the optimist, Ross shot me an encouraging smile, gingerly picking the papers up from the table and holding them out to me. However, I didn't so much as move, nervously chewing my bottom lip as I stared at the thick wad of paper in his hand as if they were a threat to me. "I-" My vision became blurred as I felt the familiar sting of tears tears pricking my eyes, my arms falling to my side limply. "Fuck. I can't..."

A sob wracked my body as I stood dumbly in the middle of the room, feeling my heart thump against my chest at the very prospect of today's big pitch. Taking instant notice of my upset, Ross quickly discarded the paper, brows knitting together empathetically.

"Oh, love" He crooned sweetly, invitingly holding his arms out to me. "C'mere, you..."

Without wasting so much as a second, I crawled into his embrace, settling my self on his lap as I burrowed my head into his cable-knit jumper, the familiar scent of his detergent providing me some solace. He engulfed me in a tight hug, being extra careful not to crease the blouse I'd spent so long picking out earlier this morning as I sobbed into his chest, my tears dampening his sweater.

"S-sorry..." I whimpered apologetically, voice slightly muffled. "Know I'm being stupid. It's j-just a pitch but..."

"Hey, shh." Ross cut me off, pressing a saccharine kiss to my forehead as his hand rubbed my bag comfortingly, swaddling me in his big arms like a baby. "Don't say that. Course you're not being stupid. This is a really big day for your career. S'completely fine to be scared."

My lip wobbled as I gazed up at my boyfriend through bleary eyes, wondering exactly what good deed I'd done in a past life to deserve the man before me. He smiled softly, delicately trailing the pads of his fingers up and down my spine.

"Sayin' that though; it's not worth getting yourself all worked up for, lovey. S'pecially when I know for a fact you're gonna smash it." He continued.

"But what if I...what if I completely fuck it up?" I sniffled.

Ross shook his head, dismissing such a notion as I curled up on his lap, wiping my eyes with the back of my sleeve.

"Babe...I've seen how hard you work. Have to practically drag you away from that bloody laptop of yours most nights." He scolded playfully as he pressed his finger to the tip of my nose, drawing a half hearted chuckle from my lips. "You're not gonna fuck it up. I promise."

"A-are you sure?"

Ross nodded his head confidently, tilting my head upwards to tenderly kiss the salty tears beading my lips.

"I'm sure" He hummed. "You're gonna walk in there, looking all sexy and business-y in your suit, and you're gonna blow their fuckin' socks off. Pinky promise."

He held his pinky finger out to me, which was comically larger than my own, and wrapped it around mine, unable to hide the smile creeping onto his face as I let out a soft giggle, sniffing back the last of my tears.

"There' we go. There's that gorgeous smile." Ross chuckled teasingly, giving me one last peck as he tapped my hip. "Now Let's get you all cleaned up and then I'll drive you to work, yeah? Even stop at starbucks on the way if you want. Sound like a plan?"

[cassieuncaged]

Wrapped in Plastic

A Laura Palmer Character Study

TW: drug use, prostitution, murder, death, tobacco language, etc.

WC: 1.3 K

A/N: Another I forgot to cross post from AO3. Also, Laura is 18 in this fic.

Taglist: @roofgeese, @spacestephh, @voidika, @huepazu, @quantum-lover, @chadillacboseman

AO3 Link

She was a bad influence, everyone thought so. The homecoming queen was the opposite of what that pristine picture had suggested. She’d been doped up when the photographer snapped that picture, doing a bump with Bobby in the woods before the dance.

Laying sprawled across the green sofa, Laura was entranced by the plaster ceiling. Off white, a rosy pink. Like a pinprick of blood tainting crisp water: just enough to make it dirty and undrinkable. If she were a lake, the waters would run dark burgundy. How toxic could one person be?

Sucking on a cigarette, Donna sat cross legged on the carpet. Every little puff was accentuated with a wheezing cough. Accusing eyes rolled in the periphery, sharp blue addressing her innocent friend.

“You don’t have to smoke, y’ know?” Annoyance seep into a lazy voice. Everything Laura did, Donna tried. The girl was a damn mynah bird. Then again, Laura had always been the popular trailblazer. The other was a bookworm, with those mousy curls and oversized sweaters. Donna wasn’t a risk taker; her best friend’s mere presence felt like a high in comparison.

“I know,” stifling another cough, she attempted to swallow the smoke which only worsened the situation. “My fingers smell like tobacco.”

“That’ll happen,” sinking into the sofa, she tried not to think about her mother complaining about the lingering smell. Pure hypocrisy since Sarah smoked like a chimney herself. Eyes sought the ceiling again, following a hairline crack. The façade was beginning to break and chip.

It was bound to collapse and crush her in the debris.

......

Tears rolled down ruddy cheeks. A blonde reflection shuddered in the floor length mirror, all but completely exposed in a black and red corset. The garment was stitched with ribbons emblazoned with maroon spades.

Other clients were waiting and Blackie had a temper with her girls. Leave a man waiting too long normally meant the paddle or hands wrapped your throat. Instead, she silently suffered the embarrassment and shame long after Ben Horne had sauntered out of the room.

She’d see Audrey in homeroom tomorrow, innocent doe eyes warm and blissfully unaware. This was Laura’s cross to bear after all. Maybe she’d meet Bobby in the afternoon, score some coke and neck long enough to keep the boy satisfied. Anything to dull the nightmares that came at dusk, when BOB slithered his way into her room.

Wise beyond her eighteen years, everything the young woman did was meticulously calculated. Even though that still cost her more than it all was worth. Mascara bled down peachy cheeks, tainting the dewy faced façade it had taken hours to achieve.

There was a knock on the door before it was wrenched open.

“Next john is ready and-” charcoal eyes widened as the madam saw the mess sitting in front of the vanity, “Honey, you’re a mess.”

“I’m alright,” Laura sniffled, adjusting her bustier. This was all so humiliating. Blackie took a rag to a welting face, pressing the cool cloth to her skin. One tooth snuck onto a cherry red lip, biting nervously. Watery blue eyes fell on the woman’s corkscrew curls, trying to count each ringlet to ease her mind. “I’m alright. I’m alright. I’m alright.”

“The swelling’s going down, sweetie.” The edge of a slender index finger slid beneath one eye. Laura feared she looked like a raccoon. “Let’s reapply the mascara and rouge. You’ll look good as new.”

It had only taken several minutes to restore seraphim that old perverts looked for. A pretty blonde angel that brought them heaven on earth for a couple hours. Realistically, it was a rather ordinary few minutes before she was disposed of like a used tissue.

But that didn’t much matter.

“I’ll send in your next.” Blackie announced before sauntering out the door. Blinking at her blue eyed husk, Laura took a Carnivale masque from the vanity. The garment was polish porcelain with burgundy lips. Black and red diamonds were hand painted across one eye as a matching silk ribbon bloomed from either side.

A bothersome thought kept sneaking to the forefront of her brain, the thought that she should put it on, to hide. Trance like, the object was tied into barrel curled blonde hair. The door squeaked open, announcing the arrival of the next john.

“I’ll be right there, please get comfortable.” Grateful for the silken room divider, a shadow ambled to the four-post bed.

“Take your time.” That voice sent a cold chill down her spine, gut churning at that familiar voice.

“Daddy?” whispering to her reflection, Laura quickly shoved her fist into her mouth. Biting down on one knuckle, she plotted a way to escape. Maybe it wasn’t Leland. Afterall, waspy middle-aged men all bled together: pointedly cordial and awkwardly paternal.

If it were, she’d still have to pass him to run away, embarrassing the two of them in the process. Plastering the mask to her face, Laura quickly pulled her robe on before slinking past the divider.

“I think there’s been a-” horror flashed over her eyes. Leland Palmer hadn’t been there to begin with. It was BOB. Sporting stained denim, malevolent eyes beamed at her hungrily, fist clenching and unclenching at his side.

She screamed, tears flooding down her face once more. But no one would save her, not at One Eyed Jack’s. BOB screamed with her before breaking out on a fit of maniacal laughter. Then a hand was hot on her face, knocking the mask to the ground.

“I think you’re too pretty to hide.” He growled, kissing her roughly as fingers clamped around her throat.

......

“You ever think about dying?” Laura asked blankly, sitting stiffly on the picnic blanket. James lay with his head in her lap while Donna hugged her knees.

“Why do you always say dark shit like that?” James’s was soft, not judgmental yet genuinely curious.

“We’re all gonna die someday, suppose it doesn’t hurt to bring up.” Donna shrugged beneath her mop of curls. She wished to sport a wave of golden tresses like her best friend but feared she was doomed to boast unruly hair with innumerable freckles.

Laura would always be the homecoming queen, and she the homecoming queen’s best friend.

“You’re both morose. What’s wrong with just living?” James chuckled, looking up into suede blue eyes. There was trouble lurking in those waters, something he didn’t recognize.

What if I told you I don’t have much time left on this planet? That BOB’s going to destroy me and trap me in the unknown? What about that, James?

“Guess I’m just thinking about the future.” Was all she offered instead, bopping him on the nose. “Do we have any more pie left?”

“Half of an apple from The Double R. Norma said it was on the house.” Donna moved to unwrap the dessert.

“Do you think there’s pie in heaven?” Laura looked over the bluff, thinking of what her afterlife would feel like. Probably lighter, softer than the serrated edge of the inevitable end. Maybe there would rest after bone broke like balsa wood, rancid ichor staining pink silk.

Donna unceremoniously plopped a generous serving of pie onto a paper plate, sliding it across rough gingham. Shrugging James off her plaid skirt, Laura lunged forward to enjoy the delicacy as if it were her last. For all she knew, it was.

“Sure,” Donna stroked aimlessly at blonde hair, “There’ll be pie in heaven.”

......

It was lonely in The Black Lodge. Other than the real Dale Cooper, she had no allies. Only waiting with rigidity for the unknown. A part of her hated the agent, the fact that he was alive and could communicate normally.

Her own words were warped, coming out of her lips with a stilted staccato.

But one hand spread over a black velvet shoulder, golden curls cascading down her back.

Before she could even ask “rof gnitiaw ew era tahW?”, Cooper pointed to the apex of thick red curtains. Blue light exploded into the room as an angel slowly dropped from the high vaulted ceiling. A smile was plastered across cherubic features before tears flooded down her face.

Smiling for the last time, Laura Palmer had won her redemption.

[cellythefloshie]

ɴꜱꜰᴡ ᴀʟᴘʜᴀʙᴇᴛ

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Tony is very sweet after sex, especially if things were on the rougher side. He likes to calm it down with lingering, gentle kisses on his partner’s skin. If he has the time to hold/cuddle his partner afterwards he will 100% take advantage of it. 

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) Tony enjoys his hands, they are quite sizeable and can work a number on his partner. Tony loves his partners legs/thighs. He loves to grip onto them while they have sex, but also like to rest his hand on them casually while driving, or out at dinner.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) As possessive as he is, Tony likes to cum inside his partner, and finish them off with his hands just so he can watch his cum ooze from when while they cum. 

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) Tony loves to read a good smut novel, especially if he’s seen his partner reading it. He’ll sneak the book away from her, and read it through for the spice and use it to inspire their time in the bedroom. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) Tony isn’t the most experienced in bed, BUT he takes the time to learn what his partner likes and dislikes and works to please them the best her can. 

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) Tony likes to keep it classic with missionary. He loves how intimate it is with eye contact, how easy it is to kiss his partner, and how close he can get them. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) Cirelli isn’t too serious, but he isn’t goofy in the moment either. His main goal in the moment is to assure his partner feels loved and is very intimate about it. 

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) If you don’t count the mess of curls on his head - and his sometimes unruly beard - Tony keeps himself well groomed. 

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) Tony is huge into being intimate, from lingering tendering touches, to holding his partner’s gaze Tony is enthralled by all of it. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) Tony will masturbate, but it’s almost always paired with phone/skype sex. 

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Tony wouldn’t say he’s a DOM (he’s not much into BDSM) but he does like to be in control in the bedroom. He likes to protect and please his partner and does not shy away from getting a little rough, pinning his partner down at the wrists, wrapping a hand around their throat (but not choking) and marking them up with his mouth. 

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) No location is off limits for Tony, he probably wouldn’t take his partner in a room full of people, however - but there’s still a chance if the mood was right. His favorite place to please his partner would have to be the sofa, or the dinner table. 

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) If his partner is wearing his clothes, there is no stopping him from getting worked up - especially if it’s a t-shirt or sweater with nothing else underneath. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) Tony doesn’t like experimenting with anything that may bring pain or harm to his partner. he’s too much of a tender lover - even when he’s a little rougher with them - to risk that. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) While Tony likes to receive, he’s very much a giver and very talented with his tongue. 

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)  This depends on the mood you catch him in. He can easily flip and switch and enjoy his partner at either pace - but if for any reason his partner has made his jealous, he is taking them fast and rough. 

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) Tony loves a good quickie. They excite him, and he’s not picky about where he and his partner hook up either. If he wants them, he will take them, even if there is a risk of getting caught. 

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) Tony loves a good risk in the sense that he’s shameless and no afraid to get caught. 

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) Tony can go multiple rounds in a day - if they are close together, they will become more tender - and maybe a little lazier as they go. 

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) Tony’s not much into toys, but he is open to experimenting with them if his partner is asking. 

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) Tony’s not into teasing his partner, nor does he like being teased as once he gets started he’s not going to stop until he knows his partner is satisfied. 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) With a habit of getting down and dirty in places where he and his partner could easily be caught, Tony is pretty good at keeping himself quiet during sex. If he’s making any sounds, it’s going to be low groans into the soft flesh of his partner’s neck or dirty words of encouragement as he fucks them. 

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) Have you seen his hands? His fingers? Cirelli has a magic touch, and enjoys pleasuring his partner with his fingers. Vaginal fingering, etc. 

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) Long, slender - but not too narrow - sizeable. 

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) Tony has a fairly high sex drive, and likes to have sex multiple times a week - and in some cases multiple times a day. And he’s not the kind of guy who is going to shy away from sex if his partner is on their period. 

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) Tony isn’t one to fall asleep right after - especially since doesn’t strictly keep his endeavors to the bed room. And even if he does find himself in bed, he likes the pillow talk that comes afterwards and could easily talk to his partner all night.