#well softer than what i planned to begin with

[aka-efirg]

sooo i wrote the thing i was talking about in this post and wow did it take more time to write than i planned. honestly i blame enzo, he talks too much and has too many opinions

so context for the fic, damon has been having lots of flashbacks from the previous timeline and nightmares these days so he has more and more trouble to appear fine and sometimes everything is too much for him

it's also happening after season 3 with main differences:

-alaric didn't die and get turn into an enhanced original vampire because damon kept an eye on him and made sure he didn't die more than he already did before coming back so ester couldn't corrupt his mind

-elena still gets turned into a vampire but still no idea how it happened since there was no super evil alaric to kill

-mason didn't die as well (or maybe he did, haven't decided yet) (but if he doesn't die, he will totally bitch with damon about katherine and how she manipulated them and made them fall in love with her. it's how they bonded)

-no idea what happened with ester and how they got rid of her

and during season 4 where they are trying to find the cure (jeremy is one of the five)

also damon has marks that look like burn scars on his arms and his back (hellfire) and a symbol on his chest (emily's mark to send him to the past and to protect him because him being in the past could count as being a disruption to natural balance)

Seeing Damon, seated cross-legged on his bed with fingers tightly pressed against his temples, is sadly unsurprising but nonetheless worrying. He knew it was bound to happen with how Damon spent the whole day zoning out, eyes looking at things that weren’t there, brows slightly burrowed as if he was fighting a headache. Enzo knows he is the only one who noticed—or maybe not, if the occasional glances the witch kept sending the older vampire’s way were any indication, and Enzo absently wonders what she sees, because he knows she can’t perceive what he does—

(the hurt, the despair and the guilt, the blood, the death and the fire)

so he wasn’t surprised when he witnessed Damon leaving the living room, so silently the only reason he noticed was because he didn't take his eyes off the older vampire. It took almost twenty minutes for the others to notice the oldest Salvatore was no longer with them and for Stefan to worry about where he was. At their questioning glances, Enzo simply stated that Damon was in his room before leaving as well.

(Sometimes Enzo wants to shake the younger Salvatore so hard, wants to crack his head open while screaming at him to just look at his brother, to see how much he’s hurting, all the things he hides behind sarcasm and apathy and monstrosity. He wants to gouge his eyes out just so he would have a reason to not see. And other times he wants to tear him apart because he can’t help but reminisce about hope and faith slowly shriveling as days and months and years accumulated, as blood kept pouring and screams became better than silence—because if he screams it means he is still alive it means you haven’t lost the most important thing you have left in this instant)

After closing the door as silently as possible, Enzo takes in the heavy air in the room, feeling like ozone and something electric, magic but not before focusing on his friend, his tense form on the bed, his breathing deliberately slow, sharp contrast to his heartbeat, too fast for a vampire. Slowly, Enzo walks closer to the bed, making sure to make some noise. Even if he’s sure the other vampire heard him, he doesn’t want to risk having a cornered, distressed Damon near his throat. When he notices Damon isn’t reacting save from a little tightening of his shoulders, he sits down on the mattress and waits.

“I’m fine.”

Enzo takes the time to look at his friend’s face, thin lips, burrowed brows and tightly closed eyes. In sum, in pain.

In sum, perfectly, absolutely fine.

Not even bothering to answer—did Damon really think he would believe him—, he edges closer and only then is he able to see the light, barely perceptible tremors that run through Damon’s arms, more noticeable around his hands where they’re pressed hard against the skin.

“Damon.”

The other vampire doesn’t answer, just curls a bit on himself, bringing his knees higher and his elbows closer to his body. Removing his shoes (because Damon will absolutely chew him out if his mud-covered boots so much as touch the silk covers, well… he will when he doesn’t look like a particularly sad puppy, as blood-sucking as he is, one scream away from collapsing into itself and—great now he just wants to hug this metaphorical puppy), he makes himself comfortable on the bed face to face with the older vampire waiting for him to acknowledge him.

When Damon realizes that he is not leaving and that he will not win at the waiting game (Enzo has plenty of experience in waiting and Damon is not particularly known for his patience, quite the contrary), he finally opens his eyes to glance at the younger and Enzo nearly wishes the other stayed how he was. He knows the look Damon is sending him is supposed to be a glare, to convey his annoyance at his presence but all Enzo can see is the shine. Gleaming blue eyes looking at him and… fuck he didn’t think it was that bad.

Damon must read something on his face because his eyes harden, a sneer appearing on his lips.

“I’m fine. Go away.”

Enzo has to act quick if he doesn’t want Damon to completely close himself off.

Suddenly Enzo wants nothing more than take every single person who made Damon so cautious and insecure about his hurts and vulnerabilities the simple thought of having them feels like a weakness, of showing them a burden, and tear them to shreds, piece by piece so they can feel every hurt, every tear they forced Damon to keep for himself. He wants to watch them burn, helpless and begging for mercy. And okay, maybe this is a bit extreme, but he spent seventy years being tortured, cut open, reduced to nothing but a mass of bones and blood. He long lost faith in mercy, leaving him only with a rage so intense and unending he wants to put the world on fire, scorching it into nothingness, just to sit on its ashes (or maybe dance, Damon has always loved dancing) and revel in the resulting absolute and beautiful desolation.

(When Enzo is left with nothing but fierce everlasting rage, he needs to unleash it because he knows, otherwise, it will simply consume him and everything around him. But—

—his torturers are all dead. Enzo remembers the ravages Damon left when he came back and rescued him, the complete destruction of everything Augustine represents, in pieces, covered in red and burning so hot he could almost feel the flames licking at his body, but this time, a promise of freedom instead of a promise of pain and blood.

—no matter how much he cursed the man, hated him with a searing, blinding passion, Enzo has long accepted he could never harm Damon. No matter how much he tried—and tried he did—. So many times (too many times part of him cries) he found himself looking down at the other vampire, straddling him, a stake pressed on his chest, tip piercing the skin just above the heart. Just one pressure and the wood would slide right through the bone. Blue eyes looking up at him, blankly, calmly, just waiting to see what he would do. So accepting Enzo wanted to scream at him to defend himself, to stop making himself so vulnerable. To do something because he left him to die, he killed one of the most important people he had and he shouldn’t accept to die. He doesn’t have any right to let Enzo kill the last person he has left. He did scream a few times, eyes burning with tears, until his throat was so sore the only sounds that left his mouth were rasps of rage and despair, and all he could do was throw the stake so hard against the wall it exploded in thousand fragments before collapsing, curses on his lips and apologies and regrets on Damon’s.

So while he doesn’t care whether the world burns and crashes, he will be damned before he lets anything happen to Damon. If he can’t direct his rage to the ones who wronged him—all dead and ashes and unable to harm them anymore—, he has no issue focusing it on the people who hurt his person.)

Distractedly wondering if it would be possible to resurrect one Guiseppe Salvatore, just to have the pleasure of killing him atrociously, Enzo practically jumps on the other vampire, taking his wrists into his hands. The glare Damon sends him is ferocious, and Enzo is sure if he were anyone else, he would have lost a few fingers for his trouble. When he’s certain he actually won’t lose any part of his body, he slowly lets go of the other’s hands and moves until he finds himself behind Damon, against the head of the bed. Even though the older vampire is watching him, he still lets a soft noise of surprise when arms grip his waist to pull him against the other’s body. He fights the hold for a moment until the younger vampire tightens his arms and drops his head against shoulder.

For a moment, everything is still and silent except for their breathings, one calm and deliberate, the other rapid and jerky until it progressively slows down. The shaking doesn’t stop though and when Enzo notices the tight grip Damon has on his own arm, hard and grinding—he is surprised the bone hasn’t given way yet—, he places his own hand on the other’s to make him relax his grip.

He turns his head, his lips barely touching the other vampire’s skin, but he still feels Damon react, how he inhales abruptly and presses himself more against him.

“It’s okay.” And he drops a faint kiss where the shoulder and the neck meet and Damon simply… stops. Falls further into Enzo like a puppet with its strings suddenly cut. A whimper escapes his mouth, something like a sob. Enzo kisses him a second time, this time on the neck, right on the pulse point. “I’ve got you.”

The next kiss lasts longer and, after removing Damon’s hand from his arm, he starts rubbing his thumb on the already healing bruises, feeling the sharp and still-getting-used-to contrast between cold and warm.

(This is something new. Where now sit marks—burn scar-like—, Damon’s skin is an interesting and unnatural mix of cold and warm skin. Vampires and undead cold. Humans and living warm. The first time he noticed it, he wasn’t able to contain his curiosity. But, when he questioned it, Damon shut down. Frozen and staring into space, watching things only he could see. He stayed like that for almost one hour, not even realizing how long he was in this state nor remembering what the question was. It was enough for Enzo to know not to ask about it again.)

His arm still around Damon’s waist now sits under his T-shirt, gently stroking his ribs, enjoying the light shiver that follows his hand. His lips stretched slightly, and he knows Damon felt it because he hears the beginning of a growl that ends up in a strange and entertaining mix between a groan and a moan when he starts dragging his nails instead. Enzo lifts his head, laying his cheek on the other’s shoulder, when he feels Damon turning his head. Placed like this, their noses bump before they can look at each other. When their eyes meet, Enzo smiles at the glint of amusement in Damon’s eyes. Because he much prefers this to the empty stare the blue-eyed vampire has been displaying all day, he slightly moves his head, rubbing their noses together once again. He is rewarded with a small chuckle, barely a sound but here in the way Damon’s lips stretched up a little and his eyes lighted up for a second. Feeling a bit lighter than when he entered the room, he can’t resist pressing his lips against the other’s and revels in the soft moan of surprise he gets in response. Damon doesn’t reciprocate, but he feels him relaxing, heartbeat finally calming down to a vampire-normal one.

When they separate, and since they’re already all feeling and soft, he murmurs a faint “I love you” and—wow the look he gets is so precious, so fragile it is heartbreaking.

(Seriously, tomorrow the second-class scooby gang (Yes, Enzo thinks pettily, they don’t deserve Capital Letters.) better be on their best behavior, or heads will be rolling.)

“I love you.” He repeats, making sure to look the other in the eyes, and kisses him one last time before repositioning himself behind Damon, bringing him closer. The other vampire leans against him, grabbing the hand next to his arm and starts playing with it. With the way he seems too focused on their linked hands, Damon must be thinking about something. Used to him sometimes needing time to organize his thoughts before speaking, Enzo simply waits for him to be ready to speak. Absently he goes back to stroking the other’s ribs, head resting against the headboard and his eyes closed.

Somewhere between his thoughts about the probability of making Stefan disappear without Damon noticing (zero percent) and if cheese chips and chocolate ice cream would make a good combination (the idea has some merit), Damon stopped fiddling with his hand, dragging his forefinger the long of his fingers instead. Enzo gets distracted by the change and almost misses Damon speaking.

“I love you too.”

Well, speaking might be the wrong word. The words are said, barely a whisper. And without his super-hearing, he would have missed them. Before he can respond, he feels Damon tensing a bit before he moves, so that they are facing each other, more or less with Damon still seated between his legs and his own arm around the other’s chest.

His eyes meet blue eyes, intense, filled with determination.

(God, Enzo loves these eyes. Haunting unforgettable breathtaking eyes.)

“I love you too. I know I don’t say it often. But I do.”

(Be still, vampire-heart. No need to beat like a normal human one.)

“I know you do. You made it pretty clear from the moment you came back to rescue me.”

That seems to take Damon by surprise who can’t help but blurt a stunned “What?”, eyes wide open.

“I mean I didn’t let myself believe at the beginning because… well obvious reasons,” and Enzo is pleased to see the other is not looking away for once, despite the flicker of shame and guilt that still flashes in the blue eyes. “But trust me, thinking back about it now, it’s really evident. You came back. For me.” Enzo takes the way Damon opens his mouth, probably ready to refute what he is saying, and glares at him. What he wants to say is hard enough. After a few seconds of hesitation, he takes a breath. “We talked about it. Several times. You know what I think and you know I forgave you. The thing, Damon, is yes I was angry and hurt and I felt betrayed. But there were days I was… not happy but relieved you could say. Because you got out. Because, deep down, I knew if you hadn’t left me, you would have got captured again and it would have meant the year prior would have been for nothing. That whole year, starving like I never did, always feeling on the verge of desiccation, would have been in vain. Plus, who knows what they would have done to you after you killed every attendee at the party. They were vicious afterwards.”

(And they were. The year that followed the massacre at the New Year party was atrocious. The scientists who survived or who weren’t there felt vindictive—like they had any right—and they took it out on him. He was an easy target for their revenge. The experiments became harsher, unforgiving and downward crueler—something he didn’t think was possible after fifteen years in their clutches. And if the physical torture wasn’t enough, he was feeling hurt and betrayed in the worst way possible. And so angry. There were days he was so furious the pain of the experiments barely registered. He would spend these days on the operating table planning how to take revenge on Damon in the most brutal and devastating way possible.

He knew everything about him, it would have been so easy to ruin him irreparably. Because Damon, for all he appears callous and impervious, cares. So much it is ludicrously frighteningly simple to hurt him.)

“But this is not what I was getting at. I mean, we can talk about it again. If you want. But another day. When at least one of us is emotionally able to lead this kind of conversation. What I wanted to say originally is… you came back. And no matter how angry, hurt or relieved I was that you weren’t there with me anymore, I still hold that hope that you would. Come back I mean.” For some reason, Damon looks particularly stricken at that, something heavier than guilt shining brightly in his eyes and Enzo almost wants to ask about it. Doesn’t because he knows Damon will not answer. “Of course, the hope I had that you would rescue me flickered a lot. Some days I felt ridiculous thinking you’d save me because I saw you turn your humanity off and you probably thought I was dead. But some days I was thinking to myself that maybe today would be the day you wake up and realize I didn’t die that day and that you’d come.” Unable to look at Damon for his next words, Enzo lowers his head, staring at their linked hands instead. “These days were the worst.” At the sharp inhale from his ex-cellmate, he stares down more intensely. “Because at the end of the day, I was still in this cell and I felt so stupid. But as stupid as hoping was, it… helped me. In some kind of cruel way. Because, if I had hope, I had something to hold onto. I couldn’t keep relying on anger to survive. I would have gone crazy. Lost myself in ways everything they did to me would never have. But, these last years, it was getting harder and harder to hold on to something positive. The fatigue, the pain, it made it easy for all the negative emotions to break through. Even then, I was losing my grip on them. And all of a sudden, after fifty years, you are here. You are standing in front of my cell, covered in blood. Then, you open the door and I’m out of the cell. I’m walking through the lab and there is blood and bodies everywhere. Until you shoved that guard at me so that I could drink, I was still persuaded it was a hallucination. A very elaborated one my brain conjured to… torture me more I guess. Damn, I don’t even remember where I was getting, but the bottom line is you came back when I thought you wouldn’t.”

When he finally looks up, he swallows. Damon looks devastating, he can practically see his heart breaking in his eyes. Enzo hesitates. He didn’t mean to make Damon feel worse. Maybe he should have waited for him to be emotionally more stable. Releasing the other’s hand—and pretending not to hear the wounded sound at the action—, he puts his two hands on Damon’s cheeks, making sure he is looking at him.

“You came back and got me out when you could have left me there,” Enzo can’t help but feel a bit relieved when he sees the other frown, protective anger in the lines of his face. “And then you didn’t leave me alone, you stayed, and you took care of me.” Dark eyes stare straight into wide blue ones. “At first, I thought it was out of guilt, and maybe it was, partially. But I know you. Guilt alone wouldn’t make you stay or help. Or keep still while someone is pointing a stake at your heart.” The last part is said with a bit of reproach despite Enzo knowing it is useless. Damon has something akin to a martyr complex but instead of the whole thing about sacrificing himself for people’s sake, he is willing to die if he feels he deserves it. In a fucked-up way, despite how it angered him at the time—still does to be honest—, Damon not trying to defend himself and looking ready to accept whatever punishment Enzo had for him, even death, was what convinced him Damon was earnest, made him realize how important he was to him.

(He swears, people who say Damon is unable to feel any sort of remorse have never seen him actually deal with guilt. Probably because it presents itself as recklessness and stupid impulsive decisions. Ordinary Damon things. But the thing with guilt is that Damon takes all of his worst traits and makes them worse.)

Because Damon has a thing about deals and debts. He particularly noticed it these last months, seeing him interact with people who are not himself nor doctors and their assistants. How he would carefully formulate his sentences, always letting himself some ground to defend himself if something goes wrong. How he would retaliate if he thought someone wronged him, or someone he cares about, one way or another. And okay maybe what he considers as wrongdoings is very subjective, but meet them and you find yourself confronted with a particularly violent and vindictive vampire. Enzo would have thought the others would have noticed it at this point, particularly the wording thing. But since he has arrived, they were still as careless as ever with their words and as clueless about Damon’s.

He is pretty sure the only person who caught on is Elijah, but it is probably because the Original vampire is as careful as Damon with his phrasing. Hell, the two practically made a game out of it, see who will be able to outword the other first without anyone noticing it—except Enzo who usually watches the two going at it with amusement. And keeps score. At the moment, they’re tied. Damon won the last point after the questioning and suspicious look Klaus sent his brother. (The victorious subtle but not really smirk Damon sent to Elijah made Klaus glance pointedly at the younger vampire. All it did was make Damon smirk more obnoxiously, this time mockingly at the hybrid. Enzo was already planning how to steal Klaus’s blood to cure the idiot from werewolf venom.)

“You don’t make a habit of showing your caring unless you actually do care, and even then you have to know what to look for. And you haven’t stopped since then. You think I haven’t noticed how you always seem to have blood bags close at hand. How you always make sure to be between me and the biggest threat in the room—which, I see how you keep flicking your eyes between me and Stefan, as if you don’t know whom to stay close to. Sometimes you look like you’re one blink away from kidnapping us out of the situation. Or one of us so that you can completely focus on the other. It’s cute in a way. Pretty sure Stefan thinks it’s unsettling the way you stare at him, but at least I get to laugh at his growing paranoia.”

A small laugh escapes Damon’s mouth. This little feud between Enzo and Stefan never stops amusing him.

“I love you. And I know you do too.” Right, this is what it was about originally. “You show it to me every day. I don’t need you to say it all the time.”

Damon simply stares at him in response, a small frown appearing between his brows. “It doesn’t mean I couldn’t say it more often.”

“And it is nice hearing it. But it doesn't mean I need to hear it, you already show it to me every time, every day.” When he sees Damon's brows furrow deeper, lips thinning in displeasure, he adds. “Stop being a stubborn dolt and just accept it.”

Now at the risk of incurring Damon’s wrath, Enzo's lips turn up in a small smile at the face the other vampire is making—which is not a pout because big bad vampires do not pout. (And it's not big bad wolfy who will disagree. His expression when he was told by his brother that his idea of turning Mystic Falls inhabitants into vampires so the littlest Gilbert could complete the map better stayed an idea was not a pout. Enzo sometimes looks at Damon and Klaus and can't help but laugh because no wonder these two can't get along, they're just too similar in the worst possible way.)

“I’m not saying all this to make you feel better. I am telling you. I have never doubted it. Believe me, when you’re being all you,” at the confused tilt of head he gets, he simply smiles, “it’s not hard to tell. I mean, even your brother knows you love him and you are a lot meaner with him. And… and I have no idea what we were talking about but I love you, you love me, we love each other, it’s nice.”

Damon raises an eyebrow, all judgment and wow, Enzo can see the resemblance between both Salvatore with this expression. “It’s nice? Really?”

“Shut it! I didn’t really plan on being all emotional today.”

The light amusement on Damon’s face straight away dies out and Enzo kind of wants to hit himself for it.

“Sorry. Today just felt… too much.”

Enzo smiles sadly and cups Damon’s face with his left hand, making sure to look him in the eyes. “Want to talk about it?”

The answer is obvious on Damon’s face, but after sighing, he still answers. “I thought I was doing okay, but they started talking about the most efficient way to kill as many supernatural creatures as possible. And it was too much because they are basically talking about mass murder and, I mean, I don't particularly care but… I don’t know, today I didn’t feel like listening anymore.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, there was no progress on this front after you left. Doubt there has been any since I left.”

“Give them a few hours, they’ll come up with something. They can be particularly ruthless when it comes to their interests.” With a slight frown, he adds. “I better find a good place to hide the stake.” At Enzo’s questioning glance, he says. “I don’t trust them with something like that.”

Something in the way Damon said this sounds strange to Enzo. But aware the raven-haired vampire will not answer him, he doesn’t push. “What about your human buddy? Can’t he dissuade them from doing anything stupid?”

“You really think they’ll listen to Ric? I mean, Jeremy might but that’s all. And even then, the others can easily talk him into whatever shitty plan they think up. Believe me, it’s easier than it seems to convince little siblings to do what you want.”

Seeing how just thinking about what the Scooby Gang could come up with seems to suck out all of Damon’s energy, Enzo brings his other hand to the other’s face before kissing him. Damon instantly relaxes at the contact and leans forward to deepen the kiss. Thanks to their dampened need to breathe, the kiss lasts a few minutes during which Enzo lets himself think of nothing. Simply Damon seated between his legs, solid and real. His hands holding the dead-cold skin. One of Damon’s hands resting on his hip and the other gripping his knee. Enzo lets a moan escape when he feels Damon’s hand slides under his T-shirt, rubbing slow circles with his thumb. Feeling the other’s lips stretching into a smile, Enzo retaliates by biting them, fangs out, savoring the taste of blood on his tongue and the grunt accompanying it.

Finally breaking the kiss, Enzo’s attention zeroes in on the already healing bite and resists the urge to reopen it. A temptation starting to be too strong when Damon almost makes a show of licking his lips to get rid of the blood. So instead, Enzo focuses on the blue eyes already looking right at him. He lets himself a few seconds to lose himself in being Damon’s sole focus, gently stroking his cheeks, watching how the raven is leaning in at the movement, not breaking eye contact. He smiles, a tiny little thing, when Damon turns his head, taking his thumb in his mouth to nibble at it, not even piercing the skin. Sometimes Damon has the cutest little habits.

“Feel like doing anything?”

Damon lets his thumb go and stops to think, observing the younger vampire closely—probably (certainly) to determine what Enzo wants—so Enzo makes sure to keep his expression open, letting him know that the choice is entirely his, that he is okay with whatever he decides. After several seconds of scrutinizing, Damon seems to come to a decision. Still fixated on the other vampire, he slowly shakes his head.

“Not really. Not today. Can we just…” He seems to hesitate—shy as Damon Salvatore should never be—before gesticulating his hand between them and the bed.

Enzo doesn’t wait to agree, having immediately understood what Damon meant.

(Someone needs to remind Damon that it is alright to simply want to cuddle without sex involved. That if he wants someone to hold him, he just has to ask.)

(Realizing that the love of your life you spent a century and half trying to save from a fate worse than death lied to you and only used you for sex had certainly led to some serious self-love issues. Enzo would really like to have more words with Katherine Pierce. In retrospect, maybe he should have burned her the first time he met her. Because she damaged Damon so deeply Enzo has a visceral need to hurt her. And Enzo could appreciate the irony)

“Yeah, we can.” Letting the other go, Enzo takes his place back against the headboard and puts his arms around Damon’s waist when the older vampire pushes himself against him. Damon immediately grabs one of his hands in his before he starts playing with it. When Enzo doesn’t feel the other vampire relax after a few minutes, he puts his free hand on Damon’s tight, stroking the covered skin. At the light tensing of the man in his arms, Enzo begins to delicately put kisses on the exposed skin in front of him. He keeps doing so, butterfly kisses on the neck, nothing more, and his hand rubbing lazy circles on the other’s tight, not moving higher or lower, until he feels Damon slowly relaxing in his embrace once he is certain Enzo has no intention of going further.

The air around them feels lighter and lighter every second Damon unwinds a bit more until Enzo doesn’t feel like he’s about to be struck by lightning anymore. Instead, all he feels is warm contentment, and he lets himself be lulled into a soft feeling of security he doesn’t think he has ever been able to feel until Damon. Because there is something about the older vampire that makes him feel safe, that tells him he can let his guard down because he knows the other won’t let anything happen to him.

“How about we stop existing for a few hours?” Damon simply hums in response. “No original vampires, no magical map, no cure, and more importantly, no teenager drama. Just you and I between four walls, against the outside world.”

“At least there is no cement wall between us.”

“At least there is nothing to prevent us from cuddling.” He lets a short laugh escape at Damon’s groan.

“Please don’t call it that.”

“I’m calling it how I see it.” To emphasize his point, he tightens his hold and shoves his face in the junction between Damon’s neck and his shoulder. “I’m cuddling you.”

“You’re strangling me. You planning on letting me breathe at some point?” His only answer is the tightening of the grip around him, efficiently constricting his lungs. “Very funny.”

The dry tone only causes Enzo to drop a kiss on his neck followed by a nip right on his pulse point. “You don’t need to breathe.”

Damon huffs before slapping one of Enzo’s legs. “I do. And I’ll need to, eventually.”

“Admit we’re cuddling and maybe I’ll let you.”

“Maybe?” The clutch Damon’s in tightens a bit more.

“I’m very comfortable in this position.”

“You’re trying to crush my rib cage.”

“Cuddling.”

“Cuddling does not involve broken bones. Nor asphyxia.”

“That’s what you think. You just haven’t cuddled anyone in a long time.”

“We— You’re the one who spent decades as a rat lab, what do you know?” He simply gets a hum in response. “Plus, I’m the one who was stuck with a clingy angel-faced little sibling.”

“It was like two centuries ago. Doesn’t count.”

“It was never-happened ago for you. I win.”

“Okay little spoon, whatever you say.”

“How do you even know about that?”

“I’m catching up on modern slang.”

“Please, never say that word again. It sounds wrong coming from you.” Enzo decides to not answer and instead bites the skin on Damon’s neck before sucking. The other vampire inhales sharply. “If you’re hungry, there is blood downstairs.”

Enzo lifts his head to place it on Damon’s shoulder. “And risk bumping into the gaggle of murderous babies. No, thank you.” He sweeps the room with his eyes. “You should have blood in your room. Why don’t you have blood in your room?”

Damon doesn’t answer, preferring instead to settle more cozily against the younger vampire with a faint sigh of content. Enzo adjusts his grip until they’re both comfortable. Damon takes his hand once again, fiddling with his fingers and his ring. With Damon’s fixation with his hands, Enzo is half worried Damon is going to steal them. Or his ring. Damon looks like the kind of person to steal jewelry because he likes it.

After a few minutes of silence, Enzo leans his head toward Damon, chin hooked on the other's shoulder, a small smirk on his lips. He can feel Damon shift at his movement. “So,” from the way Damon freezes, he probably already knows he won't like what he'll hear. It simply makes his smile widen. “What about snuggling?”

Without missing a beat, Damon answers. “I'm disowning you. Starting now and ending never.” But, despite his words, he doesn't move. On the contrary, he leans further backwards and Enzo can't resist. 

“Looks like to me you do want more snuggles.”

With a grunt of disgust, Damon makes a move to extract himself from the other's embrace cuddle but Enzo tightens his grip. “Okay, okay, no cuddling and no snuggling. Just you and I against the outside world.” Despite his words, he makes sure to snuggle the other vampire as close as he can. “So, what do you say? We pretend the outside world doesn’t exist and we stay here where nothing can reach us?”

“I like the idea.”

Enzo smiles and starts stroking Damon’s arms with the tips of his fingers until the other is completely relaxed and nearly asleep. He drops a small kiss on Damon’s lower jaw and shifts a bit so they are both comfortably settled. He waits until he’s sure Damon is asleep before picking his phone to write a quick message to Alaric to tell him to not bother them until at least midday the day after. Message sent and not waiting for the confirmation the hunter saw it, he puts the phone down, adjusts his grip and lets his head fall against the headboard, listening to Damon’s breathing gradually lull him into sleep.

They have tons of problems to deal with, but for now, he’s content enough to ignore them. They’ll have all the time to worry about them tomorrow. And the day after. And every day that follows. His last thought before succumbing to sleep is wondering if he'd be able to convince Damon to ditch Mystic Falls and its seemingly never-ending troubles.

END

so this ends up being longer than i planned, sorry for that but i hope you liked it i had fun writing it

i'll probably edit and post it on ao3 at some point, there are stuff i haven't been able to fit here so we'll see

also damon might seem a bit out of character but you should remember that the guy came back from a future where he saw everyone he loved die and he was having a bad week

#vampire diaries #damon salvatore #enzo st. john #denzo #my writing #i'm sorry this is very soft #well softer than what i planned to begin with #for not being here stefan is mentioned A LOT #what can i say #also even if he doesn't like it #enzo knows stefan is very important to damon #it's a whole “i can't change it but i still don't like it” #enzo is fiercely protective of damon #don't worry #damon feels the same about enzo

[orikiys]

✿ ✿ 〞dating seventeen

✰ pairings: ot13!seventeen x fem!reader

✰ genre: tooth rotting fluff

✰ warnings: mentions of reader having a bad day in some, mentions of food. lemme know if you feel like there’s any more.

✰ word count: 2k + words

౨₊ৎ seungcheol

acts clingy. it’s usually him that initiates skinship and you wouldn’t find a single photo of the two of you without him hugging, leaning on you or simple just holding you. but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like it when you initiate it. in fact he enjoys it so much but does not act like that sometimes because he feels too shy. after knowing him for quite a long time, you know it’s him when he keeps a hand over your back. or he simple has an arm wrapped around your waist or shoulders when he sits beside you. the most common is him laying on top of you when he returns home after a busy schedule.

“hey sweetheart,” he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your knuckles and plops down beside you. his arm eventually finding it’s way to you and pulling you in his embrace. “it was so tiring today, y’know?” he begins his rambles all the while keeping his hand firmly wrapped around your back.

౨₊ৎ jeonghan

he’s gentle and patient with you. to the outside world he may look short tempered, but with you it’s like he becomes a different personality. he’s so much more softer and often encourages you to talk resulting in him being the listener. his attentiveness, soft murmurs of appreciation and kisses on your jaw as he nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck— all of it leads to the way he never loses his calm around you, as well as his effort to not to.

“had a long day, angel?” he whispers, cupping your face and pressing his lips to your forehead for a few seconds before pulling away. he doesn’t let you reply, judging the way your eyes are already dropping and without a word he helps you do your night routine and tucks you in the bed, “sleep well, okay?” he mumbles trying to keep his voice no louder than what he could hear so he doesn’t end up waking you.

౨₊ৎ joshua

he tends to be observant. call it his nature, but. you’ll never find joshua bringing home a wrong order of your coffee or the flavour of ice cream you don’t like. he likes to take note of things you love and the ones you hate. he’s been doing this ever since the two of you started dating and it’s no wonder that he has now made nearly a foot long list. another habit of his is to call you when he’s dilemma. he thinks that whatever you say is right. he feel’s it your ‘woman instinct’ because when you do say something seriously, he will NEVER ignore it.

“i brought you your favourite sandwiches with some waffles! thought you’d need those,” his enthusiastic tone never fails to brighten the days and his eyes— that trail over your face and the way he knows exactly how you’re feeling just by the lowering of your eyebrows; is all too familiar. and he'd also know when you're not feeling so good. he’ll tend to caress your hair and press you close to his chest while he asks you what's wrong.

౨₊ৎ jun

he may not seem like it, but he loves to pester you in the public or around friends while calling you cheesy nicknames, he does cringe at himself later on. he’ll be doing nothing and will still manage to think about things he’ll plan to say to you when he meets you. he loves cracking jokes even though they’re lame just to get a reaction out of you and he feels prideful when he manages to make you laugh. he thinks it’s one of the best unmatched feelings in the world.

“hey sugar,” he whistles and takes a seat beside you, a scoff escaping your lips which later turns into laughter when he tickles you hard. he stares at you in the eye for a minute or so before looking away because he still can’t hold the eye contact as you still manage to make him nervous.

౨₊ৎ hoshi

is your number one hype boy. he never, i repeat, never fails to give you random aggressive compliments throughout the day. and on days when you feel self-conscious he’ll use his pretty little brain to form words that do nothing but only encourage you. call him even at 3am, he’ll pick up the calls because it’s you ( it’s giving priorities ). loves gifting you things randomly at alternate days or whenever he finds something that reminds you of him and when you ask him why, he always replies with a ‘there’s never a bad day for gifts.’

“baby how come you look so beautiful?” he says those words so casually that it makes you speechless. he says those while staring at you through the mirror. one hand on the chair you sit while the other is on your shoulder. he looks at you with so much love, he treats you with so much love that you don’t think you could love anyone else like you love him.

౨₊ৎ wonwoo

when i say he’s protective, i mean the kind of protective that always holds on to your hand in crowded places, where he makes sure to blow on the food twice before feeding it to you or one where he simply just ties your hair when your hands are full. but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know his limits. he’s the kind of boyfriend that gives you space when you need and supports your decisions. he always has your back, so there’s no need to worry. regardless of what happened, he’ll always be there for you and listen to you when you want him to.

“did you eat?” he shakes his head in disappointment at your answer before pulling out a pan. “try it,” he suggest a few minutes later and blows on the spoon before feeding it to, his finger immediately wiping the spill off the corner of your lips and he gives you that chuckle when you stare at him for too long. “you shouldn’t skip meals next time, okay?” he mutters as he watches you dig into the food.

౨₊ৎ woozi

this man right here might be the busiest, but he always ensures that he has enough time for you especially when you need him. he would just be working on a track with you sitting on the couch behind him and talking to him, telling him about things that were troubling you and he will not hesitate to pause and turn around before listening intently.

“come here,” he says while pulling you to his office chair and making you sit on his lap the koala style. he rocks your back while peppering your face with kisses just to cheer you up. maintains his patience around you and encourages you talk more freely with him.

౨₊ৎ dokyeom

the type of boyfriend to intentionally match with you while going on a date and later pretending to hate it. loves buying matching jewellery for the two of you and he feels so happy when he sees you wear something he gifted you. it makes him feel that there’s a part of him that’s always with you. another thing he’ll do is randomly grab your hand and kiss it whenever he feels like it.

“morning my love,” he mumbles and pulls you closer to his embrace even though he is still half-asleep. he would then caress your face with a soft smile and would insist on staying in rather than going out on the weekends. he says it’s his favourite place.

౨₊ৎ mingyu

feeds you with his love and handmade food, these are his two main love languages. he’d cook you breakfast in bed no matter how your day is going but in hopes that it gets happier and better because of him. mingyu is a man who loves skinship and won’t hesitate to do so in public as well. always remembers what you like or don’t, and gives you all his attention when you’re talking, no matter how boring the topic is, you’ll never find his eyes away from your face while you talk.

“really?” he hums questionably while brushing your hair as you rant to him about all the incidents that happened. his touch is soft like a feather yet knowing it’s him it's enough to make you feel at ease.

౨₊ৎ minghao

i feel like with hao the two of you have intimate moments quite often. be it randomly taking walks at night or sharing a tub of ice cream, the two of you never fail to stay on your own anr often end up inviting the other one over. your favourite dates are watching movies with him all night long in your bed and just having a good laugh or cry depending on the genre. hao is a person who would trust his partner wholeheartedly. so he isn’t afraid to show you his vulnerable side and that he does like being babied.

“i like this ice cream,” he hums in delight while sending you a grin, making you grin back just as enthusiastically. there’s a mischievous glint on his face as he tackles you to the couch before tickling you till your lungs burst out of immense joy.

౨₊ৎ seungkwan

while seungkwan does like to joke around pretty often and imitate you frequently ( almost every other hour ) he is a supportive partner. he won’t hesitate to listen carefully and give his opinions and provide suggestions. when in doubt, seungkwan is always there for you. at times it might be hard to talk to him because the topic might be sensitive to you, but seungkwan knows you well. he’ll give you time or just give you a hug and stay like that as you talk. it’s nothing in this world that he’d want other than you being comfortable with talking out your problems with him

“i’m sorry, did you have a bad day?” he mutters as he watches you stomp your way to the couch. wordlessly, he follows you before sitting beside you and just takes your hand in his. “do you want to talk about it?”

౨₊ৎ vernon

vernon is a guy of few words. or so you thought. once you get to know him well you can’t help but laugh at even the lamest jokes that he says. he’s like a mood setter. always improving your mood everyday. although there are times where you fail to understand each other, bur vernon makes sure to sit down and discuss everything calmly.

“what does a house wear?” he begins making you groan and before he could finish the joke he starts laughing, “address! this one’s funny,” he wipes away that tear and it’s hard to hold in your laugh when you make eye contact. it’s like an immediate response and you can’t help but smack his knee for it.

౨₊ৎ dino

being the youngest he always did feel like he had some kind of responsibility and it’s been the exact same in your relationship. when you’re with him, dino is extremely careful. he’ll make sure to wear a jacket so he can give it to you when you’re cold. he shows his affection by giving you handmade gifts like letters, paper flowers, chocolate boxes and on days like valentines’ be prepared for a whole bunch of boxes all for you.

“i told you to not to wear heels,” he pouts a bit as he applies bandages to your bruised up heels. when he’s done he pretends to be angry and huffs loudly but fails to do so and ends up ruffling your hair more affectionately than you expected.

#ॱଳ͘ #svt — ⪩ ⪨ #seventeen #seungcheol x reader #jeonghan x reader #joshua x reader #jun x reader #hoshi x reader #wonwoo x reader #woozi x reader #dokyeom x reader #mingyu x reader #minghao x reader #seungkwan x reader #vernon x reader #dino x reader #seventeen fic #seventeen imagines #seventeen reactions #svt x reader #svt fluff #svt imagines #svt fanfic

[mrsnancywheeler]

andante, andante // finnick odair x f. reader

masterlist

3.3k words

request: could you write a oneshot where finnick and reader have always had a flirty relationship. the reader got taken and tortured by snow during the quarter quell, and she was brought to thirteen and when finnick sees her lots of fluff (and maybe smut?) ensues. i love your work, happy 700 followers!

warnings: smut, lots of it, there's some angst in the beginning Captiol related, confessions of feelings, hurt/comfort in the beginning, pnv, some degredation, teasing, use of good girl, unprotected sex, no use of y/n, unedited

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

There was no energy left, not a single part of your body had any form of passion left. Long ago you'd grown immune to the effects that Peeta and Johanna's screams had once had on you, probably once the starvation and dehydration had kicked in. Not to mention when you were trying to fight off the rats you could swear where in your pitch black cell, sometimes you'd swear you saw other creatures as well, but you tried to tell yourself it was hallucinations.

So when the team from District 13 came to rescue you all, you desperately willed the energy to return. You couldn't see him like this, Finnick. Technically you were just friends, but your relationship hinged on the flirtatious, playful banter which you didn't know if you had anymore. You hadn't spoken in a while, maybe you wouldn't even recognize your voice, it's not like the Capitol had much information they could get out of you. No one had thought to inform you of the rebel plan, for a while part of you was terrified that Snow would just have you killed for not knowing anything, but you were kept alive.

You'd had endless time to spend, when you weren't hearing or seeing things in your hazy state, to think about Finnick. How you weren't sure if he felt the same way about you that you'd felt about him for years, but should've said something before all this. Wishing that before you surely died in the Capitol he would know you had always cared for him, loved him from afar. You'd rather die with your love unrequited, but known. Yet now you'd see him again and you hoped if there was a chance he had feelings for you that you were half the woman you once were.

Of course, once all the fluids the medics were pumping you full of had taken effect you'd probably feel some of the spirit you'd had return. The universe seemed to look down on you because the first feeling you did feel in full force was anxiety about Finnick. You'd heard whispers of his names from guards so you knew he wasn't dead, but hadn't a clue how he actually was. Maybe you'd made up the voices of the guards and he actually was dead, what a cruel fate that would be, but with the way your life seemed to pan out it wouldn't have shocked you. Although if he was alive it condemned you to living the rest of your life in silent adoration, but he was the only person you would ever do that for.

When you entered the District 13 base on that medical bed the next full force feeling hit, overstimulation. The only noise you had been used to in weeks were the cries of Peeta and Johanna which you'd learned to tune out regardless of how loud, and the occasional order from a guard or a whisper. The flurry of doctors ready to fully assess injuries, people standing around full of questions, all the chatter and noise had your hands flying up to cover your ears. It was too bright, too loud, the bed was rickety in the floors little bumps, and you actually longed to be back in the familiarity of the cell.

“Hey, you're okay, honey." A much softer voice, much closer, warms ringer delicately brushing the hands covering your ears. Finnick. Your eyes snapped open as you slowly observed him.

“Finnick?" Your voice was much quieter, scratchier than you'd remembered it, but he seemed to hear you just fine. His kind smile blessing you as he slowly nodded, the next emotion was relief. You hadn't cried in a while, no water to allow yourself, but the fluids must have been working miracles because you felt like there was a flood about to break through your tear ducts. “You're real right?"

His hand landed more firmly on yours, assuring you with his very real body heat. “I'm real, I'm right here with you." Slowly you moved your hands from your ears, forcing yourself to take deep breaths to handle the noise. He looked like he was going to cry, “God, I'm so glad you're okay!" Finnick's warm embrace surrounded you and it made you want to melt into him forever. “They kept sedating me because I was so worried about you."

It confused you, to hear him talking about worrying about you with so much passion, of course he'd consumed your every thought, but you'd doubted you would've been on his. “Oh, come on, you would've found someone else to banter with, Finn." The first laugh you'd had in so long forced itself out.

“Good thing that the only person I want to banter with is you, and here you are, pretty face and all."

There was a pause before your voice came out again, delicate like a flower petal floating on the waters. "I missed you.” It came out sounding more vulnerable then you'd intended, maybe even too fond and he'd pulled his arms away. Before you could retreat though you were shocked when his lips were on yours. The kiss was soft, and spoke a thousand words you could only ever wish to translate.

When he pulled away you could only stare at him stunned, he'd felt the same way you'd felt all along. “I'm sorry, I-" Before he could finish you pulled his face back in, kissing him, it was addictive, you could drown in his lips. “You know, it's rude to interrupt." He muttered out before kissing you again.

“Sorry." You weren't, there was no time to be when it was like you living in a dream. Maybe this was a dream, maybe you were back in the Capitol and had officially lost it, but the heat of his touch was too real for you to believe that.

“I've loved you for so long." Finnick's hand cupped your face which must have been burning up.

“Me too, I didn't think you'd ever even noticed me that way."

“How could I not have noticed my pretty, sweet girl that way?" His smile was so perfect it made you feel like you were floating. The doctors insisted on doing an official check up on you which Finnick stuck by you diligently for. Fluids and food was all you really needed besides further psychological evaluation, but there wasn't much time for that when apparently Peeta was turning out to be the biggest problem imaginable.

Finnick had sat by your hospital bed, slowly feeding you a soup that felt like the best thing you'd ever eaten with all the time you'd gone without a scrap. He filled you in on life in District 13, how much protocol there was, but it would be worth it to end all of this so you could be together. Apparently he'd been assigned his own compartment which he rarely used when the breakdowns hit, so he'd spent nearly every night sedated in the hospital wing.

Eventually the doctors agreed to let you take a shower, you'd still be sequestered to the hospital wing, but you were grateful for the chance to finally be clean. You could sense that Finnick hated that you would be out of his sight again, like the moment you walked away he would realize this was all a dream he was having that had slipped away under the cover of night. “Do you wanna come with?" You whispered to him as the medic on the other side took the IV out of your arm, “Somebody's gonna have to show me the way there."

“Can I?" He whispered back and hurt you to know that he'd been this hurt over you, that you'd both gone so long without a confession to the other.

You nodded slowly as you pressed a quick kiss on his lips and he smiled, maybe this wasn't a dream after all. Finnick guided you through the drab underground of District 13. It was stuffy, but you were overtaken by giddiness. The Finnick Odair was holding your hand, the Finnick Odair had meant every flirty comment he'd made, Finnick Odair loved you back, Finnick Odair wasn't just a dream you could never have, Finnick was here, Finnick was yours. He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not. And the final petal had determined he loved you.

He turned the water on for you and Finnick respectfully turned around so you could undress and get inside of it. Your heart swelled to think he missed you so much he would be content to just sit outside, to feel your presence in the room. The feeling of the water hitting your skin was a relief, to feel the grime being washed away. It was lonely though, to think of him patiently waiting for you, how long he's waited to know you were safe, how long he'd waited for you to confess. “Are you gonna make me be alone in here?” You cringed at the way no matter how quiet your voice was it seemed to echo.

You'd hid behind the curtain, so you didn't have to confront the question. Maybe he didn't want to, but you'd also thought he just wanted to flirt as friends. The curtain swept to the side as he peeked his handsome face in, eyes glued to your face. "Not if you need my help, honey.” You would've sworn the way he said those endearments always made butterflies flutter in your stomach, even if it was something you'd felt guilty about when he initially began using it.

The hot water should have relaxed your muscles, but staring at his perfect, handsome face was making you feel a similar sensation that you despised. Whether he knew it or not, the sound of his voice, the things he'd say, and that smile of his all did unimaginable things to you. Things you'd felt guilty for when the fantasies flashed in your mind. He'd been your friend, so it must've been wrong to imagine him with his hands between your legs. Now though, he wasn't just your friend, and the feeling was back. “Maybe I do." It was embarrassing, but just being by his body would help you or maybe it would make the feeling worse, but you didn't care.

He grinned at you and disappeared for a few seconds before he'd opened the curtain again, slipping into the shower. “What do you need my help with, sweet girl?" Now you'd have to come up with something, you tried not to let your eyes trail over his body, he wasn't looking anywhere but your face. But it was hard when it felt like some tingling part of your body was now controlling your actions.

“Can you help me clean myself off?"

"Of course, honey.” He went to grab the shampoo bottle, eyes never ducking down. Part of you wanted him too though, so that this felt less like a dirty fantasy.

"You can look at me, you know? I won't bite, unless asked, promise.” You tried to sound like it was playful, soft and he laughed.

"Yeah, sorry, I just didn't want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable either." You reassured, “I'm not making you uncomfortable though, am I? If I am-" One of his hands grabbed yours making you pause.

“You're not making me uncomfortable either, you're okay." His sweet smile made you feel more than just like melting, you hoped the wetness pooling between your thighs wouldn't be noticeable in the water. Finnick softly turned you around to wash your hair, he was so particular, taking his time and the feeling of his breath on your neck, clever fingers in your hair. It was so calming, “This okay, honey?" You could only hum in approval as his hands moved so delicately across your scalp. Your brain so easily fell into an easy blissful state as you let his hands move your head with ease. He finished with your hair soon enough and was moving onto washing your body. You shuddered when he carefully pushed your hair off the back of your neck, “You sure you're okay?”

"Yeah.” It comes out more strained than you'd meant it to and you pray he's not put off by it, which he doesn't seem to be as his hands keep trailing downwards. He's soaped and rinsed you off, moving you with so much care that you wish you could absorb each second of it, but you're trying to leave the moment. If you let yourself think about it you're sure you'll give yourself away with the way you'd be responding to his touch. Then it's nearly impossible when he's washing your face, his hands seem like they were perfectly meant to hold your face and suddenly so do his lips when he's kissing you again. Instantly you're pulling him in closer, basically inhaling whatever he gives you. Then you're pausing when his hands start slipping down the small of your back.

Much to your chagrin he pulls away, pausing his hands descent, as he looks at you, “Are you okay with this?" He asks, his eyes speak depths on how much he cares. You nod trying to lean in again, but he leans back, “Need to hear you say it, sweet girl."

"Yes, Finn.” It's barely audible, but he rewards you by kissing you again. Fingers continuing their trail down your back, grazing over nerves that make you shiver. His hands finally land on your hips and you can barely breathe, but you won't let yourself pull away from his lips. They're too addictive and you're too scared you'll wake up to realize you never left the Capitol. And then his hands are slipping lower, your thighs pressing together.

His hands are slowly spreading your legs apart and you let them. Whimpering into his lips when his fingers start tracing over your pussy. His lips pull away and you whine more, even if it gives you a chance to gasp for air. “You're dripping, sweet girl, I haven't even done anything. I bet…” Finnick trails off and you gasp when the tips of two of his fingers are lightly pushing into you. You're instantly clenching around them and he's smirking. “Were you gonna tell me I was making you this dizzy?" You hum out something incoherent when his other fingers start rubbing you. “Seems like someone doesn't know how to use her words, sweet girl, I just have to look at her and understand how needy she is…” He kisses your neck, "Doesn't tell me she feels the same way about me, I have to do it.” Another kiss to another sensitive spot and you gave up on any idea of suppressing the wanton sounds you're making now. He was rubbing you faster now, “Someone's gonna have to teach you to use your words, like a good girl. Not today though."

"Finn-” You moaned out, head tilting back. "Need you, need you so bad. Need you inside me.” You clenched around the tips of his stationary fingers and he thrusted them upwards, the sound you let out was guttural with shock.

“You sure you can take me, sweet girl? Want me to split you open instead of helping you open?" He sounded condescending as he kept moving his fingers inside of you as you whined, before letting out another moan as he slipped a third finger in you.

“Don't care, Finn, don't care if it hurts, need you cock in me. Please, please, please.”

He slipped his fingers out and your eyebrows scrunched together as you whined, he was opening your mouth with his fingers soaked in your juices. “You're my pretty little cock slut aren't you? Gonna let me break you on my cock?" You sucked his fingers in confirmation, licking off your own juices and he smirked. “Did you fantasize about me? Were you not able to tell me how you felt because you were too busy making yourself dumb thinking about my cock?" You nodded, moaning as his other hands began making even more aggressive circles. His hand titled your head up, “If you want my cock, then you're gonna tell me what you thought about when you were fucking yourself stupid."

It was hard to form words when you wanted to do nothing but whine at the pleasure rushing through your body, "You, I thought about how much I wanted you-” Your head fell back when his circles got rougher and then was forcing your head back up, "Wanted you inside of me, touched myself thinking about, oh my god, Finn, please I can't it's too much, wanna cum when you're inside me.”

He was quiet for a second before sighing, “When you beg like that how am I supposed to refuse you anything? Just because my sweet girl just got back to me and must be being so brave, using her words like that. But you're not getting out of it next time, honey." Finnick removed his hand and you let out an involuntary whine.

"Thank you, Finn.” You said breathily as he finally lined himself up with your entrance. “Already so close."

“So needy." He clicked his tongue as he started pushing into you, you clawed into his back. “Jump." You obeyed and he hoisted you up, legs wrapping around his waist. Trying not to hit at his back when caused more of him to push in, but you couldn't stop yourself from the scream you let out when he carefully pushed your back against the shower wall and he bottomed out in you. “So tight, this pussy was made for me, feels so good." He groaned, “Can I move?"

“Please, you're so deep in me, feels so good. Wanna be yours, Finn, want you to do what you want with me." His face planted itself in between your neck and shoulder and you could feel him smiling into your skin.

“You're so sweet, honey." Then he was moving again and you were instantly crying out, “Everyone's gonna find us if you keep this up, know you're mine now." At your insistence he let himself be fast, pound in and out of you as you tightened around him.

Finnick moved a hand up to protect your head as he thrusted recklessly into you. It felt like an eternity of his perfect noises and seeing stars with each movement, you were so grateful that it was your cunt making him groan like that, that he wanted to be inside of you. “Oh my god, Finn, I'm gonna come."

“Good girl, come undone on my cock, sweet girl. Wanna look at your pretty face when you let go for me.” You could've sworn that you'd left the planet when he brought you past the edge. He must have felt it too because your ecstasy doubled when you felt him releasing inside of you, how full you were of him.

You don't know how long you stayed like that, listening to each other's breathing, but nothing had ever felt so perfect. “They're gonna wonder what happened to us." You eventually let out a breathy laugh and he nodded into your shoulder. He tapped your leg and you unhooked them from around his waist. Feet falling onto the cold tiles below.

“Good, I've got to make up for lost time." He kissed your forehead before finally pulling out of you and you hated how empty you felt without him. Finnick pressed his forehead against yours and you watched the steam from the water gather around him, “I should've told you sooner, if you hadn't been okay and here with me again, I don't know if I could've lived with myself knowing you never knew I loved you." And the way he kissed you sealed your fate, you would forever be making up for the times that neither of you confessed to how hopelessly you adored each other and you would relish every moment of it.

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

thank you for reading! I'm going to try and get chapter two of the river out before I do the next request, working on scheduling these each out! if you enjoyed it feedback is always appreciated, comments, likes, reblogs, and my asks/requests are open! thank you again and love you all 💋

taglist: @wowzabowza69

#wanda 💋 #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair angst #finnick odair x reader fluff #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x reader angst #finnick odair x reader smut #finnick odair smut #finnick odair fanfic #finnick x reader #finnick odair imagine #finnick x you

[averageallogene]

Lyney ♡⊹˚ His lucky charm [NSFW]

✧˖°. Summary: Before his most recent shows, Lyney seems to have some nervousness regarding his abilities as a magician. Thankfully, his lovely girlfriend is always there to ease his mind beforehand, providing him with the luck her magician boyfriend needs.

fem. reader (3rd person) ; this is basically smut with little more than an intro to it, so beware. Also SPOILERS for ACT I of the first Fontaine Archon Quest. 

5k words.

notes. Hi yes hello I am back, I have played the two Archon Quests, and after working a little for my thesis I decided to write something by my own volition <3. I’m not sure if Lyney here might be portrayed accurately but nonetheless I really wanted to write a smaller piece for him before doing it for other characters! He’s adorable :( ♡ Enjoy ✧˖°

By clicking on the “expand”, you are hereby agreeing to view NSFW content. PLEASE if you are under 18, DO NOT INTERACT. 

PLEASE do not report, as this is my warning to those who do not wish to view NSFW. I, like most writers, work hard on each piece we choose to publish, and reporting it will decrease the number of readers it reaches... Thank you for understanding ✧˖°

Magicians have no need for something many folk cling onto - luck. After all, every trick they perform is something they study, polish, rearrange, rehearse. Everything is staged to the finest of details, leaving no room for unpredictable variables to enter the equation. Every performance is acted out accordingly, a mental checklist going on inside the performer's mind as each prop is placed and moved about, each line is repeated from the rehearsals, each movement in one’s body is carefully played out. Everything is a carefully crafted performance, and what need do they have for luck? None.

To Lyney, such is the truth. Well, at least this philosophy held itself rock solid, up until the incident that nearly landed him a guilty verdict. Despite his confidence in his abilities to wow the crowds, even before there would always be a small but ever present pitter patter to his heart, a quiet reminder of his own nervousness before the show would begin. He would usually handle himself most well, though through the eyes of those closest to them, the normal feeling of “performance jitters” wasn’t all that well hidden. Well, and if that were the case, more so after things went back to normal.

His breathing would be a little more unstable, his fingers would fidget with one of his cards as his eyes darted about his changing room. He would fiddle with his exquisite hat, rebraid his hair while trying to ease himself. Things had gone back to normal, their scheduled shows were once more popular and always fully booked. Yet still, there always was this sense of anxiety deep in his stomach, never truly going away as he quietly wondered if the show would go as planned. 

Well, thankfully he had someone to help ease his mind each time. And as if right on que as he brooded over the upcoming performance, a knock to his dressing room was heard, the door opening to reveal the loveliest of sights. At the door stood [F/N], his lovely girlfriend who would always visit him before he went on stage. 

“Hi Lyney! Hope I’m not intruding?” She asked sweetly, smiling his way which only helped to ease his worries.

“You never are, my love. Come in!” He breathes out, the eagerness to have her close not quite passing unnoticed to her. He extends his arms before fully taking her in his embrace, sighing deeply as he inhales the familiar perfume she would always wear. His favorite. 

“How are you feeling?” [F/N]’s voice grows softer, her arms resting around his lower back as she smiles his way. The silence that follows is enough of an answer, her magician simply distracting himself with playing with the tips of her hair. “...Nervous?”

“...Hah, why it seems nothing really blinks past you. I may have taught you… Too well…” He jests, the smile on his face betraying him before it drops slightly. It reveals some of his vulnerability for her, his violet eyes locking with her own before he speaks up again. “I suppose it’s just some performance jitters again, nothing new...”

“It’s okay Lyney. You’ll do great, I know so.” Her smile shone brighter than the very sun, beaming with warmth that was only cast to him. It comforted his very being, filling his conflicted heart with sugary sweetness that only soothed him in a way no one else could. And if that wasn’t enough, the next few sentences were the ones that would always, always seal the deal for him. “Everything will go well, and everyone will be wowed by your hard work. I’m proud of you.”

It was as though his heart was struck, pierced with cupid’s arrow as he couldn’t keep up the calm and confident act. Lyney’s body visibly relaxed, a content snicker escaping his lips as his arms brought her closer. His lips were quicker than his words, filling her face with brief yet lovely kisses, watching with glee as she giggled as a response. Amidst each kiss he whispered words of gratitude for her support, his hands roaming throughout her lower back as he yearned to feel her closer and closer. 

“Lyney… You didn’t even let me finish!” She laughed, her words being cut off with a deeper kiss as his lips found her own. She could feel his smile against her lips, the magician quite literally stealing her breath away before finally pulling away. 

“Oh, I’m sorry dear. I just can’t contain myself, you’re just too adorable for me to!” He sighed, the flamboyant hum in which he spoke glittering the otherwise full truth she very well knew. “To think a professional magician would be wowed in such a way, you’ll be the death of me…”

“You almost make it sound like I’m such a bad thing.” [F/N] rolled her eyes playfully, her fingers carefully adjusting his hair before inspecting to see if his braid was well done. 

It was in small moments like so that Lyney would cease to speak, allowing his beloved to do as she pleased. His eyes would focus solely on her, watching how her expression would shift, her eyes roaming about to ensure he looked his absolute best. He could feel his heart beating hard against his ribcage, no longer solely because of the nervousness he would feel before each one of his shows. The mere sight of his girlfriend was enough to blow away the growing blaze of anxiety, leaving it only in embers that with time would cease. Her mere care, her mere nature, her beauty inside out… 

It was enough to leave Lyney riddled into little more than a lovesick puppy, the loopy smile upon his pretty face being reserved only for her. 

“Lyney?” [F/N] called for him once more, watching as he finally seemed to come back to. His hands were roaming around her hips, carefully circling around her figure as he finally let out a soft hum for her to continue. “You’re a little too quiet… Everything okay?”

“I’m so lucky to have you, [F/N]...”

It was her turn to be left speechless, her face morphing to surprise as their gazes locked. He watched as the loveliest shade of red adorned her cheeks, the flusteredness he’d often cause on her never failing to amuse him. Still, despite so, he hoped she knew just how sincere he was with his words. 

“Oh Archons… What’s gotten into you?” Her voice whined a little lower, her eyes turning away to avoid him for a mere instance in which her flusteredness was still far too raw. She could feel how his lips chased after her skin, peppering her with light and soft kisses by the corner of her mouth. 

“Nothing.” He responded, his usual flair dropping to soft whispers as he carefully turned her around, helping her have a seat on his vanity. Between fleeting kisses, Lyney took the opportunity to bring himself between her legs, his hands never letting her stray far from himself. “I just wish to remind you more often, because it’s the truth.”

“Well I think it’s the other way around, you know… I’m the one that’s lucky here.” [F/N] smiled softly, her hands finding rest on his shoulders before gently massaging his tense muscles. Her boyfriend leaned back, his eyes gleaming with a twinkle that seemed familiar, one of challenge and mischievousness that would often leave her questioning before finally realizing what he’d plotted. 

“My my, is that so?” He hummed, head tilting to the side while his grip on her tightened ever so slightly. “If that’s the case, how come each time you visit me beforehand, every show I perform runs far better than what I expect?”

“Oh, you’re really running with that?” She giggled, music to his ears. “Only because I kissed you that one time, telling you it would bring you good luck?”

“And did that show not go beyond amazing? In fact, I do believe that was the peak in my career thus far.” He reasoned with a nod to his head, kissing her deeply before resting his forehead against her own. “Therefore, I’m the lucky one here, and you my dear [F/N], are my lucky charm.”

“Oh Lyney…” She sighed softly, stroking her hand through his blond locks slowly. “I didn’t know that tonight my magician was planning to turn me into putty in his hands.”

It was his turn to laugh, quietly, yet full of warmth and endearment. “It’s what you get for stealing this magician’s heart long ago.”

“Ah! I’m gone. Goodbye Fontaine, I am melting from my boyfriend’s words!” [F/N] leaned back dramatically, Lyney catching her before she would fall too far and hit her head against the large mirror of his vanity. The pair laughed in unison, fingers interlacing as he brought her close to himself once more.

“You’ve definitely gotten that dramatic flair from me.” He pointed out, his free hand now resting firmly on her thigh. He watched with hearts in his eyes as she giggled at his comment, shrugging her shoulders before bringing him closer with her legs. 

“I love you.” [F/N] whispered, leaning forward before it being her turn to steal a few kisses for herself. 

It never stopped after that though, one going after the other, kisses lingering longer before them turning into a longer makeout session. The way her lips were always so soft, so warm, the faint taste of her favorite chapstick melting against his own, it never failed to leave Lyney yearning for more, his whole being focusing solely on his lover whilst everything else blurred around them. His tongue carefully peeked through his own lips before swiping across her own, the grin being felt against her mouth as he felt her jolt slightly from the antic. Giving him permission to continue, Lyney carefully led the dance, his tongue meeting her own as they both ignored the need of air, muffled breaths fanning one another as their hands held the other closer, tighter. Before he knew it he was leaning himself forward and her backwards, a little more, his body pressing against her own before they were practically bent with her head touching the mirror behind them. Her legs were pressed against his sides, never letting him stray too far, her hands stroking through his back and hair, sending shivers down his spine as sparks ignited deep within him. 

“L…Lyn-ney…” She murmured between breaths, him finally tilting his head so the two of them could breathe. The way her tongue stuck out of her mouth as she breathed heavily seemed to only entice something further deep within him. “W…What about your show?”

“Worried about that?” He inquired, the clear endearment for her concern being evident in his tone of voice. He leaned closer, voice whispering as he slowly licked the strand of saliva that had dropped down her chin. “We still have time, if that’s what’s troubling you dear.”

“H-Hah…” The words seemed to get stuck on her throat as his hands maneuvered around her frame, carefully parting her legs a little more to give him better access. His fingers quickly grabbed a hold of the hem of her dress, lifting it up slightly before resting his palm on her warm thigh, his lips still remaining close to her own as his very being craved more of her.

“Do you want me to stop?” Lyney softly asked, leaning back as his own breath grew uneven. His face too displayed a lovely shade of pink, his lips redder after the relentless kisses she’d given him. His eyes were glittering with excitement, half-lidded with pure love as he waited for her response. His thumb was caressing her skin softly, the circular motion he did easing her more than arousing her as he searched for her honest answer.

It was embarrassing to admit, but [F/N] absolutely did not want to stop. Her body felt far too hot for her to go back on it now. “I… N-No.”

“Are you certain, dear?” He leaned closer, eyes squinting softly as his breath fanned her face. His hands slithered a little more upwards, giving her goosebumps as they traveled up to her hips. “I don’t want to put you in any situation that might be even a little uncomfortable… I will understand if this is-”

“N-No Lyney, I’m okay.” She nodded her head to reassure him, her hands gripping his clothing tighter as if not wanting him to move an inch away. “I admit, it’s… A bit nerve wracking, given the place but… I still don’t want you to stop.”

He bit his lip, smiling with both excitement and apology. “I’m sorry love, I always seem to get carried away when it’s about you.”

It definitely was the truth, especially given with the way his hands moved around her body. There was always a certain kind of care in each movement, his grip upon her skin tight and loving, as if reassuring himself she was there, with him. Lyney was both selfish and giving when it came to his beloved [F/N], always wanting more for himself, yet always wanting to reassure her she felt properly adored.  

“We’ll have to be-” He kissed her again, followed by another, her lips trying to keep up with his own as he gave her fleeting kisses. “Very quiet- Okay?”

“M-Mhm.” She nodded her head, her face blushing a deeper shade of red as his fingers finally lifted her skirt up. Her own hands helped him hold it up for him, watching him as it finally dawned on her, his figure getting nice and cozy in between her legs before he kneeled down. “L-Lyney?”

The grin he gave her was enough to make her lower region throb. 

“I’m craving a taste of you, baby. Could you please indulge me?” He whispered, his hands parting her legs before resting securely against them. His head turned to her left thigh, leaving a trail of small bites and kisses as he came closer, delighting himself in every reaction she offered him, every gasp and jump, every attempt at caging his head in between her legs. 

“J-Just- Don’t tease me, please.” [F/N] outright pleaded, earning herself an honest nod of his head as his eyes sparkled in anticipation. 

Carefully, her eyes jumped back at the closed door before going back to him, her breath trembling as she breathed out from her parted lips. Whilst one hand held her dress up, the other slowly lowered, helping him to remove the lacey underwear that hid his most wanted prize away. And with a lift of her hips, they were off easily, hanging by her ankle as Lyney’s gaze focused solely on the erotic view before him. His [F/N], holding her dress up for him, sat on his vanity as her chest rose and lowered irregularly, her pussy in full display for him alone. It was enough to get him aroused, the fabric of his own clothes becoming far too constricting as he felt his boner raging to be freed.

His experienced hands crept closer, thumbs slowly hovering her juicy lips before deliciously parting them. He could feel his mouth go dry in an instance, the view of her leaking pussy outright hypnotizing him as she let out a quiet moan. He couldn’t help himself but play around with her pussy lips a little, after all, how could he not? The way her pretty hole would throb in want, leaking out her nectar only for him, dripping down her skin and onto his table, the squelching sounds being nearly enough for him to lose all sense of control. He couldn’t help himself but stare, watch in lust before her soft moans and whines became a little too loud, all the while still arousing him even further.

“Lyney!” She pleaded in a whisper, the pout she offered him sending his heart racing. 

“Yes, you’re right baby… I’m sorry.” He hummed, leaning forth before finally giving her heat a long, slow and deep lick. The vibrations from his hum resonated with her pussy, sending pleasant shockwaves throughout her body as she shut her lips right before moaning. “We’re gonna have to be quieter, love. Can you do that for me?” 

It was difficult to hear him when he was practically squishing his face against her pussy, yet from the mere fact he’d stopped, [F/N] had been able to deduct what he wanted from her quickly enough. She nodded her head eagerly, blushing even deeper as she bit her lip.

“Mhm… ‘M sorry…”

It truly divided Lyney’s heart in two, for he absolutely adored hearing every sound [F/N] would bless him with. Her voice already was pure melody for his ears, all the more when she would be moaning due to his administrations. However, the pure excitement of their ordeal, having a chance of being caught, it was enough to keep him going, to entice him to lick more, to lap around her clit again, to suckle on it whilst plunging one of his fingers deep inside. The way his beloved would instead jolt more often, writhe above him, attempt to suffocate him as her legs tried to close around him, all to not be as vocal, it all had him entranced. 

"You taste so good…" He groaned against her folds, his tongue practically spelling out his love for her as he ate her out with such passion. The groans and sighs that would escape him would only please her further, sending [F/N] closer and closer to her own release as she practically bit down her tongue to quiet out her own moans. Lyney simply couldn't have enough of her taste, lapping every last drop to his greedy tongue as he yearned for more, fingering and licking it out of her as he could feel her gummy walls throb against his fingers. "You're so wet, too… So dirty, my angel."

"L-Lyney…" She mumbled, her erotic whine finally pulling him out of his trance to look her way. By that point she'd already held her fingers around his hair, him not even noticing up until that very moment. 

His light eyes glanced up, for a moment the magician forgetting how to even breathe. It felt as though the wind was knocked out of him, staring up to see his beloved gazing down at him with such a needy look. Her cheeks were flushed, the thin layer of sweat visible on her forehead as her grip on his hair tightened softly. Her teeth were by that point gritting tightly against the hem of her dress, it being her faint attempt at keeping her noises down to a minimum as he ate her out to his heart's content. The view was dirty, marvelous. The dress was lifted to such a way he could now see part of her tummy as well, her body lined with sweat as it reacted to every little touch he gave her. 

It drove Lyney over the edge. He couldn't wait any longer. The breath finally left his mouth in a shaky notion, her thighs shaking like jello as it hit her bare pussy before he got up. 

"Gods, you're so gorgeous [F/N]." He outright moaned, his fingers carefully taking the fabric out of her mouth. He watched how she heaved deeply, her lips tempting him to latch onto them. And who was he to refuse, but a poor magician whose heart had been stolen by the woman before him?

He leaned in quickly, capturing her lips against his own as they both moaned against one another. Their hands couldn't let go of the other, fiddling with their clothes as they attempted to find the best position to finally get what they both wanted. [F/N] leaned herself to the edge of the table, her legs still apart for him as her fingers now fiddled with his belt, unbuckling it before finally freeing him of his leather shorts. Lyney could feel his cock throbbing already, eager to finally plunge inside of her spongy walls and ease the yearning he so deeply felt. He groaned against her lips as she finally freed his hard length, pumping it for him slowly as it was now her turn to suck on his tongue with her own lips. 

"I need you, Lyney…" [F/N] moaned, helping him to part her legs further as he kept his face closer to her own. 

"I know, baby, I know. It's only fair I indulge you after you've treated me so well, right?" He hummed with a smile, all the while his face indicating just how excited he was. 

He grunted quietly as he carefully rubbed his cock against her leaking folds, the two of them attempting to quiet their moans down to the best of their abilities. [F/N] could feel how the particularly protruding vein on the side of his cock rubbed against her pussy, sending tears to the corners of her eyes as she felt herself closer and closer to her release after being so well tended to by her lover. Lyney in turn kissed her tears away, his lips never leaving her face as he practically gulped down her moans to himself. After coating both her pussy with his pre and his cock with her bountiful juices he stopped, lining himself with her entrance before, with a glance shared, he carefully thrusted himself inside.

His hands gripped onto her knees, his lips shutting themselves tightly so as to not moan out as he often would. The way his eyebrows furrowed as he attempted to not voice much of the obvious pleasure he was feeling was a delightful view, [F/N]'s face blushing madly as she brought him closer. Her arms wrapped around him tightly as she hid her face against his neck, her lips pressing against his skin as she quietly whimpered in pleasure. 

"Ah, Lyney!" She moaned quietly, her nails digging into his shoulders as his own sighs of pleasure hit her ear. 

"You're so tight, baby-" He in turn hissed gently, feeling how her spongy walls swallowed him whole as he finally bottomed out. His own hands were gripping harshly against her skin, the two of them sharing moans between one another even as his tip hit her deepest part. "Fuck, you're so wet. It feels so good."

"Please Lyney, give me more…" [F/N] pleaded to him, her eyes wide and glistening with pleasure as she leaned back for an instance. At that point she was once more leaning back against the rest of his vanity, granting him access to pound as deeply as his heart desired. The mere sight of her in such a way was enough for him to derail. 

"Archons, anything for you [F/N]." The magician grunted, his hands leaving her knees as his lips latched onto her own. 

By her own she was able to open her legs as widely as possible, the hem of her dress covering everything from the mid-thigh up as her hands were far too busy around his body. They wrapped around him tightly, effectively caging Lyney in between her much to his contentment. His own hands were busy holding her as close as possible, resting on her hips securely as to not knock her or anything else out, the items on his furniture tumbling slightly with every thrust he pounded into her needy core. With each time he bottomed out Lyney reached deeper, the tip of his cock effectively kissing her cervix as he molded her walls to his shape. He drank her every moan as if he worshiped all sounds she offered, his lips sucking on her tongue in such a lewd manner that he couldn't help but grin over how she squeezed him harder over it. 

"Hyaahhhh, Hinhey…" [F/N] attempted to moan his name out, her puffy lips parted as his own toyed with her tongue to his pleasure. 

He could feel the way she was milking him dry, her juices thoroughly coating his cock generously as her pussy practically praised and outright worshiped him. Her walls throbbed deliriously, sending him closer and closer to his edge as he fucked her through what he very well knew was her approaching orgasm. 

"Is my baby- Close?" He leaned back to speak, humming quietly while licking his own lips eagerly. He watched as she nodded her head quickly, her fingers combing through his hair slowly, deeply. Just how he loved it. "Here, cum for me will you? You can take me like this as you do, right baby?"

[F/N] bit her lip, nodding her head again. She watched how one of his hands left her hips, holding it up for her to take it. His girlfriend took it without thinking twice, their fingers lacing together before Lyney held them against his mirror, his pace quickening up. Once more he glued his lips to hers, never quite truly satisfied with her kisses just as much as he never quite got enough of her pussy. Her breath against him grew ragged, her moans growing ever louder, all while trying to suppress them in what he could only find the cutest whines. He bent her more, held her tighter, he pounded deeper into her. He could feel her moans vibrate against his mouth before she finally gasped, a high pitched sob being all she could muster before her inner walls violently spasmed around him, creaming his cock bountifully as she rode her high. Even still, just as he'd asked her to, Lyney continued to thrust, still as deeply albeit slower, letting her savor her release just as he quickly followed with his closing one. 

"Gyah, L-Lyney-!" [F/N] moaned against him, he in turn shushed her in understanding. "Mmm, t-to much!"

"I'm so close baby, so close…" He whispered, his thrusts a little less rhythmic as he tried to focus. His eyes opened to gaze deeply into hers, the sight of her red cheeks and unfocused eyes only edging him further deep into the abyss of pleasure. "Can you please take it just a little more? Just like this…”

“Mhm…” She eagerly nodded her head, the tears of overstimulation streaming down her face sending a long shiver down his spine. His free hand came to rest upon the side of her face, thumb clearing the tears away as his grip on her other hand tightened. “I-Inside, please.”

He bit his tongue gently as he smiled, nodding his head before pulling her head closer for a deep kiss. “Anything for my lovely lady.”

Against him she moaned, him in unison as he felt the knot deep inside himself finally snap. Lyney felt his eyes shut, a deep low grunt leaving his throat before he finally felt his release wash over him. He thrusted deeper still, his pace finally slowing down as thick ropes of seed flooded over [F/N]’s inner walls. Her womb was eager to receive the abundant load, being painted white from inside out as it overflowed whilst he still remained sheathed inside. Whilst their fingers were still locked she brought him closer, holding him tightly as her body shivered with the overstimulation. Lyney could feel his breath finally begin to slow down, a few final slow thrusts of his hips following as he moaned quietly, ensuring he was milked for all he was worth. He held his [F/N] close, as close as possible, their bodies finally relaxing as they rested atop his vanity, her body welcoming him closer as his seed leaked down and dropped onto the ground.

Even as she still regulated her breath, lips puffy and red and mascara slightly smudged from the sweat and tears, Lyney lunged forward, capturing her lips for the millionth time. Never satiated, like the greedy man he was at heart, he smiled against her as he enveloped her closer, relishing a moment longer. The silence that followed felt comforting, the two of them sighing in bliss as he felt her arms around his figure. 

“Sorry… It must’ve been uncomfortable to sit like that, on such a surface.” He stated, eyebrows furrowing softly as his thumbs cleared her smudged makeup as much as he could. Lyney dared not move, still not even wanting to pull out. It wasn’t as though he could anyway, for the way [F/N]’s legs captured him definitely sent a message for him to stay a little longer.

“Mhm, it’s fine… I enjoyed it all the same.” She smiled sheepishly, relishing in his soft touches as she in turn rearranged his side swept bangs. 

“I’m glad.” He sighed in relief, the pair too engrossed into one another to even notice how some bottles had tumbled over amidst their frolicking. “Still, next time I’ll be sure to make up for it, for all of it.”

“Lyney, truly it’s fine!” [F/N] laughed softly, finally opening her legs for him to move more freely. She watched in amusement how her boyfriend coughed softly upon noticing how heavy she leaked, rummaging through the room to find a towel he could dampen to help clean up. “Sorry… We might’ve taken too long, no?”

“Hey, if anything it’s my fault… It’s what I get for being so greedy.” He reassured her with a sincere smile, carefully helping her to clean up before dressing her back up. [F/N] watched as he fanned his face with his hand, the blush on his face still evident as she helped him dress up as well, a snicker escaping her pretty lips at the sight. 

“Well… I still… Very much enjoyed it.” [F/N] reiterated, her voice low as she helped him button up his undershirt. His smile was difficult to ignore, especially so as she helped him retrace the tear he would always paint on his right cheek. 

“...I did, too.” He pulled her closer by the waist, smiling in a devilish, albeit inoffensive manner. He pulled her closer, stealing a deeper kiss as he relished on the taste of her lips, hoping to steal some of her chapstick for himself so he could taste it all throughout his performance. As he pulled away, he whispered quietly to her, fingers playing with the end of her hair. “...Maybe next time we do this, I can have you turned to my mirror. The faces you make are simply delicious, my dear.”

The way [F/N]’s face turned to utter surprise was enough of a reaction, the magician following with a sneaky laugh as he pinched her behind as the cherry on top. In turn, his girlfriend gently slapped his arm, huffing as her cheeks turned bright red, his laughter becoming louder as a result.

“Lyney!” She groaned, nearly turning around from him in embarrassment.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry baby! Mostly.” He chuckled, embracing her before kissing her cheek with the usual level of endearment that was solely reserved for her. 

“Hmph…” She pouted, though both knew it wasn’t something to last long. “...Good luck on your show, honey.”

“After this? It’ll be the best show yet…” He in turn whispered, his forehead resting against her head as they quieted down. “I’ll see you after?”

“I’ll be waiting here.” [F/N] smiled softly, them embracing one another before finally deciding to part.

Well, Lyney had always been energetic in his performances, yet there seemed to be an improvement on that particular one. True to his word, that performance definitely did do amazingly well, becoming the talk of the following weeks.

All thanks to his lucky charm.

#genshin lyney x reader #genshin impact lyney x reader #lyney x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin drabbles #genshin impact drabbles #yoko drabbles

[multifandom-worlds]

Party Like a Rockstar....Fuck Like a Pornstar

Genre: Almost smut? Like, smut adjacent.

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: Alcohol, fairly descriptive talk of sex, mild derogatory language

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x reader x Theodore Nott

Authors Note: This is my first fic for this fandom. Probably pretty out of character for them. Please let me know if there is anything I missed, anything I should do differently next time, etc. Thanks for reading!

“I don’t understand why they prefer to spend time with her rather than with us?”

You listened to a group of random Slytherin 5th years as they fawned over Theodore and Matthew, watching them at their Quidditch game against Gryffindor. You were used to other students wanting your boys, even though the three of you did not keep your relationship with each other a secret. It just came with the territory—you had two of the hottest Slytherin boys wrapped around your finger, doing whatever you asked of them as the obedient little dogs they really were. 

“Look at her, seriously? Look at all the hickeys on her neck. She’s so trashy!”You chuckle to yourself, stretching out in the bleachers and enjoying the sun on your face. If only they knew how you got those hickeys, how fuck drunk you were on their cocks just the night before as they ruined you, leaving you a dripping, overstimulated mess on Theo’s bed. If only they knew how you had Theo whimpering,  begging to be touched while you rode Mattheo’s face. 

You watch, along with the other fangirls, as they fly around overhead, watching their muscles contract. You press your thighs together, feeling heat start to grow between them—they were losing, and you knew whenever they lost, especially to Gryffindor, they would be angry and take all that pent-up emotion out of you. Not that you mind, you had no issues being their little fuck toy, mainly because they would shower you with praise once they felt better. 

While you were daydreaming, Slytherin had caught the snitch and won the game. The entire Slytherin bleachers erupted into hoots and hollers as they descended on the field. “Party in the Slytherin common room!” Blaise shouted above the din. 

You watch as that gaggle of 5th years swarm Mattheo and Theodore, pressing themselves all up over them, batting their eyelashes and flirting relentlessly. 

“You played so well!”

“You looked so hot up there!”

“Come back to my dorm, and I can help…relieve those sore muscles of yours. I’m really good with my hands.”

Theo dramatically gags, hearing what they have said, causing the rest of the team to laugh. He turns his attention to the 5th year directly in front of him. “And what’s your name?”

“Lacey, Lacey Goldrun. You’re Theodore Nott! My friends are Tara, Serena, Elena and Sophia. We have been yours and Mattheos' biggest fans ever! We come to all your games and know your whole schedule, even where your dorm is!” One of them responds, her face lighting up at the fact that Theodore Nott was talking to her.

Mattheo looks at them suspiciously. “That’s stalkerish.” 

“Well, Lacey Goldrun,” Theo began, looking down at her, eyes boring a hole into her. “You must be new here because everyone knows Matt and I are spoken for, so if you dare touch me again, I will…” 

You stick your finger and thumb in your mouth, letting out a high-pitched whistle, attracting the attention of every person on the Quidditch field. Theo draws his eyes away from Lacey before he and Mattheo begin to push their way through the crowd to you. 

“Walk 'em like a dog, sis!” Lorenzo shouts as you begin to walk back to the castle.

“Walk am like a dog!” Draco echos, erupting into a fit of laughter.

Both of them roll their eyes and flip the group the bird before diligently following you back to their dorm for their after-game ritual. Most would assume they planned on bedding you, but the reality was much softer. They took turns taking a shower to clean off all the sweat before the player who scored the most points in that game got to steal you for a nap.

Theo came out of the bathroom, a towel draped around his hips, seeing you and Mattheo fast asleep on his bed. The faintest smile pulled on his lips before he kissed both your cheeks and went to get changed and go for a smoke. “He scored one more point than I did, cara mia; how is this fair?” He chuckled to himself before leaving the dorm.

You moan into his kiss as he presses his body into yours from the front. You could feel just how hard both of them were, and it was all because of you. With Mattheo’s lips on your neck, your free hand slides down between your bodies to palm Theo through his jeans. 

Hours later, the Slytherin common room was packed - drunks were flowing, music was blaring, and the party was in full swing. You were grinding against Mattheo, your arms around his neck while his hands were on your hips, holding you tight against him. “You’re so fucking perfect, mon petit coeur. This dress..” He trails off, his hands sliding down your legs, playing with the hem of your admittedly concise dress. You continue to gride on him, making eye contact with Theo, sitting a few feet away.

“Fuck, cara mia, you look so fucking good griding on him like that.” Theo groans, walking over to you and Mattheo. He grabs your cheeks in one hand, forcing you to look up at him before he claims your mouth, his hand falling from your cheeks to your throat, squeezing gently. 

“Merlin, I wish that was me,” A very drunk Lacey whines. She was trying to make it look like she was talking to her friends, but she was staring straight at the 3 of you. You pull yourself away from your boys, strolling over to her before leaning in close to whisper in her ear.

“You want to be this trashy, do you little one? You want to be so cock drunk that you don’t even know your name, and you can’t sit on your ass for weeks because of how many times their hands came down on your ass?” You give her a quick once over, clicking your tongue in disgust. “You couldn’t handle this being you; you’d break before they even got started.” 

Lacey looks at you, eyes glassy in her drunken state. You squeeze the bridge of your nose. She didn’t understand a single thing you just said to her—which is probably a good thing. You didn’t necessarily want to traumatize the poor girl. You turn to her friends, “Take her back to her dorm; make sure she stays there. I don’t want to see any of you until morning. Do you understand me?” 

The other girls nod quickly, fear prevalent on their faces as they quickly pull Lacey away, disappearing into the crowd. You walk back to Mattheo and Theo. “That was one of the hottest things I have seen you do in a long time,” Mattheo says, grabbing your ass and pulling you close, stealing the words right off your tongue. 

You hardly had a moment to breathe before Theo's nicotine-stained lips made contact with yours. Mattheo lets go of your ass, disappearing into the hordes of people. You were so lost in Theo’s kiss that it barely even registered that he was gone. 

He bites your bottom lip, pulling away every so slightly before letting it go. “If you weren’t so drunk right now..” He began, hands on your ass, “I would drag you update and fuck that mouth of yours. Matt was right; that was one of the sexiest things you have done in a while, telling people what kind of perfect slut you are for us.” 

You go to say something, but you are interrupted by a shot glass getting shoved between your tits. You know who that hand belongs to - you look up at Mattheo, fire whiskey in his hands. “Celebratory shots, Theo?” He questions, pouring the alcohol into the shot glass.

“After you,” Theo says, taking the bottle from the other boy's hand. Mattheo smirks, shoving his face between your tits, wrapping his lips around the shot glass before lifting his head up and back, downing the liquid in one swallow. He takes the glass out of his mouth before handing it to Theo.

“My turn, Cara Mia, be a good girl now, and I might reward you when you sober up,” Theo says, placing the shot glass back between your tits. He poured some fire whiskey until it was overflowing. “Whoops,” he smirks before he, too, shoves his face between your tits and takes the glass between his lip.

#slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo x you #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #Mattheo x you x Theodore

[piichuu]

♡ TREATING HIS WOUNDS

ft. levi ackerman, reiner braun, jean kirschtein, erwin smith, eren yeager

WARNINGS: mentions of blood and wounds, broken arms etc, fluff, gn!reader

LEVI ACKERMAN

“you shouldn’t worry about such small scratches. it’s not a big deal,” your boyfriend speaks as he’s sitting on a chair in the medical tent. initially, you had planned for doctors to take care of his wounds, but as there were much more severe injuries to take care of, you took things into your own hands and pushed him onto the nearest chair before you began searching for a medical kit you could borrow.

he has just come back from a mission together with the survey corps and as soon as you saw the small wounds on his arms and how he could barely walk properly, you grabbed his hand to pull him towards the medical tent. “these are not scratches, they’re wounds. you’ve obviously hurt your knee as well, stop trying to deny it,” you speak with tears in your eyes. he may be the strongest soldier of them all, but that doesn’t mean that you aren’t constantly worrying for him.

you begin to clean the small wounds on his arms, making sure there is no chance they’ll get infected before bandaging them. meanwhile, levi is looking down at you, now with a softer gaze than the one he previously wore as you practically forced him to walk here when he himself didn’t think he needed any help. seeing the tears in your eyes however do cause him to frown slightly, not enjoying when you worry so much.

“hey, i’m okay. it could have been a lot worse-“ “don’t say that! i don’t want to think it could’ve been worse. if i got to decide, you wouldn’t even be on the survey corps anymore,” you mumble while pulling up the leg of his pants to check his knee, gently touching it which causes him to let out a pained groan. “i’ll ask a doctor to look at this when they have some free time, i don’t think you’ll be able to walk properly for a while…”

that’s enough. he can’t handle seeing that sad expression on your face when realizing that he has been injured, even if it isn’t as severe as so many others. “look at me,” he cups your face, forcing you to look at him. “i’m alive. i won’t die during a mission, that’s a promise. you can trust me, as long as i have you by my side, i will always fight to survive,” he speaks while looking into your eyes.

you nod and quickly wrap your arms around him even if it looks a little awkward with you now standing up again as he sits on the chair. he strokes your back gently and sighs. “i’m so happy you’re back again,” you mumble and he nods, continuing to stroke your back. “me too. i guess i’ll be stuck here for a while as well with this knee, so we’ll have to make the best of it.”

REINER BRAUN

you’re quiet while inspecting his face, touching the small bruises you can find. as he doesn’t react to your touches, relief spreads throughout your body, but as you notice that he’s bleeding through his shirt by the arm, your heart instantly sinks again. reiner notices where your gaze has headed as well and sighs, knowing he has once again caused you to worry. “i promise it doesn’t hurt too much, baby. don’t worry, please?” he strokes your hair gently, but only for a short while before you take hold of his hand and lead him into the bathroom.

“what happened, reiner?” you ask while helping him hop onto the counter as you rummage through the cupboards to find the med kit. “was out training and went a little too hard. i fell on a tree branch, i won’t be training outside next time,” he mumbles, watching as you finally pull out a few paper towels to try to get rid of most of the blood.

he doesn’t know what to say as you treat the wound on his arm. the disinfection you carefully put onto his wounds does sting, but it is bearable. you’re always so careful with him when he’s been injured, no matter how severe it is. something he hates is worrying you but it is still something he often succeeds to do. “i’m sorry, darling. i know you’ve told me to be careful when i’m training outside,” he mumbles while leaning his head back against the wall. a day full of training with friends does become exhausting after all.

“it’s okay, i just don’t like to see you hurt,” your voice can barely be heard as you speak, focusing on taking care of his arm that receives a bandage from you. but you still aren’t finished as you once again go quiet to check if his arm is broken. “it doesn’t hurt that much, and it’s not broken, don’t worry. we already checked that after i fell.”

you sigh and nod, putting the med kit back into the cupboard as reiner gets back on his feet and goes to wrap his arms around your waist. “you worry about me too much,” he whispers, placing a soft kiss to your cheek as you put your arms around his neck and bury your face into his shoulder blade. “i know, but after all those years of you fighting titans and humans, i never know what will happen when you’re out and about…”

“that was years ago, darling. the worst that can happen to me is something like this. i’m not risking my life like that anymore, okay? don’t worry about me, this wound will heal in a second. you’ll get a heart attack if you worry every time i leave the house,” you nod in agreement and close your eyes. reiner then opens his mouth to continue speaking. “i do worry about you too though, so i guess i can’t say much, but i want you to be happy, not to worry about me. i’m always gonna come back home to you.”

JEAN KIRSCHTEIN

“you need to be more careful, jean,” you mumble while cleaning the few wounds that are covering his face. it had been hit by tree branches as him and the rest of the survey corps were out on a less dangerous mission, but he had still succeeded to get hurt. he himself told you that he forgot to cover his face as they rode in the middle of the woods where most of the trees were.

he pouts slightly, getting scolded by you for probably the hundredth time during your relationship as he’s often out on dangerous missions and is risking his life. “i didn’t know it would be so crowded with trees. connie got hit too!” “neither you or connie are the smartest, so don’t use that as an excuse.”

jean sighs but wraps his arms around your waist. “don’t be mad at me, please,” his pout grows and you roll your eyes, but a small smile slowly appears over your face. “i’m not mad, i was just worried that it would be more severe. connie wasn’t really making it sound like it was something small, i thought you’d almost gotten eaten by a titan or something,” you explain which now causes your boyfriend to frown.

“he’s so dumb, i’m sorry that he made you worry so much,” he cups your face and looks at you with a soft smile playing at his lips while you’re putting bandages onto his cheeks and forehead. “it’s nice though, knowing that you worry so much about me. it makes me feel loved even if i don’t want you to feel so worried all the time.”

you wrap your arms around his neck and lean in to give him a quick kiss. he looks at you with sparkling eyes and pulls you closer to him. “thank you for always taking care of me, i love you so so much,” he whispers, kissing your cheek before burying his face into the crook of your neck. “i love you too, jean. let’s go cuddle now.” “sounds good to me.”

ERWIN SMITH

“don’t cry, darling,” erwin speaks as you’re currently changing the bandage on his shoulder, right where his arm was bitten off by one of the many titans. it’s only been a few days since then and he’s supposed to change bandage every few days as it may still bleed a little. seeing the large wound does however cause tears to fill your eyes, how can it not? he’s your boyfriend after all and knowing the pain he must’ve felt as he lost the arm hurts your heart.

erwin strokes your hair gently and tilts his head to the side. “hey, it’s okay. it doesn’t hurt as much anymore,” his voice is soft just like his eyes and you meet his gaze as you finally look away from his arm with tears running down your cheeks. “i’m sorry, it just makes me so sad to think about it. i wish you didn’t have to go through so much pain.”

“don’t apologize, darling. it’s gonna heal soon and we won’t have to change this bandage as much. it’s a shame i only have one arm though, but it will stop hurting, i promise,” he smiles sweetly while moving his hand to your cheek, just wanting you to look at him at the moment, not wanting you to focus on his shoulder for now. “i’m okay, don’t worry about me. i’m still alive, that’s what matters.”

you nod and wipe your tears away, giving him a slight smile before you go back to bandaging his large wound. meanwhile, erwin is trying his best not to let out groans of pain as he doesn’t want you to worry even more. instead, he keeps a smile on his face and kisses your cheek as you finally finish treating the wound. “thank you, my love.”

he puts his arm around your waist and presses a kiss to your forehead. “i have to do some paperwork now. if you want, you can keep me company, but i’ll try to finish in an hour so we can do whatever you want later,” the two of you smile at one another and you nod. “i’ll keep you company, i promise i won’t try to distract you.” “i doubt i can believe that, but i’ll be happy to have you there.”

EREN YEAGER

eren watches as you’re cleaning his wounds even if you’re aware of the fact that they will heal by themselves. he is a titan shifter after all, but does that matter to you? no. you still can’t trust the process and therefore continue to treat his wounds every single time he’s hurt, even if the wounds will heal in only a minute or two.

“your really don’t have to worry, baby. i’m gonna be completely fine, it doesn’t even hurt,” he speaks as his arm with all the wounds finally begin to heal and he allows you to look at the arm so you can see that it’s actually healed. “look, completely fine. there’s nothing to worry about.”

you nod and sigh before he wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you close to him, as close as you can get. “but thank you for caring about me. i’m happy i’m the one who gets hurt all the time and not you. i don’t know what i would do with myself if you were injured,” he kisses your cheek and hums contently, happy to be close to you after many hours out on a mission.

“but i don’t like it when you’re hurt, even if you heal quick by yourself. even if it doesn’t hurt for long, i don’t want you to be in pain at all,” you pout, getting a chuckle out of him as he leans in to kiss the pout away. “i guess i won’t ever get you to stop worrying, but just remember that i will always come back home to you and allow you to treat my wounds, because that’s always better than me dying. i love you, baby, okay?”

“i love you too eren. just try not to get hurt so often, please?” you look at him with pleading eyes and he nods, smiling softly. “okay, i’ll try my best. i promise that i’ll try my best.”

TAG LIST: @moonmalice @timetobegone @q2iepie

if you want to join the tag list, fill out this form <33

#attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x you #attack on titan fluff #attack on titan eren #attack on titan levi #attack on titan reiner #attack on titan jean #attack on titan erwin #attack on titan hcs #attack on titan headcanons #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #reiner braun #reiner braun x reader #jean kirschstein #jean kirschtein x reader #erwin smith x reader #erwin smith #eren yeager #eren yeager x reader #aot x reader #aot #aot fluff #aot headcanons #aot x y/n #aot x you #x reader

[nochukoo97]

boyfriend drabbles (pt.29)

pairing: jungkook x oc

summary: the one where you react to jungkook’s new music video

word count: 1.6k+

a/n: ALSOO there is a little scene before oc actually reacts to his music video 🥹 sorry i just wanted to add a little scene in hehehe

boyfriend drabbles masterlist!

After a long day, you and Jungkook had ditched your initial plans to go out, both of you instead craving for a peaceful and calm ending to your long and hectic day.

The atmosphere was calming, jazz music sounding filling the silence of your apartment, Jungkook engrossed in his phone, his occasional soft hums harmonizing effortlessly with the music. He has your legs propped up on his lap, his calloused and warm hands brushing over your legs from time to time. You’re deeply concentrated on your newly found book that you had gotten at the bookstore with Jungkook recently, the illustration of a dog on the cover catching your eye.

As you continued to read, what had initially appeared as an endearing story depicting the life of a dog began to unravel before your eyes, gradually transforming into a saddening and heart-wrenching tale that struck at the very core of your emotions.

With another turn of a page, your heart begins to shatter in your chest, tears prick at your eyes, blurring your vision slightly. There was no way the dog’s ending could be this tragic. Soft sniffles escape your now trembling lips, your whole body becoming an emotional wreck to a made up story of a dog.

Jungkook immediately catches the sniffle that sounds through your apartment. Though it had been much softer than the music playing, along with the videos sounding on his phone, he immediately whips his head up, his previously calm expression now etched with concern.

His warm hand reaches out to brush away an incoming tear that threatens to roll down your cheek, Jungkook’s eyes searching your face frantically to read your emotions.

“What’s wrong?” His voice laced with concern, taking the book now scattered with your fallen tears and placing it face down on the coffee table so you won’t lose your page.

All you can muster up is a soft yet exasperated huff, lips turning into a pout as you think about the heart-wrenching plot of the book that left you momentarily speechless. You quickly raise your hands to your face, using the sleeve of your hoodie to wipe away the tears in your eyes.

“This book is so sad, Kook,” you murmur, your voice quivering with a mix of emotions. Your lips tremble slightly as you feel a sob welling up within, threatening to escape. Your gaze remains fixated on the cover of the book, where the cute illustration of the dog seems to mock your current state of distress, its joyful expression almost taunting you.

Jungkook pauses for a moment, the weight of your words sinking in. His response is soft, giving you an understanding smile.

“Does it have a sad ending?” He asks, his fingers gently stroking your cheek.

With a sigh, you nod in confirmation, your heart still heavy. “Yeah, and I had no idea it would be so sad. If I had known, I wouldn't have started reading it,” you confess, your fingers seeking solace in the comforting feel of the hem of his shirt, seeking reassurance in this moment.

“It made me think of Bam,” You tell Jungkook, as the brown doberman whips his head up, ears perking at the mention of his name. You couldn’t help but giggle slightly at his reaction.

Jungkook fondly watches the heart-warming interaction between you and his dog, calling Bam over.

“Well, he’ll be here for a long time, and I’m pretty sure with the amount of things you spoil him with, he’ll have more than just a happy ending,” He reassures you with a playful grin, shoulder nudging you gently to coax a reaction out of you.

You weren’t going to lie, Jungkook’s efforts in making you feel better did work. A smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you pet Bam’s head, the dog’s tail smacking against the sofa as he happily receives all the attention and love.

-

A few hours later, you’re already feeling much better, the previous events slowly escaping from your mind. As you stand next to Jungkook, peering as he gently places the uncooked noodles into the boiling water in the pot, it provides you a sense of warmth.

It’s these domestic yet comforting moments you shared with him that made your relationship so significant to you. For such normal and almost boring tasks to suddenly be a moment of happiness and warmth for you, simply because Jungkook was there.

The familiar smell of ramyeon fills the kitchen, coaxing an involuntary groan from your lips as your mouth waters at the thought of the good food you were about to eat. Jungkook turns to smile amusingly at you, watching as you begin to fiddle with the packets to add, reading the packaging and trying to decipher the words on there.

“Does this say cheese?” You question, pointing to the korean words illustrated on the packet. Jungkook immediately lights up, eyes widening in surprise as he quickly affirms to you, “Yeah, how’d you know?”

“You told me some of the Korean alphabet the other day, remember? I couldn’t remember everything so I just took a wild guess with some of the letters,” You laugh, placing the packet down as you peer up at him.

Jungkook nods, proudly smiling as he continues to stir the noodles that were now cooked. He lets you add the seasoning packets, occasionally stirring with his chopsticks to mix the powder with the noodles.

You shuffle around the apartment to set up the coffee table, placing down two placemats and an extra pair of chopsticks for yourself, as you wait patiently for your boyfriend to bring over the pot of ramyeon.

The evening slowly unfolds as you and Jungkook begin to eat the ramyeon, but an idea strikes your mind. “Can I watch your music video? I haven’t had the chance to see it yet,”

His face lights up with a mixture of excitement and pride, eagerly nodding in agreement as he quickly grabs the remote to turn the TV on. The wide screen flicks to life, illuminating the room as it casts a soft glow.

Jungkook seizes the opportunity to tease you a little, flashing a mischievous grin as he finds the music video. “Get ready,” He turns to you for a split second to watch your reaction, “because I’m reallyyyy sexy in this one,”

You can’t help but roll your eyes at his sudden playfulness, shaking your head as he laughs at your reaction.

“1, 2, 3D,” You hear his whispered voice from the video, an immediate grin showing up on your face as your heart swells with pride.

As you continue to watch, Jungkook’s unwavering gaze remains locked on your face, his eyes flickering with anticipation as he scans your reactions. Your heart swells with pride as you watch, knowing that he had put in a ton of effort into the release of his second single.

As the lyrics flow, you nod your head softly to the beat. The phrase, “Champagne confetti~” catches your attention as you hear your boyfriend sing on screen. Your eyebrows raise at the words, a surprised smile on your face as you turn to him. “Do you even know what that means?” You tease him with affectionate banter, awaiting his reaction.

Jungkook appears caught off guard by your sudden question, a mischievous grin appears as he chuckles and retorts, “Of course I know,” His response broods with confidence as he playfully puffs out his chest, leaving you gleaming with amusement at his act.

As the music video progresses, the verse plays out Jungkook’s rhythmic tone, “Body to body to body to body,” The female back-up dancers pushing him onto a couch, you watch as your heart tingles a little.

You definitely weren’t the jealous type, but the sudden dance move caught you off guard, a surprised sound emitting from your mouth as you watched wide-eyed on the unfolding choreography.

Jungkook notices your reaction, and he can’t help but laugh at your response. His laughter fades in with the song playing watching you continue to admire your boyfriend dancing on screen. His eyes sparkle at your small yet endearing reactions, a fond smile displayed clearly on his face.

As the music video ends, the screen finally goes dark, as you turn to your boyfriend, a smile tugging at your lips as he awaits your response.

With a sigh of contentment, you grab his hand, “That was seriously amazing Kook, seriously, I’m so so proud of you,” Your words filled with admiration and affection tingles Jungkook’s heart, as he smiles fondly at you, leaning in to peck your lips.

Jungkook responds to your praise with a contented hum, his arms pulling you closer to wrap around your figure, allowing your head to rest on his chest.

With a playful glint in his eyes, he taunts you further, “But you know what baby?” He chuckles, laughter reverberating through his chest, “You haven’t seen the Tiktok I filmed during dance practice yet, that’s even crazier,”

You peer up at him, expression mixed with curiousity and amusement as you respond, “Oh really?” a teasing smile playing on your lips.

It’s safe to say you almost went feral after seeing his little act at the end of the Tiktok video.

taglist!: @imlyfie @jksgirlhere @laylasbunbunny @borahaexoxo @jklvrs-world

#jungkook fluff #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook au #jungkook ff #jungkook smut #jungkook x oc #bts #bts ff #jungkook x you #jungkook imagines #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #jungkook angst #jungkook imagine

[embrosegraves]

𝔹𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕕 ℕ𝕖𝕨

(request) Mark Webber x Fem!Reader The very beginning of a brand new relationship

Warnings: None :D it's really short tho

For as long as you remember, you’ve always been a cuddly person. When you were younger people would say it was just separation anxiety because you were never very far away from your parents. But as you grew older more people seemed to understand that it was just your way to show the people around you that you loved them. However just because you were cuddle-prone didn’t mean that everyone you loved was as well. So you had scoured through books, magazines and the internet to find ways to show your love for people. 

When you first met Mark, you could tell almost instantly that he was really a hugger. Which did bum you at first, but you quickly began to love getting a fist bump or a high five when you saw him around the paddock. You thought they were extra special whenever Mark would do really well during a race. It was like your own little celebration, even if he did the same thing with his mechanics and engineers. You didn’t care, truly, because you still felt special enough to be included and that’s what mattered to you. 

You almost lost your mind when you had gone to shake his hand one morning. Instead of grabbing and shaking your hand like you had expected him to, Mark had grabbed your forearm and had begun speaking to you about making plans after the race weekend. Almost instantly you had also grasped his forearm, your hand comically smaller than his arm, and agreed to whatever plans he had just made for the two of you. He gave you a smile, patted your shoulder with his free hand and continued on walking.

You had spent the rest of your day thinking about the interaction. It wasn’t until you had gotten back to the hotel your team was in that you realised he had organised for the two of you to go for dinner. You felt a little silly that it had taken you so long to register what he had actually said to you, especially considering it had been the only thing you thought of all day. Sitting on the bed of your hotel room, you thought really hard about the actual words he had said to you. 

“I know this is probably a long shot, but I’d really like to take you to dinner Monday night.” 

He was confident, trying to hide how nervous he was. Looking back, you noticed that his usually cocky smile had looked much softer. Almost timid.

“I’d love to.” 

Thinking of how you had responded, you grew embarrassed. You had probably looked so dazed. You wouldn’t be surprised if your eyes had been glazed over. He had asked you to dinner on Monday, which gave you an entire race weekend to prepare yourself. 

It was both fortunate and unfortunate that the weekend seemed to go by so quickly. It was soon time for the race, which meant that your date was the next day. You had decided early on that you would continue as normal. Greeting everyone, including Mark, as you usually would. Fist bumps, high fives and hugs made their way around the garage as everyone prepared for the Australian Grand Prix. 

The drivers had gotten into the cars and were waiting to be rolled out to the grid. You made sure to go to Mark in his car and give a fist bump and good luck before the car got rolled away. His visor was still up, so you had gotten to see his face scrunch in a smile when you wished him luck. Everyone was excited for Mark this race, being on his home turf and all. 

Once the race began, it didn’t take long for the happy and hopeful mood in the garage to basically disappear. The race had been going relatively well for Mark, a few mistakes here and there but nothing that would drastically change his race outcome. Until of course, Lewis Hamilton’s Mercedes clipped Mark’s rear tyre causing him to spin out and retire onto the gravel. The safety car came out, the stewards ruled it a racing incident, and Mark was brought back to the pit lane in the marshall’s car. 

When Mark got back to the garage, he was brought straight to a debrief before finally leaving to his driver’s room. You had followed him to his room and quietly entered behind him. He hadn’t even acknowledged that you were in the room until he had sat on the small sofa and you had walked over to him. You knew  that he normally wasn’t a hugger, but you felt like the circumstances called for one so you gently wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders and gave him a gentle squeeze. 

“What are you doing?” He asked, slightly bewildered. 

“I’m giving you affection. You need it.” If you were honest, a small part of you expected him to remove himself from your embrace. 

“Disgusting-” He paused, it seemed like he was contemplating the hug, before finally, “Do it more.” 

This made you laugh a bit, but you complied nonetheless. You squeezed him again and this time you also placed a kiss on the top of his head. When you felt his arms reach up and wrap around you, you spoke. 

“You better get used to me giving you affection if we’re going to dinner tomorrow.” 

“I think I can do that.” He laughed. 

You laughed as well. “Good. Because you won’t be able to escape it.”

I like this one a lot and I feel kinda bad that it was sitting in my drafts for so long

So here it is!

likes, replies and reblogs are always appreciated <3

#formula 1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 fluff #formula one #formula 1 #mark webber #mark webber x you #mark webber x reader #mark webber imagine #mark webber fic #mark webber x y/n

[avastrasposts]

A Baker's Dozen**

Ezra part two

Ezra’s chapter finished second in the poll about who should return to the bakery, and it made me so happy. I'd never written Ezra before and he was a challenge! But the story came together well with the help of his language and personality. But it was also sadder than I planned it to be, and I really wanted to revisit him and continue the story. So please enjoy part two!

(I'm editing and posting this in slightly more unconventional circumstances, so please excuse any errors!)

With a sigh you lock the front door of the bakery and flip the ‘Closed’ sign to face outwards. It had been a long weekend, lots of customers, and not all of them very polite. And to make matters worse, your shop assistant, the high schooler who’d worked extra on weekends, had been accepted at the last minute into their first college of choice and this was your first weekend without them. You’re exhausted and looking forward to your day off tomorrow.

The knock on the back door makes you jump just as you turn off the lights in the shop. Cautiously you walk to the back room and stop by the door.

“Hello?”

“It-it’s me, Ezra,” comes a muffled voice in a stutter from the outside, “P-please…I..”

You don’t need to hear more, you rush to the door and unlock it, throwing it open and the man on the other side almost loses his balance, propped up against the door frame. His appearance makes you gasp, reaching out to steady him as he wobbles. The stark blonde patch in his hair is plastered against his forehead, stained with blood from the cut just above his eyebrow, another cut marks his cheekbone, a bruise already blooming around it. From the way he’s curled his arm around his torso, you can tell something’s hurting his chest.

“Ezra, what happened?” you wince, helping him to step through the door, his face twisting in pain as he puts weight on his left foot.

He only grunts in response to your question, inhaling sharply as you carefully try to take his weight.

“Lean on me, let’s get you to the chair, I’ll call an ambulance, it’ll be ok,” you say, making him lean on you as much as you can as he hobbles into the kitchen and sinks down on the chair with a groan.

“No, no ambulance, I am not that badly off,” he says, shaking his head as you pull over the stool on wheels and make him put his injured leg up onto it.

“What happened, Ezra?” you ask again, sinking down to get a better look at him. He’s pale under his golden complexion, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

“It’s nothing, no matter, I just need to-,” he says, but even as he says it, he closes his eyes and breathes in through his nose, his hand tightening over his chest.

“Ezra,” you implore again, putting your hand on his uninjured leg, “you’ve turned up, injured and bloody, weeks after you disappeared, and you try to tell me it’s nothing? Do you think I’m that stupid?”

With that he peels his eyes open and looks down at you, and the pain in his eyes almost makes your heart stop.

“Ezra…” you implore again, softer this time, “be honest with me, I want to help, you know that.”

“I’m…I’m ashamed…” he whispers, his eyes falling to your hand on his leg, “you know what I am. I know I left you without explanation last time, after you were so kind to me. And here I am, needing your help again, because I have no one else to turn to.”

“Just tell me what happened, please, Ezra,” you say, “let me help.”

“I…I’ve…some men…” he begins, his eyes still on your hand on his leg, “I’d fallen asleep on the bus stop bench, and some men seemed to take offense,” he looks up at you, and you’re suddenly reminded of the mask Ezra is so skilled at pulling up over his true face, it’s firmly in place now, his hesitancy gone as he picks his words.

“They decided to make me leave by shoving me off the bench, and I twisted my ankle as I fell. When I couldn’t get up they roughed me up, threw me in a dumpster when they were done. I hurt my side trying to get out of it, fell badly when my foot gave up,” he gives you a humorless laugh, “Turns out climbing out of a dumpster with only one good arm and leg is rather tricky.”

“Ezra…that’s terrible, we need to get you to the ER, they need to check your chest, you may have broken ribs,” you make to stand up but his hand comes out and grabs yours before it leaves his leg.

“No, please, no, it’s not necessary,” he says, squeezing your hand, “I just need to clean the cuts and, if you have one, a bandage for my ankle so that I can at least stand on it while I make my way home.”

“You need to get your ribs checked, Ezra,” you reply, not taking a no from him, “and you might need stitches on the cut over your eye, it looks deep. Please,” you add as you see him shake his head again.

“Sweet girl, I can’t, please just let me get cleaned up and I’ll leave, I won’t impose on you again.”

“Ezra, you’re not imposing, except with your stubbornness, I’m taking you to the ER and that’s it. I’m not letting you leave without getting looked at by a professional.” You pull your hand from his and reach for your coat and he gives a forced little chuckle, smiling without mirth, his hand coming up as if to make a dismissive gesture in the air, but you stop him. .

“And don’t try that act with me, Ezra, I spent enough time with you last time to know when you’re lying, either to protect yourself or me.”

His hand falls back down, his shoulders slumping, “Your eagerness to help does you credit, but you don’t understand,” he says as you shrug into your coat.

He’s shaking his head, staring down at his solitary hand, picking at a fleck of blood on his stained pants, and you wait for him to press out the words. His words failing him in a way that is so far from his usual unstoppable stream that it makes you stop and look down at him with even more concern as he continues to pick at the blood.

“I…I simply don’t…I don’t have the…means, I just…can’t pay it,” he stutters, clenching his fist tight, his voice defeated, “I have no insurance…I don’t even have a valid driver’s license, they will not even let me in…” He doesn’t meet your eyes as you move closer to him, but he shakes his head again, his shoulders lifting up to his ears as the tension builds in his body, “No address.”

You sink down in front of the chair, taking his hand, stilling it against his leg, unraveling his fist as he sighs again.

“I’m as homeless as an alley cat, you see, sweet girl. I’m ashamed to say I have nothing, nothing to my name.” His voice is low, eyes downcast, and he doesn’t take your hand even though you wrap your fingers around it.

“I guessed,” you say, your voice low, trying to make him meet your eyes, “But you still need help, and I can take you to the clinic down by the church. They can check you out and get you more help, free if you need it,” you give his hand a squeeze, “Please, Ezra,” you implore, “let me help.”

You sit quietly next to the chair for a few seconds while Ezra seems to fight something inside him, his jaw ticking with the tension. With a small grunt, he finally gives you a short nod, his shoulders sinking down again, “You’re too good for this world, sweet girl,” he mutters, taking your hand properly and letting you help him to his feet.

“Not at all,” you reply, getting him to put his arm over your shoulder as you help him limp to the back door again, “but you’re my friend, and you need help whether you want to accept it or not. And I can be a lot more pigheaded than you.” The last you say with a smile in your voice as you help him down the back stairs. And it gets a small chuckle out of him before he winces at the pain.

You get him to sit in the back seat, his injured leg elevated as he grumbles about getting dirt in your car. Rolling your eyes in response, you strap yourself in and reverse out. Ezra shifts in the back, trying to get comfortable, in the rear view mirror you see him gently touch the cut over his eye that’s still bleeding.

“Would you recognise the men who did it?” you ask, looking back at the road.

“Maybe, but I’m not talking to the police,” Ezra replies, guessing what you’re thinking, “They don’t care about someone like me, I’m more likely to get into trouble for bringing their attention to my lack of address.”

“I was just thinking, maybe they make a habit of it, attacking sleeping people, they should be stopped.”

“Not by me, sweet girl, I don’t have enough fight left in me for that.”

You glance back at Ezra again, he never sounded so defeated the last time you saw him, and now he’s leaning his head against the window, staring into nothing, looking utterly forlorn.

Letting the subject rest, you drive in silence the rest of the short way to the clinic.

A nurse comes over as she spots you and Ezra coming through the door and soon he’s been told to lie back on a stretcher while you hover awkwardly nearby.

“Do you want me to wait outside?” you ask him as the nurse leaves to find the doctor on call for the evening.

“Only if you wish to,” he says, dropping his head back on the pillow and staring at the ceiling, “thank you for escorting me, but it’s not necessary to wait, I can manage on my own now. You should go home.”

“Ezra,” you hiss, keeping your voice low in the open room, only curtains separating his bed from his neighbors, “quit being such a pigheaded martyr, you’re such an idiot.”

His eyes snap to yours when he hears your anger, and you continue, “If I didn’t care about you I wouldn’t have opened the door in the first place, and I certainly wouldn’t have cried for a week after you disappeared the last time.”

His eyes widen at this and he opens his mouth to say something but you don’t let him.

“I’m staying. And you’re coming home with me when we’re done here. No arguments, so you can just hold that clever tongue of yours.”

Ezra closes his mouth and opens it again, meeting your glare with astonished eyes as he fumbles for a reply. But before he has time to compose himself, the curtain around the bed is pulled to the side and the doctor appears, followed by the nurse.

Ezra doesn’t protest any more as the doctor treats him. With a small bag of over the counter painkillers in your hand, and a crutch under his one arm, he slowly follows you back to the car without a word. Luckily no fractured rib, but a sprained ankle and a few strips of surgical tape over his two cuts is the tally of the beating, and you’re grateful it’s not worse. You’re even more grateful Ezra found his way back to you for help. You’ll be damned if you’ll let him go back to the streets, even if you have to shackle him to a radiator in your house. Ezra seems to realize this, and doesn’t say anything as you stop at a supermarket on the way home, and return to the car with a toothbrush and various other supplies he might need for his stay with you.

He doesn’t speak until you’ve closed the door behind the both of you and he’s hobbled into your living room. You put the painkillers on the coffee table and turn to help him sink down on the couch.

“Thank you. Truly,” he says, as you put a cushion under his leg, propping it up on the low table.

“Don’t fight it so much next time,” you tell him, “people are nice sometimes.” Straightening up you change the subject as your stomach rumbles, the time for talking is later, “Are you hungry?”

He nods, “Very.”

“I’ve got some leftover pasta sauce and bread, I’ll heat it up for us,” you say, leaving him on the couch. But it doesn’t take long before you hear him hobble after you into the kitchen, sitting down on one of the stools by the island.

“I apologize,” he says, “I was ashamed of showing you how pitiful my life is, both when we met last time, and today. I…I find it hard to accept help, I don’t want to burden anyone with my plight, it was my own foolishness who brought me to this low point. I should carry the consequences of my actions and not burden you with them.”

“Ezra…” you say softly, trying to keep any trace of pity out of your voice, “we all make bad choices, or just have a run of bad luck. Maybe next time I’m the one who needs help, and I hope someone is willing to give it then.”

He nods, but he still looks forlorn and you ache to put your arms around him, but you think he might see it as pity, so you give him a smile, and turn back to the stove.

“You should go back to the couch, Ezra,” you say, “put your leg up again, like the doctor said. I’ll bring you your food.”

“Will you join me on the couch for dinner?” he asks and it’s your turn to nod.

“Of course, I’m starving. Get comfortable, pick something to watch and I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

When you return to the living room with two plates, Ezra has propped his leg up again and readily accepts a plate from you. Some nature documentary is playing on the tv and you gratefully sink down on your end of the couch and dig in. Ezra balances his plate on his lap and from the corner of your eye you can see him struggling with twisting the spaghetti onto his fork with his left hand. His eyebrows are pulled together in frustration and the fork clinks angrily against the plate.

You set down your own fork and leave for the kitchen, returning with a tray on legs, for having breakfast in bed.

“Here,” you say, putting it down and placing his plate on it, “Ask for help, Ezra.”

He gives you an indecipherable look, but you just return to your own plate, your attention on the rainforest birds on the tv.

“Thank you,” he says after a minute, looking over at you.

“You’re welcome,” you reply, giving him a quick smile that he returns, the first smile you’ve seen from him since he arrived back at the bakery.

The rest of the evening passes in companionable silence for the most part. You want to ask Ezra about where he’s been since you last saw him, how he’s been. You know why he didn’t return to the bakery, the other shop owners on the street certainly made it known that they didn’t trust him, and didn’t want him near. And you see now, even more clearly, how little value even Ezra places on himself.

I have nothing to give to anyone.

That’s what he’d written in his note to you, the day after his first visit. And it echoes in the back of your mind as you go over the events of the evening, stealing looks at Ezra sitting in the other corner of your couch.

He came back to the bakery when he was injured, but it seems even that had been a hard task for him, to ask for help, and then very reluctantly accepting it. He’d told you he lost his arm in a mining accident, but you don’t know if that was the true story or not. But whatever the truth is, you’re starting to understand the strange dark haired man with the odd blonde patch, a little bit better. He must’ve been fiercely independent before he lost his arm, capable, his skill matching his sharp intellect. And strong, if the shape of his wide shoulders and broad back is anything to go by. You can still remember how his muscles flexed and bunched under your exploring hands when he’d kissed you in the kitchen, a strength that hadn’t diminished when he lost his arm.

To lose that independence, and then his home, to be reduced to relying on others for help, even with the simplest things, it could turn any person bitter. And yet, the Ezra you met in the bakery, as wary as you’d been of him at first, had been warm and passionate, tender and gentle even. The mask he’d let slip while you baked together, had revealed a man you could fall in love with, even with the circumstances of his life twisting the person he showed the world.

You give him another look, his strong profile lit by the tv, his chocolate hair and beard longer and scruffier than before, more streaks of gray and the bags under his eyes heavy. But underneath the layers of grime, the stress of his life, he’s still a handsome man, albeit a little bit dirty right now. But that’s a problem for tomorrow you decide.

With a yawn you stretch and get to your feet, picking up the plates.

“I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket,” you say, “I left a new toothbrush in the bathroom, and a clean towel.”

“I can’t stay,” he says, predictably, and you ignore him, going back to the kitchen to put the plates in the dishwasher, turning it on before you return to the living room. Ezra is standing by the couch, the crutch under his arm.

“You’re staying, Ezra,” you interrupt him before he can protest, “You’re injured, and quite frankly, you’re dirty. Sleep here tonight, wash up in the morning, and then we’ll see.”

“Sweet girl…I can’t let you…” he begins but you shake your head.

“Do you think so little of me? That you think I’d let anyone, let alone an injured friend, sleep rough on the streets?”

Ezra looks back at your raised eyebrows and challenging look.

“Well?” you ask, “Do you think I’m that kind of friend?”

“No,” he says eventually, a small, exasperated smile, softening his face, “I know you’re not that kind of friend.”

“Good. Toothbrush and towel in the bathroom, go clean up, I’ll make your bed,” you point your finger in the direction of the bathroom and give him a stern look, softened by a crooked smile that Ezra returns.

“Yes, boss,” he says, and hobbles away.

Ezra beds down on the couch and you make sure his leg is propped up by a couple of extra cushions before you retreat to your own bed. You can hear him shifting on the couch, the old thing creaking under his weight, before you drift into sleep.

A loud crash startles you from your dreams hours later, early morning light coming through your curtains, and you shoot up in bed.

“Ezra?” you call out, scrambling out of bed, wrapping your gown around you as you hurry out of your bedroom. You find him by the open front door, cursing silently as he struggles to pick up the crutch from the floor.

“You’re sneaking out,” you state, stopping as you see him straightening up, the crutch still on the floor, his hand on the wall for balance.

“I’m afraid I have to depart, a pressing matter requires my swift attention this morning,” he replies, and oh, the mask is so clearly in place, the polite, apologetic smile, hiding the real man.

“What kind of pressing matter?” you ask, “Let me get dressed and I’ll drive you,” you challenge, crossing your arms and challenging him to just fucking dare to lie to you again.

“No, I can’t let you do that,” he smiles, wider now, even more apologetic, “I must converge with a most disagreeable drifter, a small matter of business I have with him that needs to be settled, I truly do not wish you to meet him. Such a rough, uncouth-”

“Ezra…” you say, your voice a warning, as you bend to pick up the crutch, holding out of his reach. It’s a dirty trick but he won’t get far without it.

“I assure you, sweet girl, I really need to depart, it would not be fortunate for you, or your excellent business, to be seen around town with myself, or this disagreeable man. I can’t bring this misfortune down on you after you’ve treated me with such kindness,” Ezra tilts his head, looking up at you through his dark eyelashes, the ringmaster at work, using his words to bend the audience to follow his ques, to believe his illusion.

You shake your head, and lean the crutch in a corner, away from him.

“You forget, Ezra, that you’ve bared more than you maybe intended to me, and I see what you’re trying to do,” you say, moving around him and closing the front door. “Your smooth lies don’t work on me anymore, I can see that mask you pull up whenever you try to bend me to your will.”

You stop in front of him, and he wavers, the smile, almost a leer, slips from his face. Carefully, as if he’s an animal you don’t want to spook, you bring your hand to his cheek, your thumb brushing across his scruffy beard.

“Ezra…you don’t need to fight so hard. Not with me.”

The mask is gone again, his determination to oppose your will melting away faster this time, and Ezra’s eyes fill with regret as he leans his face into your hand. You seek out his, hanging limp by his side and lace your fingers together, squeezing it lightly as you let him hold on to you for balance.

“I left you a note,” he whispers, “I’m truly grateful, I didn’t want to leave again without explanation.”

“What does it say?”

He sighs, closing his eyes briefly, “Same as I said last night, I don’t want to bring you more trouble, I have nothing to give, I don’t want to be a burden. And I know what you’ll say,” he looks up at you as he hears you inhale to berate him, “You don’t think I’m a burden, that I won’t bring you trouble. But I have not lived life honestly, and the people in this community know me as a trickster who cons them. It can only bring you trouble if they see you with me.”

“Have you stolen from them?” you ask, and he shakes his head.

“Not from them, no. But I have stolen in the past, and not only what I needed of food and clothes. And I conned them, used their good hearts against them, they will not pardon me and see me as favorably as you do, sweet girl.”

You caress his cheek again, “Maybe it wasn’t honest, but it’s not like you forced them to give you things, just like you didn’t force me to make you a soufflé. Even though I realize I was probably just a con to you too.”

Ezra drops his eyes from yours at that, looking away as he gives you a small nod.

“It was a con, at first, I have to admit it. I was hoping for a loaf or two of bread, maybe something sweet, but…the soufflé, it wasn’t a con, I promise.” He looks up at you again, your hand has slipped from his cheek, down to his shoulder, he’s so close you can smell the toothpaste and his unwashed clothes, the antiseptic from the bandage on his cheek and forehead. You remain silent to let him continue, to see if his mask comes up again, or if he tells the truth this time.

“I told you that you captivated me, and that’s the truth, I was watching you the first day I came into the shop, you were decorating a cake, your concentration palpable, you were clearly very skilled. And knew if I conned you, I couldn’t come back, so I bought a croissant…and I left.” Ezra gives you a small smile at the memory, “You wouldn’t even know, but that croissant…it bound me to you, it was that perfect. I couldn’t help but keep going back, to watch you work, to taste more of what you’d made. And then you noticed me, and I should’ve left, but it was too late, I had already made a plan to trick you, another kind of trick.”

“What kind of trick, Ezra?” you ask and he gives you the smallest of chuckles.

“The kind that let me spend more time with you, to let me be seen as something else than the sad, homeless drifter my life has turned me into.”

He sighs, letting go of your hand to drag his rough palm over his face, rubbing at his eyes, “I’ve thought since that perhaps it was the worst of ideas, that I tricked myself more than you. I let myself step into a bubble of what could’ve been, if I had been a very different man, build a fantasy in my head where you…never mind,” he cuts himself off, leaning on the wall for balance as you seek out his hand again, “I never conned you, and I wish things were very different.”

“Ezra, I missed you when you left, and I was hurt and confused by your note and what other people said about you,” you say, taking his hand in both of yours, “but I trust you, even if you don’t believe me, I trust you. And I want you to stay, at least until you’re better, please stay this time.”

“But your neighbors, your shop…” he begins and you step forward, pressing your lips to his, silencing him. He holds himself rigid for a beat, before you feel his lips part with a soft hum.

“Fuck ‘em,” you whisper against him, “Please, Ezra, just be selfish with me.”

You don’t let him answer, but you feel his arm move, circle around your waist and you take it as a capitulation as he pulls you a little bit closer.

The kiss doesn’t last long, just a mark to pick up where you left off the last time in the bakery. Instead you pull back from him after a little while, retrieve the crutch and lead him back to the living room. The note, Ezra’s lopsided, left handed scribble on it, sits on the coffee table next to his makeshift bed.

“Do I need to read it?” you ask and he shakes his head, taking the paper and crumpling it.

“No, I’ll stay, at least until you bid me to leave.”

“Not while you limp, you’re stuck with me for a while, con man.” The last part you say with a wink, teasing him, and you’re rewarded by the dimple appearing on his cheek as he smiles, his face transforming.

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be stuck, sweet girl,” he winks back.

The morning passes easily, now that he’s decided not to leave as soon as you give him a chance. You make breakfast, stacking the bacon high on his plate, an extra fried egg with the bread and mushrooms, three sausages on the side and a large glass of orange juice.

“Sweet girl, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you stopped me from leaving just to give me a heart attack instead,” Ezra says, eyes bulging as you set the plates down on the coffee table in front of him.

“No offense, but you look like you haven’t been eating that well. Let me spoil you while I can,” you reply, sitting down in front of your own, smaller, serving.

"You’re not mistaken, and no offense taken, it has been a few arduous months,” he says while cutting into the food, humming in satisfaction as the yolk smears the bread. It’s the last you hear from him for a while, the food takes all his attention as he works his way the whole plate, even the extra mushrooms and bacon you slide over. Eventually he leans back, balancing a fresh mug of coffee on his belly, letting out a deep sigh.

“I fear I may burst if I eat another bite,” he huffs, his little tummy expanding as he takes a deep breath, “As usual, you’re too good to me, cream puff.”

“I told you, enough with the baking related pet names,” you laugh, leaning back with your own coffee. “I think we agreed on ‘honey’ last time, but I like ‘sweet girl’ too.”

“Sweet as honey,” Ezra smiles, “such a delectable name for the most captivating of women, for someone with such compassion for the most miserable, unfortunate man. Although…” he tilts his head so that he can look over at where you’re curled up on the couch, “perhaps I’m not so unfortunate, I count myself the luckiest man to have wandered into your particular bakery and then even to be allowed to call you ‘friend’.” His smile is soft, “How did a wretch like me stumble into such fortune?”

“There is that charmer that stole my heart,” you smile back at him, “I’ve missed you, Ezra.”

“I did not want to leave you last time, but you understand now why I told you the illusion had to break?” He puts his mug on the table and takes your hand across the couch as you scooch closer to him.

“I understand, but I hope you know now, that you don’t have to leave, and I don’t want you too… however…” you trail off, as the smell of his unwashed clothes reaches your nose again, “you need to shower, and change…”

Ezra looks down at his clothes and frowns, “I have nothing to change into, but I do agree that these old breeches are somewhat on the smelly side. The rogues that roughed me up made off with my bag and the clothes within.”

“Ezra, you should’ve said, we could’ve bought you something yesterday,” you say, pushing off the couch and going to the hallway closet that holds your winter jackets, “I’ve got an old oversized sweatshirt, a relic from an ex, if you don’t mind?” You hold up the sweater and Ezra shrugs.

“Beggars can’t be choosers, if it fits, I will gladly wear it.”

“I’ll put your clothes in the wash,” you dig deeper in the closet, “these will probably fit, my brother’s old shorts, they’ve got paint stains from when we painted the bedroom, but they’re clean, I promise.”

Ezra accepts the clothes and retreats to the bathroom as you clear up the breakfast. You hear him run a bath, and even the satisfied groan as he sinks into it, making you smile as you load the dishwasher. But the disgruntled growl doesn’t sound good a few minutes later so you gently tap on the closed door.

“You ok, Ezra?” you ask and a grumble floats through the door as something clatters to the floor.

“I find that washing my hair, which it is in dire need of, is impossible with the way this bruise seems determined to burn a hole in my side. I can’t lift my arm high enough. And I only have one of those, as you know.”

“Can I help? Are you decent?”

“Sweet girl, I have no concerns about being decent in front of you,” he huffs, “You’ve already been privy to my very lowest state. Besides, your bubble bath really is very efficient.”

The last thing he says with a chuckle and you open the door. You’re met with Ezra laying back, no, Ezra laying back in resplendence, in your bathtub, all but covered by bubbles and a satisfied grin on his face.

“This bathtub really is a most colossal feature, I feel like I could go for a swim,” he smiles up at you as you bend to pick up the shampoo bottle from the floor.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it, it’s half the reason I bought the house,” you say, sinking down behind him, “Can’t believe you got me washing your hair too, Ezra,” you mutter, but there’s no venom and Ezra hears the smile in your voice.

“I’ll repay the favor tenfold once I’m all healed up again, honey,” he says and scoots forward, giving you free access to his dark curls.

He’s like a cat, all but purring as you scrub his hair, letting your nails drag across scalp, rinsing it out once and giving it another wash. As you massage his head he closes his eyes and breathes deeply, you’re certain he’ll start snoring any second, and you gently tap his shoulder for him to sit up for a second rinse.

“Conditioner, sir?” you ask him with a teasing tone, as he moans.

Ezra opens one eye and looks up at you, “Are you mocking me, baker girl?”

“Only your obvious attraction to the skill of my hands, your moans are loud enough for the neighbors to hear.”

“Oh, I’ve always been attracted to the skill of your hands, in more ways than one, and I’m sure I can think of other uses for them too,” he winks and closes his eye again, leaving you with burning cheeks as his double entendre makes heat rise in your body.

As you rinse the conditioner from his hair you brush it back from his forehead, running your fingers through the blonde patch, stark white now that it’s properly clean. On impulse you bend down and place a kiss to it as you move to get up.

“All done, sir, enjoy the rest of your bath now.”

His hand comes up and grabs your wrist, surprisingly fast for someone right handed using their left, and he pulls you back down.

“Thank you,” he says in a low voice, bringing you close enough for him to reach up and return your kiss, warm lips pressed against yours for a moment.

“Anytime, Ezra,” you reply when he pulls back a little, your voice barely a whisper. You lock eyes for a few seconds, Ezra’s chocolate brown darkening as he rubs his thumb over the thin skin of your wrist.

“Anytime, sweet girl,” he whispers back and lets you go.

You feel unsteady as you leave the bathroom, slowly letting out a long exhale as you go back to the living room, aimlessly tidying, moving three books from one end of the room and back again twice before you realize what you’re doing and give up. Slumping down on the couch you turn back to the nature documentary from last night and try to zone out, but it’s no use. As you hear Ezra come out of the bathroom you shoot up from the couch and head to the kitchen, doing what you always do to calm your mind; bake.

The rest of the day passes without any more heated moments between the two of you. Ezra rests his ankle and you feed him, he complains that he can’t help you in any way, but you shush him and prop an extra cushion under his leg. From the corner of your eye, you see the soft smile he gives you as you turn back to the kitchen.

When it’s time for dinner you join him on the couch for the Great British Bake Off, a show Ezra is well familiar with but he’s missed most of the past seasons so the evening ends with you going back through the seasons and starting over. Before you know it, you’re lying down, your toes tucked in under Ezra’s warm leg while he absentmindedly strokes small circles on your calf. The whole scene is so domestic, he looks calm, more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him. His whole face transforms as he laughs at the tv, looking over at you to see if you’re laughing too. And you are, but mostly because it feels good to see Ezra so comfortable and content.

When it’s time for bed, you scoot over and kiss his scruffy cheek, smelling your shampoo on him.

“Sleep tight, Ezra,” you mumble, relishing the soft touch of his beard against your lips.

“Sweet dreams, sweet girl,” he mumbles back, giving your leg an extra squeeze, “Do you want me to leave in the morning?”

“Not even a little bit, stay.”

“Then I won’t attempt to slip out unnoticed again,” he says, a crooked little smile at you as you straighten up.

“Please don’t, waking up when something goes bang in the night is not my favorite way of waking up,” you say, “Night, Ezra.”

He does stay, the next day and the next and the one after that. You go back to the bakery on the second day, leaving Ezra sleeping on the couch and come back to find him making dinner, wobbling one foot, chopping a stubborn onion with his left hand. The next day he’s done all the dishes and made your kitchen spotless. You berate him for not resting his ankle but he just shrugs and smiles, his soft southern lilt becoming more pronounced as he tries to charm you into believing that his foot is all better now. When you scold him, he gives you the most insincere puppy eyes, mischief lurking just under the surface until you crack and smack his arm and laugh at him. You almost kiss him, his infectious chuckle, the way his dimple appears as his eyes crinkle. The evenings end like the ones before, tucked in on the couch with The Great British Bake Off, but on the third evening you yawn widely and he pulls you in, his strength no match for yours.

“Rest your weary head on my leg, sweet girl,” he says, putting a cushion propped up against his thigh, “don’t stay so far away.”

You do as he says, and he pulls the quilt down over you and rests his hand on your arm. His slow movements, calloused fingers softly gliding up and down over the quilt, lulls you to sleep and it’s not until Ezra gently shakes you, that you blink awake to the end of the episode, and you stumble to bed after kissing his cheek.

The next day you come home to find Ezra packed up, what little he has, in a plastic bag by the door.

“I reckon I’ve imposed on you long enough, sweet girl,” he says as you question him, “I still limp, but I can walk now.”

“You’re not imposing, Ez, you know that,” you reply, putting down your shopping and stopping in front of him on the couch as he gets to his feet, “I want you to stay for as long as you want.”

He is moving a lot better, you can’t deny that, but the cuts and the bruises are still visible on his cheek and forehead. The bigger bruise on his torso has faded into yellows and greens and doesn’t seem to pain him anymore.

“And besides, where would you go?” you ask. You don’t want to be unkind, but pointing out the obvious flaw in his plan of just leaving seems logical. “Stay here at least until you have a place of your own, you know I won’t let you leave just to sleep in a shelter or in a car.”

“Sweet girl, how long would that endeavor not take me? I have no employment, no money to my name, and without it, I have no choice but to find improvised shelter. And finding a job without an address is not easy, finding a job for a one-armed man? Impossible.” He shakes his head and moves around you, “No, I’d rather leave now, and leave you missing my company than stay and have you tire of my disagreeable old face.”

As he limps towards the front door you feel the slow gears of your brain working until it clicks into place.

“Ezra! I have a job for you!”

He turns and looks back at you, a pitiful smile as he shakes his head.

“Do not make up a job for me. Your kind heart does you credit but I won’t accept any more charity from you, sweet girl.”

“It’s not a made up job, Ezra, I need help at the bakery,” you say, “The high school student who worked extra left for college last week, this weekend was my first without them and I hardly got any baking done. I can’t manage the bakery and the shop at the same time, especially not since I'm going into peak season with weddings and graduations. I need someone to work in the shop and you could do that, even one handed I’m sure.”

“I fear it would not do your business any good to have me at the front of your shop, or do you forget how I conned my way around the last time?” Ezra shakes his head again, turning towards the door to pick up his sad bag of belongings.

“And if there’s anyone who can charm his way back into their good books, it’s you!” you protest, yanking the bag out of his hand. “I need someone who can start tomorrow, someone who understands baking and the things I make, and who is as passionate about it as I am. You’re the perfect fit, Ezra!”

You take a step closer to him, putting your hand on his cheek. You haven’t touched since the kiss in the bathroom, it’s just been a comfortable closeness on the couch. He seems to have been holding back, not wanting to impose another layer of complications to the situation of a homeless man sleeping on your couch. You, on your hand, have been squashing your feelings and urges to touch him, not sure what he feels, if he even wants you close, he seemed so intent on leaving as soon as he could. But now you touch him, stepping over the thin line you’d both drawn, needing him to understand how much you want him to stay, not just for the bakery or out of pity for him.

And Ezra leans his head into your hand as you gently caress his cheek, the scruffy beard soft under your fingers, as he looks down at you, something shifting in him too as you come so close to him he can smell the cinnamon from the bakery in your hair.

“I want you to stay, Ezra. I missed you when you were gone, and I need you, not just in the bakery, but I need you in my life too, if you could let yourself believe that.”

“I’m a selfish man,” he mumbles, his hand coming up to rest on your waist, “I’ve been telling myself to not complicate your life, but if you offer it to me, I’ll take it.”

“Please, take it then, Ezra, I’m tired of trying to convince you that you’re worth something more, just take it, you-”

He cuts you off, his hand coming up to your cheek as his lips find yours, pushing you back against the wall with his body as your brain catches up, wrapping your arms around his neck, fingers finding purchase in his hair and kissing him back.

You sigh into his mouth when he makes you part your lips, claiming your tongue the same way you remember from the bakery, the feeling you’ve been dreaming about since he left. He groans softly, his hand slipping down from your neck and curling behind your back to hold you even closer.

“Tell me again, I want to hear you say it again, that you want me to stay,” he whispers, pulling back just a little and looking at you with his dark brown eyes, filled with need, darkening with lust as you press your mouth to his lips.

“Pigheaded fool,” you smile, “How many times do I have to say it? I want you to stay.”

His responding groan, his mouth opening to let you taste him, sends a sharp jolt of desire through your body. Turning off all rational parts of your mind, you reach behind you and take his hand, pulling him with you through the house. When lead him into your bedroom he falters, an uncharacteristic shyness, or maybe uncertainty, flashing across his face.

“Sweet girl…” he whispers as you pull him onto the bed, making him tumble over you as he loses his balance, “it’s…been so long.”

“Do you want to, Ezra?” you ask, as he holds himself over you on his one arm.

“Yes, very much, I have dreamed so many nights of taking you to bed,” he breathes, his voice low, laced with both trepidation and lust, “I just never surmised you would ever want me like this, and I’m not sure these old broken bones could ever give you the pleasure you deserve.”

“How about we try out your old broken bones and let me judge how much pleasure they give?” you tease him, running your hands down his back, still as broad and muscular as you remember. He chuckles at that, some of the tension slipping from his face as you continue to stroke his soft shirt, tangling your fingers in the curls at the back of his neck, and then back down to his waist again. He puts his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and you can feel his warm breath over your lips, a slow exhale as he relaxes under your palms.

When you slip your hands under the edge of his shirt and pull it off he hesitates, the stump of his arm has always been hidden by his clothes or the bubbles in the bathtub that one time, now you sense his unease again.

“Do you want to keep your shirt on?” you ask, letting go of the hem and resuming your path up and down his back.

“No, no I want to feel your skin against mine,” he mutters, “I’m just afraid…you might find it…repulsive.”

With gentle hands you take hold of his shirt again and push it up his torso, making him roll over onto his back as you pull it over his head, freeing both his arm and the scarred stump. Ezra watches you with dark eyes, apprehensive in a way you’ve never seen him before, watching your reaction as you lean down and place a soft kiss on the scar tissue that covers the end of his arm.

“I’m sorry you lost it, Ez, but I’m glad you’re still here,” you whisper, placing another kiss on the rough texture before his large, remaining, hand cups the back of your head and guides you up to his mouth, his hot tongue seeking yours.

Now it’s his turn to tug at your shirt and you slip it off, tossing it over the side of the bed, letting your bra go the same way. As you sit up, straddling his narrow hips, the apex of your thighs rubs over the growing hardness in his pants, he growls and grabs your hip, rolling his own up into you. You gasp and Ezra pulls himself upright, his eyes now fully dark, lust blown and all trace of hesitancy gone as he pulls your core down over his cock.

“Sweet girl, I’m determined to make you cry my name until your voice is hoarse,” he says, his voice rough and low with a layer of intensity you’ve never heard from him before, “I really have craved you so many nights, dreamt of having you unfold underneath me, make you moan so prettily in my ear again, like you did when I kissed you before.”

He cups your sex with his hand, bringing the heel down over your sensitive nerves, making you ride it through the denim of your jeans, as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. His mouth leaves heated, wet marks on your skin when he sucks bruises into your collar bone. Hand moving over the buttons, he peels down the zipper and you feel him slide down inside your pants, fingers meeting flesh as he ignores your underwear.

“What if I can make you cry ‘Ezra’ in that delicious moan, make you pant for me, with just my fingers buried in your cunt?” he growls, hot breath on your skin, “Will that prove me worthy of your devotion?”

“You-you…already a-are…” you gasp, his fingers slipping further down, thumb finding your swollen bundle of nerves, two of his thick fingers sliding deep inside and curling back. You feel him chuckle against your throat when you buck your hips, demanding more.

“Fuck, Ezra…” you moan, head tipping back, his beard scraping over your throat as he sucks another mark into the thin skin of your neck.

“Let me feel you fall, sweet girl,” he mutters, pulling back, his dark eyes finding yours half closed, blissed out, “So beautiful, captivating, my sweet girl.” He looks hungry, greedy, and he surges forward, seeking out your skin again. You feel his teeth nipping on the curve of your jaw as he curves his fingers deep inside you, finding a spot that sends stars through your veins. Your fingers dig into his broad shoulders, leaving fresh marks on his flesh as he brings you closer to the peak.

“My sweet girl,” he purrs, close to your ear, his thumb rubbing tight circles, “come for me, honey, I’ve got you.”

It topples you over, his dark voice tickling your mind into submission, your back arching, pushing down on his fingers as he brings you through it. You cry out his name, pant it into the dim room, and he licks his tongue over your sweat salt skin.

“Ezra…” you croak, dropping your head onto his shoulder as he slowly caresses your slick folds and pulls out, his sticky hand curving around your waist and landing on your back. It takes a few minutes for you to catch your breath, Ezra mumbles into your ear, his words wrapping around your brain, trapping them in the haze of your orgasm. When you turn your head and scrape your teeth over the thin skin of his neck, your tongue licking the edge of his ear, his breath hitches, interrupting his torrent of sweet nothings. Against your core you can feel his cock twitch, ignored and aching.

“Take your pants off,” he says, the command soft in his voice, “And take mine off too.”

It doesn’t take long for you to rid the both of you of the rest of your clothes. Ezra hisses as you pull his cock free, letting your hand stroke it, catching the weeping head with the pad of your thumb before you stand up.

“How do you want me, Ezra?” you ask, returning from the bathroom with a condom in your hand. He’s flat on his back, his hand slowly moving up and down his cock as he watches you walk naked across the room.

“On my lap, my symmetry is sorely lacking in balance, I fear I might give you a bloody nose if I was on top,” he smirks, moving himself to sit against the headboard, giving his thighs an invitational pat.

“Just admit it, you’re lazy,” you wink at him, “just want me to do all the work.”

He grabs your hip and pulls you down, his hard length pushed up against the soft swell of your belly, “Oh, sweet girl, if I had both my hands I’d trap you beneath me and not let you leave until you were a quivering mess, begging me to let you come,” he smirks, kissing you hard when you bend your head down to him.

He rolls his hips, giving friction to his cock pressed between you, and you feel him hiss into your mouth, groaning deep in his chest.

You push back and unwrap the condom, slipping it on while he watches your hands with dark eyes. When you rise up on your knees, his fingers dig into your hip, his teeth capturing his bottom lip, biting down hard with a groan as you position yourself. With one hand wrapped around his twitching length, the other on his shoulder for balance, you stroke the head through your slick folds, watching Ezra let go of his lip, an almost animal snarl escaping him.

“My sweet girl, honey…” he pants, opening his mouth to continue, but you sink down over him, squeezing his length, and he groans, a low rumbling pressed up through gritted teeth, head tipped back, eyes closed. You feel him buck his hips, his hand guiding your hip, as he tries to fuck up into you and you hold on to his shoulders with both hands, stroking down over his arms, caressing both his good side and the edge of what remains on the other.

Ezra curls his arm around your waist and pulls you down, bucking up again with another groan. He sits deep inside you, making sparks run through your veins, the feel of him giving you as much pleasure as his graveled groans and panting breath. .

“I’m not going to last,” he mumbles, biting his lip again, “I’m…you feel…f-feel so good.”

You roll your hips over him, your clit rubbing against the dark curls at the base, moaning as he bucks up, rubbing over something electric deep inside. The sight of his face tilted back, eyes half closed in bliss, as his arm sits like a vice around your waist, it brings you to the edge of your own climax much faster than anticipated. Your thighs are protesting, sweat drips down your back, and Ezra claims your mouth again, while you work yourself up and down over his slick cock.

He’s rambling, mumbling into your mouth between licks of his tongue, he’s getting messy, kissing the corner of your mouth, down your jaw, burying his face into the crook of your neck while he grinds against you. His teeth sink into your shoulder as he cries out, his body going rigid underneath you, a hoarse shout against your skin and your own climax explodes. You know you’re leaving marks on his skin, but you can’t let go, Ezra is rolling his hips up, pumping himself into you as best he can, pulling you down onto him.

As your muscles relax you feel him loosen his grip on you too, and you drop your head down on his shoulder, caressing his back, his arms, pressing slow kisses into his sweat damp skin.

“My sweet girl,” he mutters, kissing the mark he left on your shoulder, “my sweet, sweet girl,” heavy breaths still making his chest rise and fall as he pants.

You rake your fingers through his damp curls and lift yourself off him, helping him handle the condom and toss it. Ezra stretches out and you curl into his side, sighing deeply and closing your eyes.

“You’re not sleeping on the couch anymore,” you mumble into his chest, and you hear the chuckle rumble under you between deep breaths, still recovering.

“I’m sure we’ll figure out other usages for the couch if you intend to keep this up with my broken old bones,” he says, smiling, his eyes closed as he begins to caress what he can reach of your back.

You both lie in peaceful silence for a little while, your breathing returning to normal, and your bodies cooling down. When the air raises goosebumps on your skin, you pull the covers over you both, and Ezra makes you curl closer to him.

“You really don’t find it repulsive?” he asks after a while, and tilt your head to look up at him, you know what he’s referencing. His dark eyes are turned to you with a questioning look, the smallest hint of worry clouding his forehead.

“No, I really don’t,” you say, moving your hand so that you can caress the scars at the end of his severed arm, “It’s just skin, or proof that you’ve survived something very difficult, why would I find it repulsive? I’m very happy you survived it.

Ezra places his lips on your forehead, kissing you softly while his one good arm pulls you in tighter.

“Thank you.”

“There you go, Mrs Levinson, all set for the weekend, I envy your guests, you sure do spoil your grandchildren! But I know you would spoil me just as well if turned up on your doorstep like a stray dog.”

Ezra gives the elderly lady his warmest smile and a wink, mischief twinkling in his eye as she returns the wink.

“Ezra, you scoundrel,” she giggles, “you know you’re both always very welcome for dinner any day, and I’ll make sure to spoil you rotten.”

“Never would I be so uncouth as to impose such inconvenience on you, Mrs Levinson,” he replies, a hand on his chest in mock shock, “You should come to our house, I’ll cook my famous one armed bandit stew,” he grins and Mrs Levinson giggles again.

“Oh Ezra, you really do brighten my day, you’re such a treasure to have around,” she titters, collecting her shopping bags, “And I’ll be sure to take you up on that offer.”

“You’re too kind, Mrs Levinson, enjoy the rest of your day now, you hear!” he smiles as she gives him a wave and steps out through the front door.

Ezra turns and heads back into the kitchen, where you’re preparing the final batch of millionaire’s shortbread, sprinkling chopped peanuts over the melted chocolate.

“I may have invited Mrs Levinson for dinner,” he says, coming up behind you and wrapping his arm around your waist, “Said I’d make my stew.”

“I heard,” you reply, “your famous ‘one armed bandit stew’? You’re too much, Ez,” you laugh as Ezra chuckles.

“I did always have a flair for marketing,” he smirks, "maybe we should rename the bakery too, make it official.”

“Make it official that the scandalous baker and her ‘one armed bandit’ are in it for the long haul?” you ask, turning around so that you’re facing him and can see his warm smile as he looks down at you.

“Are we in it for the long haul, my sweet girl?” he replies, bending down to brush the strong curve of his nose across your check, pressing a small kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Well, it’s been two years, and you haven’t tried leaving again, so I think I finally made you realize I want you around,” you mumble as he nudges your head to the side to make better rooms for his kisses.

“You’re stuck with me now, sweet girl,” he mutters, “do you regret it?”

“Not even a little,” you sigh, tangling your fingers into his soft curls and he chuckles.

The bell over the door jingles and Ezra straightens up.

“Go on, Ez, go charm another customer into buying more than they need.”

“Yes, boss,” he smirks, pressing a final quick kiss to your lips before he hurries back into the shop.

“Good afternoon, ma’am, how may I help you on this most beautiful day?”

Part Fifteen

Specifically tagging my Ezra mentor @morallyinept !

 @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @thewiigers  

#prospect ezra #ezra x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #ezra fanfiction

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

so I just read Doodles (and adored it!!) and now I can't stop thinking abt Miguel trying to sketch the reader, but having no artistic abilities and therefore failling miserably. a sequel perhaps??

((not sure if you're still taking requests tho. love ur work anyway!!)

hii!! AW that’s so kind, thank you! I absolutely loved writing this, thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

doodles (part 2)

Miguel O’hara x f reader

wc || 881

warnings || none just fluff

part 1 -> doodles

masterlist + rules

Miguel has many talents, but drawing is not one of them. He has an indispensable need for perfectionism, so anything he was automatically good at frustrated him massively. 

Since you've shared your knack for drawing with him, things have somewhat progressed between you both. Your relationship wasn't definite as of yet, but it was like the wedge between you two dissipated, like there was no longer a divide. You both spoke more freely with each other as if there was now a common understanding, like there were no secrets, well, still some secrets.

So now, when you'd hang out, you kept your doodle pad away, preferring to immerse yourself in conversation with Miguel rather than sketch your time away. He noticed how you were more present, more attentive while you were with him, and though he'd never admit it aloud, it made his heart feel full for you to want to spend time with him.

"You got your uh- notepad?" he asks, changing the subject of today's events at HQ.

"Always," you smile, head tilting to the side as if to understand him better. "Why'd you ask?"

"I want to try something," he sheepishly grins, his demeanour coltish as he avoids your gaze. "Can I borrow it?"

You playfully squint your eyes as you watch his expression soften. "I suppose,"

"And a pencil?" he adds, his tone sweet and juvenile as he extends a hand. 

You weren't completely certain about what he had planned, but you had an idea.

"Okay, turn around a bit... no, towards me... now, put your arm up... yeah, on the table... no, your elbow. Mierda," (shit) he chuckles, shaking his head. "Put that there," he grins, adjusting you, moving you around in your chair. "Now, relax," his smile widens as he gazes at you across the table. "Hermosa," (beautiful) muttering under his breath.

His grin slowly fades as the lead touches the paper, looking stumped as he peeks at you over the notepad. He softly sighs as he begins to sketch you, glancing up at you every few seconds, sometimes looking at you more than necessary. 

"How's it looking?" you sweetly ask, trying not to move too much.

"It's uh- it's," he pauses, masking the unsatisfied look on his face. "Good," he shrugs, his tone unconvincing as he continues to draw you.

He didn't have to say anything for you to know what he was thinking. His expressions were clear enough, even if he thought he hid them well. 

"Can't wait to see it," you reassure, your eyes soften as they meet his. 

He sighs heavily as he guides the pencil over the paper, flick-like strokes around the page as if he's sketching your hair. "It's terrible, cariño," (honey) he huffs, visibly frustrated as he drops the pad to the table. "Sorry,"

"No, no, don't be," you grin, standing from your seat, joining him on his side of the table. "Can I?" you ask, reaching for the pencil tightly gripped within his fist.

He nods, extending it towards you with a wry smile.

"Why you being so hard on yourself? It looks good," you partially lie. 

It wasn't an awful drawing. It just wasn't great. You hated the idea of lying to Miguel, but surely this one time would be okay, a small white lie to avoid hurting his feelings. For someone who doesn't often do anything artistic and creative, it was actually a pretty solid effort. And although he wasn't one to care for art, you could tell this meant a lot to him, like he was trying to impress you or show another side to himself, a softer side even. 

You could tell that he was frustrated in his attempts, so you reassured him, placing your warm palm over his forearm. "I think it looks great, Miguel," you smile. "Would it be okay if I help you?" you question, being careful with your wording to avoid the possibility of upsetting him.

"Go ahead," he nods, scooting his chair closer to you, resting the side of his head in his hand like he was getting comfortable to watch you. "I'm sure," he says, answering the question you had in mind, noticing the quizzical look in your eyes.

"Okay, so," you grin, looking at him. "I think it's the angle. It makes the proportions look funny, and it makes my nose look enormous," you playfully scold, earning you a soft laugh from Miguel. "But, you did the eyes well- wait a second, why are my lips so detailed?" you coyly smile, slowly turning to face him.

He doesn't answer. He shrugs, avoiding your gaze.

"Okay, okay, I'll drop it," you say, hiding your smile behind your hair, shielding the side of your face with it.

"Don't hide it," he mumbles, extending a hand, reaching for your hair and brushing it behind your ear. He smiles, noticing the blush form over your cheeks. "Show me how to improve it,"

So you did. You sat close together, inches apart as you made minor adjustments to the sketch, adding shading and highlights as Miguel admired the process, watching the drawing come to life. His eyes dart between you and the finished sketch of you on the page, a sweet, sincere smile spreading across his lips. "Hermosa," (beautiful) he whispers. "I'm gonna frame it."

@sunshiines-stuff @queerponcho @selfryed

#miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara fluff #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #miguel o’hara imagine #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #miguel atsv

[maxislvt]

Have A Merry Little Christmas

Request: WandaNat and reader cuddling and watching holiday movies on Christmas eve night. An extensive kissing scene comes on and the reader starts to squirm, which gets the attention of wandanat.

Warnings: Smut, Mommy Kink, Daddy Kink, Threesomes, penises, pregnancy

A/N: This basically solidifies that every fic in this event is either pure filth or the cutest thing you'll ever read on my blog and that's just so me!

Event Masterlist

❃❃❃❃❃❃❃❃

As much as the three of you loved going big for the holidays, there were times when you and your lovers simply wanted peace. Sure, dressing up and getting wasted at one of Tony's parties was fun, but nothing could beat being wrapped up in the arms of two beautiful women and being treated like the most precious thing in the whole galaxy. Wanda on your left and Natasha on your right, the usual setup for a movie night. They had already gone through the trouble of getting snacks and picking out all the movies you'd be watching that might. You were practically reduced to a human teddy bear for the night.

Not that you were complaining. Wanda and Natasha had always made a big show of spoiling you any way they could. All throughout the night, you were kissed and praised for the slightest thing. It made your heart warm. The warmth of your heart seemed to spread to the heat of cunt a lot faster than you'd like to admit. With Wanda's choice of a rather explicit Christmas movie and the constant touch, if it was no surprise you'd get wet. You didn't want to ruin the holiday cheer and just kept it to yourself.

Your lovers knew you too well. It was part of their plan, to begin with, but you could never hide your neediness from them. One low whimper from your mouth and they'd be on you in seconds.

"Oh Wanda, I think someone's really enjoying the movie," Nat chuckled before placing a kiss again. "It's pretty late, I think it's time to give them that gift we made." Her words were punctuated with more kisses along your neck and jawline. A familiar hardness began forming in her pants as she rubbed against you. "I think you're gonna love it, malysh. It's something you've always wanted." Natasha's hands grew bolder as they explored your body.

Wanda hummed in agreement as she rubbed her crotch against your thigh. "I think you're right, our little puppy has been so good this year. One early present won't hurt." Wanda took the job of kissing the other side of your face and neck. Hers were much softer than Natasha's. More focused on getting you to relax than marking you up. "Isn't that fair, puppy? Just one gift before Christmas morning. We promise you'll like it," She said in a mocking tone.

You helplessly tried to squirm away from the strong hands grabbing at your body. "N-no, I'm fine! We can keep watching the —" Any attempts to argue were immediately stifled by the searing kiss Wanda pulled you into. Wanda's heavy tongue invaded your mouth while Nat began trailing kisses down your stomach. All the strength in your body was needed to pull away from Wanda just for a second. "I wasn't being needy, I promise!"

Wanda raised her eyebrows in shock. "Oh, really? Why don't we check?" She held up one of your legs, exposing your cloth-covered heat. "Let daddy touch you and we'll find out fair and square." Her nails dig into your skin to keep you from closing your legs. "You're getting your gift either way, but you know how we feel about liars."

Natasha shook her head. Even with the barrier of her fingers, your cunt had practically covered her fingers in slick. "Oh, baby you're soaking. There's no need to hide it." She kissed your pussy over your underwear before pulling them off. Two of her fingers slipped inside you with ease. "There's nothing wrong with being needy, that's what we're here for baby."

Wanda's other hand snaked down to play with your clit. Rubbing it in slow, tight circles just to hear you whine and beg for more. "That's right, just let us make it better. We just want you extra happy for Christmas." Her lips went back to attacking your neck "Just keep being good and everything will feel so good!"

You could only whimper and nod along. Unable to think for yourself, just letting yourself be marked and stretched. "Wanna…wanna cum," You said, barely stringing the words together in a comprehensive sentence. The feeling of two more of Natasha's fingers stretching your sopping wet cunt nearly sent you into orgasm. Your hand clamped over your mouth to prevent any more obscene noises from coming from your body, only to be snatched away by Natasha.

"Nope, none of that. Mommy and Daddy won't know they're doing a good job if you hold back." Natasha curled her fingers against your g spot, finally letting you fall into the ocean of pure bliss. She wanted you to drown in it. No matter how many times you tried squirming away from her fingers or tugging at her shirt, her fingers never stopped. "I know it's a lot but you're gonna need to be extra wet for our gift, puppy."

It was only by the grace of Wanda's lust that you were freed from Natasha's torture. "Let mommy have a turn and then you'll get your gift. I promise!" In one swift motion, Wanda turned you around to face her. "Just one taste." Greed had clearly over the plan the two originally played out as Wanda spent what felt like hours eating you out. The nerve endings on your clit were assaulted by both her tongue and fingers.

Wanda's tongue easily forced out two orgasms before she was done eating you out. You were thankful for the few minutes you were given to recover. "Thank you, momma. Thank you, daddy." Words were barely above a whisper but it was all you could get out before your brain short-circuited. You could only make a confused face and let out a "Hm?" When Wanda pulled you into her lap.

"It's time for our special puppy to get their little gift!" Wanda smiled before peppering your confused face with kisses. Her hand reached in between your bodies and guided the tip of her dick around your clit. "I know you're still sensitive, but you're a good puppy. Mommy knows you can take it." Wanda slid inside of your cunt and bottomed out in almost record time.

Natasha pushed you forward a bit. "And now you get the extra fun part." She peppered your cheek with kisses before slipping her dick inside of you. A deep groan came from her as she pushed as far in as she could. "God, this little hole was made for having babies." Her hips slowly began to thrust in sync with Wanda's and she grinned.

If you weren't so cock-drunk and full, you would've noticed the way Wanda slapped Nat's arm and reprimed her for almost ruining your surprise. Instead, you enjoyed the feeling of being stuffed and stretched out. Mindlessly bouncing on your lovers' dicks with much concern for how late it was becoming. "Fuck, I'm gonna cum again!"

Wanda smiled. "Go ahead, make a big mess for your mommy and daddy! You're gonna make us so proud!" She groped your hips and pulled you closer to her. Having you sandwich between her and Natasha was forever a blissful experience, but not one of them would ever compare to how important this instance would be. "You better hope your daddy can hold it for three more minutes or she'll ruin the gift. Then the two of us will have to punish her, won't we?"

It seemed you liked the idea of a little revenge because your walls tightened unreasonably around your partners. "Fuck, I don't think either of us are gonna last if they keep pulling shit like that." Nat was practically rutting into you at that point. Her stamina was at its peak and not even the threat of Wanda's punishment could break her need to cum. "Be easy on me, just 2 more minutes."

Your brain barely processed Wanda's threats. Her words were far too big and long for your fluffy little head to understand. "No punishment…just wanna be full." You grabbed both of your partners' hands and signaled them to press down on the bulge in your stomach. The second your lovers fulfilled your wish, you came for the fifth time that night.

The rapid clenching and fluttering of your walls sent both of your lovers into orgasms of their own. They coated your insides with sticky white cum they'd been holding in for days. Their bodies moved as one in an attempt to prolong the bliss you three were captured in. Natasha was the first to collapse and Wanda didn't follow much longer after.

"Merry Christmas, malysh."

"We're gonna be a family."

#pvntherz #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda fanfic #natahsa romanoff #natasha smut #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff #natasha fanfiction #wandanat x reader #panther's 12 days of Christmas

[qveerthe0ry]

If You're Crazy Too

Summary: It isn’t the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you, helping your friend with benefits confess his love for his longtime friend and roommate. But it’s definitely in the top ten. Word Count: 8,600 Pairing: Santi x m!amab!reader x Frankie Rating: 18+ Explicit Warnings: 18+ mdni, mutual masturbation, watching porn together, threesome, handjobs, ass eating, oral sex (m receiving), anal fingering, anal sex, unprotected sex (pls wrap it up), dirty talk, dom/sub undertones, polyamory Betas: @for-a-longlongtime and @perotovar thank you both so much, you're angels for helping me through this <3 A/N: Special thanks to the author of this post for making an excellent resource for writing Spanish in fics, it came SO in handy. Also thanks to @triplefrontier-anniversary for inspiring me to finish getting this brainworm all written down before the deadline!

Santi is an incredible fuck. Also, he’s a fairly sweet guy. 

You met him at your favorite club. He’d been dancing with men and women all night long, graceful and respectful, and you itched to get your turn with him. 

When you finally got the chance, his body was solid and sweaty and sure against your own. 

You could barely hear him over the music when he told you, lips brushing over your ear, that he was hoping you’d seek him out. 

He kissed you, after a few songs, and you met it with an eagerness you didn’t even know you had in you. It wasn’t long before he asked you to come back to his place, and he made you fall apart underneath him. 

The morning after wouldn’t have been awkward, either, if his roommate hadn’t been cooking breakfast for the both of you. 

Santi introduced him as “Frankie, or Catfish, or Fish.” He was gorgeous, too, in a softer way than Santi. His brown eyes were wider and less menacing than Santi’s, and his curls peeked out under a well-worn trucker’s cap.

He said it was nice to meet you, and asked how you liked your eggs, and if you were way too loud the night before with Santi, he didn’t mention it. You did, however, catch him sneaking glances at Santi while the three of you ate, and wondered what they meant. 

It didn’t matter much at the time when you thought you’d never see Santi again. But he walked you to your Uber after breakfast, and asked if you maybe wanted to do this again, no pressure, no strings attached. And you did. So you exchanged numbers and he kissed you on the cheek before sending you off. 

You’ve met up with him a few times now. Each time Frankie makes himself scarce. You either hear the TV in his room, or you pass him on your way in, telling you he’s got errands to run. What errands he’s running at 10pm, you’re not sure you want to know, but you don’t think much of it. 

Until now. You knock on the front door of their apartment and hear voices, too muffled to make anything out clearly. 

Santi answers before too long with a smile, and you follow, intent to trail him to his bedroom like you usually do. 

This time, though, Frankie’s sat on the couch in the living room, a beer in his hand, and he looks like someone just kicked his puppy.

“Am I, uh, interrupting something? We can rain check.” 

Frankie looks to you, and then to Santi, and you feel like you have your answer before either of them speak. 

“No, no, you haven’t interrupted anything,” Santi starts, “it’s just our favorite OnlyFans guy released a new video a few days ago and we haven’t had the chance to watch it yet. Fish is a little eager.”

“Fuck you, I’m not. Just thought we were watching it today is all. No big deal.” 

It’s a lot of information to process, that these two not only share a favorite OnlyFans creator, but watch his videos together. And— not to assume, but you’re sure they probably do other things together too. 

“Oh… I mean, I don’t want to ruin your plans.”

“It’s fine—“

Frankie’s reassurance is cut off by Santi though, something that seems like a common occurrence by the way he settles back into his seat and closes his lips when Santi begins to speak. 

“You wanna watch with us? First orgasm of the night, but I promise I’ll make it up to you after.” 

And fuck it, you think. It isn’t quite what you imagined when you left your place, but it doesn’t sound like a terrible way to spend your Friday night. 

“I’m down,” you shrug, and Santi’s eyes crinkle when he smiles and winks at you. 

He turns the lights off while Frankie casts the video to the TV. You settle in the armchair, as Fish looks a little uncomfortable, but he assures you he isn’t when you check in with him. 

Santi takes the opposite side of the couch as Frankie, and then he’s ordering him to start the video. 

The bar on the bottom reads 45:06. Longer than you expected. The video is well-edited with soft royalty-free music over a logo that fades when the man appears on screen. 

You chance a small glance at the couch. You aren’t really sure what the etiquette is here, but neither of them seem to be making any moves yet, hands resting on their own thighs. You mirror them, subtly shifting to do so, and avert your eyes to the television once more. 

The man on the screen is a wicked dirty talker. He spends a good five minutes telling the viewer what he wants done to him. He’s also quite submissive by the sounds of it, which shouldn’t come as a surprise to you. Santi loves the way you submit to him, tells you so every time you hook up. 

You find yourself wondering what Frankie likes in the bedroom, if he’s also just as dominant as Santi, if he’s more sweet or hardened, if he would be vocal like Santi or more reserved like he seems to be in his daily life. 

Before you realize it, the man on the screen is stripping down into a skimpy, lacy set of underthings. His cock is on the smaller side but rock hard and leaking, tenting his little lacy briefs in a deliciously obscene display. Your cock stirs at the sight, and you peek over at the couch again. 

Frankie’s palming the bulge in his sweatpants, eyes glued to the screen so diligently that you think it’s calculated. Santi, in contrast, has his hand under the waistband of his gym shorts already. 

But you don’t miss the way his eyes flicker from the screen, and not to you, but to Frankie, flitting up and down quickly from his face to his lap. 

You try not to sigh too loudly as you cradle your own package, half-hard in your own skimpy briefs you wore just for Santi. You watch as the man on the screen turns his back to the camera and bends over, allows the camera to get a full view of the outline of the plug nestled between his juicy ass cheeks. 

The air in the room feels humid, almost too hot as the video goes on. You definitely get why this guy is their favorite OnlyFans creator. He’s gorgeous, first of all, all lithe muscle, soft in the perfect places. And he’s an incredible performer. He talks to the camera like he’s talking to you, desperate and breathy. It doesn’t take long for your prick to fully fill out in your briefs. 

The camera angle changes on screen. It cuts to him on all fours on the bed, his hole gaping from removing the plug, his pretty pink cock leaking between his legs. A rough grunt from your left has your eyes wandering to the couch again. 

Santi’s cock is out, and the sight alone makes your mouth water. Thick and glistening in his big hand, his balls sat atop the waistband of his shorts. Your own throbs under the pressure of your palm, and you let yourself sneak a look at Frankie, too. 

He’s finally got his hand down his pants, and you almost feel bad for wondering what his cock is like, too. If it would mirror the differences between he and Santi’s bodies, longer but thinner. You wonder if he’s uncut like Santi is, and you wonder what he’d taste like. 

A loud whimper makes you peel your eyes away from the couch and look back at the TV. The guy is three fingers deep in himself, fucking them in along with the messy amount of lube he’s used. It’s fucking hot, and you throw all caution to the wind to unzip your jeans and pull your cock free from its confines. 

“He’s fucking hot right?” 

You turn your head to Santi at the sound of his voice. Your heart picks up at the sight of him, one hand stroking his balls while the other works slowly up and down his shaft. 

You squeeze your own in response. 

“Yeah, not exactly my type but he’s still doing it for me.” 

Santi chuckles, nods his head back to the screen. But before you turn back yourself, you see Fish glance at Santi out of the corner of his eye. He starts to shuffle his waistband down his hips, but you turn away before you see anything you think you shouldn’t. 

The guy on the screen is limber. On his back now, knees pressed to his chest, he’s whining and whimpering while he fucks himself with a big, realistic dildo. 

It’s massive, much bigger than any real cock you’ve taken, but you guess that’s some of the appeal. You try to quietly spit in your hand, then spread it up and down as you lazily stroke yourself off to the video. 

It’s loud. The obscene squelching and consequential moans fill the living room, but not enough that you can’t hear the strokes from both Santi and Frankie on the couch next to you. Occasionally you hear a muffled curse, or a stilted gasp, and you can’t be sure which man they’re coming from but you want to hear more. 

You glance over again. Your eyes land on Santi first, of course, who’s almost shamelessly staring at Frankie’s crotch, the way he lifts his hips to fuck into his fist every few thrusts. 

Frankie’s cock is longer, and thinner, and you’re delighted to find that he isn’t circumcised either, the fat head of his cock disappearing and reappearing from under his foreskin. 

He turns his head, and you stop stroking your cock all together, afraid of Fish’s reaction to you sneaking a peek. Only, when you meet his eyes to shoot him an apologetic look, he’s not looking at you. 

He’s looking at Santi, staring, eyes roaming up and down his body, lingering where he fists his prick, then back up again. You’re stunned still at how intimate it feels, the heat in Frankie’s gaze as he licks his plush lips. 

You turn your eyes back to the video with a pounding heartbeat. Your erection begins to wane as you stare through the TV. You can’t get it out of your mind, the way they look at each other. You’re surprised they haven’t caught each other looking yet. The heat from both of their gazes looked tangible, hungry and yearning. It’s as plain as day to you, on the outside looking in. 

“Ah fuck—” 

The curse is not from Santi. Your eyes trail over just in time to see Frankie pull his shirt up and spill across his stomach. His eyes are closed, head thrown back against the wall behind the couch, and you see Santi’s fist speed up, a blur of tan skin. 

You watch him watch Frankie, unabashed now as Fish’s eyes are shut in bliss, and Santi comes too with a deep hum, closing his own eyes just in time for Frankie to open his and look at the both of you. 

He quickly averts his gaze when he sees you staring, reaches for the tissue box on the coffee table in front of him. In a move that looks so familiar, he pulls out two for himself, and then two for Santi, handing them over with practiced ease. 

Santi pants out a gruff gracias and uses one to clean up with, then holds out his hand to offer you the other. 

“Oh— no thanks, I’m good. Didn’t quite get there.” 

Santi hums, uses the extra tissue to finish wiping himself up. 

“What’s wrong, hermoso? Have I ruined you for all other men?”

His grin is cocky when he asks, tucking himself back into his shorts. 

“Yeah Santi, that’s it.”

You roll your eyes and look over to Fish as if to say this fuckin’ guy, but he’s busy boring a hole into the paused TV screen like his life depends on it. 

Your dick is hanging fairly limp out of your underwear, so you stow it away, pull your jeans back up. 

“Don’t bother,” Santi tells you, nodding his head toward his bedroom, “let me make it up to you now.” 

So with your fly undone, you stand on weary legs and follow Santi to his room. When you make it, you turn back to Frankie, to say thank you or sorry, you can’t be sure, because he’s already closing his own bedroom door behind him. 

Santi makes good on his promise, though. He eats your ass for what feels like hours, until you’re shaking and begging for him to fuck you. And then he does, somehow riding the perfect line between rough and tender, holding your back against his front with one big hand on your chest as you both kneel on the bed. His other hand works your cock so perfectly that you come unglued in a grand way, like you always do with him. 

He cleans you up after, gentle. He’s a huge cuddler, so it doesn’t phase you anymore when he spoons you close and presses his mouth along the little love bites he’s left. 

“You really aren’t into subs, are you? Not even a little bit?” 

You know he’s referencing your lack of interest in the video. You could agree with him, or you could tell him the truth. You’re not sure what to do, and so you sit in silence for some time before you decide to bite the bullet. 

“It isn’t that. I mean, I am more into doms but— that wasn’t it.” 

You feel him go stiff behind you. 

“Shit, was that too weird for you? I didn’t mean to force you into—“

“No! No, Santi, it was fine. I just— you’re into Frankie, right?” 

Air escapes his lungs in something akin to a sob. 

“What!? Why would you say that?”

He’s not denying it, which is a good step. 

“C’mon man, you were watching him more than you were watching the TV.”

“Pendejo, no I wasn’t.” 

“Pendejo” you mock him, “don’t gaslight me. I don’t care. This isn’t, we’re no strings, right? I’m just saying, I don’t wanna come between this thing.”

“There’s no thing to come between. Even if you were right, which you’re not, Fish isn’t into me like that.”

You laugh. 

“O-kay.”

“Don’t ‘okay’ me. How would you know? You’ve known him for a grand total of an hour and a half.” 

“He was looking at you, too. You know that, right? You’re just in denial?”

“I would’ve seen if he was looking at me.”

“Because you were looking at him.”

“Fine! Okay, I was looking at him. He wasn’t looking at me so what’s it even matter?” 

“He was, Santi. He was looking at your cock and licking his lips like he was starved. I saw it.”

Santi huffs behind you, and it tickles your neck. 

“I’m not lying to you. I’m not in love with you or anything but I care about you a little bit.”

His arm around you tightens for a beat.

“Awww, so sweet, querido.”

“Shut up,” you huff, “you’re changing the subject. He was looking at you, like he’s always looking at you. I’ve watched him moon over you every single breakfast I’ve eaten here. You know how bad that makes me feel, eating the breakfast he made me while your cum drips out of me?”

“Fuck, why’d you say it like that? That’s so hot.”

“Because it’s true. If you guys have feelings for each other you need to figure that out before I die of a guilty conscience.”

You can practically feel Santi’s eyes roll behind you. 

“Dramático,” he groans. 

“You do have feelings for him. It seems like he does too. Get your poop in a group about it, man.”

“Will you still stay over? I’ll need a morning fuck if this is the way my weekend’s gonna go.” 

——

I can’t do it. Frankie’s visiting his kid this weekend

The text comes a few hours after you shared your now routine, dysfunctional family breakfast, where Fish was indeed making googly eyes at Santi, and Santi’s cum was indeed leaking out into your underwear.

Likely story

No really. I don’t want to mess with his vibes, his kid is super important to him. It’s cute.

Oh my god just fuck him already

I’m TRYING okay? Can you help? I need moral support.

And look, it isn’t the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you, helping your friend with benefits confess his love for his longtime friend and roommate. But it’s definitely in the top ten. 

So the two of you devise a plan. It’s convoluted as all hell, but also fairly simple. The next time their OnlyFans guy posts a video, Santi invites you over to watch again. Conveniently, just before you arrive, he spills a glass of red wine all over the seat of the armchair, and soaks the cushion trying to get the stain out of the beige fabric. 

You show up, ‘none the wiser.’ Still, the vibes are absolutely weird in their two bedroom apartment. Frankie’s fidgeting on the couch, and Santi misses your cheek and plants a kiss to your eyelid. You have to get these boys together. 

The plan goes off without a hitch from there. Santi flicks off the lights, and Frankie casts the video to the TV, just like they did last time, just like they’ve probably done dozens of times before. But now, the armchair is out of commission, so you all squeeze together on the couch. Santi’s in the middle, of course, his thick thigh pressing against your own as you all point your attention to the flatscreen. 

You’re kind of excited. It’s a weird thing for you to be excited about, but you weren’t lying all those days ago. You do care for Santi. And Fish too, really, if only for the delicious breakfasts he makes, and for making Santi happy. 

This time, you don’t wait for any of their cues. You pull your cock out as soon as the OnlyFans guy starts stripping his clothes. Santi grabs your hand, and for a second you think you’ve ruined the plan. But then spits into it, and Frankie groans from Santi’s other side as he watches the display. You moan a little too, partly for show, partly for the way Santi never fails to make your dick rock hard in record time. 

You stroke yourself, and it goads the boys into pulling their pants down, too. The guy on the screen is doing things a little differently this time, fingering a see-through fleshlight as he lubes it up. This is hotter to you, anyway. It doesn’t take long at all for pre-cum to gather at your slit and slick your strokes even more. 

By the time the guy is fucking into it with timid strokes, whimpering through the speakers, Santi still hasn’t made a move. You elbow him in the side, and he flinches, then elbows you right back. 

You turn your head toward him, make like you’re kissing his neck, because Frankie’s eyes are about to pop out of his skull with the way he’s got them trained on Santi. 

“Go on. You already have an audience,” you whisper. 

Santi shudders, and Frankie looks away. Just in time, too. Santi eyes the way Fish is stroking himself, and then you hold your breath as Santi lifts his hand and wraps it around the base of Frankie’s cock. 

“Ohmyfuckinggod.”

Frankie’s head thunks against the wall behind him, and his hips jolt up into the touch. You’re watching without any hesitation now, and Fish’s eyes are closed anyway. Santi squeezes and Frankie whimpers and scrambles to find Santi’s cock without looking. 

“Fuck, Fish. Yeah?”

Santi’s voice is dripping with arousal, low and gruff, his cock twitching in Frankie’s grasp. 

“Please, please.”

Frankie finally opens his eyes, lets his head loll to the side to look at Santi. But his eyes quickly flutter to you, his expression twisting up in confusion. 

“Santi, what—“

“Shhh, hermano, s’okay.”

You lean forward, and for a moment you’re having an out-of-body experience, watching yourself cradle into Santi’s side, not knowing if you’re helping or hurting their cause, but wanting to reassure them both that this is a good thing.

Frankie takes the encouragement for what it is, allowing himself to fuck up into Santi’s fist and look at him with hooded eyes, mouth gaping open. 

Like a fish, you think, and chuckle against Santi’s neck. 

“What’s happening? Why?”

Frankie looks between the two of you for an answer, and you bite down on Santi’s earlobe to goad him to answer. 

“He caught you looking, last time. Caught me looking at you, too. Put two and two together for me. This okay?”

Frankie shudders and closes his eyes, but nods his head. 

You watch both of them, their hands on each other’s pricks, their hips meeting the thrust of foreign fists. 

“Waited so long,” Frankie whispers. 

“Lo sé, me too.”

Their faces inch toward each other, and you nuzzle the curls at the nape of Santi’s neck. To encourage him, or maybe to shield your eyes from the intimate moment, or probably both. 

You feel the kiss, the way Santi’s neck cranes and flexes, and you hear the ragged moans from their lungs, and you are rock hard.

But your work here is done. You may need to jerk off in Santi’s bathroom before you leave, lest you tumble down the apartment stairs since there’s hardly any blood flow to anywhere other than your dick. 

But as you make to get up, Santi’s free hand plants firmly on your thigh. You still behind him, a rush of awkwardness flushes through your system. 

His head leans back when he pulls away from the kiss, and you watch the way Frankie physically recovers from it, takes a big lungful of air and slowly opens his eyes, licks the taste of Santi from his lips. 

“What do you think, Fish? Should we thank him?” 

Your cock throbs where it’s pressed against Santi, and you feel him chuckle, but Frankie’s nodding his head fast and looking straight at you. 

“Yeah, yes,” he answers, breathless. 

“My bedroom or yours, hermano?”

“I couldn’t give any less of a shit.”

They both laugh, and you find it in you to huff, but it’s anything but authentic when all you can think about is having these two men in bed with you, thanking you. 

“Go get comfy, yeah? We’ll be there in a minute,” Santi tells you. 

You’ve never moved more swiftly in your life, and you’re sure it looks so graceful, walking to Santi’s room with your hard prick swaying in the wind. But you, like Frankie, couldn’t give any less of a shit. 

You undress in the now familiar bedroom, lie back on freshly washed sheets as you hear Santi and Frankie mumble, incoherent all the way out in the living room. Your heart rate picks up when you hear footsteps, but only one pair, and Santi struts in. You can hear rustling from beyond the door, a kitchen cabinet opening and closing. 

“He‘a grabbing us some waters. I wanted to check in, make sure this is all okay? I know it wasn’t the plan.”

Now you laugh. 

“Is it okay? Do I want two gorgeous men thanking me for squishing their heads together like Barbie dolls? It’s more than okay.”

Santi clicks his tongue at you. 

“No need for the sass.”

Your blood runs cold at his tone shift, even as his lips quirk up just the tiniest bit at each corner. 

Frankie walks in, then, and almost looks startled by the staring match happening. Still, he wades further into the room, sets a few glasses of water down on the nightstand. 

You’re suddenly feeling self-conscious, naked and spread out on the bed in front of these two men, fully clothed and practically leering at you. Frankie’s not so shy now; you can feel his eyes on you as they roam across every inch of exposed skin. It’s a heated, tense moment that only breaks when Santi tugs Frankie to him by the hem of his shirt. 

Christ, is it hot to watch, the way Fish’s body goes lax as Santi’s tenses, grabbing the back of his neck. His strong arm flexes as his hand gets lost in Frankie’s curls. They share a kiss that looks like less lips and more teeth. Then Santi’s sliding his hands under Frankie’s shirt, along his flanks, exposing smooth, tan skin. 

They part to fling their shirts off, and you can’t help it, you reach down to touch yourself. You’re watching something beautiful. Their dance is stilted with novelty but still looks so easy, familiar in an unfamiliar way. 

Their noses bump together awkwardly at times, but their hands map out patterns across each other’s bodies that look practiced, like they’ve done this thousands of times before, if only in their dreams. 

And they look incredible together. Santi’s thick and bulky, skin so taught over his frame. And Frankie is leaner, corded muscle covered in softer flesh. It looks so squeezable. It is, you find out, second-hand, by the way Santi grabs him by the hips and pulls him closer, just to push him away to get his pants down. 

They don’t part for long, and you’re stuck in this haze, a participant only by the way you’re sliding your hand lazily up and down your shaft while you watch them. Santi hasn’t waxed since you first met him, and now all that chest hair is growing in, a stark contrast to Fish’s hairless one. And you know it feels incredible, to be in Frankie’s position, getting scratched by all that wiry hair. You know his own hairless chest will be red and splotchy by the time the night ends, like yours has been countless nights before. 

Finally, they come up for air, naked and heaving breaths across each other’s faces as they share a look. Santi raises his strong brow, tilts his head in your direction, and you’re snapped out of your voyeuristic state. 

“Let’s show some gratitude, yeah?” 

His voice is all low and hoarse, and you watch it affect Frankie in the same way it affects you, cocks jumping. And fuck, Fish does exactly as he’s told once Santi coaxes him with a playful slap to his ass. He crawls up between your legs, and his full lips are even more so now, bitten and slick and deep red. Glancing up at you with those long, pretty, fluttery lashes, his sweet brown eyes are all heavy-lidded and hesitant. 

“This is okay?” 

His voice is small, and he’s so goddamn perfect. 

“Yes, Frankie. Please.”

You both exhale at the same time, and then he gets to it, immediately. His tongue hangs out of his mouth when he opens it wide, and he wastes no time sinking down on your prick. 

“Jesus Christ, Fish.” 

You damn near give yourself whiplash to look over to Santi, frozen in place next to the bed, eyes glued to where you and Frankie connect. The latter moans around your cock, encouraged to bob his head faster already, take you deeper. 

“Knew you’d be such a good little cocksucker with those pretty lips. Fuck.” 

It’s so hot, it’s too hot. You’re going to blow in record time with the warmth of Frankie’s mouth and the filth Santi is reciting. 

He must see it in your face, the panic of this all being over way quicker than you want it to be. He kneels on the bed beside you both, gets a hand in Fish’s silky curls and you see the shudder that cascades down his body. 

“Not a race, hermano,” Santi says, tugging at his hair to get him to lift off of your leaking prick. 

Fish stares, wide-eyes and ragged breathing, as Santi arranges himself to lie beside him, both of their faces now inches from your throbbing cock. 

“Control freak,” Frankie mumbles, but the smile on his face makes any heat from his words dissipate.

Santi punishes him with a bruising kiss anyway. Your hips jolt as Frankie’s hair brushes across your dick, so on-edge that even that whisper of a touch sends you reeling. 

Santi chuckles around Fish’s bottom lip that he’s got between his teeth. 

“He so sensitive, Fish. Gotta take it slow, alright?” 

It makes your entire body burn, the way he’s talking about you like you’re not even there. The way he’s been guiding Frankie through everything so far, and the way Frankie follows so obediently. 

Santi shuffles a bit, and Fish does too, so in-sync that you almost laugh. Their unplanned choreography has them both straddling one of your legs respectively, arms in between, their hands finding each other just close enough to your heavy sac that you can feel the heat coming off of them. 

They both look up at you, and for a moment everything is so eerily perfect that it feels like you’re in some sick, twisted Truman Show remake, and this was all a ploy to get you into bed with them. 

But then Santi looks at Frankie, a soft bueno? uttered toward him, and Frankie nods. Santi leans in, for what you assume is to kiss him more, but his nose brushes the base of your shaft. And then Fish leans in too, his own strong nose nuzzling just under your head. 

Your hands find purchase on the backs of their necks, a light touch to ground yourself as you watch. It’s so fucking intimate, and you’re the catalyst for their exploration, and it’s driving you up the goddamn wall. Your curse and watch twin grins break out on their faces. 

Shitheads, both of them. 

They continue on with this dance, breathing in your scent as they nose up and down your cock. Their eyes open and close, but their gazes always seem to land on each other at the same time. 

And then Santi leads, licking a long stripe up the side of you. Frankie follows eagerly once he catches on, meeting him for a sloppy dance of tongues all over the head of your dick, your frenulum, lapping up the pre-cum that’s been steadily leaking from your slit. 

It jerks wildly under their loose attention, and Frankie chuckles deep and low as he chases your cock and Santi’s mouth at the same time. Your nails start to bite into their napes, the burning in your gut becoming far too intense. 

“Guys,” you gasp, “I— fuck. I can’t.” 

Santi hums, leaves a playful nip at the base of your prick that nearly sends you over the edge. Fish lets up, intent to lick up every last drop of your taste from Santi’s mouth, and groans when he succeeds.

You’re all left panting for a minute. You can’t decide who to look at. Santi’s head has fallen onto your thigh, and Frankie’s propped up on an elbow, staring down at him, all along the dips and curves of his tan skin. Santi gets a hand around Fish’s cock, thumbing under the head in slow circles, soothing and relaxed. 

“Everyone still having a good time?” 

Santi’s tone implies he already knows the answer. A weak Jesus, yes huffs out of your vocal chords, just as Frankie nods his head eagerly where it rests in his palm. 

Santi cranes his neck to look up at you, and already you know you’re in for it, a wicked glint in his eyes. 

“You want Fish to fuck you?” 

Your cock throbs near their heads, and Frankie snorts. 

“Think that’s a yes, huh?”

You answer Fish with a nod. It’s been a while since you’ve taken anyone but Santi. The thought shorts out all the wires in your system as you realize you get to learn him this way, what he’s into, what he’ll want to do to you, and how different it is from his counterpart. 

“All fours, both of you. He’ll let you eat his ass for hours, Fish,” Santi instructs. 

“Jesus.”

If it weren’t for the way Frankie scrambles to get into position, you’d ask if he was alright with it. But once he’s hovering on his hands and knees between your legs, he’s manhandling you to do the same, and you love it.

Your cock sways and leaks between your thighs, and Fish pulls and tugs to get you exactly how he wants you. You feel even more exposed than usual like this, with these two men behind you. He spreads you open for him, and you feel your hole clench and relax as it’s exposed to the humid air of the bedroom. 

Then he spits, perfectly aimed, and you feel his saliva trickle all the way down your taint, tickling your balls as it drips onto the sheets. 

A puff of hot air is all the warning you get before his tongue is following that same trail in reverse, all the way up to where your crack meets your back, and then back down, and your elbows buckle and so does your resolve. 

You moan a mix of curses and Frankie’s name, and it only eggs him on, gets him to zero in on your rim with his tongue, circling then flicking, over and over. 

You try to crane your neck enough to see Santi when you hear him swear. 

“You really fuckin’ like this. Don’t you, Fish?” 

All you can see is his tight curls behind Frankie’s own arched back, and his big hands wrapped around Frankie’s slender hips. 

You feel Frankie answer him, an incoherent groan into your asshole as the tip of his tongue breaches you. 

You’re on fire. Your cock is leaking a really pathetic stream onto Santi’s bedding, neglected, and you know you won’t come without any friction, but you also don’t want to. Not for a while, not until you get to feel Frankie’s cock inside you, get to see Santi watch him fuck you. 

You’re anything but impatient, though. Santi was right, the smug asshole. You could keep Fish here for eternity, especially with how fucking diligent his tongue is, lapping you up and pressing inside of you, over and over. It’s dizzying, especially when he begins making desperate noises against you. 

You know he’s in for the time of his life. Santi, as smug as he is, loves eating your ass ‘for hours.’ He’s fucking sloppy with it, and he does this thing with his thumbs that drives you—

“Fuck! Ay dios, Pope, what the fuck?”

Frankie falls lax into you, his nose against your hole and his lips brushing your taint as he curses. 

“Yeah, you like that? Want me inside this cute little ass?” 

Fish whines, shifts his face so he can bite the tender flesh where your thigh and ass meet, and all you can do is groan and push back into him as he gives Santi his answer. 

“Damelo, need you, please.”

Santi hums, and you can tell by how it’s muffled that his mouth is once again occupied. Frankie recovers, though his tongue is much less coordinated now, a messy flurry of licks as he prods at your entrance. 

Then you hear it, the click of a bottle opening, bouncing off the bedroom walls in a familiar way. You clench around Frankie’s tongue, a Pavlovian response, and he groans and fits his lips around your hole and sucks. 

You’re babbling now, strings of nonsense, begging, and praise in the otherwise silent bedroom. You know the exact moment Santi sinks his thick finger inside of Frankie, because you feel him stiffen and shake against you, feel his nails dig into the meat of your cheeks where he’s spreading you open. 

His mouth retreats, and you whine, but he’s tugging on you again to get you to lie on your back. 

It’s a fucking sight when you’re finally able to watch. Fish has his back arched like a goddamn cat, presenting his ass to Santi, mouth gaping open at his skilled fingers.

Santi’s looking over him, one large hand splayed out on his back to keep him still as he fucks into him with what you assume is at least three fingers, the way Frankie’s drool is dripping from the corner of his mouth. Santi’s eyes are glued to his ministrations, where he’s slowly thrusting in and out, his big bicep flexing as he goes. 

He manages to tear his eyes away, though, to look at you and wink. 

“How’d he do? Think he deserves to fuck you, papi?”

You whimper at the mere thought of it, finally feeling him inside you. 

You shake your head, but Santi tuts. 

“Yeah— Yes, Santi. He did so good.” 

Santi’s lips tilt up into a wicked smirk.

“There he is, that’s it, tell Francisco how good he is for us, huh?”

You see Frankie’s cock throb between his legs, hear a pathetic little noise fall from his lips. You and Santi both get a curious but delighted look on your faces at his reaction. 

“Did so good, Francisco.” 

He shivers, hides his face in the bedding between your thighs for a hot minute. A lungful of air escapes him, slow and methodical, before he tilts his head back to Santi. 

“Lube?” 

Santi huffs, tosses the bottle next to Fish’s head. 

“Doesn’t take long for him. He likes the stretch, don’t you bebito?”

You huff, and your face feels hot and prickly as both men look at you. You squirm, and you don’t want to answer, you want at least a tiny bit of pride going into this, because you know you’re bound to come out the other side with absolutely none. 

“He asked you a question,” Frankie says. 

His gruff voice makes your breath catch. 

Santi hums his approval behind him. 

“Yeah, yeah, just— just two, give me two and I’ll be good.”

“What do you say, papi?” 

And Jesus, this is the most Frankie’s said all night and it has your toes curling. 

“Please, Frankie.”

He makes a patronizing, satisfied noise that makes you want to hide but also expose yourself even more. You want to give him everything, him and Santi, let them use you to get their pleasure however they want. 

But then Fish groans, and you see Santi’s arm twisting behind him, reaching for that perfect spot. He makes a mess squirting lube out onto his fingers, and you at least have enough control of your faculties to lift your sac out of the way so Frankie can spread it across your hole. 

It twitches under his fingers, begging, and so are you, just incoherent babbles as he teases you, toys with you. You think you maybe could wait him out, knowing he doesn’t get his until his cock is pressed inside you, but you don’t want to. 

“Fuck,” you whimper, “please fuck me.” 

“Yeah, good boy, there you are.” 

You open your eyes at Santi’s voice. 

“Give him what he wants, Fish. Give it to him so I can fuck you.” 

Two fingers, right off the bat, pressed in slowly but surely in one swoop to the knuckle. You cry out, reaching for purchase and finding the bedsheets to twist into your clenched fists. 

“You’re okay, you can take it, right?” 

And it’s so goddamn mind-blowing, Santi talking you through it with Frankie’s fingers deep inside you.

You nod, opening your eyes again to look up at him. His eyes are so dark, and he’s stroking his thick cock as he continues stretching Fish out, and he looks hungry. He licks his lips and watches where Frankie’s fucking into you, boring holes where you’re connected. You have to reach down with your free hand and squeeze the base of your prick to get yourself together. 

It doesn’t take long for you to adjust, to relax around his digits with a few deep breaths. He praises you, that’s it, take ‘em so well, wanna be fucked so bad don’t you? Your head spins with it as he works you open. Little by little your legs spread wider for him, hips canting up to direct him to the spot inside you that you want him to reach so desperately. 

But he doesn’t. Once it’s obvious you’re ready to take him, he slips his fingers out and wipes the residue on the inside of your thigh. 

“Gonna take me now?” 

It’s a rhetorical question, obviously, as he grips behind your knees and pushes them to your chest. You answer anyway, your own voice so foreign to your ears as you plead for him. 

Santi shushes you, and that familiar noise is calming enough to bring you back down to Earth, where he’s resting behind Frankie, one hand caressing his chest while the other grips his waist. 

“Wanna be inside you, Fish,” he mumbles, nose pressed behind his ear, lips teasing his earlobe. 

Fish’s eyes close, but he guides the head of his dick to your entrance and sinks in, blinding pressure as the head of him stretches you wide. When it slips past, you both gasp, and Santi groans into Frankie’s neck as he watches. 

It feels like years, waiting for him to seat himself all the way inside you. It burns in the best way, friction that has goosebumps dotting every square inch of skin. 

But then his thighs reach the backs of yours. He curses, moves your legs out of the way so he can cover your body with his own. Santi’s gaze is heavy where it falls, the place you and Frankie are fused together, as he spreads a healthy dollop of lube over his prick. 

“Ready for me, baby?” 

It’s palpable, the way the energy of the room shifts when Santi presses closer behind Frankie. Like he’s about to step off a ledge, Fish’s eyes widen and he looks at you with his brows drawn up tight. You reach for his curls, run your fingers through them, scrape your nails across his scalp in hopes that it evens out his breathing a bit. 

Past Frankie’s shaking form, Santi’s expression is nearly identical. His bottom lip is caged between his teeth, brow furrowed, shoulders squared. His eyes flicker to you, and his features soften just a fraction before his hips begin to press forward. 

Frankie sobs at first contact. His sweaty forehead falls to your chest. His cock is jerking inside you, rhythmic pulses as you watch Santi’s hips slowly inch forward. 

“Relax for me, Fish. Deep breaths, baby. I’ve got you, take it for me.”

Santi sounds so wrecked. His voice is wispy, and so deep you can hardly hear from the bass in it. He’s never really sounded this way before, and the reality of this entire situation makes you clench around Frankie’s throbbing cock. 

Santi curses in whispers, and you watch the sweat from his forehead drip down, between his eyes, down his nose, and drip onto Frankie’s heated skin. And then Frankie shifts, pulling out of you. And then, you realize, pressing Santi’s cock deeper inside himself. 

You groan at the revelation, chase Fish’s hips with your own, a domino effect that sets both of them off as well. It doesn’t take much at all for them to find the right pace, like this is just as natural as everything else they do together. For a while you just take it in, let Frankie get his pleasure from you, let them discover the feeling of being so close to each other after a long while of only imagining. 

Santi’s signature filthy mouth doesn’t make an appearance. Instead, he looks stunned silent above the both of you. His mouth hangs open like he wants to say something, but all that leaves his lips are grunts and groans that Frankie echoes into your sternum. His eyes don’t know where to look, so they float between where he’s fucking Frankie, and your own roaming eyes, and finally land where your hand grips Frankie’s hair. 

He lets go of one of Fish’s hips to tangle his fingers with your own, tugging on those chestnut curls. Frankie slams his hips into you at the sensation, bites down on the meat of your pec and keens before he lets Santi’s grip pull his head back. 

His eyes are completely fucking black, no iris to be found when his heavy eyelids open to look at you. And it’s a very strange thing, when you watch him look right through you and call out Santi’s name. 

Strange, but fucking hot. 

“Let it happen, Fish.”

“No. I– I can’t.”

“You can, fuck, don’t hold it. Come inside so I can fuck it out of him.”

Frankie crumbles. You watch it happen, his eyes snapping shut as he chokes on a high-pitched sound. His face twists up, and you feel his hips stutter against you as he starts chanting Santi’s name, over and over. His cock jerks with every wave of his release, and he’s shaking, collapsing dead-weight on top of you. 

“That’s it, did so good. Feel so fucking good squeezing me Fish.” 

You’re momentarily squished by the weight of two grown men when Santi rests against Frankie’s back. He kisses where he can reach, soothing the place on his scalp where he was tugging at the hairs. 

“Mierda, Santi, get off you fucking oaf.” 

And it’s cute, the way Frankie gets so grumpy even after he’s just come his brains out. You ruffle his hair, when he’s finally not sandwiched between you two, let him collapse beside you instead with a sweaty arm draped across your middle. 

You only have a few moments to appreciate the tenderness before Santi’s lifting your leg onto his shoulder pressing his thick fingers inside you. The noise is obscene, and Santi swears as Frankie’s cum trickles out of you. 

You know you’re in for it now. Santi sets his jaw and arranges your hips so he can slide right into you. You moan at the feeling, and the knowledge of where his cock has just been, noises tumbling out of you as he picks up the pace where Frankie left off. 

And you almost forget about Fish, caught up in the pleasure of Santi railing you just how he knows you like. But then a warm, trembling hand wraps around your cock, even though Santi’s own are gripping onto you tight, and it’s heaven. 

“Let me see you come,” Frankie says, voice all hoarse and worn out. 

You whine, loll your head to the side to look at him. 

But this time Santi’s hand is grabbing you, just shy of too rough when he takes your chin in his hand. 

“You look at me. Look at me when I make you come, papi.” 

And you take it as an order, because Frankie’s hand speeds up and squeezes tighter, and Santi’s fucking into you deep and fast like he does when he’s about to come. 

You shake with it when it finally happens. Your spend splashes down Fish’s knuckles, up your stomach, your chest, christ some of it even lands on your chin. And you know you’re babbling but you don’t know what words you’re using, only know that they come from high in your throat as you gasp for air. 

Santi follows you so closely, burying himself impossibly deep as he releases. You hear Frankie encouraging him, but the sound is miles away as your head swims in that familiar, blissful place. 

When the ringing in your ears settles, and your vision unblurs, and all your nerve endings don’t feel like they’re on fire anymore, Santi’s cock has been replaced by his tongue. You give a weak protest at the overstimulation as his greedy mouth licks the mess out of you. It doesn’t matter, he comes up for air just as soon as you realize where he’s at. 

Your bleary eyes watch as Santi leans over you, grabs Fish’s face in his hands and tugs at his bottom lip with one of his thumbs. Frankie opens his mouth, obedient as ever, and then a mix of Santi’s cum and his own is tumbling from Santi’s lips into Fish’s mouth. 

Once the damage has been done, an image that will forever be burned into your mind, Santi lets his lips press against Frankie’s. He kisses him deep but slow, savoring the concoction of tastes, until Frankie has to lean back for air. 

And then it’s silent, and still, and a pit of dread makes itself known in your gut in record time. 

“I’ll grab us some towels. Don’t either of you move a muscle.” 

Frankie huffs but stays put. You shake out some of the tensed-up muscles in your legs, grasping for something to say to break the tension. 

Turns out you don’t have to. 

“Bossy little prick,” Frankie mumbles. 

It makes a giggle bubble up out of you, even though it’s not even that funny. You suppose the nervous energy needed out somehow. 

“Don’t know what you see in him,” you agree. 

Frankie hums, tilts his head like he’s contemplating it. 

“I’m kidding. He’s sweet. You’re a lucky guy, so is he.” 

You’re interrupted when Santi reenters, two fluffy towels in hand. You tidy up as best you can, then sigh when you no longer have anything to occupy your hands with. 

“Stay the night?”

And this time, those familiar words are uttered by Frankie. It surprises you. For a moment you think he’s just being nice, appeasing you. But his brown eyes do that same thing that Santi’s do, where they get all wide and watery and it’s impossible to say no. 

So you snuggle under the covers, and it’s a bit awkward at first with an extra set of limbs. Santi takes his coveted position as big spoon, but this time behind Fish. Then Frankie coaxes you closer, a hand at your back to urge you to rest your head on his outstretched arm. 

The three of you talk about how hard you’re all going to sleep, and you close your eyes and listen to two other sets of breaths. You let it lull you to the edge of consciousness. Just before you slip under, Santi’s voice is deep and smooth. 

“Te amo.”

And Frankie’s whisper is just as silky. 

“Te amo.”

—

In the morning, you all wake up slow, and take care of business, and mosey out into the kitchen. It’s natural to watch Frankie make eyes at Santi over his eggs, but you know that Santi’s routine walk to your Uber will be anything but. 

Their apartment door slams heavy behind you two as you head to the normal pick-up spot. 

“So this is probably it, huh?”

You have to force yourself to look at Santi’s face, squinting in the mid-morning sun. 

His brows draw up, and you really hope he doesn’t make this anymore awkward than it needs to be. 

“It doesn’t have to be, no.”

His head shakes back and forth with his declaration, and you almost flinch when he reaches for your hand. 

“Listen. Give us some time, you know? Let us… figure… this out. Once we settle, I wanna see you again. Fish does too.” 

You’re sure your face is doing something funny, because Santi laughs and pushes you. 

“Not gonna get rid of us that easy, cabrón.”

#x reader #x m! reader #x amab! reader #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character fanfiction #Pedro Pascal fanfic #Frankie Morales #Frankie Morales x you #Frankie Morales x reader #Frankie Morales x amab!reader #Frankie Morales x m!reader #Frankie Morales x Santiago Garcia #Frankie x reader x Pope #Santiago Garcia #Santiago Garcia x reader #Santiago Garcia x you #Santiago Garcia x amab!reader #Santiago Garcia x m!reader #Francisco 'Catfish' Morales #Santiago 'Pope' Garcia #polyamorous #triple frontier write a thon

[afewproblems]

Season Two Halloween AU Part Ten (Final Part)

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine

Synopsis: What if Eddie had been at Tina's Halloween Party in Season Two? Featuring Steve!Whump, Stancy Breakup, and Eddie just trying to keep up with all these new revelations about who King-Steve actually is...

Thank you to Jess @strangersteddierthings for your encouragement and kind words, and to all of you that have been following along with this story. Thank you for your patience, I hope you enjoy the final installment!

***

It doesn't take much to get Dustin on board, especially given the little shits ego.

Nancy and Eddie manage to catch him outside during lunch period the following day, next to the bike racks. With Hawkins Middle just a block away from the highschool, it's easy to make their way over.

"Called it, I totally called it," Dustin preens with a wide grin, Eddie holds back the urge to roll his eyes.

Nancy levels Dustin with an unimpressed glare as she crosses her arms.

"It's not too late, we could make this work without him," Nancy says dryly, and Eddie has to bite his cheek to keep from laughing at the way Dustin's mouth drops open as he looks between Nancy and Eddie with a stricken expression.

"No, wait!" Dustin says, his voice pitched high with panic, "I want to help!" 

"Steve is a good guy, he helped my mom with the groceries last week because she had to work late," the kid continues, his voice softer now.

"I can tell he's sad, when he thinks you aren't looking at him, mom had the same thing after my dad left". 

Dustin looks up at Eddie now, a wary suspicion in his eyes, "he's been like that since the last time I covered for you," he throws long exaggerated finger quotes around the word, 'covered' as he openly glares at Eddie.

"What did you say to him before the tunnels?" Dustin demands fiercely, and even Nancy turns to look at Eddie with a questioning tilt to her head.

Frustration courses through his chest now, hot and bubbling, he has to take a deep breath to keep from yelling. 

As if Eddie hasn't been asking himself that very question, as if he hasn't been turning that moment over and over in his mind, trying to find the moment, the words, responsible for Steve's distance.

"Dustin," Nancy says sharply, "this is not the time--"

"What are you talking about," Dustin turns to Nancy, gesturing at Eddie who bristles, "we're making a plan and that should include what not to say this time."

"This was a stupid idea," Eddie bites out, turning on his heel, his ears are warm under his hair and he can feel the angry flush slowly make its way down his neck, he takes three steps before a hand catches his elbow, halting his path.

"Okay Dustin knock it off," Nancy says quietly, her head on a swivel, watching for any lunchtime stragglers lingering around them or teachers on supervision. 

Satisfied that no one seems to be watching their conversation, she turns back to Eddie and squeezes his elbow one last time before letting her hand drop away, "and you, calm down, we're all here because we want the same thing".

"Well, some of us more than others," Dustin pipes up, wiggling his eyebrows at Eddie who wants to sink into the concrete. 

"Dustin," Nancy bites out between her teeth, "Mike said the Snowball is in two days, think you could get Steve to take you?"

Dustin scrunches his nose as he looks at Nancy, "are you kidding," he scoffs, "all I have to do is tell my mom Steve offered to take me and she'll call him to thank him, he'll have no choice but to agree like it was his idea". 

Nancy blinks once at Dustin and Eddie can't help but stare at the little monster's face as he grins up at the two of them. It's honestly a good plan given what Eddie knows of Steve, and even Nancy begins to nod slowly.

"Okay, then your job," Nancy turns to Eddie now, "is to surprise him here when he arrives at the dance, Dustin's right".

Nancy doesn't look at the little twerp as she says it but nearly rolls her eyes at the triumphant laugh that bursts forth from the kid.

"An ambush is probably the best way to catch him, and Eddie," Nancy turns to fully face him and reaches out to squeeze his arm with small hands, "just…be gentle with Steve, as much as you can".

"Are we all clear on the plan then?" She asks, taking a step back towards the sidewalk path leading back to the school. 

"Yes mom," Eddie huffs, shooting Dustin a matching grin as Nancy sighs loudly.

"Just be here for seven," she says tightly before turning in her heel and stalking off towards the highschool.

"She's pretty intense hey?" Eddie says, turning back to the kid, he trails off at the scowl Dustin gives him in response.

"Nance is cool and has a gun, I wouldn't mess with her and I wouldn't mess with Steve if I were you," Dustin scoffs, taking a step closer.

Eddie swallows roughly at the sudden proximity, looking around the school yard for any stragglers making their way back to class. 

"Keep your voice down you little shit," he hisses, reaching out to pull Dustin farther away from the bike rack and the double front doors. He tries not to let the news of Nancy's weapon cache fluster him but Dustin must see something in Eddie's expression if the sudden smug grin is anything to go by.

"I'm just saying, you're new to the party and we protect each other, so if you're just looking to mess with him--"

"Jesus Christ," Eddie hisses, bringing his hands up to his eyes. He presses his fingers in until his vision explodes in a kaleidoscope of stars and counts to five, breathing deeply through his nose.

"I'm only going to say this one more time, so tell your little party because I ain't doing another shovel talk from someone whose voice hasn't even dropped".

Eddie ignores the squawk Dustin makes as he lowers his hands, "I just want to talk to Steve and see where this goes, I am not getting my hopes up that this is all gonna be 'Happily Ever After' or some shit, and you shouldn't either".

Eddie watches as Dustin frowns skeptically and has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from rolling his eyes.

"But I swear, I'm not messing with him, okay?" 

Dustin stares at Eddie for what feels like an age, saying nothing. His gaze is anything but warm, it feels like he's being analyzed and he wishes that Nancy were still here to absorb some of the strange attention the kid has focused on him.

Eddie is about to tell him to forget it, to storm off back to the highschool when Dustin finally utters a simple, "okay". 

It throws Eddie off for a moment, he stands in the patchy November worn grass, shivering in the harsh wind, mouth opening and closing in surprise.

"That's it?" He asks faintly, watching as Dustin swings his backpack off his shoulder and unzips it. He reaches in and pulls out a bright yellow walkie talkie and holds it out to Eddie expectantly.

"The party frequency is 467.5625," Dustin says as Eddie takes the device. 

He looks from the walkie in his hands to Dustin and scoffs, "you expect me to remem--"

"Channel eight then, Jesus," the kid huffs out, "don't make me take it back, this is a big deal Munson, you're one of us now". 

Eddie holds back a smile but it's a near thing. 

It feels strange, the warmth in his chest at the words. It shouldn’t feel as big as it does, but the heavy walkie in his hands feels like acceptance, something Eddie has always insisted that he never needed. He had Wayne, he had Hellfire, and Corroded Coffin, what did it matter if the other teens gave him a wide berth in the halls, or if teachers assumed the worst of him without evidence. 

But as Eddie taps the walkie onto the palm of his left hand, that feeling of warmth grows until it travels up his throat into a sudden lump that chokes his words. 

Fuck. 

Eddie blinks away the burning sting in his eyes once, twice, before lowering himself into a bow to hide the moisture he knows is just a split second from becoming a very evident problem. 

Dustin steps back in surprise as Eddie coughs to hide the waver in his voice.

"I uh, humbly accept your invitation and will endeavor to assist with all future quests, even upon pain of death or dismemberment oh noble bard".

Eddie lets a small laugh loose as he stands back up to his full height, grinning at the delighted giggle Dustin makes, even as the kid loudly insists that he's actually an Artificer, duh.

"Could've fooled me with that inspired speech dude," Eddie shakes his head and begins making his way back towards the highschool, letting gravity take him down the small hill towards the trees with heavy steps. He feels lighter now than he has in a while.

Absolutely nothing could go wrong.

"Wait!"

The sound of quick steps and crunching dead leaves announces Dustin before Eddie can even turn to face Hawkins Middle.

He skids to a stop at the bottom of the hill, breathing heavily with a wild grin on his small face.

"I know we have a plan already, but I think I have an even better idea," he breathes out, nearly vibrating in excitement.

"Better than Wheelers?" Eddie says, raising his eyebrow and slowly crossing his arms over his chest, careful not to drop the walkie in the grass.

"It's genius," Dustin insists, "trust me".

***

It was not genius.

It is in fact the stupidest thing that Eddie has ever done.

Including the time he skipped school to climb the tallest tree in Mirkwood on a dare and ended up breaking his collarbone after falling ten feet.

But, Eddie supposes, this is exactly what happens when one listens to a thirteen year old.

Maybe this was how all urban legends started, as unsolicited advice from snarky little pre-teens with more confidence than common sense.

All of a sudden, you end up stowed away in the back of a car trying your damnedest to keep quiet so as not to tip off the driver.

Who you happen to be eavesdropping on. Again.

Fourth time's the charm after all.

Eddie tries to stay as still as he can, crouched down in the back of Steve's Beemer. How the hell did those Urban Legend serial killers make this seem so easy, Eddie thinks as they manage to hit yet another pothole, jostling his position behind Dustin's seat. Eddie's heart beat feels incredibly loud in his ears as he holds his breath between his teeth.

He wonders belatedly just what Hopper would do if he drove past them now and tries to swallow the sudden anxiety that clings to his throat.

"Remember," Steve interrupts Eddie's thoughts with his insistent tone, "you don't care, you're as cool as a cucumber, you let everything roll off your back," Steve says as the sound of the turn signal begins, the rhythmic tick tock keeping pace with his words.

"Like a duck?" Dustin asks from the passenger seat and Eddie has to fight to keep the snort that threatens to break free from his nose.

"Uh, I guess, just, look," Steve sighs as they slow down for a light if the red glow is any indication, "you don't want to come on too strong, what happens when you come on too strong?"

"It blows up in your face," Dustin says quietly as Steve speaks in unison with him, slapping the steering wheel once with the flat of his palm, making Eddie flinch in the back. 

God. Is that what Steve thinks he did?

"Exactly, Henderson, you got it! So what are you?"

"Cool as a cucumber," Dustin repeats, this time with more conviction in his voice and Eddie hopes the kid is a better actor than he thought because that is not the lesson he wants him taking away from this evening.

"Because you don't care," Steve says again, tapping the steering wheel with each word for emphasis and Eddie can hear the grin in his voice as he shifts in the driver's seat. 

"I don't care," Dustin repeats again, though in a much colder voice than before, and suddenly Eddie knows if Dustin could see him now, he'd be staring daggers at him.

Eddie rolls his eyes, he's not going to take the blame for every single word and feeling coming out of Steve's mouth and it isn't fair of Dustin to heap all of it on Eddie.

"You look like a million bucks, go get em tiger," Steve says gently as the car comes to a gentle halt. There's a fondness in his voice that Eddie hasn't heard before. 

He's never had a sibling either, but Eddie imagines that this is exactly how it would feel, witnessing their firsts, cheering them on as they head into the unknown. Being their protector from the things that go bump in the night, even if that thing was as small as a first heartbreak. 

God. King Steve just had to be a secret sweetheart didn't he?

Not that it was really much of a secret, Eddie thinks as Dustin opens the passenger door and hops out of the car--

Oh shit. 

Oh shit.

He had been so engrossed in the conversation he'd been eavesdropping on, yet again, that Eddie had forgotten to sneak out.

He had even kept the back passenger door open, ever so slightly, to avoid the sound of it alerting Steve when he made his escape at the same time as Dustin. Then all they had to do was line up their doors closing at the exact same time and Steve would be none the wiser.

Oh God, he really did it, Eddie really listened to a thirteen year old and expected the plan to work.

And what's worse, he's the one that had fucked it up and now, he's trapped.

Eddie takes a deep breath through his nose and releases it as slowly as he can through his mouth. It feels as though an elephant is seated on his chest and his lungs can't quite keep up with the weight as his ribcage slowly begins to cave in. 

He has to get out, he has to run, he has to get out, he can't be caught in here, he can't ruin this again.

He starts at a sudden tapping on the window and holds his breath as Steve leans over from the driver's side towards his passenger door.

"Dustin?" Steve huffs as he moves back into place, his arm stops to rest on the passenger door just above Eddie's legs hidden in the darkness of the back seat.

"Steve! I, uh, forgot something, in the back," Dustin's voice is slightly strangled as he stumbles through the explanation for his sudden reappearance, "uh, my backpack!"s in days with their plan in place.

"Okay," Steve says slowly, drawing out the second syllable as he drops his hand from the passenger seat, "let me look--"

"No!" Dustin barks out, leaning further into the vehicle, from the new angle Eddie can see the panic on his young face. 

"Dustin? What--" Steve huffs as the kid climbs back into the front seat, grabbing Steve's arms and forcing him to continue facing forward.

And perhaps it's the absolute ridiculousness of the situation that makes Eddie laugh, the look on Dustin's face, or the confusion in Steve's voice, but he can't help but contain the loud snort that bursts forth from the back seat. 

Shit.

Eddie's heart drops into the floor of the vehicle beneath him as Steve and Dustin both freeze. 

It's like time stands still for an eternity, though snow begins to slowly fall outside the Beemer and the far off buzzing of music and laughter continues to emanate from the school gymnasium. 

Eddie moves first, lifting his hands to cover his face as he slowly sits up. He presses his fingers harshly into his eyes until a kaleidoscope of stars and fireworks appear in the darkness, before lifting them slightly to move into his hair and pulling at the roots. Eddie keeps his eyes closed as he hears a sharp intake of breath and movement from the driver's seat. 

"Eds? Dustin, what is going on, what are you doing here?" Steve says, his voice growing louder with each word until Eddie opens his eyes. 

Steve is staring at him, his large hazel eyes are wide and his brows have pinched in the middle, cutting creases across his forehead. He looks at Dustin before turning back to Eddie again, the frown on his face slowly morphing into a sneer. 

"Figures," Steve breathes out before turning to Dustin once more, "you two planned this?"

Dustin has the decency to at least wince at the accusation, "it's not like that--"

"Just," Steve cuts the kid off, the word harsh, almost a snarl before Steve deflates, sinking back into the driver's seat and letting his head drop back onto the headrest. 

He breathes out long and slow through his nose before continuing in a much softer, tired voice, "go to the dance Henderson". 

Dustin opens his mouth to rail against the dismissal, to stop whatever train of thought has run through Steve's mind, but Eddie beats him to it.

"Dustin," Eddie sighs, dropping his hands away from his hair to his lap, "let me take my lumps man, go".

Dustin makes a noise that seems to be a cross between a curse and a growl, his expression venomous, before he steps back and closes the passenger door with a loud metalic bang.

Eddie vaguely remembers Dustin and Nancy's threat and the guns she supposedly owns and suppresses a shudder. 

One problem at a time.

Eddie hauls himself into the back seat and groans at the rush of pins and needles dotting along his arms as he moves into a normal position once more. He rubs his hands along his arms and legs, wincing at how loud he is in the absolute silence of the car.

Steve isn't looking at him, his face pressed in between his hands at 11 and 1 on the steering wheel. 

"So," Steve mutters after a beat, startling Eddie as he sits back up from the wheel, "you were listening to me. Spying. Again." 

"Steve," Eddie starts, only for the other man to continue on as though he hasn't heard him.

"The only thing I can't figure out is why?"

Steve turns in his seat to look at Eddie, his face carefully blank now but for the slight downward pull at the left corner of his mouth. The bruises from Billy's recent beatings have faded to a sallow yellow and even the collection of cuts from the shattered ashtray have begun to scab over. 

The sight makes Eddie ache.

"Did Tommy put you up to this?" Steve interrupts Eddie's thoughts, his stare unwavering.

"What?" Eddie whispers, horrified, "what are you talking about?"

"You, you keep," Steve's voice rises slightly, a hysterical edge begins to creep in as his breathing quickens, "inserting yourself into my shit, you--I told you that I," Steve swallows heavily and blinks, his hazel eyes shine in the glow of the streetlight.

"Tommy is the only one who knows about me, so--so whatever he's got you doing," Steve sucks in another short breath, it's wet at the edges and Eddie feels his chest tighten as Steve's voice wavers.

"Steve--"

"You know what," Steve hisses as he reaches down to tug the keys out of the ignition, his breathing still slightly erratic, "just don't".

Eddie watches, frozen, as Steve wrenches the driver's door open and throws himself out of the vehicle, slamming the door shut behind him.

Eddie sits in silent shock for a moment, as though his limbs have filled up with sand, holding him in place, before he manages to scramble towards his own door.

"Steve!" He shouts, wincing as he slams the car door behind him, prompting several kids and parents walking into the middle school behind them to look in curiosity.

He catches a glimpse of a maroon sweater darting into the trees. 

Gotcha. 

Eddie hurries after him, cursing Dustin's insistence that, 'with this plan you won't need a coat, there's no waiting outside at all!'

He tamps down the hot feeling of irritation creeping up his chest and into his throat. It's a ridiculous night, first spent crouched into the back of a car and now traipsing through the woods to what? 

Chase after someone who clearly wants nothing to do with him? Who has been purposefully avoiding him since that night in the tunnels. 

Nancy and Dustin had it wrong, this was stupid. 

What was he thinking going along with their batshit plan --not that Nancy deserved credit for the car thing, that was all Henderson. 

Eddie pushes a branch out of his path and steps over a snow covered log, cursing the fact that he can feel the chill creeping into his toes through the thin canvas of his converse sneakers. The shoes also have little traction in the fresh snow that seems to be coming down even harder now as the night goes on.

As if to prove a point Eddie slips on a wet patch of leaves and swears at the sudden pain in his back as he struggles to keep upright.

He's breathing hard, puffs of frozen breath billow out and away from him in the cool night air

'Be gentle with him,' Nancy had said, as if she knew this would happen. As if she knew Steve would run the first chance he could and Eddie would follow.

He shakes his head and takes a deep breath, letting it in and out, allowing the frustration and anger from the last few days flow out with each breath.

"Steve," Eddie shouts as he finally catches a glimpse of maroon and tawny hair through the thicket, "just stop, man!"

Steve halts, halfway over a fallen log, but doesn't turn around.

Eddie ducks under another branch and into the small break in the trees that Steve is in. He can see the way the other man's shoulders rise and fall rapidly in the meager moonlight but whether from panic or exertion, Eddie can't tell.

"Steve," Eddie says as he takes another wary step forward, as though approaching a wild animal.

"You promised we'd talk," Eddie tries to swallow around the sudden lump in his throat, "was that a lie?" 

Steve says nothing still, though he turns his face just enough that Eddie can make out his profile in the low light.

Eddie sighs heavily, sliding a shaking hand through his hair, "what would Tommy want with the town freak anyway, he'd be more likely to put sugar in my gas tank than talk to me about anything, Steve".

"So," Eddie breathes out slowly, feeling his heart rate begin to climb as he prepares to take the leap, "rewind a bit, and catch me up on just what is going on in that head of yours sweetheart".

He sees the moment the words register in the way Steve stiffens, the way he slowly turns towards Eddie, his face pale and his eyes wide.

"You…you've called me that before, in the car," Steve says slowly, in fits and starts, "I thought it was a dream". 

Eddie takes another step closer, watches as Steve traces his movement with wary eyes.

"I think that was the most scared I have ever been in my life Steve, I thought you were dead, and it made me realize something," he swallows heavily, it feels like glass all the way down. 

"I was an idiot," Eddie whispers, his breath floats away in the cold November air as he shivers, "and didn't understand what you were trying to tell me at the Byers".

Steve winces slightly and nods, he opens his mouth to say something but Eddie beats him to it.

"IthinkyourNonnawasontosomethingSteve," the words tumble out in a long nearly unintelligible string, "I want to be in your life, whatever that means, however you'll have me," his lungs stutter slightly as Eddie takes a deep steadying breath.

Steve's head tilts slightly to the left as he regards Eddie with a infuriating black expression, his eyes searching Eddie's own.

"As friends?" Steve says slowly. There's a leading note to his voice that Eddie tries not to wince at.

He can't quite help the way his shoulders drop at the words though. Of course, of course he'd been right the first time. Steve was straight and, despite his better judgment, Eddie had gone ahead and gotten his hopes up for nothing.

"If that's what you want," Eddie agrees, forcing a wane smile that doesn't meet his eyes.

Steve's expression betrays nothing still as he moves through the thicket in two steps, his gaze never wavering from Eddie's own as he crosses his arms over his chest, still guarded despite how close they are.

"And if I wanted something else?" Steve speaks softly now, the words travel in between them through gentle puffs of frozen breath.

They're nearly the same height, Eddie might be a half inch taller or so, but from this close it doesn't matter. 

Eddie can see the flecks of green in his eyes, the collection of freckles and moles across his nose and cheeks; if Steve is an Autumnal King in a sunset, he's absolutely otherworldly in the moonlight. The pale snow falling around them almost makes it seem like he's glowing.

"Glowing huh?" 

Fuck.

Steve's face splits into a soft smile, his eyes crinkle at the corners, pulling at the yellow bruised skin. He breathes out something resembling a laugh through his nose as he says, "well, you're not so bad yourself Munson".

Eddie takes another step closer, his heart racing at a mile a minute, "s'that right?" he asks, lifting his hands to grip at Steve's arms.

He lets his ungloved hands run up and down, reveling at how soft and warm the sweater Steve's wearing is before settling at his elbow.

Steve's eyes slowly trace over Eddie's face, before his expression morphs into the determined one that Eddie recognizes from that horrible night in the tunnels.

"I'm sorry," Steve swallows roughly before clearing his throat. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head as Eddie opens his mouth to speak, "please, just let me explain first, and then you can," he bites at the inside of his cheek as his hazel eyes move beyond Eddie's gaze into the trees. 

"You can, make your decision or whatever".

Eddie hesitates for just a moment, squeezing Steve's arms once more before he lets go. 

Steve gives Eddie a tight smile, before closing his eyes, "I've known Tommy since we were like six, sandbox kids right?"

"Our dads were friends, they worked together, so it just made sense, and we were close, we did everything together," Steve opens his eyes but doesn’t look at Eddie, "Tommy knows a lot about me, stuff I've never told anyone, not even Nance".

Steve sighs, kicking roughly at a cluster of leaves and snow on the ground, "not that she hasn't figured a bunch of it out, she's smart like that". 

"I remember talking about girls for the first time when we were Dustin's age, Tommy had a crush on Linda Holloway, he liked her red hair," Steve smiles faintly, but it quickly disappears as he finally meets Eddie's eyes once more, "and I didn't think anything of it at the time, I just thought we were sharing who we thought was cute so I--"

He stops speaking, his breath stutters for a moment as he shakes his head once and curls his arms even more tightly around himself.

"Steve--" Eddie tries, reaching out once again with one hand before he curls his fingers away as though afraid to touch him. 

Eddie wants to tell Steve that he doesn't need to continue, that he understands, but Steve has regained his voice, soft and unwavering.

"I told him about Mary McKinney, she let me borrow her pencil whenever I needed it and always wore her hair in braids," Steve licks his lips, his eyes flitting between Eddie now and the ground, "and, about Brian Donovan, he was on our little league team and he had the best dimples I'd ever seen".

Steve's lips twist into a shy smile this time as he looks at Eddie, "maybe second best now".

Heat rises in Eddie's cheeks, his heart thrums in his chest and he can't stop the pleased grin from taking over his face at the words. 

God, he's so fucked.

Steve continues on, if he notices Eddie's blush in the low twilight he doesn't mention it.

"Tommy said that was weird to think of boys like that, the same way I thought about Mary, and not to talk about it again. That didn't stop him from bringing it up after that," Steve sighs heavily now, "I couldn't so much as make eye contact with another guy at school without Tommy telling me off". 

Anger ignites in Eddie's chest, spreading up his throat and curling around his hands which suddenly long to meet Tommy Hagans stupid face. 

He'd never cared for the guy. Too far up his own ass over the years with a mean streak a mile wide. Add to that a penchant for making other kids' lives absolutely miserable and you have a recipe for a douchebag that Eddie based nearly half of the Munson Doctrine on. 

The other half, well, that had also been influenced by Steve, but if Eddie was being honest, he had no clue who the real Steve Harrington was. 

No one did. 

Hopefully, in time, Eddie could change that. 

"I'm sorry for not trusting you," Steve whispers, his face tipped down to the ground, "I think I've had his voice in my head for so long that I couldn't stop myself from listening to it".

"You want to know the worst part?" Steve asks quietly, he scoffs, not bothering to wait for Eddie to reply, "he acted like he was doing me a fucking favour, like he was protecting me". 

He shakes his head, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose as his voice wavers suddenly, "maybe he was, in his own way--"

"Nope," Eddie barks out, startling them both with the sudden volume filling the trees, "that rat was trying to save his own skin by trying to control you, you owe Tommy nothing". 

Steve looks at Eddie with wide shocked eyes. He's standing so still that Eddie wonders if he's stopped breathing.

"Maybe he thought he was doing you a favour," Eddie laughs, it's a cold bitter thing that hangs low amongst the tree roots and plant litter, "and in public sure, I get it, but honestly if he could only be friends with this version of you, then he wasn't really ever your friend, Steve". 

"If someone doesn't like you just as you are, then they aren't worth it".

Steve is still staring, he hasn't blinked the entire time that Eddie has been speaking…it's a little unnerving.

"So," Steve asks, hesitantly, halting Eddie's train of thought, "what about you?" 

He's even closer now and, when the hell did that happen.

"Me?" Eddie says faintly, his eyes drop once to Steve's lips, they're slightly chapped but have never looked so God Damn kissable.

Eddie takes a deep breath, and smiles softly as he lifts his hands to grip Steve's elbows once again, squeezing gently before sliding them down to take his hands. 

They're large and warm in his own, callused along the palms from where the nail bat had sat in his hands. Eddie lets his thumbs run along his knuckles, lingering on the healing scabs from his fight with Billy.

"You weren't what I was expecting," Eddie says, watching as Steve's head tilts again at the nonsequiteur, "especially after the party when I tried to give you back your sunglasses".

"You care, about the kids --even when they are being self destructive little shits, about Nancy even though she broke your heart," he traces his thumbs over the tops of Steves hands when his fingers twitch, "and you care about me, enough to put yourself out there even though you had no idea if I felt the same". 

"You are brave, crazy brave to the point where I'm a little worried about why you're so quick to just throw yourself in front of danger, but," Eddie shakes his head as Steve bristles this time, ducking his face away from Eddie's watchful eyes, "we'll unpack that another day". 

He takes a deep breath and slowly lets go of one of Steve's hands, shaking as he reaches up to cup Steve's jaw, tipping his face up until his eyes are level with Eddie's once more.

Steve's hazel eyes trace over Eddie's face, wide and glassy in the moonlight. They are close enough that Eddie can feel the shallow puffs of air against his lips as Steve's breathing quickens.

"Did the doctor say anything about your face," Eddie asks, gesturing at his own with his one free hand, "recovery time?"

Steve shakes his head with a confused frown.

"Good," Eddie takes a deep breath, allowing a wide lecherous grin to bloom, "because I like you, Steve Harrington, exactly as you are, and I'm going to kiss you," he lifts his other hand now to cup the other side of Steve's face, "but I only make it hurt if you want me to, big boy".

Eddie freezes as the words he just said register. 

Oh Fuck.

Who pulls out Big Boy like five seconds after confessing their feelings? 

Eddie groans lowly and shuts his eyes for a beat, only opening them at the tentative sound of Steve's voice.

"Eds," Steve laughs, his face flushed a deep scarlet, giving Eddie a sly smile of his own, "that was really bad, like really bad".

Eddie sighs, embarrassment beginning to curl, hot and heavy, in his chest as he removes his hands from Steve's face, "I know…"

He startles at the feeling of warm fingers wrapping around his own, drawing his hands back to where they had been on Steve's face, "it's a good thing I like you, so you can get more practice".

"Yeah?" Eddie whispers, his voice hoarse as though he can scarcely breathe. He watches as Steve smiles, counting the crinkles at the edges of his eyes and the way his scarlet flush has faded to a soft pink.

He wants to freeze this moment, burn it into his memory so he'll never forget the soft happiness in Steve's eyes.

"Yeah, Eds," Steve breathes against his lips as their noses brush, "exactly as you are".

Eddie's not sure which of them moves first, it's only the faint brush of chapped lips against his own that sets off an unhinged chorus of, 'Kisskissingkisswhatthefuckyou'rekissingSteveHarrington'.

Eddie's fingers tighten against Steve's face before his hands begin to move on their own, one along his jaw until it has wrapped around the back of his head, burying his fingers in thick soft hair. His other hand shifts slightly lower, his thumb presses into Steve's jaw until his head tips back. 

The noise Steve makes against his lips as Eddie moves him sends a thrill down his spine. He feels two hands slide up his chest, over his shoulders, and around his neck as Steve presses himself even closer. Eddie's fingers tighten in Steve's hair, almost involuntarily, as the pulse under his thumb climbs even higher. Eddie hums contentedly and smiles into the kiss.

It's…God.

Kissing Steve is everything he's ever wanted. He tastes like peppermint, like the candy canes Dustin had brought Steve as a thank you for the ride to the dance, and Eddie can't help but wonder if the little shit had done so with this in mind? 

No, nope. Definitely not thinking about that right now.

He tugs his mind away from the thought and opens his lips more to brush against Steve's with purpose, pulling a sweet moan from the other as he nips at his bottom lip.

He pulls back begrudgingly after another moment, relishing the heat, the softness of Steve pressed against him. They're still standing in the middle of the ravine just a few steps from the middle school and it would probably be best to continue this sort of thing in private. 

Eddie shifts away just enough to run the tip of his nose down Steve's own, his heart fit to burst at the soft sigh Steve releases at the touch. His eyes are closed, but from the new blush that has spread from Steve's cheeks, to his ears and all the way down his neck, as well as the soft grin that pulls at his lips, Eddie can tell the feeling is mutual.

Eddie wonders just how many different shades of pink he could make Steve turn? 

A thought for another day, Eddie thinks with a mischievous smirk, brushing his thumb along the crest of Steve's cheek. 

"We should probably get back sweetheart," Eddie murmurs as he reluctantly removes his hands from Steve's face, "I can think of somewhere warmer we can go to talk". 

Steve nods with a snort, knocking his shoulder into Eddie, "talk huh?" 

"Is that not what the kids call it these days?"

Eddie drapes his arm around Steve's neck, tugging the other man closer. He comes all too willingly with a pleased grin stretched across his face.

"Besides," Eddie hums as they begin to make their way back the way they came, "my Uncle Wayne's been asking about when he can meet you --well after he weaseled it out of me, what was making me mope so much these last few weeks, he's already making Thanksgiving plans--"

They jerk to a halt, half slipping in the leaves and snow, he turns to Steve to meet his wide fearful eyes.

"You--your uncle knows, about me, about you?" Steve asks, the words stopping and starting as he speaks. 

Eddie reaches out only for Steve to take a step back into the trees, "why would you tell him--"

"He doesn't know about you specifically, Steve, I would never do that," Eddie insists, he keeps his voice level now with how close they are to the school again, he can hear the sounds of teens yelling and laughing in the short distance.

"Okay, but he, he doesn't care about…"

Steve trails off, his teeth closing down on his bottom lip and though chewing on what he wants to ask.

Your uncle doesn't care about you being gay, being different?

Eddie sighs, resisting the urge to lift his hands and press his fingers into his eyes, "Uncle Wayne took me in a few years ago when my parents kicked me out for that so, no, it's pretty safe to say he doesn't".

"Oh," Steve says faintly. His arms come up around his chest as he begins to hunch in on himself yet again.

Well shit. 

Now, Eddie isn't a hundred percent certain, but based on things that Steve has said, the warning that Nancy gave him, and what happened at the hospital, he knows that the Harrington house hasn't been the happy home he had assumed it to be.

And now, given the stricken look on Steve's face and the pinch in his gut, the doubts are fading even further away. 

Eddie takes a deep breath, stepping onto the tightrope between them, he'll have to be careful about how he plays this, or Steve could bolt again. He's seen Steve run track at school, he knows the other man could easily outrun him.

Best not to give him a reason to.

"You know, not all parents, um, deserve to be parents sweetheart," Eddie says slowly, carefully, watching Steve's face as he speaks, "especially if they're never around".

He feels the rope between them wobble as he takes a step closer, holding out his hand.

"Especially if they don't love us for who we are Stevie," Eddie whispers, watching as Steve looks away sharply, his shoulders tense.

Eddie takes another deep breath before taking the leap, hoping that his feet will meet the ground beneath them.

"Wayne isn't like that, he's safe, and he wants to meet the person I've been mooning over for weeks now, if you're up for it". 

Steve swallows once, twice, his jaw moves as though grinding what he wants to say between his teeth, his nose begins to redden as his eyes grow damp at the edges.

"Yeah," he manages to choke out, his voice cracks down the center as he draws one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, "maybe not, right, right now but --fuck, I'm sorry, I don't know why this keeps happening".

Eddie takes the last step and pulls Steve into his arms again; he stiffens at first before finally relaxing, almost boneless, against Eddie's chest. He feels Steve release a long hitching breath and squeezes him gently, rubbing his cheek against the slight stubble on Steve's own.

"Probably because it's been a really hard couple of weeks sweetheart," Eddie pulls back enough to look into Steve's eyes, they're red rimmed now and his lashes have begun to clump together, but even like this Steve still looks beautiful.

"Yeah," Steve says, he sniffs, wincing at the sound of his stuffy nose, "I think I could use a proper…talk, and a rest, if you're still up for it?"

Eddie feels a smile pulling at his lips as incandescent happiness glows in his chest. He pulls Steve closer once more, relishing the feeling of being able to hold Steve again, without the scent of blood and terror in the air. 

"Lead the way then sweetheart," Eddie says softly, knowing he'll follow Steve wherever he goes. There's a lot more for them to talk about, but for now, he'll be there for Steve as his person, for as long as he can. 

Forever if he can swing it. 

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@eriquin @luvinthefreaks @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @goodolefashionedloverboi @ellietheasexylibrarian @bambibiest @sadboislovebeans @howincrediblysapphicofyou @coleys-a-nerd @whycantiuseunderscore @airconditioning123 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @corrodedbisexual @starman-jpg @ilovecupcakesandtea @yoriposts @clumsiluni @pelinelin @phantomcat94 @lololol-1234 @anaibis @steveshairspray @hellfireone @eddielives1986 @sunswathe  @tentativeghost @robin-not-batman @estrellami-1 @manda-panda-monium @tinyplanet95 @perseus-notjackson @queenie-ofthe-void @rainbowsaw @sp0o0kylights @littlebluejane @hi-im-eff  @phantypurple @just-ladyme @thoroughlycollected @justrandomfandomstm @swimmingbirdrunningrock @finntheehumaneater @dynamic-powerm@nightmareglitter @genderless-spoon @zaddipax @thebiblesays @pyrohonk @emly03 @geekymagicalpotato @sidebarre @lemon-astra @cipounette @discreetapple @starlitlakes @saphhicwitchbitch @marvel-ous-m @lingeringmirth @honorarybrit81 @bookbinderbitch @finntheehumaneater  @lololol-1234 @eddie-munsons-missing-nipple @monsterloverforhire @gaydrieeen @starlight-archer @homosexual-having-tea @devondespresso @rennnnon @my-hyperfixations-hell-blog @carlprocastinator1000 @0o-queendean-o0 @emly03 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @louismeds @fruitmix

@lizzicleromance @fairy-princette @eddiethehunted

And a few people I think may be intersted!

@steddierthings @steddie-there @stevesbipanic @henderdads @bramble-berries @flowercrowngods

#season two halloween au #stranger things #stranger things season 2 au #steve harrington #eddie munson #the party #steve and nancy breakup #eddie is having all sorts of complicated feelings about steve here #i will never get tired of halloween party aus #you can pry them from my cold dead fingers #afewproblems writes #pining Eddie #nancy and eddie need to hang out more #I tried to give nancy some nuance here because I do love her character and I almost never write her #she was a fun challenge #nance scheming with eddie to get her ex a boyfriend #its messy but in the best way #Nancy Dustin and Eddie are their own group now the Scheme Squad #Steve needs a hug and gets one at last #this have everything #its got whump and pining and love confessions and kisses #happy endings at last

[sunny-mercya]

Bittersweet

Geto Suguru x Male Reader | Platonic! Guilty Gojo Satoru x Male Reader

Fandom -> Jujutsu Kaisen

Masterlist

Gojo always detest it when he had to visit you. It wasn't because he hated—a strong word, more like dislike—you, if anything, it was more out of the still immense guilt he feels in your presence.

A guiltiness which eats him up, making him a pitiful whimpering mess in the nights. Bawling his eyes out at the empty shrines, after every visit—his confidence crumbling into nothing but dust, the insecurity resurfacing again and haunting him like the phantom, dull, pain he feels in his eyes and back.

It was his fault. His damned fault that you're like this now. A mere shell of apathetic lethargy and suicidal tendencies—three tries had almost succeeded.

So yes, Gojo detests, hated it even, to visit you. He had to though, in his sole duty of being your friend—even when you once had said, he isn't anymore a friend but a stranger—and because leiri made him to do.

Trotting up the stairs to your apartment, bags in one hand and the other causally in his pant pockets—playing with the house-keys—Gojo thought what to cook for you.

Perhaps your favourite? No, no, that it is only reserved for the Sundays. A light meal then? Something with fish? Pizza or Pasta? The list is endless to choice from and giving him a headache.

Shoko had told him, in her doctoring lecturing way, to create a Meal-Plan and only cook light meals for you—easy to digest—and nothing too overall fatty and heavy.

Gojo had waved her off, nagging at her how you wouldn't be able to enjoy the goods of foods with something dumb as a "meal-plan".

In the end, Gojo admits that Shoko was indeed right. Considering the amounts of meals and dishes he had taken home for himself, giving it away to his students or the homeless or had to throw it all away. After all you couldn't eat more than, on your good days, three to four bites—till hours later you would heave it up into the toilet again.

A Meal-Plan, huh? Yeah he could do that. Megumi can help him too.

Unlocking the door, Gojo stepped in and announced his presence.

~~~

After emptying out the bags and putting away the items for now, Gojo ventured into the living room—knowing well you're in there, either sitting or laying on the couch and watching whatever is being shown in the television.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, once upon seeing a half finished puzzle on the coffee table and messy toys around it.

Megumi had brought them over during his last visit, telling you; these are much better to beat boredom than some television. Next time I'll bring some books.

Gojo was glad, relieved even, that you played with it.

Crouching down in front of you, blocking the view to television with his still towering high, he takes your hand in his—greeting you with a more softer gently smile.

»Sky eyes,«

Gojo had decided long ago, when you had first muttered those words to him—in the very beginning of your mental downfall, now a in a constant state of lingering decaying—that this was your way of greeting him, how you told him that you're aware of his presence.

Gojo had once made a mistake to come with his blindfold and spooked you so much—you really had believed and still would, if he tries again, that Gojo had been some kind of intruder with evil intentions—you screamed shrill and released a upcoming hurricane of thunderstorms with your cursed energy—now particularly sealed away for your own safety.

So now, whenever Gojo comes over he wears his round shaped sunglasses from his highschool years.

»Yeah, it's me, how are you today [Nickname]?« he asked questions even when he knew he wouldn't get replies from you.

»Hungry? I will made you some nice chicken nuggets, brought the Dino-shaped this time«

Gojo was aware he babbles. He doesn't care, he rather talks nonsense to himself and your apathetic self—than listen to the constant annoying chatter of the television and the upcoming silence which would follow afterwards.

»C'mon [Name], it's bath time,« Gojo picks you up, carrying you into the bathroom and sitting you down on a stool.

He fills the bathtub, making sure the temperature was neither too hot nor cold. He adds some bubble foam to it and two toys.

Gojo undress you slowly, cautiously of your still fresh wounds—self-inflicted days ago, when a night had gotten worse again. Sitting you in the water, he washes you. Humming happily some melody, occasionally joining you in moving the toy ducks arounds.

»Quack squishy wuack«

»Yeah, wuacky quacky [Nickname], look there wants to join another ducky« he showed you the third toy duck, adding it to the water.

A squeal of joy came over your lips, looking with wide eyes at Gojo, happiness radiating off from you as you continue to play.

Gojo's lips trembles, guilt crawling up his throat again.

~~~

Nights are cruel in their own way. Leaving the thoughts spinning and setting them free. Bringing out a loneliness and feelings once deep buried down.

Gojo buried his head in his hands, slightly gripping his snow white hair—you once said to him, how his hair reminds you of the first snow—sitting at the edge of your bed.

He inhaled and exhaled deeply, breathing in a pattern of three-five-five. His thoughts are going haywire again, flaring up the guilt—which is now so thick in his throat that he couldn't swallow anymore.

He looks at you—such a peaceful expression on your face, already so deep in the blissful dreamland—moving his hand to slowly drive through your hair with his fingers, all the way down to your cheeks and caressing them.

His gaze goes to the few photo frames on your nightstand, the small nightlight illuminates only so much. One particular photo always captures his attention.

It was a photo of Geto and you, happily married with Nanako and Mimiko—when they had been around 3 years old—in your arms.

A time where you had been the uttermost happiest. Now it was in ruins, leaving you all alone.

If Gojo had been a bit stronger, if he didn't let Geto go, back then when they had argued over jujutsu sorcery's politics and their moral beliefs towards the world, had been more stubborn—than it wouldn't have ended like this.

With his best friend being dead—at fault for this was Gojo himself, he was the one who killed Geto after all—and you, who had already lost your husband and losing your daughters shortly after—till today you didn't know how they died and Gojo thanked the above that it hadn't been him who done that—who is nothing but a decaying shell forevermore.

»Ya know, [Nickname], I've decided you gonna move in with me now. So I can take even better care of you.«

That's what Geto would've wanted.

#male reader #x male reader #anime #manga #fanfiction #malereader #oneshot #jujutsu kaisen #geto suguru #gojo satoru #geto suguru x male reader #geto x male reader

[happy74827]

Moral Support

[Harvey Specter & Teen!Reader]

Synopsis: All you wanted was to spend more time with your busy uncle, but since he’s the best closer in town, even a simple concert at your school is inconvenient. Still, given the importance, you can’t help but try.

WC: 2198

Category: Platonic, Angst/Fluff

New show alert! Well, it's not really new to me since I'm almost on season seven now, and it's an old show to begin with, but this show currently has a death grip over me, and I'm actually shocked it took me this long to start writing for it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this... buffoonery because I sure did.

『••✎••』

Harvey Specter was the kind of man that was always on the move. The workaholic attorney practically lived at his job, and if he wasn't there, he was out trying to get more clients. He rarely had time for himself or for those closest to him, which was why you rarely saw him anymore. It was always quick phone calls that were over before you could even grab the phone from your father. The rare occasion that you were able to actually spend time with your uncle was the holidays, and even then, he’d always leave early. There was always some case that required his attention, and you knew better than to complain about it.

He was your hero, and you respected the fact that his work was so important to him. But that didn't stop the sting when he'd cancel plans for the third time in a row. You loved him, and you knew that he loved you, but that didn't mean you didn't miss him. You wanted him to be around, and you wanted him to be proud of you. That was why when you found out that you were picked to do the major solo in your upcoming choir concert, you immediately thought of him. How proud he’d be when he showed up and heard you sing.

But… when you decided to “drop by” his office, you were reminded once again that your uncle was a very busy man. He was hunched over his desk, his hand was in his hair, and his eyes focused on whatever paper he was reading. He didn’t even hear Donna, his amazing secretary, when she told him you were here. So, you walked in and cleared your throat, making him look up.

"Uncle Harvey, hi!" you said happily, walking closer to his desk. He looked tired and not at all happy to see you, but you weren't going to let that deter you.

"Hey, kiddo. What are you doing here?" he asked, not taking his eyes off the papers in front of him. You sat down and leaned forward, trying to read them, but he was quick to snatch them up.

"I just wanted to come see you. I haven't seen you since Christmas."

"Well, I've been busy. You know that." He said, standing up and shuffling the papers into a folder. "What's up, kid?"

Harvey turned back around to face you, a small and tired smile on his lips. You reminded him a lot of Mike, though it really should be the other way around. You were always curious about his work, wanting to learn everything you could. Mike did, too, but he didn’t have the same innocence as you. The smiles you wore were much more genuine.

"Well, I just wanted to ask you something," you said, suddenly feeling shy. He sat down again and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and clasping his hands.

"Shoot."

You took a deep breath and began to explain, "So, I have this choir concert coming up. I've been taking lessons for a while, and I auditioned and got this huge, big solo in one of the songs.”

"That's great. What's the question?"

"Well,” You let out a sigh, “I was hoping that you would be able to come.”

There was a pause as Harvey let what you said sink in. His expression shifted to something that you couldn't place. There was a mix of emotions in his eyes, and it made you uneasy. You knew what was coming, but you still held onto hope. You held onto the idea that this one time was the exception.

Spoiler alert, it wasn’t.

"As much as I would love to, kiddo, I can't," he said, his tone a bit softer than it was before.

"Can't or won't?"

“I have a case that requires a lot of my attention right now. A man could go to prison for something he didn’t do, and I can't risk that happening because I went to some little show."

"Some little show? Uncle Harvey, this isn’t just some show! This is a big deal, and I want you there. I want you to be proud of me,” you said, trying not to get angry.

"I'm always proud of you."

"It doesn't feel like it."

He looked at you for a moment before letting out a sigh. He leaned back in his chair, running his hands over his face. It was clear that he was stressed and had a lot of work to do, but you still couldn’t help but feel disappointed.

"I have a lot going on, okay?" he said, a bit harsher than before. You felt yourself shrink a little, and you dropped your head, nodding.

"Yeah, I know," you mumbled, standing up and grabbing your bag. "I'm sorry. I'll let you get back to work."

He called after you, but you kept walking. You didn't stop until you got outside, and even then, all you could think about was going home and being alone.

"How'd it go?" Donna asked, sitting at her desk. She had a warm smile on her lips and a cup of coffee in her hands, but it quickly faded when she saw the look on your face.

"Why ask when you already know the answer? I'll see you later," you mumbled, waving as you passed. She called your name, too, but you ignored her like your uncle. You weren't in the mood to talk to anyone. You just wanted to be by yourself. Maybe eat some ice cream, too, just to dissolve the disappointment.

Once out of sight, Donna let out a sigh, shaking her head before deciding to walk into Harvey's office. She was ready to tell him off for how he treated you, but the words died in her throat. He was leaning back in his chair, the same tired expression he'd had when you came in still on his face. It wasn't the fact that he looked so worn that stopped her, though. It was the look of guilt and regret.

"Go away, Donna,” he grumbled, not looking at her. “I don’t want to hear it."

"You should," she replied, closing the door and stepping inside. "She's a kid, Harvey, and she looks up to you."

"I know that."

"Do you? Because, from what I saw, it doesn't seem like it."

"Donna, what do you want from me? I can't just drop everything and go to a show. Not when someone's life is on the line. I have a job to do," Harvey said, his voice rising as he stood up.

"That's a crap excuse, and you know it. You can work around things. I know you can."

"It's not that simple. I have a lot going on, and I can't just let it fall through the cracks."

"But you can let your niece fall through the cracks?"

"Donna-"

"She wanted you there, Harvey, and you just dismissed her. Instead of a simple “I’ll try my best,” you said to her face that her show isn’t important enough."

"I did not say that," Harvey snapped, moving around his desk.

"Some little show?" Donna mocked, throwing his words back at him. It got him to pause, his anger fading into something else.

"Don’t quote me. You know I didn't mean it like that."

"Didn't you? You didn't exactly phrase it nicely."

Harvey's jaw tightened, and his hands clenched into fists. Donna could tell that he was holding back. She had hit a sore spot and as much as he wanted to yell, he was stopping himself.

"Why do you care so much?" he asked, his tone sharp.

"Because she's a good kid, and she deserves better than your bullshit."

"Get out," Harvey said, turning his back to her and sitting down. Donna watched him, trying to see if he'd change his mind.

"Fine," she said, "But just think about what I said."

And with that, she walked out of his office, leaving him alone with his thoughts. She wasn’t wrong, and that pissed him off.

He hated being wrong, and even though he didn’t think he was, the guilt that filled his chest wouldn’t let him think anything else.

The next week, you were backstage and trying not to freak out. It wasn’t that you were nervous. You loved to sing, and it wasn't hard to do it in front of a crowd. There were so many people there, and they all cared. You didn't have anything to worry about. It was more so the fact that your uncle was one of the few who wasn’t.

He didn’t call or even send a text. It was radio silence, and it hurt, but you weren’t surprised. As much as you wanted him to be there, he wasn’t going to come. He had more important things to do, and as much as it sucked, you accepted it.

Still, the idea of singing without him knowing about it made you want to throw up.

You didn’t have time to dwell on it though because the concert was starting. Your solo was near the end, and it was the last song, so you didn’t have to sit and watch everyone else for too long. That was good, but not enough to stop you from worrying.

Before you could start panicking, the choir started, and you were forced to focus. All thoughts of your uncle slipped away as the music washed over you, and soon, you were lost. Everything seemed to blur as the sound grew louder and the world became smaller. This was where you were meant to be. On stage, singing your heart out.

Your parents and little sister were in the crowd, and you knew they were cheering for you. You couldn’t hear them, but the image was enough.

You finished your solo, the sound echoing off the walls and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Everyone was clapping, and you smiled, bowing as the lights dimmed.

As soon as it was all over, you rushed backstage and grabbed your things, ready to go home and relax. But, the minute you walked out the front door with your father, you froze.

“You were a little sharp, don’t you think? It's not terrible; it's just a bit off-key. But we can work on that next time.”

"Harvey." Your father said, not sounding all too happy. You looked up, and sure enough, there he was. “Still an asshole I see.”

"Marcus! How nice to see you too!" Harvey greeted sarcastically, nodding along. He turned his gaze to you and smiled. You could tell he was proud, even though he didn't say it.

"I thought you couldn't make it." You said, a hint of hopefulness in your voice.

"Eh, I figured why the hell not. It's not every day that my niece becomes Hannah Montana," Harvey joked, nudging you playfully. "Seriously, kiddo. You sounded great up there. You really blew it out of the water."

Your face broke out into a smile, and you rushed forward, pulling him into a tight hug. He was stiff at first, not expecting it, but he relaxed quickly. His hand came up to rest on your head, and you pulled back, a bright smile on your lips.

"Donna talked you into coming, didn't she?"

"You have no proof of that."

"I bet she had a list."

"Of reasons why you deserve the world? Absolutely," Harvey said, ruffling your hair. "But, I am glad I came. I needed a break."

"You mean you need sleep," your dad interjected, walking over to stand beside you. He was giving Harvey a stern look, but the older Spector brother couldn’t help but smirk.

"I can't believe you're still a stick in the mud. What happened to the cool dad I once knew?"

"He had to go and get an even bigger headache."

"You say headache; I say blessing," Harvey shot back, earning an eye roll from his younger brother.

"Whatever. We'll talk about it later," Marcus said, "You eating with us, Harvey?"

"If you're offering."

"Well, then let's go. I'm starving, and we can't have you pass out. Who would drive your expensive ass home?"

"Better knock it off before Katie hears you."

"She's used to it."

"Used to what?"

"Me calling you an asshole."

"Oh, yeah? What about-"

"Boys, behave." Your mother said, finally cutting into the conversation. You all turned, a bit shocked, and looked at her.

"I can't help that he's so easy to mess with," Harvey said, pointing to his brother.

"Yeah, right. Like I'm the easy target."

"Alright, alright. Come on, let's go," Katie said, putting an arm around your shoulders and guiding you toward the car. You glanced back at Harvey and waved. He smiled and waved back, falling into step beside your father.

It was a long night of bickering and laughter. A lot of it was your dad and uncle picking on each other, but it was fun. Harvey seemed to relax and not worry about anything else. He was there, and he was happy.

Maybe, for the first time in a long time, he wasn't too busy.

Not for you.

#harvey specter #harvey specter x reader #harvey specter and reader #harvey specter x female!reader #harvey specter x you #suits fanfic #suits fanfiction #harvey specter x teen!reader #donna paulsen #fluff #mega fluff #reader #suits tv #suits usa #fanfic #mike ross #louis litt #suits #jessica pearson #fanfiction #suits netflix #teen!reader #marcus spector #pearson spector litt #suits fic #suits fandom #netflix suits #female!reader #harvey specter suits #harvey specter/reader

[wordsofhoneydew]

fic rec time!! lfg

here i compiled a list of 11 amazing fics under 500 kudos!! you have angst, smut, fluff, pinging, grief, hurt/comfort. you fucking name it, it’s here.

happy reading!

Invisible by @nocoastposts [100, G]

For the Brownstone Discord Server's weekly drabble prompt "invisible".

Total Eclipse by @myheartalivewrites [1k, T]

Alex is not sure what the fuck is happening here.

“And if you only hold me tight…”

A man—probably the most beautiful man he has ever seen—is up on stage in this karaoke bar, absolutely murdering Bonnie Tyler’s Total Eclipse of the Heart and he’s pretty sure the guy is crying and it’s one of the most horrifying things he’s ever seen and Alex cannot. Look. Away.

Be Mine (And Be Yourself) by @itsmaybitheway [9k, E]

It starts with a misunderstanding, the way it always does with them.

Early on in their relationship, when there wasn’t even a relationship to speak of, the misunderstandings used to feed the animosity.

Then they’ve turned into something softer when their relationship turned into something softer. Purposefully misunderstanding each other just to take a jab, messing around for the fun of it or turning an innocent comment into a filthy innuendo and watching the other squirm.

But this? Oh a misunderstanding has never been this delicious, this appetizing. This one feels like the door to fucking sexy Narnia and Alex can not wait to eat those delicious Turkish delights

OR Henry just wants to be Alex's pretty little princess and Alex will make sure he gets his wish! AKA my Valentine's Day fic with housewife!Henry

it's so hard to get to heaven with my head in my hands by @anincompletelist [6k, M]

His mother would have a fit if she could see him now, taking comfort he isn’t owed from men he shouldn’t want it from. But Henry wipes his tears with the back of his hand and Alex begins singing the dulcet tune of a Spanish lullaby and George feels, perhaps for the first time in his life, like he belongs.

the tragic flaw is that they hide the truth (that you’re enough, you’re enough) by srrafoxjournals [6k, NR]

Alex has been staring.

For weeks now, actually.

Henry had originally chalked it up to Alex being, well, Alex. But lately, Henry can’t help but take it in as more than just his boyfriend's usual oddness.

Or: After gaining some weight, Henry feels self conscious. Alex however, loves his tummy.

blurred lines. by seafloor [5k, E]

Henry is a lovesick writer; Alexander a charismatic bartender. They’re still fated to fall into bed at some point.

I will/I will/We will by @tintagel-or-cockleshells [6k, T]

Alex's wedding planning business is going from strength to strength, but if he never has another wedding at Mountchristen Manor it will be too soon. He just can't get along with Henry, the venue coordinator, and the feeling is mutual. But when push comes to shove, the couple's big day has to come first.

I’ll be with him again soon by mymistakesweremade4u [3k, T]

It's sometime in mid-January, just a couple of months shy of his 95th birthday, when Henry finds himself surrounded by family in his and Alex's bedroom.

Or, Alex and Henry grew old together.

beg you on my knees (to stay) by @littlemisskittentoes [13k, E]

“Up.” Henry keeps the tone low. Controlled.

Alex is often frantic to follow commands, his limbs falling over themselves in his haste to obey. There’s no sign of that rushed need now. He takes his time, unfolding himself leisurely.

“You’re bold,” Henry monotones. He takes calculated steps forward, punctuating each slow stride with the unbutton and roll of his shirt sleeves. “I’ll give you that.”

“You’re only now realizing? Thought you were brighter than that, baby.”

keep me up all night / i wanna scratch your surface by @firenati0n [1k, M]

They step inside, greeted by moonlight streaming through the windows, illuminating their living room in a dreamy light; it’s enough to see outlines and shapes, enough to keep everything just a little bit secretive, a little softer around the edges.

Henry moves his hand to flick on the kitchen light, and Alex’s hand shoots out to grab his wrist. Henry looks down at him questioningly, blue eyes sparkling even with the absence of light. Alex always feels a little off-kilter around him, Henry both his center of gravity and his reason for vertigo. He’s stabilizing, and dizzying, and everything.

Alex’s thumb and index finger circle Henry’s slender wrist, exerting the slightest pressure. He feels Henry's pulse jump under his thumb.

“Get on the couch.”

don’t let me get drunk again by @getmehighonmagic [3k, E]

Alex had never wanted to cancel plans as much as he had while watching Henry pull a pair of light wash, tight jeans over his stockinged legs and bare ass.

Christ, he’s getting hard thinking about it now.

#wohd recs #rwrb #red white and royal blue #alex claremont diaz #prince henry rwrb #rwrb movie #henry fox mountchristen windsor #firstprince #alex x henry #rwrb fic #rwrb alex #rwrb fanfic #rwrb henry #rwrb fanfiction #rwrbsource #rwrb thoughts #ao3 fanfic #au fanfiction #fanfic writing #red white and royal blue fanfiction