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mandoalorian · 4 years

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hi i’d like max x reader where he’s having very stressful day at work like everything that can go wrong does go wrong and the reader is his gf and bc of all this stuff going wrong he forgets that she’s supposed to visit him at work so she comes in and starts talking about her day and how great it was and then he just shoots up and goes to hug her and starts kissing her and playing with her hair and she’s like ??? cause this never happens and he just lays his head on her lap and he rants about his day and she listens and she tries to comfort him as best she can thank u 🥺

Rough Day At Work [Maxwell Lord x Reader]

Author's note: Oh. my god. This is a long one. I write a lot of Maxwell fluff but this one is by far one of my favourites. It's a journey of pure, unadulterated sweetness with a sliver of comedy. And it's set at Christmas— perfect to get you in the festive mood! Reblogs appreciated because this isn't showing up in tags.

Word count: 6.5k

Warnings: food mention, drink mention, brief allusions to sex, Maxwell is ~stressed~.

Rating: PG-13

Masterlist in pinned! Requests open x

Maxwell Lord had his fair share of bad days. Things almost always went wrong in his line of work, but it was almost never his fault. He could always squander up an excuse or find someone else to blame. But today it was one thing after another.

He was late. He had a meeting with the board team first thing but as the Christmas traffic filled the bustling roads of DC, he had already missed the first twenty five minutes of the conference. He practically fell out of the black limo that drove him to work every morning, plodging his feet through the thick layers of snow. It was so deep this morning, the ice cold water seeped through his leather Armani shoes and even through his favourite cashmere socks. The ones with little purple polka dots. He shivered uncomfortably as the clumps of ice sat in between his toes, melting, and so every footstep made an obscene squelching noise. He didn't have the time to fuss around and change his shoes. The bottoms of his tailored pants were dripping. He bolted through the glass revolving doors of Black Gold Cooperative, trailing a pool of water behind him. His receptionist Anna, and his assistant Raquel, stood up abruptly, their eyes widening as they saw their boss in such a hurried frenzy.

"Mr Lord! You have your nine o’ clock meeting and it’s now nine twenty-” Raquel raised her hand and called for him, but he didn't bother to stop in his tracks.

"Yes Raquel, I know!" Maxwell yelled after her, already tapping his feet impatiently as he waited for the elevator. "Cmon, cmon…" he grumbled as it slowly made its way down from the 25th floor to the ground floor.

When Maxwell entered the board meeting, his cheeks were a rosy pink from the cold winter weather. His eyes were glazed and the waves in his dark blonde hair were falling out of place. He had styled it perfectly this morning, the same way he did it every morning. You had even helped him, brushing through his locks when he had hopped out the shower. But now he looked as though he had just run a marathon, breaking out in a cold sweat. He swore if he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror, he'd have a heart attack. But surely, the day couldn't get any worse. Right? Maxwell had made it to the meeting, albeit late. At least he was there.

Wrong.

"I am so sorry." he scrambled, plopping his briefcase down on the table and slipping past the many occupied chairs. He slumped down in one eventually, pulling out in a notepad and pen. "Bad traffic," he huffed. "Can someone give me the lowdown?"

He eventually looked up to see his company. Twelve older ladies in pink button down dresses and white frilly aprons, their hair tied back into matching low buns. Maxwell froze up, his gaze wandering from woman to woman as it slowly began to sink in.

"Mr Lord…" the woman at the head of the table said cautiously. She looked just as baffled. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I've worked for Black Gold Cooperative for five years now but never did I expect to see you in person."

Maxwell looked back at the other girls who were all nodding in agreement, beaming with excitement. "Uh." He didn't know what to say, but instead, he placed his pen and notepad back into the inside of his suit jacket pocket and stood up. "I think- I think I'm in the wrong meeting." he announced.

"We are the body of staff who are responsible for the cleanliness and hygiene of your company sir. We spend ten hours a day washing and tidying every surface, every inch of this building. We take great care of it." one of the ladies spoke up and Maxwell became even more confused. Although clearly, on a day like this, it didn't take much to confuse him.

"The cleaning staff have meetings in here?" He wondered out loud, immediately regretting the words as soon as they left his lips. He didn't want to come off as rude. "I mean, I'm your employer. Pft, of course I know that you have meetings. And I'm glad you do so. It's good to take direction!" he was doing that motivational voice he used on television, making the 60 year old cleaners swoon with admiration. "I- I should get going but. Uh, yes. Lovely to meet you all."

"Mr Lord!" A lady with ebony hair and crinkles by her eyes stood up, handing Maxwell his briefcase. He nodded appreciatvely and walked to the door where her hand met his arm and stopped him in his tracks. "Could I get your autograph, please? I'm just a huge fan of your infomercials."

Maxwell checked the time on his wristwatch. Almost half an hour late, but he couldn't deny one of his cleaners. Once upon a time he wouldn't have bothered giving them a second glance yet he leaned over the table and signed his name on a sticky note. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Pamela," she beamed brightly.

"Nice to meet you Pamela, have a good day." he pat her shoulder and went open the door when another voice yelled his name.

"Mr Lord!" a woman with white hair stood up, a grin pinned on her face. "I'm Doris," she introduced confidently, but her voice was shaky with her old age. "I remember when your father was on the television. I used to clean for him too, you know? Oh, he was such a lovely gentleman. And you look more and more like him every day. Such a handsome man, you are."

Maxwell stiffened up, his hand grabbing the door handle so hard he was sure his knuckles might've turned white. "Oh," was the only thing that could really leave his lips. He wanted to leave.

"Mr Lord, your father I mean-, every Christmas he'd give little old me a kiss," she recalled, her heart blooming at the memory. "Of course I wasn't old then. I was young. And beautiful."

Maxwell exhaled and nodded his head, unsure of really what to say or where this conversation was going. All he could think about was the board meeting that he was already extremely late for. Maxwell pushed down on the door handle and Doris let out a long dramatic sigh, making Maxwell pause once again to hear what she had to say. "I haven't been kissed like that, by a man as attractive as your father, in years." she sighed longingly, fluttering her eyelashes.

That was when Maxwell realised. He sighed quietly, his eyes scanning the room. All the cleaners were staring at him, expecting him to make his move on poor old Doris. Then, he turned back to Doris and offered her that familiar Hollywood smile. The same smile that the whole world was used to seeing on five o'clock television. He took her hand and brushed a soft kiss over her wrinkled knuckles before gently dropping her hand again. There was no denying the pink blush that coloured her cheeks. The action earned a few squeaks and squeals around the room and while they were all babbling with excitement about what they'd just witnessed happen to their friend Doris, Maxwell took the opportunity to run.

He did finally make it to the meeting. He squeezed past his business associates, trying to locate his chair around the table. In the process, he knocked over a cup of coffee. It spilled all over Maxwell, and one of his colleagues. Maxwell's pale blue suit jacket was now stained with brown espresso, and he knew it would take more than just a few washes to get the stain out. He muttered a small 'sorry' before finding his seat and taking out his notepad and pen. Just as he finished writing the date at the top of his piece of paper, the director of the meeting called it quits and everyone flustered out of the room.

All this had happened and it was only ten in the morning.

Luckily, that was the only meeting of the day and he knew he was going to be spending the rest of the day in his office doing paperwork. That was easy enough. Maxwell padded into his enormous office which took up the entirety of the top floor at Black Gold Cooperative headquarters. He shut the double doors, finding peace in knowing that there was no need for anyone to come in and distract him. Maxwell tugged off his blazer and hung it on the back of a chair. He unclipped his suspenders that held his tailored pants up, and threw them to one side, along with his shoes and soaked socks. He padded into the closet at the back of his office and shuffled out of his pants, changing into some grey sweatpants.

He smiled, beginning to feel warm again. Wearing the sweatpants reminded him of you and it made him feel like he was at home. He remembered a few weeks into your relationship; your surprise when you caught a glimpse of his wardrobe. Not a single piece of casual wear in sight. You wondered if Maxwell Lord had ever known the comfort of sweatpants and so, that afternoon, you went out and bought him a pair. They changed his life. Maxwell would always favour his suits, that's just who he was, but he would love to wear the sweats when he wanted to lounge about in the house.

He was tired. His hair was still damp, the dark blonde waves curling at the nape of his neck and falling out of place every time he tried to remedy it. He still smelled vaguely of espresso, and was still haunted by the interaction of Doris the cleaner. He pursed his lips together into a thin line at the memory of kissing her hand.

Maxwell walked over to his desk and sunk into his chair, holding his head in his hands. Finally some peace.

Until there was a loud knock at the door. Maxwell swung his head back and groaned. "Come in!" he shouted, quickly composing himself for whoever wished to see him. It was his blonde assistant, Raquel.

"Hi sir!" she beamed, waving her free hand and placing a glossy catalogue on the table.

"Raquel." Maxwell nodded politely, sitting up and looking at the catalogue she had positioned before him.

"For the Christmas gala," she explained, flicking open the pages and pointing out different things. She'd carefully highlighted and labelled everything she wanted to show him, making it easier for his conveience. "I was thinking huge black and gold balloons with the company name on. Gold confetti. Banners and streamers hanging from every corner. A buffet, and every table cloth will also have the company's name on, printed in small, glitter ink." Her loud and chatty voice was giving Maxwell a headache.

"Yeah, balloons with Black Gold Cooperative written on really scream ‘Have a Very Merry Capitalist Christmas’." he sighed, slowly looking up at her. She blinked a few times. "Well Raquel?" he quizzed, growing irritable. It wasn't her fault, it's just everything was beginning to build up. She blinked again, dumbfounded by his comment. "Is that what Christmas is about to you?"

"W-what do you mean?" she asked nervously, removing her hand from the catalogue and taking a step back from his desk.

"What about red and green balloons? We'll have a Christmas tree in the ballroom. We could even make it family friendly and hire a Santa Claus for the kids to meet." Maxwell suggested. "And no weird company merchandise."

Raquel blinked, not saying a word. It had never really dawned on Maxwell how much you had changed him. His staff realised practically instantly— from the moment he came into work after the first time you had spent the night, it was like he was a changed man. He held the door open for people, he wished people a good morning. And as your relationship with him developed, you opened up a brand new side to him. He became more affectionate and caring for those around him, a feeling he had shut off from the world for his entire life.

He had never cared for Christmas, never cared as much to host a Christmas gala either. His father died during the festive season and it hadn't been the same without him. His mother didn't do much to celebrate. Maxwell had everything he always wanted; all the new toys and fanciest designer clothes. But it meant nothing to him without his father. Christmas meant nothing to him without love. That's why it all changed when he met you. You finally brought love back into his life, and everything felt whole again. You completed him. You taught him how to enjoy events and celebrate. You taught him happiness but most importantly, you taught a cold and broken man how to love and be loved in return.

The Christmas gala was your idea. One night, around a month ago, you and Maxwell were both lying in bed together. Maxwell had expressed to you that he wanted to do something special for his staff at work. Over the past few years since he had met you, he'd slowly been softening with the people around him. Christmas time was no different and his staff were always jolly to receive a hefty bonus from him. But they didn't expect anything more.

You came up with the idea of a gala, and Maxwell couldn't help but smirk a little when you mentioned it. He knew that your suggestion was deeply rooted into the fact you had always wanted to attend a gala, wear a beautiful dress and have your hair and makeup done. More importantly, you wanted to go to a gala with Maxwell and have him by your side looking as handsome as ever. The prospect excited you so much. With Maxwell, you knew that you wanted for nothing. That he could give you anything and everything. But you would never ask. You wanted him to know that for as long as he was with you, you had everything you needed.

Normally for Maxwell, gala’s were a place for adults only. Bars that served the best alcohol and a place where men who were just as rich as him would meet and schmooze. Before you, gala’s were a fine opportunity for Maxwell to meet a lady and take her home. That's all he enjoyed them for. But you had taught Maxwell that there was more to life than wealth, women and good champagne. He was so sure you'd love the idea of turning the gala into a family friendly party, and he was certain that his employees (the likes of the cleaning staff, for example) would love the ability to bring their families to such a high class event.

"Don't worry Raquel," Maxwell smiled. "Forget about the party planning for now. I know someone who would love to organise the Christmas gala." Today was tough, but everytime he thought about you, he couldn't wipe the grin from his face. He was one lovesick puppy. "Could you bring me a coffee?"

Raquel nodded and picked the catalogue back up, padding out his office without saying another word.

At around twelve o’clock, Maxwell was about to take his lunch break- but the phone on his desk began to ring. "Maxwell Lord." he introduced himself, holding the phone to his ear. It was the CEO of Powergrid Electrics, an electrical company in Rome. Rude and unhinged, the boss man reminded Maxwell of a version of himself that he had left in the past.

Maxwell had almost sealed an amazing deal with the company, but it had seemed that the CEO hadn't received a vital part of the contract. Trying to regulate the anger that was building up inside of him, Maxwell shakily put the phone back on the hook and called his second assistant, Emmerson, into his office.

"It's impossible," Maxwell furrowed his eyebrows together in bewilderment, after explaining the situation. He scrambled amongst the papers that were stacked mountain high on his desk. "I put it in the envelope and had Raquel send it off to Rome last week. I remember… I know I didn't forget. I never forget." he said, trying to sound as composed and confident as possible. There was no mistake in the worried little warble in his voice, though.

Emmerson, Maxwell's second assistant, wasn't sure if he was going to regret his next move. "Sir," his voice was timid and small. Maxwell's eyes snapped up to meet Emmerson's and Emmerson felt his heart rate increase rapidly. Emmerson reached over Maxwell's desk, picking up a folded piece of paper with a sticky note on top that read 'For Raquel: give to Rome'. "Is it possible that this is the missing part of the contract? That maybe, you might have just, forgotten to give it to Raquel?" he said slowly, trying to beat around the bush as much as possible.

Maxwell slowly reached over to the slip of paper, unravelling it like he was scared to see what the contents would reveal. He sighed out loud when he realised he had, in fact, forgotten to give Raquel the document, and there was no one to blame but himself. He ran his fingers through his hair, contemplating what to do next. He didn't want to believe he was out of options. He wasn't one to give up, especially when it came to the sanctity of his business.

"I need you to go to Rome." He said immediately and Emmerson's jaw dropped.

"I- I'm sorry?" Emmerson quizzed, confused and still slightly afraid of how impulsive Maxwell was being. "With all due respect, can't you just call Rome and ask for an extension on the deadline?"

Maxwell scoffed. "Call Rome? I can't just call a country," Emmerson was about to interject to explain that wasn't exactly what he meant but Maxwell didn't allow it. There was something about the way Maxwell's brain worked… he didn't get where he was today from taking the advice of his assistants. "You will go to Rome and give Powergrid Electrics the remaining part of the contract yourself. I trust you."

"But sir-" Emmerson raised a shaky hand.

"Oh, I see, you're worried about accomodation," Maxwell assumed, chuckling lightly. "I'll get you a five star hotel and give you a spending allowance of three hundred euros a day, how does that sound? No need to fret. Hurry along now."

"Mr Lord," Emmerson deadpanned finally, causing Maxwell to look up at his assistant in bewilderment. Emmerson was still afraid of his boss, of course, but he knew he had to stand his ground. "I can't go to Italy."

There were a few beats of silence. "What?" Maxwell questioned. "Don't be ridiculous. It's a free trip of a lifetime. You have an easy job to do. You can spend the rest of the day souvenir shopping. I don't care. Just get the contract delivered." He ordered.

"No." Emmerson put his foot down.

"No?" Maxwell repeated, raising his eyebrows like he was due an explanation.

"Mr Lord, I didn't want to say anything because it seems… you've had a lot going on today. But my girlfriend, Katherine, she's due our baby. See, we're having a son. I'm not sure if you knew… I mean, you probably didn't know. But, I promised Katie- uh, Katherine, that I'd meet her at the hospital after my shift. I wish I could help you sir, I really do. But I love my girlfriend and I've been waiting nine months to meet our son so if you please-"

The old Maxwell Lord would've burned red with rage, firing poor Emmerson on the spot, right then and there. How dare he question Maxwell. How dare he deny Maxwell. How dare he choose his love life, his family over his job. But right now, Maxwell couldn't help the small smile creep upon his lips. He was overjoyed, just wishing Emmerson had told him of the amazing news before now.

"Congratulations," Maxwell said, his voice quiet but his eyes gleaming. "On the addition of your family. That's really great."

Emmerson stood as still as ever, blinking a few times. He waited for Maxwell to snap and finally lose it. He was waiting to get the sack. But nothing. "Uh, thank you, sir." Emmerson replied hesitantly, like he wasn't sure what to expect from Maxwell.

The following few moments of silence, Maxwell spent thinking about you. He thought about how radiant you glowed this morning and how he wished he didn't have to leave your side. You were the love of his life and quite frankly, since meeting you, he understood the priority of choosing love over wealth. He finally had someone he could hold onto during the dead of night, someone to ramble to about his feelings, someone he could kiss and love and cherish forever.

Maxwell Lord finally loved something more than his business and that was you. Emmerson coughed awkwardly, breaking the silence and Maxwell flicked his wrist up, checking the time on his gold Rolex. It was almost twelve thirty.

"Why are you still here?" Maxwell grinned, swinging his hand to point a finger towards the door. "Go! You have a son to meet!"

"Sir, I don't finish until five o’ clock." Emmerson replied, stiffening up.

"No no no! Go home, go see your girlfriend, please." Maxwell stood up and shook his assistants hand. "I have no doubt you'll be an amazing father," he said genuinely. "And I'll have Y/N send over some flowers and a donation after the birth."

"You- you're really letting me off work early?" Emmerson beamed and Maxwell nodded his head enthusiastically. "Oh how can I ever thank you?"

"I hear Maxwell is a popular choice of name for baby boys right now," the CEO charmed and Emmerson let out a small but genuine laugh. "Now go! Tell Katherine I send my love."

"I will do, thank you sir." Emmerson grinned, grabbing his jacket from the coat rack and merrily running out of the office.

Maxwell sunk into the plushness of his leather chair, still unable to escape the smile that played on his lips. He imagined the possibility of you, the love of his life, carrying his child. He thought about how beautiful you would look, how you'd glow, and how he'd simply give up everything to take care of you. Make sure you had everything you needed during your pregnancy. He imagined building the nursery with you and picking out some books on parenting, studying with you so he could ensure that he'd be the best father ever. He'd never wanted kids. In fact he hated the idea of having little mini Maxwell’s running around and causing fuss and torment, but the idea of you raising them alongside him made his heart flutter. He was certain of the unconditional love you’d have for them. Similar to the unconditional love he had for you.

His eyes darted back to the unsent report on his desk and he sighed. Guess I have to call Rome after all. He thought.

Maxwell was counting the minutes until he could go home and see you. He wanted nothing more than to curl up on the sofa with you, the fire on, and watch one of those cheesy Christmas movies you liked so much. He heard the doors to his office open, frustration racing through him as he prepared himself for the next bout of 'things going wrong'. He'd normally yell at someone if they entered his office without knocking but he was so tired. So so tired.

When he saw you, he swore his heart stopped. There you were, his blessing in disguise. His angel. You were wearing your red winter coat and knee high brown boots, and you plopped your purse and a bag on one of the many side tables in his office. You took off your gloves and pulled off your wooly bobble hat, stuffing them lazily in your pocket and offered him a happy smile. He scrambled to his feet, not taking his eyes off you for a second and ran up to you, sweeping you off your feet and spinning you around. You squealed, grabbing onto him for your life and he put you down, pulling you into a tight warm hug.

"You're freezing cold." he grimaced, pulling your hands into the pockets of his grey sweatpants in hope they'd warm up.

"It's snowing again." you whispered happily, smiling into his neck. He was delighted, having you in his arms and being able to smell the familiarity of your shampoo and perfume. He knew for sure now, he was going to be okay.

"I can see." he replied, moving one of his hands up to your face and padding out the pearly snowdrops that were balanced in your hair. "I am so glad to see you sweetheart." he hummed, sending vibrations through your body. You felt your heart blossom in your chest at his sentiment.

"I told you I was coming this morning," you giggled, eventually pulling away from him and taking your arms out of his pockets. You cupped his face and ran your fingers through his dark blonde hair, fixing it as best as you could. "I brought us lunch." you told him, fishing into the bag and bringing out boxes of pastries and cakes. "From that bakery we like."

Maxwell gasped and you looked up at him confused. "Baby, I completely forgot you were coming."

"I hate to say Max but you do look a little disheveled," you folded your arms across your chest and checked out your boyfriend's appearance. "What's with the sweats and… where is your tie and suspenders?" Your eyes met his feet on the floor and they widened almost comically. "Max! Where are your socks and shoes?"

He sighed, shaking his head. "Long story." he took your hand and pulled you over to the couch, pulling you onto his lap. You wrapped your arms around him and he placed a hand on your thigh, pushing under your skirt and rubbing comforting circles into your skin.

"Tell me everything." you replied and he looked up at you with nothing but adoration in his brown eyes.

"Traffic jam on the way to work because of the snowstorm last night, and the streets were so busy with it being so close to Christmas. We couldn't get parked out front so I had to get out of the car and walk through five inches of snow to get into work. I was already late for my meeting. Soaking wet and uncomfortable," you let him ramble on, watching intently at the way his expression would change as he recalled different events in his day. You began to play with his hair, seeing that he was getting flustered at the memory of it all. "I was late for the meeting, I ended up in a whole different meeting. I didn't know the cleaners in this building even had meetings!"

"The cleaners?" you chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. "You sat in on a meeting with the cleaners?" Maxwell nodded sollemnley and you nudged him playfully. "I love that."

"Well, I didn't. They're all lovely women. But this one cleaner, Doris…" he fumbled around with his fingers. "I ended up kissing her." you pulled away quickly, knotting your eyebrows together. "No! No not like that," Maxwell said quickly, pulling you back onto his lap and wrapping his arm around you. "She's like 90, said she used to work for my father and every Christmas he'd give her a kiss. She'd start talking about how she's never had a kiss from someone as handsome as my father in years. So I gave her a polite one, on her hand. And baby, I ran. As fast as I could, I had to get outta there."

You smiled. "Max, you probably made her day. That was really sweet of you."

He brushed off your comment, taking a dramatic exhale and continuing his story. "Finally got to the meeting, spilled coffee over myself and one of my associates. But by the time I had finally settled, the meeting was over. So I went back to my office and changed out of my wet, cold, coffee stained clothes and sat down. Raquel came in. She was planning the Christmas gala but it all sounded so… corporate. Not what Christmas is about at all," he explained and you nodded in agreement. "Anyways I suggested that we change the gala this year so it's family friendly. In the spirit of Christmas."

"Oh Max!" you beamed, snuggling into his chest. He smiled to himself proudly, knowing that he had made you happy.

"You good with that?" he chuckled, running his fingers through your hair.

"Yes!" you squeaked, pushing yourself back up and giving him a quick kiss on the lips. "I have so many ideas."

"That's great honey," he laughed. "Because I told Raquel to forget about the gala. I figured you could plan it. You're great at stuff like that, and I know how much it means to you. I want the gala to be perfect for my staff and their families, and I trust you more than anyone else in the world."

"I can't wait," you smiled merrily, already weighing up the different ideas you had in your head. "Was Raquel okay with you taking the party planning duty away from her?"

"I think so," Maxwell replied. "She has a lot on her plate, being my assistant and all. It's a busy time of year and I think she'd appreciate having less to do."

"Well, it really does sound like you've had an eventful morning."

"Oh, I'm not finished," Maxwell grimaced and you braved yourself for the impending chaos. "Rome called and told me that the CEO of Powergrid Electrics only received half of the binding contract. So I was going to send Emmerson to Rome because I needed that contract in the hands of the CEO by midnight tonight. But Emmerson told me he couldn't. His girlfriend is having his baby today. A little boy. So I let him go home early."

"Emmerson's going to be a father?" you gasped and Maxwell nodded. "That's so wonderful! I should send him some flowers."

"I already told Emmerson you would." Maxwell grinned.

"Oh a baby boy too! How lovely. We have to go meet the baby when he's born. Please please please." you whined, fluttering your eyelashes.

"Okay darling." Maxwell pressed a kiss into your cheek.

You stood up and brought the bag over to the couch, taking out the little boxes and handing them to Maxwell. You opened them up and started to eat, as you told him how your morning had gone.

"After you went to work, I cleared up and did the dishes that you had left from breakfast. Max, I was soooo tired from last night," you blushed and his mouth twisted into a proud smile. "So I went back to bed and slept for another hour. Then I got up and took a bubble bath. Oh!" you scrambled around in your purse, taking out a fresh Polaroid and showed him it. It was a photograph of his white long haired cat, Lady, with bubbles balancing on her head. "She kept me company while I was in the bath." you smiled and Maxwell laughed.

"She looks so funny with the bubbles on her head." Maxwell took the Polaroid from your fingers and admired the cat. He was never particularly fond about animals, or having pets, but you loved them. In the first year of your relationship, Maxwell asked what you wanted for your birthday. As always, you told him that you didn't want anything materialistic, that he was all you needed. But you did tell him about an animal charity that you were so passionate about. He remembered leaving you at home and telling you that he was simply 'heading out'. He had planned on visiting the charity and making a donation in your name, as part of your birthday present. But he didn't leave the shelter empty handed.

A white fluffy cat with long whiskers and big blue eyes. Her eyes reminded him of sapphires. She mewled and padded towards him, her tail waving happily as she rubbed her cheek on his leg, circling around him. "Ah, she's a darling," the lady who was showing Maxwell around told him. "Unfortunately, she's been here with us longer than any of the other cats. She's not that good around people. But I must admit, she likes you a lot. In fact, I've never seen her so confident around another person before."

Maxwell dropped to his knees and tickled her head. She began purring erratically, rubbing her face along the edges of the rings on his fingers. "Nobody wants her?" Maxwell asked, not taking his eyes from the happy kitty. He picked her up, ignoring the white cat hair that malted onto his suit. She rubbed her soft face against his cheek and sniffed his cologne.

"No." the lady replied sadly. Maxwell smiled.

"I'll take her."

And that night, Maxwell came home with a new addition to the family. You were overjoyed, but no one was happier than little Lady Lord who had found her fur-ever home.

He placed the Polaroid on one of the side tables, promising you he would find a frame for it. "How was your bath darling?" he cooed, pressing his lips along your jaw.

You giggled, nuzzling your head into his shoulder. "Relaxing, lit some candles, done a little reading. After my bath I got dressed and tidied up the bedroom. I turned on the radio and they were playing Christmas songs. Oh! WHAM have just brought out a new one, it's really good. Hmm, me and Lady played for a little while and she let me brush her hair. Jeeves offered to drive me to the bakery but I really wanted to walk in the snow. Get some fresh air. And now I'm here! With you!"

It was safe to say Maxwell's morning was a lot more chaotic, but he was comforted knowing that you had been relaxed while he was going through all the antics.

"Your morning sounded amazing, darling." he kissed your forehead and you felt butterflies erupt in your stomach.

You let his lips brush over your skin, fall down to your nose, and eventually take place on your own lips as he leaned his forehead against yours. You giggled, his hair falling out of place again slightly and tickling you as he kissed you. You pulled him closer, encouraging him to deepen the kiss and laced your fingers in his hair. He pulled away to catch his breath but peppered small yet passionate kisses along your jaw and down your neck.

“You’re being so affectionate,” you smiled, eyes sparkling with love.

“What can I say? I like to kiss you.” Maxwell exhorted and leaned in again, pressing another kiss into your lips. This time he swiped his tongue along the plumpness of your bottom lip, begging for entry. You pulled off him and he moaned. “Whaaat?” He pouted playfully and you rolled your eyes, earnestly laughing at how cute your boyfriend was.

“We shouldn’t do this at work,” you giggled.

“Baby we’ve done a lot worse than just kissing on this sofa, if you remember.” Maxwell charmed and you felt your cheeks heat up as you nodded slowly.

"The highlight of my day though, is being here, with you." you promised.

"Yeah," Maxwell hummed. "Me too."

"I'm proud of you." you said out of the blue, putting your sandwich down and wiping your mouth. Maxwell looked at you, confused. "You've had a bad morning. But you acted so selflessly today. Everything from signing autographs in your office to kissing that old maids hand, giving Raquel less work to do and letting Emmerson be with his girlfriend. You… you surprise me everyday Max. And I fall in love with you more and more everyday."

"I remember when we first met… I would've never dreamed of doing any of this." Maxwell admitted sheepishly.

"I know, I remember," you recalled. "I fell in love with the man you were then, but I somehow think I love you even more now."

And with that, Maxwell pulled you into a kiss. The curve of his nose nudged against yours and his hands pulled you into his lap, knocking the boxes of food onto the floor as you straddled him. "I love you so much." he announced.

Maxwell rarely said I love you's. But that was okay because you knew he loved you from his actions. You knew he loved you from the small kisses he'd give you on a morning, and the way he'd pull you into a hug every evening after work. You knew he loved you from the way he'd shelter you from paparazzi and squeeze your hand tight whenever you felt overwhelmed. Actions spoke louder than words. But coming from Maxwell Lord, hearing those three words struck you like a bolt of lightning. They were just words, but they meant everything to you.

He meant everything to you.

Permanent taglist~let me know if you want to be added: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first

#max lord x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #maxwell lord x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

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garfieldandmeblog · 3 years

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Garfield: The Movie

AM: There’s an interesting writing choice in Garfield: The Movie regarding the setting. It begins in a cul-de-sac, just a few miles from a large city. For Garfield, the cul de sac is safe; he knows the ins and outs, all of the neighboring cats and dogs, and it’s where he always gets his way. Anything beyond the cul de sac, however, is dangerous, unknown, even hostile, and that’s not even mentioning the city. With all of this emphasis placed on place, one begins to wonder where exactly the film takes place. One would assume that it takes place in Garfield creator Jim Davis’ home state of Indiana. Wikipedia, however, claims that it takes place in Los Angeles of all places. What’s interesting, though, is that the movie does everything its power to obscure the actual setting from the viewer. There are no signs anywhere in this film that say “Los Angeles,” no one mentions living in L.A., and there’s just no defining characteristics. It’s not even a matter of the camera crew just choosing not to shoot things that screamed L.A.; things are deliberately edited to obscure that fact. There’s a scene towards the end of Act 2 where Garfield has to go to the city to rescue Odie from the clutches of an evil infomercial personailty. On the freeway, we get a shot of the city skyline and a freeway exit sign—which reads, not Los Angeles, but “The City.” A bus’s destination sign reads “City Center.” The so-called “Los Angeles” looks more like a movie set for a film taking place in New York. You would think that, taking place in L.A., the movie would have taken the golden opportunity to take Garfield to L.A.’s iconic locales. Garfield in front of the Grauman Theatre. Garfield at the Hollywood sign. Garfield at Dodger’s Stadium. But no, none of that.

Garfield: The Movie’s setting is strange because they don’t utilize it for what you might expect. The effort the filmmakers went through to hide the truth about the setting is rather impressive, I’ll say that. It doesn’t seem like it ultimately accomplished anything though. And so, ultimately, the choices made regarding the setting resulted in an affect that is neither good, nor bad, just… there. Much like the film itself.

I give this movie 5 out of 10 lasagnas.

JK: For my final official critique here at Garfieldandme.com LLC, I will be reviewing Garfield the Movie. How did it make me feel? How does Garfield make me feel at this point? I thought I knew, but as of right now… It’s mixed.

I thought I didn’t like Garfield. I thought it would be funny to employ irony against the fat cat. When I began writing about Garfield, the original mission was to find a way in, primarily through cruel joking and punching down, every week and that was it; that was going to be the focus of this project.

But finding a way through… It requires energy. It requires an actual interest in whatever you’re writing about, whatever you’re exploring. And as the project went on and on, my interest and energy waned. It became increasingly difficult to talk Garf. The ratio of good ideas/fun writing sessions to phoning it in grew smaller and smaller. Part of the fun, at first, was acknowledging the pure magnitude of syndication Garfield has amassed. But, diving into it, getting deep, it’s hard to keep a smiling face when the material brings so little to you. Life is short, and Garf is long.

There are hidden gems in the bog of never-ending Mondays. There are glimpses of Jim Davis giving a shit. And those moments, when they come up, are worth cherishing. It compelled me to write knowing the cat was acting in an interesting way. It gave me material to work with. It gave me hope.

And then, we’d get another week of duds. Then, another. It’d go on, and I’d feel frustration, apathy, devastation, etc. over and over again. It became routine.

So, Garfield the Movie. What makes Garfield the Movie interesting? It’s Garfield’s first live-action adaptation. It stars… movie stars. Garfield is CGI. These elements are all fine. The whole movie is just fine. And that complete milquetoast quality makes the film, ironically, a great Garfield adaptation. There were times I was watching the screen and I hoped the movie would be worse, more blatantly disgusting or bold. Maybe then I could write about it. But no, from start time to end, this movie is okay.

Bill Murray sounds like the voice Davis and Co. settled on when they brought Garf to the home television. Jon is whatever. You can have a discarded Chik Fil A wrapper replace Jon in this movie and nothing would change. Odie is lovable and fun (maybe the highlight). Jennifer Love Hewitt.. I mean, c’mon. Liz was hot already, but…

…

There’s nothing really deep here.

The only redeeming portion of the whole film is the credits. I’m serious. There, it tells another story. Comics and largely comic strips are a medium of sole ownership. Charles Schultz storyboards, Schultz draws, he signs his name in the bottom left corner. And that’s it. Film, in this critic’s opinion, is one of the most collaborative mediums of expression out there. On even the worst films (and I’m not saying Garfield runs in this camp), there are probably five or more people who gave up hours of their lives in an attempt to make you smile, to entertain you for a little bit. It’s interesting to see this many people interpreting Davis’s cat. This bird’s eye view perspective, however, does not negate how bored I felt during the film. And my opinion doesn’t really matter. The best of them, working on this project, hopefully made this to make a child (or the rare Garf fan) happy. Or they were miserable. Regardless, they all made the film. I spent an hour of my life watching. We are in this together.

We reflect whatever we spend time with. If you spend hours with the cat, you become the cat. You spend time working overtime at a job you hate, and suddenly you hate yourself. You spend the night out, maybe drinking wine with friends on a weekend, at a little bar on the outside of town. It’s August. The night is air is warm, and it looks like no one is on Wilshire tonight. Except you and people you love. You laugh and really feel it in your chest, in your stomach. You look at everyone and, maybe it’s the light, maybe it’s the Merlot, but they emanate a soft golden glow covering their forearms to their rears to their legs to their feet. You look down at yourself, and you’re glowing too.

Was it Anne Dillard who wrote “How we spend our days, of course, is how we spend our lives”? Am I remembering that correctly? What year is it? What was I doing about this? How does Garfield make me feel? How am I feeling right now? Stepping away from the cat is not easy, and in a sense, this gesture feels like stepping away from this past year in its good and nasty. I want to change my life, and so I’ll change my relationship with him. It’s small, but why not. Life is short, and Garf is long. Thanks for spending this time with me, I’ll never forget it.

Two lasagnas out of five.

#garfield #lasagna cat #film #film critique #comics #criticism #analysis #movie review #funny #haha #garfieldandme

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pandapupremade · 4 years

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Danger (Part 1)

WORDS: 1,304

WARNINGS: Mentions of explosions/evil plans basically

in case u wanted to know context of the Sympathy fic I did yesterday, I’m writing a prequel tihngy. this is part 1 and doesn’t feature much Self shipping (though it references my ship with Quackerjack and @sphearts‘ insert Patch), but pls know the next parts will. reblogs also appreciated!!! I had a lot of fun w this ;w;

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The Fearsome Five were once more up to something very dastardly. When weren't they? But it seemed today that in that warehouse just off town, not all members of the group were feeling so dastardly. A nervous Bushroot tapped his leafy hands together as he looked over the crate in front of him, one that wires were extending from.

"Are we sure this is such a good idea? I -I m-mean...There's - there's just - there's innocents down there, you kn-know?" He shook his purple-foliaged head and frowned. "Oh, I c-couldn't bear to destroy the poor things...N-not so gruesomely..."

Bushroot's concerns fell on deaf ears, of course, and in fact his words were met with a laugh from Quackerjack, who was dangling upside down from the rafters for whatever goofy reason. "Since when do YOU care about the civilians, bush brain?"

"W-who said anything about people?" The scientist almost seemed offended, "You know I'm talking about the plants! The - the - the trees! The f-flowers! They're all blooming at this time, I couldn't stand it if they..."

"Are you having second thoughts?" Came the voice of Liquidator, poking up from a puddle on the floor, "Tired of destroying your family trees? Not to worry, the Liquidator will set things right! Lots of water for lots of plants, right?"

"Uh, I-I guess..." Bushroot nodded, but still seemed tense. "A-anyway, Quackerjack - don't think you're one to - to talk. You're the one with a f-family at home. Shouldn't you be worried about them? What if they get caught in the explosion - bet you'd be pretty bummed then...!"

"Please, they know to stay out of any destruction zone!" replied the jester with another laugh, "Well, except Patch - but who knows where they go....Maybe your plants oughta do the same...You know...Make like a banana and split! Hohohohoooo~!" As he said banana, he pulled out Mr. Banana Brain, because of course he did.

"Just better hope they don't get in the way again," Megavolt sneered. "They're always so unpredictable...But then again, so are you."

"Hohohooo!"

"Which one of you idiots is making Quackerjack a fool of himself again?" growled a new voice, and one that shot chills down each Fearsome member's spine. Negaduck had finally arrived. "Or is it just Quackerjack being a fool all on his own? Either way, his laughter is getting on my nerves."

"Oh, goody!" Quackerjack grinned from above. "Boss is back! Great to see you, Negaduck! Buddy, ol' pal!"

"Yeah, yeah, roll out the red carpet." Negaduck waved his hand with disinterest. "Is everything in place, boys? 'Cause if it's not..."

"The Liquidator has a 100% satisfactory guarantee! Indeed, you, Negaduck, will be pleased - or your money back!" The watery dog seemed a bit too cheery considering all this talk of explosions...

Negaduck shook his head. "I'll hold you to that, you walking infomercial..." But at this, Megavolt spoke up, "But Boss, you didn't give us any money, so we can't exactly give it back..."

"Well, your life can repay any debt, don't you think?" He tapped his foot on the ground. "I mean, really, that's what you're gonna give me anyway if you losers screw this up."

"That's our Negaduck! Always so forgiving..." Seems like even the concept of dying a bloody death as punishment for failing sounded like a fun time to Quackerjack. "Anyway, boss..." He dropped down from the ceiling and landed directly in front of Negaduck now, "I've got a question for you, if you've got the time..."

"I don't have the time." Negaduck tried to walk past the insolent clown, but Quackerjack quite literally bounced back to front and center.

"It'll only take a second! See, Bushroot and I were just having a civil little conversation -"

"Nothing civil about it," huffed Bushroot in the background.

"9 out of 10 reviews give that conversation a thumbs down," added Liquidator.

Quackerjack snorted. "Anyway, it got me wondering if YOU have any ties that could be -"

And then, his beak was grabbed quite cartoonishly to shut him up. Negaduck was obviously unamused. "No, Quackerjack. Unlike you, I don't need a family to keep me stable."

"Yeah, you only need a chainsaw," chuckled Megavolt.

"Bingo. And frankly, I don't even need that. Any weapon will do, yeah?" Negaduck let go of Quackerjack now, but walked past while purposely stepping on the guy's foot. (Though this backfired, because there was a honking sound effect and that just annoyed the boss more.) "If that's all you nubs needed, then let's start the operation."

"Aye-aye, sir!" came the chant of his cohorts. Negaduck would walk towards the earlier mentioned crate, which with the little help of a button on a remote he had, opened to reveal a computer inside. On the screen was a map of St. Canard in neon green color, and Negaduck began to type in some coordinates from a sheet of paper - one that he'd somehow taken from Megavolt when the rodent wasn't looking.

"And...we...are...good...to....Eh?" His finger paused over the last number, "No, wait a minute, that ain't right..." He back spaced and tried again. Still no.

"Somethin' wrong, boss?" asked Megavolt.

"The coordinates I'm inputting on this detonator...They're nowhere near the correct ones." He glared at Megavolt. "Where did you set up the bombs?"

"On the south side of -"

At this, Negaduck's eyes narrowed. "The SOUTH side? You LOSER, you can't even follow orders right...I said the NORTH would be destroyed..."

Megavolt stared, and became increasingly panicked. "W-wh-wha? W-well, it shouldn't be too big a difference! A-after all, it's still just a threat, r-right? Not like we won't get our point acro-"

"That's not the point, you dolt! There's some stupid art convention going on in the South Side of town, and I wanted to specifically avoid that area!"

Silence.

"Uh....Why-" began Bushroot, but he quickly retracted his inquiry as Negaduck shot a nasty look at him. "Th-that is....We can just set the bombs up elsewhere, right?"

"Yeah, and it's gonna take all day! Forget it, this plan was a failure...And it's not my fault, I'd like to say..." Negaduck crossed his arms. "Quackerjack and Megavolt can be in charge of defusing all the bombs."

"Hmm...Is it really such a big deal?" Quackerjack smiled in a way that sorta said he was about to cause trouble, "It's just strange you'd care so much about a little setback that you'd cancel your whole plan...Not even a Plan B...."

"Y-yeah, that's - that's right!" chimed in Bushroot. "We should just go ahead with it, already!"

"Act now, and the Liquidator can wash away YOUR worries, with a bang!"

"It will SURELY shock you!" beamed Megavolt.

"Will you all be quiet?! I'm sick of your puns!" Negaduck snapped, "You're all so...useless!" Well, this was getting nowhere fast. Soon, in a comedic fashion, the Fearsome Five became the Fumbling Five - everyone started arguing, and in the midst of it...Somehow, probably when nobody was paying attention, that last digit got put into the detonator.

"Forget this," Negaduck growled, "I'll just have to..." And then he noticed the timer. "W- No! Oh, for the love of -" Everyone watched as he rushed to the computer and began trying to stop the detonator. "UGH! YOU IDIOTS!"

The others looked at each other. Then at Negaduck. Then at each other. And as they ran away so as not to meet his wrath, Liquidator shouted out another quote of "Act now, the offer ends soon!"

"Oh, more than that is gonna end...." But there was no time to worry about that with the clock ticking. He gripped his hat in a stressed manner, yanking on it to try and calm his nerves. But he couldn't stop the detonator - he'd specifically planned that so that Darkwing couldn't screw things up...What irony!

But why did he care about that art convention? Well, as he rushed off to try and find a certain someone, he wondered that himself.

#⚡💞 Stinky Ducksband (Negaduck)#🌿💞 Tragic Blossom (Bushroot)#💧 Liquidator (Platonic)#🦆💞 It’s Playtime (Quackerjack)#🌩️ Megavolt (Platonic)#kermitwriting #🃏🪀🦆 DoraPatchJack (Ship)#ok 2 reblog

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honeyhan-123 · 5 years

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Little Red Label

Summary: Having been dragged out by Sam, Bucky meets a woman in a little red dress.

Warnings: Smut so 18+, a little bit of cursing, and some low key angst.

Word Count: 3.1k

gif source:

Your eyes peaked open, offering a sideways view of the television, infomercials running across the screen. You realised quickly that it wasn’t the quiet voices trying to sell you a bottle a vitamins which would apparently drastically change your life that had awoken you. Instead it was the shrill and continuous buzz of your doorbell. Whoever was outside was clearly just holding the little black button down, waiting for you to let them in.

A groan escaped your mouth as you heaved yourself up off of your leather couch, the cashmere blanket slipping from your shoulders as you padded across the room towards the control box by the door. With blurry eyes you looked at the screen which offered a view of your best friend Charlotte. Normally you would have been happy to see her, you were both so busy that you hardly had time to catch up anymore. Now however, you just wanted her to leave you alone so pressing the button to talk you leaned in closer to the microphone and rasped ‘go away Char, I’m not in the mood.’

Charlotte’s ever bubbly personality however was not deterred by your less than warm welcome. Instead she smiled brightly at the camera, holding up a tub of Ben and Jerries in one hand and a bottle of vodka in the other. You let out a sigh as you buzzed her in, no words were needed, she had obviously seen his facebook post.

As you waited for Charlotte to climb up the stairs to your apartment, you got out two glasses and soda to mix the drinks with, as well as two spoons. You had no intention of leaving any remains of the ice cream, deciding that eating straight from the tub would save washing up later.

A heavy knock on the door pulled you from your cramped kitchen and to the front door, opening it up for Charlotte to walk in and pull you to her, wrapping her arms around you. ‘Gurl, I’m so sorry. He’s such a prick.’ Your tear ducts had long since dried up with all the crying you had done today, but being wrapped in her arms, her fingers running through your hair as she soothed you made you want to cry again.

Why did he have to be like this? Getting engaged not even three months after he had completely and utterly broken your heart. Something about the way Charlotte was holding you brought back unwelcome memories of when stronger arms had comforted you, your hand enclosed in his making you pull away from her embrace, from the memories.

Releasing you gently, Char lead you back to the kitchen pouring two generous shots with the vodka, however you weren’t paying her any attention now. Your eyes fixated on the little red label on the bottle. It was the same brand.

You made your way through the crowd, sweat sticking to you like a second skin along with the two sizes too small, little black dress Char had forced you into. Frat parties normally weren’t your scene but you had just finished a ten thousand word essay on Anglo-American relations during the second world war and you figured you deserved to let loose.

Making your way to the kitchen you grabbed a red solo cup before looking around for a drink. Vodka was your preferred method of forgetting the night but they didn’t seem to have any, only some crummy beer and some second rate tequila. Sighing, you were about to reach for the tequila when a voice interrupted you.

‘Looking for something darl?’

Turning around you were met with a pair of deep brown eyes that you could get lost in and a megawatt smile. Your mouth mimicked his, nervously brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you responded. ‘Yeah, I was looking for the vodka, you don’t know if they have any here do you?’

‘Ah, so you’re a vodka girl? I should’ve known. Honestly I kind of picked you for the cruiser type. I’m Callum by the way, maybe I can help you find that missing bottle.’ He held out his hand to you and smiling, you responded with your name, taking his hand in yours.

Your search for a drink had been a little derailed by the easy conversation that flowed between you and when you finally found a bottle, hidden under the sink in the bathroom, you had almost been upset, thinking that your “quest” as he had jokingly called it had ended. But instead of leaving you, Callum just grabbed two cups and sat next to you, sharing the bottle as the party surged on around you.

‘Come on, drink up we’ve got a long night ahead of us.’ Char offering you a glass pulled you out of your reverie and throwing your head back you took the shot before pouring yourself another. However as you reached for the ice cream she had brought, Char pulled it away, hiding it in your freezer. ‘Nah-uh. That’s for later. The vodka is for now.’

Your confusion must have shown on your face as soon Char was reaching into the large duffle bag at her feet which you had thought nothing of at first. ‘You haven’t been yourself the past three months and now with that asshole getting engaged, I’m calling an intervention. We are going out and getting absolutely smashed and there’s nothing you can do about it.’

Char didn’t even allow the protest to escape your lips as she shoved a little red number into your hands with matching stilettos and herded you towards your bedroom.

Despite your many protests, three hours and half a bottle later, you and Char were dancing, sweat dripping down your back as the fluorescent lights flashed over the club. Over the night a few men had sidled up to you, hands gripping your waist, but each time you had shoved them away, uninterested in anything they offered. That is, until you saw him.

He sat leaning against the bar, talking to a friend and looking somewhat out of place as he surveyed the room. He looked kind of familiar, but you knew that you would remember meeting a man that looked as good as he did in just a casual button up shirt.

You weren’t sure if it was all the alcohol you had drunk but watching him awoke something deep inside you that had been dormant for the past three months, since that night. A blush erupted on your cheeks as you realised that he had caught you staring at him and quickly you tore your eyes away and focussed on Charlotte again, hoping she had missed the interaction, yet the glint in her eyes told you she had seen everything.

‘You should go talk to him, he’s hot.’ She yelled over the music.

You shook your head as you responded. ‘Yeah and totally out of my league.’ Thankfully Char dropped it and let you continue to dance in peace with the feeling of eyes boring into your back. You tried to ignore the feeling of him watching you as you continued to move your hips to the music, getting lost in the rhythm.

Multiple songs had passed but the feeling of his eyes on you never stopped.

Bucky hated clubs. He hated them with a passion. Yet here he was, practically dragged out by Sam and the others. His only saving grace was that Steve was here with him too, feeling equally as out of place as he did. Opting out of dancing with the others who had soon been lost in the sweaty mass of grinding bodies, he sat by the bar, nursing a scotch with Steve.

It was times like these when he was annoyed that he couldn’t get drunk. Perhaps some liquid courage would help him feel better about being in such a different environment. He wasn’t used to the loud techno music blasting through the speakers or the bright lights that occasionally blinded him.

He was just trying to come up with an excuse to get the hell out of the club when he saw her, felt her eyes on him. Even from this distance, he could see the slight blush that came over her as she realised she had been caught staring, echoing the red of her dress. Even though he was used to dames dressing more conservatively from the forties, he couldn’t help but appreciate the way her dress clung to her like a second skin, showing off her curves and the way her hips moved in time to the rhythm. He couldn’t help but imagine how they would feel against him, his pants slightly tightening at the thought.

He couldn’t help but stare even long after she had ripped her eyes away from him, he was completely enraptured with her.

‘You should go up and dance with her.’

Turning sharply in his seat to face his best friend, Bucky pretended not to realise what Steve was implying, shooting him a quizzical look.

‘Don’t play that game with me Buck, you’ve been staring at that dame for the past half an hour. Just go and dance with her. If you don’t I just might, she looks like a good partner for more than just dancing if you catch my drift.’

Although Bucky knew Steve was only saying those things to rile him up, he felt anger flowing through his veins at the idea of him dancing with her never mind other things which he had clearly alluded to. ‘Don’t even think about it Stevie.’

Steve merely held his hands up mockingly. ‘Well you better act fast Buck because I think she has a few other fans.’ Looking around the club Bucky could clearly see what Steve meant by that, his girl had caught the attention of a couple other men.

Taking his last swig of scotch, he got up off of his seat muttering curses under his breath. He couldn’t believe he was about to do this, it had been so long since he had danced with a dame but there was something about the woman in the red dress that he just couldn’t ignore.

You felt another set of hands placed on your hips and turned around to tell the guy the same thing you had told every other guy tonight, that you weren’t interested but the words were caught in your throat when you saw it was him, the guy from the bar. Completely silenced by just how incredibly handsome he was up close, you simply turned back around and resumed your movements, arching your back a little more so you could rub against him.

His hands were gentle at first, tentative, as if scared that you would run away, yet when a couple of songs had passed and you were still caught in his embrace, he seemed to gain some confidence, gripping you tighter and pulling you closer so you could feel just how much of an effect you had on him. You raised your hands, wrapping them around his neck, entangling your fingers in his hair as you pulled him closer in response. You could now feel his whole front pressed against your back as you grinded, his hands exploring your front, tracing your dress up to where they cupped your breasts over the red material.

It had been years since you had danced like this, completely forgetting about where you were and just losing yourself. You hadn’t even danced like this with Callum you realised with a start, he had never liked going out to clubs with you, getting overly jealous at how the other men would look at what was his.

You could feel his lips on your neck, trailing open mouthed kisses up to your ear until your turned your head to his, replacing your skin with your lips. You could feel his slight stubble scratch against your cheek and suddenly you wondered what it would feel like against your thighs as you let out a moan at the thought alone. He took full advantage of your distraction as he slid his tongue into your mouth, desperate to taste you.

You could now no longer ignore the growing dampness in between your legs aided by how his hot length was pressed right against your ass. You ached for some relief and so you broke off the kiss, placing you lips next to his ear.

‘How about we get out of here? My apartment isn’t too far from here.’ You rasped, barely audible over the loud music. Your nearly lost it then and there when he started pulling away, shaking his head as his lips now came to your ear.

‘That is far too far Doll, I need you now.’ As if to emphasise his point, he grabbed one of your hands and trailed it down his body to where you could feel him in your palm, achingly hard.

The thought of this godlike man wanting you was enough to distract you from noticing the cool metal that enclosed your hand as he started to lead you away from the dancefloor and towards the bathrooms.

Bucky thanked his lucky stars as he saw that one of the toilets was free, and pulled you in behind him, locking the door hastily before pressing you up against it, rubbing his aching member on you, desperate for some friction as his lips caught yours again. Using both hands, Bucky lifted your dress over your head as you started working on the button down shirt he was wearing, your fingers occasionally fumbling before his hands replaced yours and ripped it down the centre, buttons flying everywhere as your lips reattached.

You traced your hands down his chest, marvelling at the muscles underneath your fingers as you started attacking his belt, desperate to get it off just as his hands slipped around your back, detaching your bra and shimmering your panties off of you, completely exposing your body to him.

It was only after one of his fingers had started teasing you clit and the other was shrugging himself out of his jeans that you finally noticed his arm.

As if he could sense your sudden realisation, Bucky pulled away looking to see if anything was wrong, only to see your gaze fixated on his metal arm. A sinking feeling hit him right in the gut. What was he thinking? Of course you wouldn’t want to fuck the Winter Soldier, not after eveything he’s done.

‘You’re Bucky Barnes.’ You didn’t know what to say. You felt like an idiot for not having recognised him sooner. No wonder he looked so familiar. You stood motionless until you realised that he was trying to pull his jeans back on. Hastily you grabbed his metal hand, stopping him. ‘What are you doing?’

He seemed surprised by your question as he responded ‘well I just figured you wouldn’t want to anymore.’ You let out a laugh, your hand still on his as you led it back to the apex of your thighs, the wetness blatantly obvious.

‘You seriously think I’m not interested now?’ You teased as you wrapped your other hand around his neck and pulled his lips to meet your again. Your teeth clashing in your desperation as his metal fingers started moving inside of you, his thumb teasing your clit as his other hand reached around to you ass, lifting you up off the ground.

Bucky had to remind himself to thank Shuri the next time he saw her for the enhanced sensitivity in his new arm because being able to feel you writhe against him as you came nearly had him creaming his pants. He waited until you were coming back down from you orgasm before he pulled his briefs down and wrapped your other leg around him. Piercing blue eyes met yours as he slid into you easily, eventually bottoming out as he filled you.

Never tearing his eyes from yours, he started to move his hips, slowly at first while you tried to get used to the new feeling of fullness he gave you. His lips trailed down to your neck, sucking and biting as he went, being sure to leave a mark as you moaned out underneath him. ‘Bucky, yes... fuck right there baby.’

Bucky smirked as he found your G-spot and started to pick up his pace, thrusting into you harsher, being sure to hit that special place every time. The creaking of the door underneath the weight of his thrusts had him worrying that the door would give way so he quickly moved you against the bathroom wall. The tiles were cool against your back, contrasting the heat you felt everywhere else, adding to the building sensation in the pit of your stomach as you longed for a second release.

Sensing your desperation, Bucky moved one of his hands from around your waist and started toying with your clit, as he chased his own finish.

You could feel his hot lips against your ear now as he fucked you relentlessly. ‘Oh Doll, you’re cunt is so fucking tight. Like nothing I’ve felt before.’ His praise only added to the tingling sensation that you could now feel all over, just needing a little bit more to wash over you.

‘Come on baby, I need you to cum for me again, I know you’re close.’ The dirty words escaping from his lips finally tipped you over the edge crying out as you came, his fingers still flicking your clit as he tried to extend your orgasm, his hips stuttering as he came, coating your walls.

His forehead pressed against yours as you both fought to catch your breath, his cock occasionally twitching inside of you. Gently he lowered you so you were back standing on wobbly legs and pulled out, reaching behind him for a paper towel to clean the top of your thighs with. When your juices were somewhat gone, he handed you back your bra to put on and helped you back into your dress before he pulled on his boxers and jeans.

You cast a quick look in the mirror as he chucked on his now ruined, buttonless shirt and realised that he had indeed left a lovely little mark right on your neck. You knew Char would not let you live that one down. You didn’t even realise him quickly bending down to grab your still damp panties and tuck them away, hiding them in his jeans pocket.

Coming up behind you, Bucky wrapped an arm around your stomach, kissing his mark gently, eyes meeting yours.

‘How about he head back to your apartment now? I’m not quite done with you yet’.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #oneshot #marvel #fanfic #honeyhanwrites #honeyhan #clubsex

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batwngs-archive · 5 years

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angel

relationship: jason todd / reader word count: 1.1k warning(s): n/a note: happy belated birthday to @sarawakiians!; based on angel by finneas summary: after you fall asleep, I'll / kiss both your eyes and cheeks / I know we’re not the same

It was a long night. Jason’s muscles were sore and steeped with exhaustion. He could feel scars assembling and reassembling on the crevices of his skin. His knuckles were sore and bruised. The blood from his earlier activities burned with his every movement. Despite the aching pain that stabbed at his shoulder, seeing the front door to his apartment at the end of the hall brought him a wave of peace.

He opened the front door of his shared apartment with a slight creak that tore through the silence of the night. Darkness engulfed majority of the room, the only light came from the faint blue glow of the television that pooled onto the floor. An infomercial played on the screen, something about a vacuum. A man’s overenthusiastic yet bland voice at a low, indistinct volume filled the room.

You always left the tv running into the late hours of the night. When the two of you had first moved in together, Jason didn’t really know that you struggled with sleep. He remembered waking up in the middle of the night during that first week sharing a home only to find the fire-orange glow of the street lights illuminating your absence amongst the pillows and mattress. Walking into the living room, he would see your figure curled up on the couch while your lidded and hollow eyes reflected exhaustion and the glitter of old reruns from the television. You had told him then that it helped you find sleep: the sound of overused jokes from sitcoms lost to time cutting through the quiet of the night and the static glow of the screen drowning out the wine-dark void of the room. You had told him then that it felt like finding waves divinity as it crashed onto the rocks of the mundane.

With time, Jason learned more about the little things you did, the little habits of yours. They felt like packaged blessings meant only for his eyes. Every new habit of yours he locked away in his heart so he would never forget.

Maneuvering his way through the dimly lit apartment, Jason went to the kitchen to pull out the first aid kit. He tried to make his movements as quiet as possible. The creaky floorboards didn’t help, of course. Reaching the couch, Jason placed his trustworthy first-aid kit on the coffee table. The table was cheap and old, perhaps older than himself. The edges of the ancient table were chipped and wearing away. This morning’s edition of the Gotham Gazettelay discarded atop the mahogany surface, neighboring Jason’s well-loved copy of John Donne’s poetry. If he looked closely, Jason was sure he could find a crumb or two left behind from that morning’s breakfast.

You and Jason often spent the late mornings together like that, enjoying breakfast together on the couch while you each held your own set of words that told immensely different things. But all those words meant nothing to you after all—you only ever read the Gotham Gazettefor the pictures. Just this morning, while Jason sat on the couch to read through Aire and Angels and The Sun Rising for the millionth time, you were looking at the morning’s report of the local crime, flipping through the inky pages detailing the numerous horrors that took place along with some big charity article about billionaire Bruce Wayne. Seeing the occasional tarty picture of a child with shadow-blacked eyes and black lips always darkened your features into that of a sickly, grave bird. Jason could only wonder if those pictures of missing, injured, deceased individuals spoke to you through the grainy black ink. What kinds of things were they saying?

Jason found it difficult to patch himself up in the quiet of the night. The forgotten television’s glow combined with the soft yellow of the tableside lamp proved to be horrible for injuries. He tried to be as quiet as possible, hoping his search for tape wouldn’t wake you from your dreams.

Despite his efforts, Jason heard the squeaking of the bed in the other room. From the corner of his eyes he saw the tethered white of wings.

��Hey,” you mumbled, sleep strongly tugging at your words. You rested your body along the door frame, your head leaning on the dated moulding. You looked of a statue, delicate and mesmerizing with the dark of the abandoned bedroom hiding the shape your godly wings.

“Hey,” Jason replied softly, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Do you need help with that?”

“N-no, I’m good. I can do it myself; you go back to bed.”

You walked over, dragging your feet across the floorboard, and took the gauze out his hand. “No.”

As you towered over Jason’s seated form, he couldn’t help but think of you as what you were: an angel. The faint lights of the television and the lamp highlighted your silhouette; Jason swore he saw your halo in that moment.

The room was silent, besides that of television in the background and the slow, careful breathing between the two of you. With the gauze in hand, you set to work patching up the injuries that Jason brought home. Kneeling at the edge of the couch, you held Jason’s hand and you started to clean away the blood and dirt from his knuckles. You were kind with his hand. Your touch felt light and dream-like, the way it felt to hold sun-kissed water as it slipped through your fingers. Jason sometimes felt it was a sin to touch you, to breathe the same air as you, to be next to you. You were some immortal and deific creature whose limits were boundless—you could touch the heavens easily if you desired so, yet you stayed here patching up his clumsy cuts and scrapes. Why curse yourself to a life with mortals, a life with him?

You eventually found your way on to the couch as your continued effort to patch Jason’s grazes led you to the edge of his shoulder. Jason turned to look at you as you taped the gauze to his skin ever so gently. Methodical movements never looked so tender. Your eyes met his somewhere in the silence. Soft yellow and touches of blue accentuated your being, giving you the unmistakable divine veil akin to that of the rosy-fingered dawn. The sounds of the television and the occasional car skidding down the road blurred into nothing but the transfixed beating of his heart. Jason was worried that was all you could hear too. There wasn’t a need to say anything. The lingering touch of your skin on his told a holy phrase that always managed to be trapped in his lungs.

Both you and Jason sat in the semi-silence of the late night, not a single word gracing your lips. Jason leaned forward to place a kiss on your forehead, your eyes, and finally your lips. He wasn’t holy or heavenly by blood, nor did he have wings of ivory feathers, but this was a sacred ritual even mortals could learn.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd imagine #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #pen to paper

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mattzerella-sticks · 5 years

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Bait & Tackle, Castiel-centric, Dean/Cas fic, heavy angst, TW: suicidal thoughts, coda to 15x06 “Golden Time”

Cas had a friend who saw the meditative benefits to fishing. If only he agreed, and still could call Dean a friend. If only he could call Dean something more. Alas none of that was possible, so he sat on a dock every day with a fishing pole in hand. Hoping that he can finally catch his first fish.

But how long can you toss your line out and expect something to happen that never does? Doing it again and again can drive you to the breaking point.

What happens when you shatter?

Cas feels the sun set behind him, the pinkish hue of the sky bleeding through the blue. Stray beams filtered through blanketing clouds strike the strip of skin between his collar and hairline. He rubs at it, massaging at the ache that settled there earlier in the day. While annoying to deal with Cas chooses to wait the pain out. Careful not to expend any of his dwindling grace on something so simple. When finished, he returns his hand to the fishing pole resting on his lap.

“Getting late,” a man says from nearby, dragging Cas’s attention away from the lake. A common practitioner of the sport, Cas met him on his first day at the cabin. Spoke with him between long dry spells where nothing bit either of their lines. In his sixties, the man’s silver beard stretched far below his chest. Long hair swept neatly under his bucket hat. Usually he wore casual shirts with witty sayings, like today’s ‘Shove It Up Your Bass!’ For the unusual amount of time they spent in each other’s company, though, Cas never asked for his name. And the stranger paid Cas the same respectful indifference. “Fish’ll hardly be active now.”

Cas nods, “I might stay here a bit longer.”

“Of course,” he smiles, hitching his gear over his shoulder, “Nothing more peaceful than a body of water at twilight. I’ll leave you to it then. Same time tomorrow?”

“See you then.”

He left Cas, footsteps light on the pier until they disappeared into the ground. Now alone, Cas allowed himself the luxury of dulling his senses. Limiting his grace to only on what he could see and sense in his line of sight. Like putting blinders on a racehorse. Cas needs the extra effort, otherwise he will be returning to his cabin without catching anything.

Again.

If it takes all night Cas will stay rooted to the pier. If he needs to dive into the lake and catch one with his bare hands, he will. If Chuck appears with a fish in hand, offering it only if Cas prays, his knees will buckle without question.

Cas cannot screw this up.

One star sets and a million take its place, dotting the sky like freckles across soft skin. He clears his head of those thoughts, leaning forward in his seat. Tightens his grip on the fishing pole and quells the yawn bubbling in his chest before it can burst.

Fighting exhaustion is new territory, but Cas will not relent. Fishing a welcome alternative to the chaos of sleep. Where any possibility comes to life when he allows humanity to color his actions.

The first night in the cabin he fell asleep between infomercials. One moment learning about how easily knives can dull after constant use and the next staring into familiar green eyes, hard as the last time he saw them.

Their last encounter looped frequently in his mind, but given the wild ranges of sleep that memory grew and twisted into something unrecognizable. Dean’s face shifted into something crueler, and his sharp words were more precise. An intent to maim instead of wound driving his actions, carving into Cas like a frog in a science class. In those dreams Cas didn’t move on, unable to. Glued to the floor while Dean transformed into a hellhound and tore him limb from limb. The last thing he saw were those green eyes and then he woke up. Public access playing, showing a man and two women trying to cook something live.

Hours passed with a snarling Dean trapped in his mind, unable to forget. That dream haunted him most nights when the need for sleep overpowered him.

But it wasn’t the dream Cas feared.

Two nights ago Cas laid on the bed, eyes drifting shut. Preparing himself for the hellscape most likely greeting him.

His dream placed him in another area of the Bunker entirely. A familiar room, although he never spent too much time there. It wasn’t his . Except waking up on the bed, dressed in a black shirt and hot dog pajama pants that certainly weren’t normally part of his wardrobe, he never felt more right . Finding the other side empty, Cas shuffled from the room and followed the enticing smell of bacon drifting out the kitchen.

He froze under an entryway. Sam sat at the table across from Jack, discussing a section in the book while the younger boy happily ate his cereal. Mary carried a plate of bacon over to them, ruffling Sam’s hair while she took her seat.

And over by the stove, draped in his apron, stood Dean. The other man smiled at him like he used to, gaze soft in their adoration. Dean beckoned him closer, Cas unable to resist. Cas floated over and wraps his arms around the other man’s waist. Buried his nose into his collarbone and breathed him in deeply. Delighting in the mix of sweet from the laundry detergent and savory from the bacon that sticks to his skin. Kisses the skin there, lips curling hearing Dean’s laughter.

Learning it was a dream nearly broke Cas. He spent the entirety of that day holed in the cabin, wrapped in the blankets.

His hands tremble thinking about it. Cas steadies them, thinking of fish and nothing else. Fish to catch. To release. To cook or to display. To tell his friend when he sees him again. To do absolutely anything with.

Once he catches a fish than anything is possible.

At least two more hours pass with nothing biting. Cas, used to waiting, finds his patience thinning. He taps his foot rapidly against the deck. “Is it always like this?” he asks himself, mumble echoing across the placid lake, “Or is it me? Will I always be waiting for nothing ?”

Cas promised he would move on. It’s a poor show of it.

In fairness, Cas’s response served only to wound Dean as harsh as the other man did him. Given the space to breathe, however, Cas realized after all that talk he had nothing to show for it. Spent days driving across America, stopping only to refill his truck until he finally decided to pitch his flag down when he heard of a cabin for rent. A cabin with easy access to one of the most plentiful lakes in forty-eight states.

A claim Cas proves untrue with each passing day.

“One of the most relaxing things you can do,” he growls, stretching his legs until they threaten to slip off the dock. “Peaceful… clears your mind… I don’t know why I talked myself into doing this.”

Lies. Cas saw the lake and the dock and reflected on simpler times. When the world was only a man, an angel, and the scant inches between them.

Even when he moves on, he fails.

He frowns at the water, barely visible given his dwindling powers. It looks more like ink than the liquid mirror during daytime. Reminds him of another far off place, and the invitation of sleep beckons even louder.

Cas pinches his leg, stubborn until the end. Steels his nerves and brushes the sleep from his shoulders. “This is my mission,” he says, “All that matters is the fish… if I could catch one fish…”

The lake answers. Something tugs on his line, startling Cas. He stares at the pole while it bends towards the water. A beat passes before he realizes what that means. Cas jumps from his chair, knocking the cheap plastic to the ground and reels his line in. Struggles when the fish matches his strength. Abuses his limited supply of grace to overpower it.

Zip zip zip zip zip . His line drifts closer, and Cas feels his face stretch with the foreign appearance of a smile. With one last spin of the reel and a tug on the pole, Cas drags his hook from the water.

He sinks to his knees. His smile vanishes in the next instant, fading like it was never there. Cas snatches the hook and studies the small, metal curve. Aware that his bait is gone, and the fish escaped. Nothing like he pictured. Nothing like he was told would happen.

Nothing went right.

Could he really blame the fish for that?

Cas chuckles. A cruel, hollow sound that starts low in this chest before drifting higher. Amplifies when he throws his head back with wild abandon. Birds scatter nearby, their crows joining his crazed laughter. Soon it chokes off, melting into sobs. Raindrops stain his cheeks, only the clouds disappeared along with the sun.

He lets go of the pole, it rolling close enough to the edge to cause worry. Except it doesn’t fall in. Stays there to remind Cas how he failed at the simple task of catching a fish. How he failed to provide. How he failed his family, his love, and most importantly - himself .

His neck droops and Cas finds himself staring at the lake again. A voice whispers in his mind, tells himself how easy it would be to dive in and never leave. Surrounded by all that water, hidden at the bottom, no one would find him. That he probably has enough grace left in him to allow for a peaceful few years with all the fish he cannot catch. “There’s nothing for me here, anyway,” Cas says, hand slowly reaching for the edge.

It pauses. Cas’s grace ignites in his eyes, and he can clearly see for the first time.

A perfect reflection greets him, Cas gaping at his own face. His head tilts to the side while he studies it. Anger boils his stomach the longer he looks at himself and distorts his features. “You’re a failure,” he says, snarling at the water, “You can’t do anything right. You can’t catch a fish, can't protect your family, and you can’t keep the trust of the man you love. No matter what you do it’s never right, never good enough. You don’t belong anywhere you’re a… you’re a… a fish out of water -”

Cas quiets, clarity poking through the dense fog of hatred clouding his mind. He relaxes on his haunches, away from his reflection. Stunned by the overwhelming ridiculousness of the situation. How easily he let himself spiral because of one false catch.

Venom drips down the corners of his mouth while Cas calms himself. Each measured breath helps douse the vicious flame that threatened to burn him. In the ash, positive thoughts can re-grow.

“You are not a failure,” he starts, “you are allowed to fail, but that doesn’t make you a failure. Failing is a natural part of existence. The only true failure comes in giving up. If you give up, it means you’re letting those who wish to see you broken win. It tells them that you are powerless to stop them. But you’re not. As long as you’re there to greet the sun each day, you haven’t failed. They haven't won.”

“And the ones who have failed,” he stutters on this next bit, heart twisting in knots, “the ones who have failed you are those who aren’t able to provide you with what you need.” Cas glances at the water again, green dots peering up at him. “Who take but cannot give in return. Sometimes you cannot fix this and that’s okay. The actions of others are not your fault. In this world we only have true control over one thing… and that is ourselves.”

A Gas n Sip display held a collection of self-help CDs that Castiel blew all his cash on. Wore his speakers thin by playing them without pause. They helped provide a safety net in his darkest moments, little nuggets of wisdom like the mantras he repeated scattered throughout.

Cas picks up his pole and stands. Sunlight begins cresting over the trees, morning arriving without fanfare. “Y’know,” he says, “maybe it’s not me… or the fish. Maybe it’s something else.”

Folding his chair, Cas strolls back to his truck and places his gear inside. “It could be anything…”

He looks at the lake one more time, storm settling inside his chest. Cas leans against his truck bed, the tiniest of smiles reappearing on his face. “It’s not my fault.”

The sun fully rises and Cas leaves.

#supernatural #spn #spn15 #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #15x06 #golden time #castiel #dean winchester #destiel #deancas #castiel deserves better #deancas fanfic #destiel fanfic #tw: suicidal thoughts

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akaeijis · 4 years

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my wips that i am pushing myself to work on during these times!

the sea and mountain belong to you; kl alternate timeline voltron fix-it ISH with religious undertones. slightly inspired by drowning knife (theme wise).

excerpt: “This ocean and these mountains!” Lance shouts and he feels reminiscent of the time they were on a foreign planet, young and blind, falling straight into curses, walking the line between humans and gods, “all belong to Keith!”

i really want to finish this but ? who knows... i was working on it w stacey (esbis) but i’m not sure the direction i’m going with it TT but i love the concept

Keith’s WikiHow Guide: How to Know if a Boy Likes You; vld kl romcom in keith’s perspective! i just really love romcoms and i think humor is rly funny and its really good lol i reread and i was like?? damn

excerpt: Keith doesn’t, in fact, ‘move on’. He goes to the bathroom. Look up on google: how to know if a guy likes you. Like yeah, they’re only on the second episode, but his heart is beating louder than the screen and his face is so hot it could probably cook at least two eggs.

how i missed you; vld keith-pov garrison to present day timeline. about how keith ‘missed / messed up’ his chance with lance? sort of. about how they loved each other but coulsn’t due to the war

excerpt: Four seasons pass, the stars are still constant, and he meets blue eyes again, that glare at him and says, “the name’s Lance,” he forgets about the phantom that haunts his original days of the Garrison.

it’s sort of like a Dual Perspective on let me melt but with a different timeline

i think this one is fun to finish because keith is usually easier to write during romcoms because he’s so direct and to the point and hilarious and it’s easier for me to explore lance’s mindset since i feel like i understand lance. so this one is a challenge yet still something i want to explore

midday, morning, night: ANOTHER vld keith romcom. basically keith is whipped and its funny

excerpt: “Did someone say infomercials?” Keith comes out, rubbing a towel over his head. In Pidge’s peripheral vision, she can see Lance flailing around like an octopus and various of facial expressions that vaguely remind Pidge of the lion in Madagascar.

i wrote this a while ago and i still wanna finish it TT why do i have so many vld fics PRES2

stays where he can see the sun: vld fix-it lance centric where lance leaves voltron

excerpt: The more time he spends on Earth the more he questions why he ever left. He becomes a bit daring with his adventures, sneaking out into town squares where the people are lively with music and soft lights and bustling laughter and begins flirting with pretty girls and boys again.

this one is lance pov and near and dear to my heart since i get to go back and explore his head and how much i miss him! it explores a lot about the holt family dynamics, etc.

me tangere: vld soulmate kimi no nawa amnesia ish fic

excerpt: “Look at me,” rough hands barely whisper across his face and are snatched away in a second. “Don’t you dare forget about me,” someone whispers in his dreams. He can’t place the voice, could be a figment of his imagination, a stranger on the street, or even his own. “Because I’m going to find you.”

timeline where the gang’s memory is wiped after helping in space, but the body doesn’t forget so they’re trying to

I WANT TO FINISH THIS SO BAD OMG

Junhoe is #Whipped; ikon junhwan fic(s) there’s multiple fics in this doc: chanwoo’s 3rd person view of junhwan, stan twitter au haha, and just some introspective jinhwan, there’s also a teacher AND convenience store au i wrotehaha

excerpt: Which is how they both found each other in coats and heavy scarves and face masks. They make their way to ‘their’ spot that they go out to when they feel like it. They started going there when Junhoe just wanted everything to stop, fuck, he was only fifteen and they were against the world. Jinhwan didn’t know what else to do so they went to the river and watched the stars and yell or cry or whatever they needed to do.

i think it will just be fun to do!

more than i am; spamano sort of cmbyn atmosphere inspired antonio is a charismatic traveler and lovino is looking for adventure but a lot of soulmate gothic kind of content

excerpt: “You’re me, we have the same feelings, same wants. But you’re just more. Everything I am, but more.” Lovino brushes his hands through Antonio’s hair. “I feel like you’re more me than myself.”

idk i just wanted to write soulmate almost dangerous dependency

in another life time, i was there; spamano nation verse with lovino and antonio exploring what it means to be nations as well as their history of being together and marriage

excerpt: But in the same note, to repeat myself. He is spending more time in between trips, he is tired, he is carrying the world on his back - I cannot help but see Father’s eyes in his. Today, the setting sun reflected such a bright orange similar to burning cinders.

i want to finish this very dearly! its sort of based on my time in Spain so and its really well written ;-;

#me #writing #my fics #my wips #i still have published wips ;-;#if u wana talk lmk ~

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mandoalorian · 4 years

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Shopping with Maxwell Lord

READ PART TWO HERE

DAY FIVE: Shopping with Maxwell Lord [This is the one I really wanted to write for myself and my own self indulgent needs!]

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added!)

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal @castiel-barnes

December Writing Challenge: @mandos-blaster @silent-and-resigned @valentinasubmarina

December Writing Challenge Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Warnings: allusions to sex, mention of orphanages and losing parents, Maxwell really wants a baby...

Word count: 2.7k

Rating: PG-13

Maxwell stood there, front and centre of the living room, in front of the television, frowning. A crinkle in between his brown eyebrows and his arms crossed over his chest. "Max?" you asked, looking at him with bewilderment. He didn't reply. "Max, can you move? I'm trying to watch A Christmas Carol." Maxwell sighed, moving out the way and slumping on down on the couch next to you. You continued watching the black and white movie for only a few seconds before tossing your head back and pausing it. "What?" you asked Maxwell and he narrowed his eyes.

"What?" he repeated, his tone almost accusing.

"Why are you so miserable?" you asked him and he shrugged, looking away from you and back at the paused TV. "Hello? Cat got your tongue?" you quizzed, causing him to roll his eyes. "Talk to me."

"I just-" Maxwell took a deep breath. "I hate the time of year. I mean, since meeting you, it's been better. It's been so much better but still… it still feels tainted by my past." he revealed. You wrapped your arm around him and lay your head into his lap. He found his fingers smoothing out your hair, bringing him a sense of comfort and belonging. "I don't know what to do."

You thought for a moment, glancing back at the paused television and back up at your boyfriend. "You remind me of Scrooge." you said out loud.

"Excuse me?" Maxwell asked and you giggled, reaching over to grab the remote and press play on the television.

"Ebeneezer Scrooge from A Christmas Carol," you clarified, pointing at the character on the television. "He was always miserable around Christmas. He made his business associate work in the cold and he never gave to charity… but then three ghosts came to visit him and he changed into a better, kind hearted and more generous man."

"Wow," Maxwell scoffed. "You really know how to make me feel better." he said sarcastically and you slapped his arm playfully. "I don't see the resemblance. I give to plenty of charities and I never make my employees work in the cold… and what is he wearing?"

"Maxie," you laughed. "It's set like, 100 years ago. Listen, I think you're wonderful. You give so much already. And I love you no matter what but… Christmas in particular is a time for giving back. Helping those who are less fortunate than ourselves. I think it could really bring you a kind of happiness. It'll keep you occupied and-"

"You have something in mind, don't you?" Maxwell sighed and your lips curled into a grin.

"Maybe…." you smirked, your eyes sparkling with excitement and desire. Maxwell loved to see you happy.

"Okay, what is it?" He asked and you sat up, taking his hands and giving them a gentle squeeze.

"When I was in the city the other day, I saw that the orphanage have been asking for donations. They're saying they'll accept anything. They just want the children to have a Christmas they'll never forget." you explained and Maxwell nodded. He was one of the biggest investors for the orphanage in DC. As a child, he knew how it felt to feel left behind. "So Max, what if we give them a Christmas they'll never forget?"

"Send more money?" he asked, already reaching for his checkbook.

"No. No that's...not what I meant." you shook your head.

"Well what do you propose?"

"Shopping!" you beamed and Maxwell sighed. "C'mon, it'll be fun." You grinned, pulling him off the sofa and wrapping your arms around him.

"It's Christmas Eve, the mall is going to be chaos." Maxwell shook his head in dismay.

"We are going shopping Maxwell." you said sternly. "Trust me on this one."

You pulled him over to the lobby and passed him his winter coat, scarf and gloves before swinging on your own faux fur jacket and wooly hat. "You can make up for this tonight." Maxwell told you, playfully smacking your ass as you opened the front door. You laughed and rolled your eyes before taking your boyfriend's hand and pulling him outside.

Maxwell was right. The mall was chaos, but luckily everyone was in a world of their own, too focused on getting their last minute Christmas shopping in before the big day tomorrow. "What's the plan?" he asked as you analysed the map of the mall, trying to figure out the most efficient route.

"We get toys and clothes and…" you looked up at Max. "100 kids live in that orphanage. We're going to do the absolute best we can for them, okay?"

"Okay." Maxwell agreed and you took his hand.

"Okay," you confirmed. "Let's go."

The first stop was a department store. It was bustling like you had never seen before. You and Maxwell both decided it would be best if you split up and went your separate ways before reuniting at the main entrance with your shopping. Taking control, like he always did, Maxwell told you to pick up toiletries while he'd look at the children's clothes.

You found yourself grabbing bubblegum flavoured toothpaste and princess pirate toothbrushes and washcloths, mermaid bubble bath and astronaut shower gel. You were practically pushing everything you could find into your shopping basket, trying your hardest to ignore the heaviness and the way your arm ached from the weight of it. You grabbed some fruity fragranced body spray for the slightly older girls and some deodorant for the preteen boys before heading to the checkout.

Maxwell Lord in the children's clothing section of the busiest DC department store was something else. He was surrounded by pink fluffy cardigans made for two year olds and onesies with little trains printed on them. Maxwell was someone who had a key eye for fashion, and while you were someone who wanted to grab everything you could, Maxwell really valued the quality. He strutted over to the designer brand section and picked out a dozen pairs of cashmere socks, winter UGG boots, Gucci jackets and white, frilly, made in Milan dresses.

But then his eye caught on something. It wasn't designer, it was a small, pale yellow babygrow with the words "Daddy's little princess" embellished in pink glitter writing. It was the smallest thing he had ever seen and he was enamoured. He stared at it for a few moments, before it was snatched away by a middle aged red faced woman with her hair scraped back into a ponytail.

"Hey!" Maxwell shouted, spinning around and pointing his finger at the woman. "That's mine." he frowned, angry that she had taken the last one.

"Finders keepers." she snarled.

Maxwell tore his hat from his head and removed his sunglasses. "Do you know who I am?" he quizzed bitterly, his hand taking place on his hip.

The woman gasped, her mouth parting slightly. "Oh- oh my god," she said with shock dripping from her tongue. "You're! You're Maxwell Lord! The King of Infomercials!!! I just seen you on the television in the electronics department!"

Maxwell smirked, satisfied with his reputation and influence he had over people. "Yeah, that's me. Now if you don't mind, I'm going to need that uh…" he didn't even know what to call the babygrow, instead gesturing aimlessly towards it.

"Okay!" the woman beamed, "But could I get an autograph and a kiss on the lips?"

Maxwell's frown deepened. "What?"

She scrambled around in her purse for a pen and handed it to him, rolling up her sleeve. "Sign me!"

"On- on your arm?" Maxwell asked and she nodded eagerly. Maxwell removed the lid and swiftly signed his name over her skin before handing her the pen back.

"Oh wow," she blushed, fanning herself before pouting her lips.

"Yeah, not happening." Maxwell sighed. "I'm not kissing you." The woman knotted her eyebrows together and straightened herself up, but before she could retort, Maxwell snatched the babygrow from her arms and ran to the elevator. "Nice doing business with you!" he grinned, waving his arms and running away."

After paying for the goods, you and Maxwell met back up and made your way, this time together, to the toy store. "Reminds me of when I was a kid," Maxwell smiled at the memory as he took your hand and looked up and down the shelves in awe. "My dad would take me here every year to pick out a new toy for Christmas. It was one of the only times we got to spend with each other." You hummed, leaning your head into his shoulder. Maxwell grabbed a few stuffed animals and threw them into the shopping cart. "I can't wait for the day I have kids." he announced.

"I thought you didn't want children?" you asked, your voice soft at the thought of your boyfriend being a father.

"I thought for so long I didn't want kids…" Maxwell admitted.

"I think you'd be an amazing father," you told him, squeezing his hand, only making his smile grow further. "Hey, we should get a few of these new electronic train sets! And the new Little Mermaid Barbies! What do you think?"

"I like how you think." Maxwell replied, pressing a kiss into your forehead as you picked out the dolls.

It was around 2 p.m. on Christmas Day. You and Maxwell had just finished your dinner and you had slipped into a fleecy elf dress you had purchased at the mall a day prior. You revealed yourself to Maxwell who was laying on the sofa watching the television has his stomach settled from all the food he had enjoyed.

"Check me out!" you grinned, giving him a little twirl, the bells on your elf hat jingling. Maxwell's jaw dropped as he drunk in your appearance.

"Where on God's great earth did you get that?" he asked, looking slightly mortified.

"The costume department at the mall!" You laughed. "I thought I could wear it for when we visit the orphanage. Don't worry, I got you a little something too so you don't feel left out." You presented Maxwell with a full body Santa Claus costume. "Ta da!"

"Not a chance." Maxwell sighed.

"Come on!" you growled playfully. "I'm sure the kids would love Maxwell Lord giving them presents, they'd be star struck. But Maxie, they're kids. I think they'd love it even more if the presents were delivered by Santa Claus." Max grimaced, knowing you were absolutely right. "Please." you pouted, fluttering your eyelashes.

Maxwell sighed again, this time deeper. He could never deny you. "Fine," he grumbled. "I'll get changed and then we can go."

You squealed excitedly, kissing his cheek. "I love you so much Maxie," you said, and Maxwell felt a blush creep over his cheeks. "I just know you're going to be a great dad one day."

"My back hurts." Maxwell moaned as he adjusted the sack of presents over his shoulder. You chuckled, shaking your head as you carried bags of clothes and toiletries of the orphans.

"Proud of you," you assured him. "Almost there."

You practically melted when you saw the delight of the screaming children hurry over to your boyfriend and wrap their tiny arms around him. "Ho ho ho," Maxwell bellowed and you watched with complete adoration as he dropped the sack of presents and interacted with the children. "Have you all been good this year?" he asked and the kids screamed in affirmation.

"Santa Claus!" A little girl gasped, reaching her hands out and making grabby fists. "I thought you weren't coming this year." she admitted, her eyes glossy. Maxwell kneeled down so he was level with the child.

"My elf told me how good you had been this year," Max smiled, pointing at you. "What's your name darling?"

"Maxine," she smiled and you saw Maxwell soften.

"I like that name." Maxwell replied, pulling her into a hug. "Merry Christmas Maxine."

"Thank you Santa, will I see you next year?"

Maxwell looked at you and you nodded your head. "Of course, as long as you be a good girl, I'll come back next year."

Maxine grinned, before hugging Maxwell tighter, refusing to let go. Just then, a boy who you estimated to be about thirteen or fourteen tapped you on the shoulder. You spin around with your best elfish smile, but frowned when you saw the magazine he was holding. It was a tabloid with your face on the cover. You winced at the bad angle. "You look like Max Lord's girlfriend." he deadpanned.

Maxwell's head snapped towards you and the boy and he strolled over. "Well well well who is that beautiful lady?" he asked, taking the magazine from the boy and checking it out.

"Max Lord's girlfriend." the boy replied. "Your elf looks like her."

Maxwell pinched your cheek. "This elf? No, not a chance." Maxwell laughed and you gave the child an apologetic look. "This lady in the magazine is far too beautiful to look like my head elf."

You weren't sure whether you should feel offended or not. Little Maxine gasped, racing over. "You can't say that!" she squealed. "What about Mrs Claus?"

You smirked, leaning into Maxwell. "Yeah Santa, what about Mrs Claus?"

"Uh- well! Mrs Claus… I do love Mrs Claus very much and she's at home baking Christmas cookies so I better be on my way… but it was lovely to meet you all!" Maxwell waved and you stifled back a laugh.

"Please don't go." Maxine cried, hugging Maxwell's legs.

"Be good and I'll be back next year." Maxwell promised, patting her on the head.

"Promise you'll come back?" Maxine begged, tears in her eyes. You wondered how many times little Maxine had asked a parental figure to come back to her and been let down. Maxwell wondered the same, his heart breaking at the thought.

"I promise." Maxwell affirmed, raising back to his feet and placing a hand on the small of your back.

"Merry Christmas everyone! Enjoy your presents and remember to be good children. We hope to see you next year!" you said farewell with a cheery smile and the children waved back.

When you got home that evening, you slid out your elf shoes and took off your hat. "Can you help me get out of this dress?" you asked Maxwell, holding up your hair so he could reach the zipper.

"Actually…" Maxwell trailed off, biting his lip. "Maybe you could wear it for bed?" he suggested with a smirk.

"An elf? Really Max? You want me to be an elf?" you laughed in disbelief.

"Could be fun." he shrugged and you rolled your eyes, opting to leave the elf dress on as you clambered into the warm king sized bed, watching Maxwell as he got undressed. "Oh I almost forgot," Maxwell said, reaching into the bag from the department store yesterday. "Close your eyes." You followed his instruction as he dived into the bag and took out the pale yellow babygrow he had fought for. He padded over to the bed and sat down, placing the outfit in your hands. "Open."

Your lips parted slightly as you took in the embellished words 'Daddys little Princess'. You glanced back up at your boyfriend and gave him a questioning look. "I'm confused." you admitted and he took your hands, rubbing circles into your skin.

"I really want a kid," he whispered, looking into your eyes. "I know you do too, and when we've talked about it I've always shut you out but… damn it, I really want one. Do you think… I mean. What do you think-"

You cut him off by pressing a kiss into his lips and holding him tight. "Okay," you nodded, your voice croaking with all the pent up emotion, rubbing your nose against his. "Let's have a baby." you smiled and Maxwell grinned, pushing you into the bed and climbing on top of you.

READ PART TWO HERE

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #maxwell lord x reader #ww84

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unlockthelore · 5 years

Text

Sleep Is For The Strong

Bedtime in the Minamino household was a trying affair which ranged from a number of pleas for extra time to negotiations for additional bedtime stories to downright warfare with pillows. Out of their children, eight-year-old Kohaku was the easiest to put to bed and out like a light before Kurama finished the last of one of his tales from his days as a bandit, making a mental note of where he stopped should Kohaku ask him later.

Pressing a kiss to his cheek and tucking his blanket beneath his chin, Kurama slipped out of the room with the door ajar and listened for the soft outro tune playing from the television downstairs.

Bypassing his room, he peeked inside, able to make out the silhouette of Hiei’s sleeping form curled up on his side of their bed. The slow rise and fall of his breathing bringing a smile to Kurama’s face as he left the door ajar, heading down the steps quietly.

Since the children were born and their routines set with bedtime, Hiei was able to sleep easier. Kurama joked that it was because their children were able to exhaust him faster than any enemy could but his actual theory was that Hiei was at peace.

And he was safe enough within his own home that the horrors clinging to his psyche couldn’t keep him awake throughout the night. Kurama padded across the floors once he reached the bottom of the staircase, following the sound of the television, an infomercial lighting up the screen and casting light over a slumbering five year old child splayed haphazardly on the floor in front of the television.

With as small she was, Aiko couldn’t take up much space but she still flailed about like a starfish. Her beloved stuffed fox resting at her side with one of her hands loosely holding onto its paw. Kurama took a second to admire her, crouching down beside her as he brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek, smoothing fluffy dark hair from her forehead, her face lax with sleep. Like this, she reminded him so much of Hiei.

Without her usual energy and talkativeness, she reminded Kurama of the fire demon when he was hibernating. Innocent and sweet in appearance, completely vulnerable in a way that warmed the heart. Dark hair splayed beneath her head, her dragon-printed pajamas askew likely with the amount of rolling and playing she was doing before she inevitably succumbed to sleep. Aiko stirred when Kurama rested his fingers against her cheek, her eyes cracking open as he pulled his hand away.

“… Dad?” Aiko whispers groggily, sniffling as she clutched her plush’s paw tighter. “Is Occult Tanteiden over?”

Kurama glanced at the television and smiled faintly. The show had been long over but he was glad that she liked it so much. With all the work Yusuke and Kuwabara had put into the manga, they were surprised when it was adapted to an animated series and even more when it became a hit. Alas, seeing their journeys and mishaps caused for second hand embarrassment especially when their children insisted on knowing what really happened.

“I’m afraid so,” Kurama finally says, slipping his arms beneath Aiko’s and lifting her up. Her legs wrapped around his torso while her arms draped loosely around his neck, her cheek finding a place against his shoulder as she cuddled closer to him. Kurama slipped his arm beneath her, reaching down to pick up her toy and settling it in her arms.

“ ‘M not tired, dad..” Aiko mutters, hugging her plush closer to her as she played with the ends of Kurama’s hair, her legs wiggling and feet swinging.

“Of course not, little one,” Kurama says, smiling slightly as he started to straighten up the living room before moving to the kitchen.

Aiko insists that she’s not tired all the way but occasionally, her head droops and she falls silent. Her plush slipping from her hand and Kurama stops in his stride to pick it up and return it to her.

Determined to keep herself awake, Aiko rests her chin on Kurama’s shoulder and huffs. “ ‘M not , Uncle Yusuke said sleep is for the weak and I’m strong.” She punches the air for emphasis but her hand falls shortly after, the momentary burst of energy leaving her just as quickly as it came.

Kurama chuckled, turning off the kitchen light as he left, rubbing her back to soothe her. Aiko was quite understanding but she had her pride just as Kurama and Hiei did, and wouldn’t take kindly to laughing at her strength.

“You are the strongest little girl, but even someone strong has to rest eventually.”

Aiko settles in his arms, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder as he turns off the lights in the living room and the television.

“Why?” She mutters, swinging her feet a bit harder, rocking herself slightly.

“Rest helps keep you healthy so you can keep growing stronger and bigger,” Kurama explains, walking upstairs with her as she chants ‘boom, boom, boom’ with his steps.

“Am I gonna be big like you?” Aiko asks, and Kurama can practically hear the smile in her voice.

He nuzzles the top of her head, pressing a kiss to her cheek, her soft giggle warming his heart. “You might be someday.”

“Is Papa still small because he doesn’t sleep a lot?”

Hiei’s lack of sleep wasn’t lost on their children and while it was nice that they cared for the fire demon, it was also worrying and endearing. More than once, Aiko or Kohaku and at times both, would curl up to Hiei as he slept or ask him to take naps with them. It was the easiest way to ensure that Hiei also got sleep when he needed it most or when he wasn’t sure that he needed it at all.

Walking into Aiko’s room, Kurama flicked the light on. “It’s a possibility,” he says, looking around her bedroom.

The walls were decorated with her pictures, posters of video games that she enjoyed, and games and toys littering the floor. Books were put away on her shelf but a few were set aside, likely for him to read to her. Though before Kurama could take a step further into the room, Aiko squeezed his shoulder.

“No.”

Kurama stopped and looked down at her. “You don’t want to sleep in your room?”

“Mm-mm,” Aiko mumbled, and Kurama heard a soft thump behind him. “Youko.”

Glancing down at the fox plush, Kurama sighed with a little smile and reached down to pick it up ,handing it to her before he stepped not the hallway and walked back to his and Hiei’s bedroom. Aiko shifted slightly in his hold, cradled in the crook of his arm as she hugged Youko to her chest.

“Bop,” she says, poking Kurama’s nose with one of Youko’s paws.

Kurama chuckles at the touch and hugs her closer, pressing a kiss to her head. She hums at the kiss and smiles, green eyes alight with such love and care that it nearly melts Kurama from the inside out. Pushing open their room door, the moonlight seeping through the curtains give him enough of a guide to bypass the objects in their room and find his way to their bed.

Setting her down, Aiko skillfully avoids Hiei as she flops backward and stretches out like a starfish. Rolling from the edge of Kurama’s side to Hiei’s back. The fire demon’s youki spikes then settles as he shifts slightly, crimson eyes finding Kurama’s own in the dim lighting before glancing at Aiko splayed on her back.

“No?” Hiei says, glancing at Kurama for confirmation.

“She said no.”

Kurama smiled gently as Hiei shifted further to his edge of their bed, guiding Aiko closer to him. She snuggled against his side as he settled down with one arm tucked beneath his head and the other loosely wrapped around her.

“I think she prefers cuddling before falling asleep,” Hiei mutters. “That right, firefly?”

Aiko perks up at the sound of her nickname, crawling up to rest her chin on Hiei’s chest and smile up at him.

“Enjoying our bed?” Hiei asks without opening his eyes, lightly rubbing her back.

“Uh-huh.”

Kurama shook his head, beginning to change his clothes before pushing their door partly closed. He wasn’t sure if they would be expecting another visitor tonight or if Aiko would want to leave to go back to her own room. Youko laid on the edge of Kurama’s part of the bed and he picked up the stuffed fox to return to Aiko before slipping beneath the blankets. Propping his head up on his arm, he watched her as she played with Youko in her lap, making him stand on his forelegs while she pressed her thumb to his paws.

“Going to stay with us all night again, little one?”

She did seem to sleep better when she stayed with them and he didn’t particularly mind it. Aiko was cuddly just as much as Hiei was, and between the two of them, Kurama never went without a hug or a cuddle, or needed the heat in winter.

“Uh-huh,” Aiko says, glancing up at him as Hiei shifted from beneath her.

The fire demon shrugged out of his shirt and slipped off his pants, likely forgetting to do so before he climbed into bed the first time. He tossed them across the floor, the clothing disappearing in the darkness before he hopped up and jumped on his side of the bed. The mattress shifting beneath his weight and Aiko bounced with the force, laughing as she settled back between them.

Kurama chuckled warmly, glancing up as some of his vines moved across the ceiling likely to pick up Hiei’s clothes ad move them to the appropriate place. Aiko shuffled beneath the blankets and tucked Youko in next to her, smiling up at Hiei with all of the innocent wisdom that a five year old could muster.

“Hey Papa?”

Hiei slipped under the blankets and settled with his arm beneath his head. “Mm?”

“Are you small because you don’t sleep a lot?”

Even without seeing his expression, Kurama knew that Hiei was confused from the startled noise. Covering his mouth to hide his laughter, Kurama’s shoulders shook and he could feel the weight of Hiei’s glare.

“I’m assuming you know something about this?”

Aiko tilts her head, hugging Youko closer to her. “It was Uncle Yusuke,” she says, glancing at Kurama, mischief in her eyes as she smiled sweetly.

Kurama chuckled softly. His habit of stirring trouble was beginning to rub off on his children if it hadn’t already. Returning her smile, he leant down to press a kiss to her cheek, mindful of her wiggling before he laid down, resting his arm over both ofthem.

“Comfortable?” He asks, lookin down at her.

Aiko nodded, curling closer to Kurama and looking up at him before she looked to Hiei. “Papa?”

“Hm?”

“Can you pat me?”

Hiei shuffled slightly, pulling his arm free from the blanket and resting his hand over Aiko’s stomach, gently patting her. Kurama smiled as her eyelids began to droop and she hugged Youko closer.

“… Can you sing the Acorn song too?”

Kurama choked back a laugh for Hiei’s sake, meeting his gaze after he looked down at their daughter with an exasperated fondness.

“Again?” Hiei muttered.

Kurama smiles. “She really loves it when you sing that song?”

“Just her?” Hiei asks, giving Kurama the same exasperated smile.

Kurama patted Hiei’s arm, giving it a light squeeze as he looked at him fondly. “I may also enjoy your singing,” he admits and Hiei glanced between them before sighing.

“Alright, the acorn song it is.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE

written for the @foundfamilybingo prompt “bedsharing”

#yu yu hakusho #kurahi #kurama #hiei #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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ancanosaur · 5 years

Text

Subscorp shorts: Young love and the magic of disobeying your father.

College!AU

I was driving home and was listening to Saturday by Fall out boy and thought of this. Enjoy!

❄🔥❄🔥❄🔥❄🔥❄🔥❄🔥❄🔥❄🔥❄

Hanzo was tired. Goddammit he was tired. He was sick of arguing with his father about who he can and can't see and why he needs to move on from 'failed relationships' as Mr. Hasashi likes to put it.

But there was nothing that failed or faltered with him and his love interest. Kuai was different from what Hanzo was used to, yes. But he liked that about him. He liked his slick back short hair, he liked how Kuai has such a different point of vew in life, with the justice system, with music- just everything. Everything kuai was and is, it's just different from what Hanzo has ever known.

Hanzo slipped into the front door of his home. The lights in the large house all dimmed down as the 20 year old held onto the straps of his messenger bag, his deep almond shaped eyes scanning the living room. The TV was still on, an infomercial about indoor mini golf playing on the screen, causing Hanxo to roll his eyes so hard it tugged at his tendons once he saw a familiar face on the screen. "Cage..." he muttered to himself.

The drama student really will take any acting job they throw at him, won't he?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the kitchen sink being turned on and the pleasant hummings of his mother paralleling from the clacking of dishes being washed in the sink. Hanzo tried to to sneak passed, only being able to get his foot onto the first step of the stairway. "Hanzo? Is that you?" She asked softly, looking over her shoulder at the dark silhouette of her only child.

He bit the inside of his cheek, there was no point in ignoring her, it was his father he was upset with, not his mother.

"Yes." He answered simply, the conversation slipping into their native tongue. "Your father turned in early tonight, he's still a bit upset with you." Mrs. Hasashi said in a soft tone, her long black hair tide up in a bun, not unlike Hanzo's.

The college student gave a shrug, more heavy on one shoulder than the other. "I said all i wanted to say to him." His tone wasnt angry nor soured as he spoke to his mother. But it did carry a spice to it. "I just find it all...a bit unfair." He leaned againat the door, his eyes focused on the marble flooring of the kitchen.

"Oh Hanzo," she said softly, washing the suds and bubbles from her hands. "I know you and Kuai were close, But after what happened to Bi-han, you're father and i are only worried that-" "Kuai is not his brother!" His voiced gained a bit of bite to it as he looked up to meet her gaze. A sting of regret cracked him over the head as he saw the worry that flowed through her eyes to him.

"I just don't want to speak of it anymore..." he finally said, once more lowering his eyes to the ground below. His mother let out a sigh. "Atleast try to understand, Hanzo. That's all we ask."

He didnt reply, only gave a shallow nod before bidding her good night and heading upstairs.

Once he was in the comfort of his own room he simply dropped his bag to the floor and dropped himself to his bed where he just eyed the twisting patterns in the ceiling. He wondered what Kuai was up to right now, maybe he was thinking of him too?

Some time passed and Hanzo was beginning to doze off as he laid, sprawled out on his bed, that is until he heard a thumping knock on the glass of his window which caused him to sit up and look towards the large window adjacent from his bed.

"Kuai!" Hanzo whispered in frustration, quickly getting up and opening the window where Kuai pulled himself through. "Kuai Liang! what are you doing here?! If my parents find you up here they'll-" Hanzo was cut off by one of Kuai's large hands as he finally stood to his full height.

Kuai gained a handsome smile as he looked at Hanzo with those ice blue eyes. "If you keep making so much noise, they'll definitely find us out." His was so deep and soothing for Hanzo to hear, like cold water to a burn.

Kuai's hand was removed from Hanzo's mouth only for Hanzo to instantly speak. "I missed you." He said softly, hands gripping the dark leather of his jacket. Kuai's smile quickly grew wider before he pulled Hanzo into a deep kiss. Hanzo's skin so warm against his own and Hanzo enjoyed the short scruff that tickled his chin as they shared that sweet kiss, pulling away to finally look at one another.

Neither of them were sure what to say, they only looked into each other's eyes, deep dark brown meeting cool aky blues.

"My father would kill you if he walked in right now." Hanzo finally said after a few moments. "Good thing we're not staying here." Kuai said, pulling Hanzo towards the window. "Kuai! I dont know if i should-" Hanzo stopped himself. Still forgetting that he is infact an adult, he only just lived under his parents roof while while he attended classes. "Where are we going?" He quickly corrected himself as Kuai swung a leg out the window.

"Want to go to our spot? It's a clear night out tonight." The younger man looked up at him, that same heart warming smile planted on his face that made Hanzo's stomach do back flips.

"Let's go." Hanzo only said before planting another kiss onto Kuai's lips.

Once they both had climbed down and their feet were firmly on the ground Hanzo looked around at the orange glow of the street, streetlamps being their only light. "Where's your bike?" He asked, still in a whisper. "I parked up the street, im sure your father would recognize the sound." Kuai answered, voice just as low, but both of their hearts raced in their chests. The thrill of sneaking out together under the secure blanket of the night was almost too thrilling for the two young men that were forbidden to see one another.

The walk wasnt too far from Hanzo's house to Kuai's motorcycle, he could see the blue paint job from where they were. They talked softly, snickering like the gitty teens they were as they finally made it to their ride. Kuai really was Hanzo's night in old leather jacket and hia trusted stead was the fastest in all the land.

"I'll go slow this time." Kuai said, tossing Hanzo a helmet. "You say that everytime, and it's amazing that sometimes i believe you." He smiled at his boyfriend before he placed his own helment over his head, not getting on the bike until he made sure Hanzo's was on right and secure before they both hopped on.

Kuai started up the engine. "Hold onto me." He said over his shoulder as the bike purres loudly. "I was planning on it." Hanzo wrapped his arms around the other's midsection, pressing his back firming against his chest as they took off.

The city lights zoomed pasted them quickly, leaving only an array of streaking colors for the eye to catch. The city was sound asleep and quiet, the sound of Kuai's bike echoing off brick walls and emty buildings. But soon the brick and stone broke into the tree line as they left the city limits. Something Hanzo could have guessed both from the forest that surrounded them and the fact that Kuai had picked up speed. He couldnt tell if he wanted to empress him or frighten him so that he would hold him tighter. Either way, Hanzo definitely had a sure grip on his lover.

Soon the bike came to a slow halt as they reached an area familiar and special to the both of them. Hopping off the bike and taking off their helmets, Kuai pushed his bike along side them as they walked down a small path that parted through the short green grass that grew in the field they were now walking in.

"Think anyone will steal him?" Kuai ask, kicking out the stand and setting the bike aside. "Him?" Hanzo raised a brow, though an amused look was firmly placed on his face. "Your bike is male?" He chuckled. Kuai smiled as he grabbed Hanzo's hand, placing a sweet kiss to his knuckles. "Dont be jealous, we're only good friends." This only made Hanzo roll his eyes as a smile remained on his full lips.

A short walk up the hill and a blanket from Kuai's satchel on the side of his bike and here they were. Sitting under the star dusted night sky. The spring air was cool against their skin as crickets sounded arounded them, the clear sign that summer was a soon approaching.

They laid together under the stars, the thick blankets nice and comfortable underneath them as they laid on their backs. "Hanzo?" Kuai broke the silence between them. "Hm?" Hanzo replied, his eyes still glued to the galaxy before them.

"What do you think happens after we die?" Hanzo almost snickered, but stopped himself once he quickly remembered that Kuai's parents died when he was small. Oh what deep and thoughtful man Kuai is.

"Im not sure..." well, it was his honest answer. Hanzo didnt think of these things too often. "Why do you ask?" Hanzo turned his head over to look at the shape of his boyfriend.

"I just dont think that this is it. Atleast not all of it." His deep voice was low but not saddened in anyway. Maybe he wasnt speaking of his parents?

"Well..." Hazo paused for a moment, turning on his side to face him, propping his head up with his hand. "What do you think? You tend to be quite the deep thinker."

Kuai gave a gentle pause, seeming to be in deep thought for a moment or two before he spoke gently.

"That this is just one of many lives we have lived." He looked over at Hanzo, also turning to lay on his side. A smirk placed gently on the pink of his lips. "Reincarnation?" Hanzo asks. "Not quite." Kuai's blue orbs almost glowing under the silver moon light.

"What then?" The long haired one asked, curious at this point. "Tell me what you're thinking about, Kuai." He held his lover's scruffy face.

"What if there's just an endless list of possible lives that we have lived and are going to live?" He placed a large calloused hand over Hanzo's that held his face. "Not us being reborn into new people, just us living another life in another way."

Hanzo gained a grin. "Well, i dont know. It could be that way, couldn't it?" He scooted closer into Kuai, wanting to take in how he felt and how his heart sounded as it beat in his chest as they both looked back up at the stars.

"If it is true," Kuai spoke after a minute or so of silence. "Then we always end up together. In each life time." He said with a spread of passion in his voice, holding Hanzo close who was mused by the thumping of his heart.

The heat in Hanzo's chest was a swelling flame of love for the man who held him in his arms. A smile grew on his face, yet he couldnt help but give a sarcastic tone that was dazzled in charm and wit. One of the many things that Kuai loves so much about Hanzo.

"We better."

🔥❄🔥❄🔥❄🔥❄🔥❄🔥❄🔥❄🔥❄🔥

Some healing up after MK11! I hope you enjoyed! :) i usually dont really care for AUs when it comes to MK simce the canon universe is just so rad as it is. So this is a rarity my doods!

Please forgive and grammar/spelling mistakes!

-Onyx♤

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whatscallion · 5 years

Text

Just Stay.

//- Your typical buckynat angst done up for the RomCom Writing Challenge set forth by @lovestrucktom & @peeterparkr. Super fun to write. Gonna go ahead and tag @cptsteven @blackberrywidow @sebasttians @natasharomanoff while I’m at it.

A/N: Implications of doing the do. It’s not graphic. Buck just love his Natalia so damn much.

Word Count: 685

[ PROMPT ] “You can’t just turn back time.” – 13 going on 30

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The night had been full of pepperoni pizza, cold beer, and inevitable bickering over what the right answers were for a rerun of ‘Jeopardy!’. The rarity of an occurrence led both parties to believe this was something born of dreams. It couldn’t be real, for they were an impossible pair with improbable circumstances.

Once in a blue moon, the beliefs of a life long ago forgotten were skirted on, familiarities forcing actions and reactions. Too often, they were dipped in honey, the gasps and hymns of worshiped names lining each sensitive movement.

He could never forget where to touch her.

She relearned where to kiss him.

And in the aftermath of ripped clothing and lamps knocked over, tousled sheets and tender touches, they were left in the comfortable company of one another. For the sake of the moment, Natalia had chosen a shirt of his while James slipped on sweatpants.

It was, in his mind, almost perfect.

But ‘perfect’ was never meant for them. In the back of his mind, there was a lingering voice seeding doubt that this would stretch any further than the early morning hours. James knew there’d be nothing left but her perfume and the memories of her silhouette in the dim street light filtering through the bedroom windows.

They stayed on that couch though, well past midnight to chuckle at the ridiculousness of infomercials and comment on 90s reruns. This felt nostalgic to him, and he only hoped it tickled the latent memories lost long ago for her.

He hoped.

She got up off the couch, wiping her hands on his shirt as she did and had made her way to the bedroom. Of course, he followed, thinking either sleep or another crash course in remembrance. Instead, he was greeted with the fiery Soviet slipping her clothes back on.

“Going somewhere?” Immediately, the defected soldier regretted having asked, wanting to live in his own ignorance that she would stay for the night. Stay with him.

Just stay.

“Home,” she simply replied, buttoning her jeans before looking over at him. Something was there, swimming in the emerald sea of her eyes, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Despite the indifference painting his angular features, he felt just how far his heart sank in his chest.

“You could always stay, you know,” he reasoned, moving to lean against the threshold. “The world can survive through the night. I’d bet my good arm on it.”

A hum was really all he got in the way of acknowledgement of his offer, as if this was a common occurrence. But it wasn’t. And he’s left reeling through memories that only he holds of ‘I love you’ and ‘Moya Zvedza’ and the way she’d looked at him.

Memories of a chapter closed and haunted by the lack of recognition. This was a damning sense of torture that he welcomed with open arms. Over and over, he’d welcome her back with the same fervor knowing damn well what heartache awaited him on the other side of her wake.

Natalia - never Natasha - slipped past him, her perfume tickling flashbacks of just hours prior, wanting already to live in those thoughts and nowhere else. James turned to watch her, entranced by the bounce through crimson tendrils he ached to run his fingers through, just one more time.

“James,” she said, stopping at the front door, hand on the doorknob. In just his name alone, she could ensnare his full attention. The world could be burning around him, and he’d still only see her. She turned to look at him, sadness seeping among gold flecks in those eyes he saw in his dreams. “You can’t just turn back time, you know?”

In those syllables, his heart shattered along the cracks each one of her kisses had filled. Despite wanting to watch her disappear beyond that door, wanting to look away to tumble back into self-pity, he kept a keen gaze on her.

The world burned to cinder as the door closed behind her, words unsaid left behind his teeth to sustain him until the next blue moon.

#mandnchickflicksummer #buckynat #mine #fic #writing challenge

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mortior · 6 years

Text

In which Dirk is a porn star and Jake is a broke college kid who needs the $$$ (Chapter 2)

@jaboody wanted “Dirk teaching Jake how to dom him” for her birthday, so I wrote a continuation of her previous gift! It was a fun challenge, and came out twice as long as the first part. Includes contrived plot devices and an experienced sub teaching a fledgling dom, which imo should be more of a thing because *justright.jpg* and also half of it is smut. [AO3 link]

Dirk’s business card sits on your nightstand for three days.

You forget about it most of the time, only remembering when it catches your eye while setting the alarm clock or retrieving your glasses in the morning. It’s not that you don’t want to contact him, but there’s a chance he might be upset that you dragged your feet about it, not to mention it would be awfully embarrassing if he’s forgotten about you entirely. Especially since you’ve been thinking about him so often. Sometimes you dream about that day at the studio, with all the irrational additions and embellishments of dreams. Even your waking fantasies are affected, where before you pictured nameless, faceless women who acted out whatever racy scenario your imagination conjured for those lonely moments in bed or in the shower, but now you’ve got a face and a name, and a pattern of freckles you can’t forget.

You can’t stop yourself from typing the name of the studio on his business card into your web browser’s search engine. The link appears at the top of the results, and you click past the welcome page and scroll down, then nearly slam your laptop shut at the first row of video thumbnails. A few hours later, after you’ve had something to eat and done a bit of cleaning around your dorm room to work the nervous jitter out of your hands, you sit down and open the laptop again, just long enough to close the web browser (and with it, the oversized video preview on the front page with you on your back, pants off, and Dirk’s head between your legs).

The money you got from that shady (though not entirely unpleasant) tryst is more than enough to pay the grocery bills, and you spend the rest of the week catching up on the movies and TV shows you missed during the semester, while paying half-attention to the homework for your online classes - mostly dry textbook readings and short quizzes, although your intro to physics course is a different beast, and you ultimately concede defeat and put it off until later. Now there’s a half-finished text idling in your phone under Dirk’s contact number. You’ve been picking at it like a scab, adding words here and deleting some there, never satisfied with it.

On Thursday, you revisit the website on Dirk’s business card. There’s a row of links at the top, allowing you to navigate the site without subjecting yourself to the “featured video” thumbnails on the home page. Most of the content seems to be video-based and restricted to paying customers, but there’s also a photo album with preview images and video stills, and you’re given the option to sort by tags. Some of these tags include names. The image thumbnails are small and confusingly obscene, but a familiar figure eventually catches your eye. Clicking on his tag brings up a new page, and a sudden twinge of guilt.

You’re not particularly well-versed in things like kinks and fetishes. It was hard enough making the transition from homeschooling to a new country and an overwhelming number of people, and it wasn’t long before you identified with the words “introvert” and “social anxiety.” You’ve adjusted over time, but sex and romantic relationships always felt like an unrealistic fantasy - something that happens to other people or characters in books and movies. There are a few things you’re...curious about, but only in theory, much like you’re curious about ancient Mayan ruins or the rings of Saturn.

Now, after clicking Dirk’s name, you’re presented with hundreds of pictures that seem to rouse that repressed interest. You’re not bold enough to click any of them, as you gradually scroll down in speechless fascination. Some of the set-ups look like borderline torture, or at least supremely uncomfortable. He seems to be the primary recipient of the studio’s BDSM subject matter, particularly regarding the first letter of the acronym. You’re especially drawn to the pictures that focus on Dirk’s face, along with various methods of restraint that you’d be fascinated to learn more about, if this didn’t already feel like a paradoxical invasion of privacy. You bookmark the webpage, then delete it, then bookmark it again, but name it something innocuous and school-related.

It’s Friday morning, and you’re lounging in bed with some daytime soap opera-turned-infomercial at low volume on the TV. You’ve worked the overdue text message into a casual but friendly greeting, a quick apology for waiting so long, and a tentative offer for Dirk to meet you at the cafe this afternoon if he’s free and still interested, but the send button proves to be a formidable foe. The phone rests by your pillow while you distract yourself, flipping through various channels until ultimately settling on a nature documentary. Finally, you bite the proverbial bullet and tap the send button, then focus with all your might on the natural beauty and grace of Asia’s carnivorous wildlife.

The reciprocal “ding” occurs about fifteen minutes later with a jolt to your gut, and your phone stays face-down for another minute or two, before you can’t stand it any longer. The TV is temporarily forgotten as you read Dirk’s reply. He’s accepted the offer for this afternoon, and you allow yourself a silent, victorious fist pump.

You send him the cafe’s address, then agonize for the next hour over what you’re going to wear. Everything in your dresser seems far too casual for a first date, but you keep telling yourself it’s only an outing to the local coffee shop. After a long shower and a quick shave, you finally settle on an outfit that would make a good second impression, but won’t sacrifice comfort in the process (namely, your other favorite T-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts). For the first time ever, you linger in the bathroom and fuss with your hair in the mirror.

The remaining hours pass, and soon you’re walking down the street on a beautiful sunny afternoon with the occasional fellow student out for a stroll, though it’s still significantly less populated than it is during the school year. The cafe is on the southwest corner of campustown, no more than a quick taxi ride away from your dormitory, but you’re anxious and grateful for the excuse to walk off some energy before meeting your date (who happens to be an exceptionally attractive gent...and with whom you’ve already had a rather intimate encounter).

You arrive at the cafe with its little row of outdoor tables and flower boxes on the patio, and elect to wait inside where the lounging chairs are a measure more comfortable. Despite getting here on foot, you’re still ahead of the agreed-upon time, so you ask the barista for a cup of water and claim a spot that faces the glass door and windows of the shopfront. You twiddle your thumbs and check your phone, and try not to look as nervous as you feel.

Dirk arrives right on time. You catch sight of him before he enters the cafe, wearing a tasteful pair of black slacks and a white shirt that betrays his muscled physique, and...a rather unusual pair of sunglasses. He pushes them up onto his head, and when his eyes find yours, you momentarily forget how to breathe as memories of your previous encounter run through your mind like a tactile slideshow. At the last moment you remember to smile, and quickly stand to greet him. You trade hellos before leading him to the countertop to order your beverages, and it’s only a titch awkward (he hasn’t said much yet, and it’s hard to take your eyes off of him, even while he’s scanning the menu and talking to the barista).

When you’ve got your drink in hand (a pumpkin spice chai latte - they were nice enough to retrieve the flavor from the back room, even though it’s not technically in season yet), you return to your chair. Dirk takes the seat next to you and ventures a tentative sip of his chosen beverage (caramel mocha with an extra shot of espresso). The cafe is virtually empty, so you’ve got a nice spot to sit and chat.

“Sorry again, about waiting so long to get in touch,” you offer, hoping he doesn’t think ill of you for it, but he shrugs it off.

“Three days ain’t bad. I’m impressed you went through with it.” You’re relieved at the touch of humor in his voice, as he takes another sip of his coffee. His gentle demeanor is a balm on your frazzled nerves, and you’re momentarily distracted by his lips on the rim of his cup.

“Hah,” you let out an awkward laugh, “well, I meant what I said, and I am...glad to see you again.” You fumble for a moment. “How, uh...how’s your week been?”

During the following hour, you learn quite a lot about Dirk. It turns out he’s also a student at the university, though he’s dual majoring in computer science and mechanical engineering. He rents a house near the edge of campus with his younger brother, who just started as a freshman last year and is majoring in film studies. He asks about your major, and you confess an interest in anthropology, though at the moment you’re undeclared and just trying to get the core requirements out of the way.

There’s a lull in the conversation, and you sheepishly ask about work, hoping you didn’t create any undue problems from that rather odd misunderstanding, but he puts your fears at rest. In the process, you learn about Dirk’s history with Cal, the large, brutish fellow from the studio. He’s not too much older than you, but he was never a student at the university. He and Dirk first met and started dating when Dirk moved to the area for college, and that apparently didn’t last very long (and Dirk doesn’t go into detail), but they had a few similar interests, including adult entertainment and business entrepreneurship. Dirk runs the website in his spare time and participates in some of the videos and photoshoots, while Cal handles the miscellaneous duties and logistics that come with running a small business.

“He’s terrible at it,” Dirk explains, “but he made the initial investment, so we’re all kinda stuck with him.”

“That’s unfortunate,” you muse, taking another sip from your beverage, now lukewarm and nearly empty. You’re keenly aware of the fact that Dirk already finished his drink. “Does he make a habit of, ah...misleading you? In regards to certain things?”

Dirk lets out a frustrated breath, and you detect a touch of embarrassment. “Yeah, sorry about that. He doesn’t do it much anymore, but like I said, he’s an asshole.”

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but...” You fiddle with the lid on your cup, trying to sound concerned and inquisitive rather than judgemental. “That doesn’t sound like a very good work environment.”

Dirk shrugs. “Cal’s bark is worse than his bite. He throws his weight around and micromanages to a stupid degree, but everyone just ignores him and does their job. You get used to it.”

You hum at his explanation, marginally convinced, but willing to take his word for it. You’re both nursing empty cups at this point, and the conversation inevitably peters out when you can’t think of anything more to say that isn’t school or work-related. It’s been a pleasure talking to him, but you’re not sure how to tell him that without making it sound like you’re trying to excuse yourself, even as he stands and offers to take your cups to the garbage.

Outside on the sidewalk, you pause to lean on the ornate faux-iron rail in front of the cafe, reluctant to bid him farewell so soon. You weren’t necessarily expecting more, or maybe you hadn’t allowed yourself to hope for intimacies beyond a pleasant conversation over coffee, but the thought of parting ways with him now leaves you feeling disappointed, and guilty for it.

“I had fun,” he says, soft and genuine. He’s already put his sunglasses back on, and it’s quite possible he’s the only person in the world who could pull off that unusual ensemble. His face is naturally (and achingly) handsome, and he somehow still manages to look fetching with his eyes covered by sharp glass. “I don’t get out much, so this was cool.”

“You certainly are a busy fellow,” you smile, trying your hardest not to sound anxious at the coming farewell. “Thank you again for meeting me on such short notice. I hope I didn’t keep you from anything important.”

“Nah, I’ve got weekends off.” He shrugs. “Bet those online classes are keeping you busy, though. Isn’t it almost summer midterms?”

You exhale an awkward laugh. “Yes, indeed. I don’t mind the electives, but these core science classes are really putting me through the wringer.”

“Yeah? Which ones?” He asks with sudden interest.

“Uhm...just physics, actually. The introductory course. It’s so much math, and I understood it better when it was just gravity and friction, but now we’re doing circuits and resistors, and all manner of confusing little diagrams with wires, and I swear it’s all a bunch of blasted logic puzzles,” you trail off with a huff.

“Do you need help? I don’t have any plans tonight,” he offers, then quickly backpedals. “I mean, if you want. It’s cool if you’d rather call it a day, or text me some other time, or whatever.”

“Oh! Well, yes, of course, I-I’d be grateful for the help,” you stumble, grasping at the chance to spend more time with him, and caring little for the homework you’ll presumably get done in the process.

The walk back to your dormitory is pleasant, compared to the awkward trek you were expecting. Dirk seems to know his way around campus, and you don’t need to direct him beyond the name of your dormitory building. He opts for the stairs instead of the elevator, and it occurs to you halfway up that you haven’t been very mindful about keeping the place clean since your roommate left for the summer, so you mutter apologies while pushing past Dirk once your door is open, grabbing an armful of dirty clothes after making a frantic detour to toss last night’s frozen dinner into the garbage.

“I’m so sorry about the mess, I wasn’t expecting company,” you apologize, while throwing your clothes into the hamper. Dirk says nothing at first, but when you turn around, he’s got a small, amused smile.

“No worries, man. You should see my place.” He clips his sunglasses to his shirt and wanders around a bit as you finish racing to tidy up, as much as one can wander about within fifteen square feet of space. He lingers in thoughtful consideration of the posters that adorn every square inch of the wall over your desk, then seems to notice the far less decorated living space on the opposite side of the room. “You got a roommate?”

“I do, but he’s staying with family for summer break.” You straighten out the covers on your bed, then offer Dirk a soda from the mini fridge, which he politely declines. Your tiny dormitory-furnished desk isn’t really big enough for two, especially with only one chair in the room (those tuition dollars at work), so you apologise again and ask Dirk if he’s alright with sitting on the floor, and he’s already making himself comfortable before you can finish the question, so you fetch your laptop and join him.

Dirk, it turns out, is a natural at explaining difficult concepts. He borrows a notebook from your desk and writes out a series of basic formulas, along with a small flowchart showing you where to replace certain variables depending on the situation. You go over the practice questions together as he explains how to translate each question into mathematical equations and plug the numbers in, and it’s the first time this stuff has made any sense. Next, you tackle the online quiz that had given you such a headache earlier. He lets you complete each question on your own, and once you have an answer, tells you if it’s correct or points out the step at which you made a mistake and has you redo it more carefully. It’s a relief to finally understand the material and not spend several hours ripping your hair out only to get a marginally passing score. It's a strange end to your date, but you're not complaining in the slightest.

“I used to be a TA before I got busy with the studio,” he explains when you compliment him on his teaching skills. “Can’t say it was my favorite gig, but it gave me something to do.”

“Well, you are very good at it.” You submit the quiz and open the next homework assignment, although it’s not due for a few more days. “I bet it didn’t pay too well, though.”

Dirk snorts, and it’s somehow the most charming thing you’ve ever seen. “Peanuts. But I wasn’t in it to pay the bills.”

“Well, I think you might have just saved my behind...again,” you give a small, nervous laugh. “I really can’t thank you enough. For this, and for…earlier this week, too.”

He shrugs a little, and his pale complexion betrays the pinkish tint to his face, as he focuses with sudden intensity on the laptop’s screen. “You started this one yet?”

“Ah, yes-” you stumble out of the awkward pause, “or tried, rather. It’s actually from the next chapter.”

“Do you have the textbook? It’ll make way more sense with the diagrams.”

You nod and direct him to a small closet packed with winter clothing and a few boxes that belong to you and your absent roommate, telling him to check the one on top. Later, you’ll blame what happened on how distracted you’ve been lately, and berate yourself for refusing to label things properly, although you’ll come to be grateful for it. Dirk gets up and makes his way to the closet to follow your instructions, and you’re busy focusing on the first homework question when the sound of ripping tape and cardboard triggers the horror of a forgotten memory.

Last year during the winter semester, your roommate was enrolled in a history class that assigned homework and essays and required them to be submitted online. Your roommate John is a nice enough fellow, though he’s far more outgoing than you and comes from a well-off family, so he spends most of his time hanging out with friends and whatnot. One weekend at the end of November, there was an assignment due in his class. He complained about going to the campus library’s computer lab, and for reasons unbeknownst to you, he never bothered to purchase his own laptop, so he asked to borrow yours. You consented, and he sat at your desk while you watched a televised marathon, paying little attention to any impending shenanigans such as him taking the underhanded opportunity to browse your internet history. You’ve explored all manner of websites at one time or another, and one of those websites happened to sell things related to those kinks and fetishes that you’re only curious about in theory. You had “bookmarked” a laundry list of fascinating but confusing implements by adding them to the site’s online shopping cart for the purpose of later research, but had forgotten about it since then. It was on that fateful day your roommate got it into his daft head to snoop around in your browser history and, with your birthday coming up, decided to order every item on that list, pay for it himself, and have it shipped to the dormitory. He even wrapped it for you, and laughed hysterically at the expression on your face when you opened the box before shoving it into your closet, where it would stay hidden in exile. Needless you say, you’d forgotten it was sitting on top of your box of textbooks, and now your date, who is an absolute gent of a fellow you’ve only met twice, is staring down at its contents with a blank expression.

“Ah! Not that one, that’s-...” you trail off, biting your knuckle as he lifts a tangled mess of black leather and metal. You place your laptop on the floor and stand up, practically wringing your hands together. “It’s not….well okay, maybe it is mine, but-”

Dirk finally seems to notice the state you’re in, and quickly drops the obscene items back in the box. “Hey, woah, it’s okay dude. I’m the last person who’s gonna judge you for this stuff.”

You laugh weakly, trying to hide the nervous tremor in your voice. “A-hah...well, my roommate actually purchased all that, you see. For my birthday, as a sort of...joke, I think.”

He frowns at that, turning back to the box and rummaging around inside. “Seriously? This is like...several hundred dollars worth of gear.”

“It is?” You pale a bit, then wonder vaguely why you didn’t try to sell it sooner, before the thought of selling such objects to complete strangers quickly puts that idea out of your head. “Well, it’s just a mess of things I don’t know what to do with. I haven't a clue how any of it works.”

“Really? ‘Cause I could, uh…” Dirk trails off suddenly, then seems to regain his train of thought. “I mean, we’re kinda doing a lesson already, and if you want to learn about this too, I can at least show you how the gear works.”

You don’t really know what to say to that. Dirk shrugs at your wide-eyed expression like he’s suggesting a casual review of some academic subject.

“Uhm...sure, ok.” You surprise yourself with the answer. He picks up the cardboard box and carries it to the foot of your bed, while you sit down on the edge of the mattress and try very hard to relax.

“Alright...we’ll start with…” he rummages around in the box and produces some manner of sinister leather collar from its depths. “This. It’s called a spider gag.”

“A what?” You make a face at the device, as he unbuckles the strap and sits next to you. “You're saying that contraption is supposed to go in your mouth? It looks...terribly uncomfortable.”

Dirk seems amused at that, as he holds it out for you to observe. “Yeah, well, that’s kinda the point. Depends on what you’re into. This is actually one of the nicer ones I've seen.” He taps his finger against the metal ring in the center. “Gotta be careful not to chip a tooth, but it’s better than a ring gag. The hooks keep it from flipping over. Want a demonstration?” he asks while already unbuckling the leather straps, and you nod vacantly as he starts fitting the thing into his mouth like he’s done this a hundred times.

You watch in quiet fascination as he adjusts the straps and pulls it tight, and you're left at a loss for words when he’s finished. Whoever invented this bizarre contraption was a genius of the highest caliber. The ring does a marvelous job of parting his lips and holding his mouth open, and all while leaving enough room between his teeth that you can already imagine the raunchy sequiturs to such a situation. There’s no denying the sudden heat on your face, as he pauses so you can take it all in.

“That is…” you struggle to find words, “...really...something. I-I think...I might have seen it before? But didn’t quite know what it was. I mean, from what little searching around I’ve done on your website- that is-” Dirk blinks, as you stammer in panic at the slip-up. “I saw the website on your card, and I...I swear didn’t watch the videos, but the photographs...and they were free, and you had a tag, so I...I should have asked permission first, I’m so sorry-” Dirk makes an incoherent noise in his throat, the gag preventing him from responding to your shameful confessions as he quickly starts fumbling with the buckle behind his head. “It was wrong of me to invade your privacy like that. I knew it was wrong, but I went and snooped around like a thoughtless cad when you trusted me with that card, and-”

“Jake, it’s okay,” he interrupts, after finally freeing himself. “If I didn’t want people to see that stuff, it wouldn’t be on the website. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Are you sure? I feel so awful,” you confide, hoping the sting in your eyes isn’t noticeable.

“I’m sure, don’t worry about it.” He drops the gag back into the box and focuses those stunning eyes on yours, his expression sincere. “I’m just…happy you still wanted to do this.”

“Really?” you ask, allowing yourself a deep breath of relief when he nods. “Thank goodness. I thought I’d really gone and mucked this all up.”

“You didn’t muck up anything. This is the best date I’ve been on in years.” He smiles, and it somehow reaches your face too. “I’m into this stuff because I like it, and I’m...glad you like it too.”

You laugh at that, though it’s more out of embarrassment. “Yes, well, I don’t think I’d ever wear those things myself, but on you, it’s...I-I mean, you’ve clearly had lots of experience.” You bite your lip at the almost-admission of how obscenely good he looked in that gag, and then, after a moment to think it over, you admit it in a small, quiet voice. “It looked...very fetching on you.”

“Yeah?” he smiles, matching your soft tone. The air feels heavier, and the tone of his voice stirs a familiar flock of butterflies in your gut. “We can keep going, if you want. Here, pick whatever looks interesting.” He slides the box closer to you across the floor.

You take a moment to bend down and rummage through the box’s unfamiliar contents, trying to hide the betraying flush to your cheeks. The only item that doesn’t appear partway tangled up in everything else is a metal bar with a suspicious leather cuff on either end.

“This looks a bit like handcuffs,” you venture, hoping you’ve picked something fairly innocuous. Dirk accepts it when you hold it out to him.

“Close,” he smiles. “It’s called a spreader bar.”

“Huh,” you murmur, watching him fiddle with it. He loosens something, and slides the bar away from itself in the middle.

“Collapsable, nice,” he says. “The cuffs go around your legs to hold them apart. Sometimes they attach to handcuffs or collars, depending on how much restraint you want. They can get pretty extreme when you mix and match.”

“Oh. But this is...one of the simpler ones?” you wonder aloud, and Dirk nods.

“Yep. This one comes with thigh cuffs, but ankles are more typical.” He unbuckles the cuffs and scoots back on the bed to give himself room, before placing the bar halfway up his thighs and securing the cuffs around his pants. He leans back when he’s done, and you consider the result thoughtfully.

“So it keeps your legs apart,” you conclude, and he nods, “and it can pull you all sorts of ways too, if you’ve got handcuffs and collars and all that?”

“Pretty much. It’s easy to get creative.” He grins, and you don’t bother trying to hide the flush on your face this time. “Pick something else.”

“Oh, ok,” you fumble, keenly aware that he’s making no effort to remove the spreader bar. You return to the box at your feet, searching for something you can identify this time. “I assume these are the handcuffs?” You lift the pair of leather cuffs connected by a short, sturdy metal chain.

“Nope. Ankle cuffs.”

“Dagnabbit,” you mutter, and Dirk practically chokes on his laughter.

“It was a good guess.” He takes them from you and undoes the buckle on each cuff. “They can be identical to handcuffs, but these are bigger and don’t have any padding.” He bends down with some difficulty and has to cross his feet to make them fit, but manages to buckle the cuffs just above each ankle. When he’s finished, the combination of the cuffs with the spreader bar keeps his legs bent apart at the knees.

“Isn’t that uncomfortable?” you ask, concerned for his posture.

“Not really. These are kinda loose. You can shorten the chain if you want to. See the clip?” He leans over and taps one of the ankle cuffs where the chain connects to it, and you notice that one of the links is actually a sort of metal clip.

“That’s nifty,” you remark, pleased by the discovery. When you look up, he’s already watching you with a fond smile, and you return it bashfully.

“Got anything else for me?” He tilts his head at the box. You return to the trove of unfamiliar objects only a little flustered, as he waits patiently for your next selection. You eventually settle on a relatively large implement that appears to be some sort of leather corset, if you had to guess.

“I don’t suppose this is meant to go over your clothes…” you venture, hopefully getting the implication across that you’re not asking him to undress (although you won’t protest if he suggests it himself). He takes the item from you with a lopsided grin.

“It’s an armbinder. Way more effective than handcuffs if you want to restrain someone.”

“Ah, that’s...helpful, I suppose,” you add, unsure of what to say to that. Dirk spends a moment tugging at the laces, before handing it back to you.

“I’ll need your help with this one,” he says, turning his back to you and holding his arms out behind him. You stutter briefly, then wrestle with your embarrassment and figure to hell with it, before guiding his arms into the thing and adjusting it into what seems like the most natural position. There doesn’t appear to be an opening at the bottom for his hands.

“Now tighten the laces, then the straps go over my shoulders,” he instructs casually. You do as he says, hoping you aren’t pulling them too tight, but it’s not entirely unfamiliar - a bit like lacing a shoe. When you’re finished, he turns back around so you can fasten the large straps at the top. They remind you of suspenders from the chest up.

“Nice,” he says, testing his range of motion when you’re done, and managing only to shift his arms a little. “You’re a natural.”

“Oh, please,” you laugh, feeling giddy at the compliment. “You’re just a very good teacher.”

He gives you a wink, before wiggling a bit and shifting even further back on the bed. “Now I’ll show you the best part about combining multiple pieces of gear.” He manages to turn himself towards you, before leaning backwards and falling down on his back with his arms trapped beneath him. You stand to give him more room, and he looks up at you with an air of mischief. “I’m pretty much stuck like this now, although I could roll off the bed if I really wanted to. Won’t do me much good, though.”

You nod slowly, distracted by the sight of him as that pesky swarm of butterflies migrates lower, until you’re grateful for the baggy cargo shorts. Something about the sight of his legs held apart, and the way his arms keep his shoulders back, accentuating the rise and fall of his chest…the moment comes to a grinding halt, as he watches you and the silence stretches on, conspicuous and heavy.

“Like it?” he asks quietly, his smile turned soft and almost shy. You nod, and your face feels hot.

“You are...just...absolutely beautiful,” you whisper, forgetting to filter your thoughts before speaking. Dirk seems caught off-guard by the compliment.

“Thanks,” he eventually murmurs, as your traitorous eyes move to the strip of exposed skin where his shirt is riding up. “You know you can touch, if you want to.”

Your eyes dart up like you’ve been caught stealing cookies from the jar. “Oh! Ah...w-well, I, uh…” you stammer at his gentle amusement. A polite refusal would be the proper thing to do, but you’re suddenly distracted by his hair, remembering how soft and delicate it felt between your fingers, and how last time you didn’t really get a chance to touch him otherwise. He seems to be inviting you now, in no uncertain terms. You wet your lips nervously. “Are you sure?”

His smile widens. “Yeah. You don’t have to, but...it kinda looks like you want to.”

You don’t have a good response to that, so you nod at the astute observation, not trusting your voice at the moment.

“Go ahead,” he offers, and you decide in a moment of philosophical clarity not to overthink it. Your hand lifts, then hesitates, not sure where to start. Eventually, your fingers are drawn to the delicate strands of hair framing his brow, and Dirk seems oddly surprised by your choice.

You gently trace across his forehead, careful and unsure at first, then sit down next to him on the bed and run your fingers through his hair in earnest. He’s watching you too, as you admire that spattering of freckles across his nose and take note of a faint scar on his upper lip. Your heart is working its way up to a flutter, as you gather enough courage to smooth your thumb across his cheek and down the handsome curve of his chin, then your fingers drift to his neck, feeling the faint pulse under his jaw. Your eyes are drawn to his throat when he swallows, and you’re struck by a sudden knowledge of what you want.

“Can I kiss you?”

Dirk nods at your whispered question, his half-lidded eyes never leaving yours. You lean down, aware again of his immobility, and something about that fact makes you slide your fingers into his hair and grip two handfuls of it as your lips meet. You press harder than you’d intended, and he responds by sliding his mouth against yours and scraping his teeth against your lower lip in approval, and it stokes an undeniable heat below your waist.

You pull back, keeping a centimeter of distance between your lips, just enough to meet his bottle-brown eyes and echo his heavy breathing.

“Damn,” he whispers, his mouth quirking up on one side.

“Was that...good?” you ask. “Did I do it right?”

“I ain’t complainin’,” he says, sounding almost tipsy. There’s a hint of an accent under his voice that you’ve been subconsciously trying to place since you met him, and it’s definitely got a southern lilt to it now that he’s unguarded. You lean in again, this time rubbing circles where you’d pulled his hair before, apologetic, but still addicted to the feeling. He chuckles into the kiss and does that thing with his teeth again, but this time his tongue gets involved, and your head almost spins at the feeling.

“God,” you breathe, pulling away for a moment to catch your breath. There’s a heated look in his eyes, and you can’t stop running your fingers through his hair.

“Too much?” he whispers, and you shake your head.

“No, it’s...I’ve never...well, besides earlier, I’ve never done this before. You were my first kiss, you know.”

“I wish I’d known,” he mutters. “Wish I’d made it better. Gotten you started off right, not...coerced into it for money.”

“But you did make it right, and I am so, so very glad I met you,” you reassure him, kissing the bridge of his nose, then along the freckles beneath his eyes, before leaning back to look at him, “And I did need the money. But I’ve learned my lesson, and will be keeping a tight budget this year, you mark my words.”

He chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling handsomely. “Shoulda majored in accounting.”

“Nonsense. You know better than anyone by now that I’m rubbish at math.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

“I doubt that very much.” You can’t help leaning in to kiss him again, and he hums into it, before sucking gently on your lower lip, and you almost gasp at the feeling - hot and wet, with just a teasing hint of tongue.

“Just takes practice,” he mutters against your lips. “Everything does.”

“Are we still talking about math?” you mumble back, smiling at the thought.

“Anything you want,” he whispers, taking in a quick breath through his teeth when you experimentally tighten your grip in his hair, and you decide it’s the best sound you’ve ever heard. There’s a definite tent to the front of his pants now, all the more obvious with his legs held apart and the fabric pulled tight. “Do whatever you want. Or nothing. We can stop, but...I’m down with whatever, if you wanna keep going.” He swallows and licks his lips, his voice rough and maybe a bit nervous, and if you hadn’t fallen for him already, you certainly would have now.

“Anything I want?” you hum mischievously, amazed at your own confidence. It helps that he’s bound and trussed up like a Christmas goose.

“Yeah,” he breathes as you kiss him again, this time taking the lead with your newfound confidence and moving to kneel over him on the bed. There’s just enough room to plant your knees on either side of his waist, and you wind up tucking your calves beneath his knees, since he can’t quite lay them flat with the ankle cuffs keeping his feet together, and the result is surprisingly comfortable.

“What, um...what do you want me to do?” you ask, briefly second-guessing yourself now that you’re on top of him.

“The surprise is the best part,” he drawls softly. “Anything else in the box you wanna try?”

You think it over, then lean down to make a quick final pass through the box’s contents, and finally manage to find something you can positively identify. Dirk grins at the blindfold, looking very pleased with your selection.

“A classic.”

It’s the sort that could double as a sleep mask, you think, and fortunately there’s nothing to fasten or tie in the back. You carefully lift Dirk’s head and slip the blindfold over his face, then take a moment to remove the sunglasses still clipped to his shirt and relocate them to the bedside table. When you lean back to take it in, you spend an extra moment just admiring the sight before you. Dirk’s lips are parted slightly as he takes slow, deep breaths, aware of your attention. You reach out and run your fingertips down the enticing curve of his neck, tracing a path from beneath his ear to the center of his clavicle, then along one collarbone until you’re pushing the neck of his shirt aside to reach his chest and shoulders. Your hand slips under the fabric, and you marvel again at how impressively fit he is.

“You’re the most handsome bloke I’ve ever seen,” you tell him, meaning every word of it and feeling relaxed now that his eyes are covered, like it’s taken the pressure off. “I bet you get plenty of exercise.”

“I work out when I can,” Dirk’s voice is soft and amused as you push up his shirt from the bottom, wanting to see more of him and unsatisfied with the little taste you’ve had so far. You sit back on his lap to give yourself more room, and lose your train of thought for a moment at the feeling of something firm beneath you. Dirk is breathing faster now, and he holds his breath when you lean forward, shifting your weight. His muscles tense under your fingers, now exploring the smooth skin of his stomach and the sparse curls of hair below his navel. You push his shirt up as far as it will go, then run your greedy hands over his pectorals and down his sides. He shifts beneath you with his limited range of motion, making you aware of the reciprocal tent in your own pants. If you just moved down a bit more...

But you’re not quite ready for that yet, you think, even if...rubbing against him like that is the stuff of private nighttime fantasies. Instead, you decide to satisfy your curiosity, and reposition yourself to sit between his knees just below the spreader bar, with your feet resting on either side of his chest. It’s a bit awkward, but you’re able to lean forward and undo the button on his pants. He makes an odd sound in his throat.

“Jake…” he murmurs like he’s out of breath, “you don’t have to-”

“I know,” you reassure him, pleased that your fingers are only shaking a little as you pull his zipper down, “but I do remember you saying I could do whatever I wanted.”

He gives a breathy laugh at that. You’re limited in how far you can pull his pants down with the cuffs around his thighs, but not so much that you can’t expose the most important part. He’s wearing a pair of briefs with an elastic band at the top. You leave those in place for now, reaching out and pressing your hand against the conspicuous bulge in the center, and feeling it twitch under your palm as Dirk lets out a stuttered breath.

You’re grateful for the blindfold, as you’re still trying to decide how to feel about touching an erection that isn’t your own. Come to think of it, it’s...actually for you. He got like this because you kissed him. You can even feel it getting bigger, just because you’re touching him through his underwear. If you had any doubt that he was genuinely into you, there’s no question of it now. Flattered isn’t the word for it - you’re flustered and excited. Using both hands, you pull down his briefs and expose the blunt head of his dick.

After taking a moment to fold his briefs down as far as they’ll go, you manage to expose him all the way to the crinkled blond hair around the base of his shaft. He’s a bit smaller than you, surprisingly, but not by much, and his skin down here is strikingly pale. You rub his hips with both hands, remembering how good it felt when he did something similar for you. Once you’ve gathered enough courage and reminded yourself that he can’t see what you’re doing, you press your thumb against his shaft and begin rubbing up and down, just getting a feel for it, and when you finally wrap your hand around it, he pushes up into your grip with a breathy gasp.

“Oh wow,” you murmur, realizing how far along he is already.

“Hhah…” he sighs, gritting his teeth. “Sorry. Fuck.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him, smoothing your other hand over his stomach and admiring the sight of his chest heaving. The thought briefly crosses your mind that he might be hamming it up, but that hardly seems like something he’d do. “You’re...really into this.”

He hums wordlessly, then grits his teeth and curses when you push both thumbs against the spot just beneath his glans, rubbing in firm little circles. His legs shift restlessly against the bindings.

“Jake, uh...I’m not gonna last much longer if you keep doing that,” he breathes out in a rush.

“That so?” you wonder aloud, feeling giddy and mischievous. Watching him and listening to him is giving you a light feeling in your head, almost like a pleasant buzz. You’re breathing faster, too. That might be it. You can feel him twitching in your hands, and when you push one thumb up to smear the little bit of precum at the tip, he sounds like he’s running a marathon.

“Is that a good spot?” you ask, knowing he can probably hear your cheeky grin. He answers you with a string of quick curses when you decide to keep rolling your thumb over and around the blunt head of his glans, using the other hand to squeeze his shaft and hold it still. An idea occurs to you, and you stop for a moment to wet your thumb in your mouth, figuring it’ll feel better that way, but he misunderstands the interruption.

“Please,” he whispers, and the shaken tone of his voice sends a flood of heat through your body. “Please, fuck...Jake…” he chokes on your name, his legs starting to shake when your grip returns to his dick, now remarkably flushed. You press your thumb against the tip where it was before, now wet with your own spit. This time you keep it light, rubbing in circles and falling absolutely in love with the sounds he’s making - high-pitched and honest, like he’s trying to keep quiet, but can’t help himself. He’s arching up into your hand a moment later, twitching and spilling onto his stomach before you can react, and it makes a truly stunning picture with him all trussed up and straining like he can’t control himself. His head falls back against the bed as he catches his breath.

“Fuck it’s so much better when it’s real,” he exhales under his breath.

“What’s that?” you ask, but he shakes his head blindly from side to side.

“Nothin’.” He lets out a quiet, exhausted laugh, and you quickly decide to get up and find a tissue, wanting to do for him what he did for you when the roles were reversed. The tent in your own pants is an afterthought at this point. You clean him up, but not before running a finger through the mess, just for the scandalous novelty of touching another man’s spunk, and when you’re finished, you toss the tissue and sit next to him on the bed, taking a moment to pet his sweat-dampened hair before pushing the blindfold up. “Hey,” he whispers.

“Hello there,” you smile, surprised at the sudden return of your own bashfulness. He’s still catching his breath, and it’s hard to meet his eyes with the look he’s giving you, because that smouldering fire in your gut hasn’t exactly gone out yet. His gaze flicks down and up while you’re distracted, then something in his expression changes, and he twists away from you onto his shoulder.

“Help me out?” he asks, with a hint of strain. You catch on quickly, and he holds that position while you undo the armbinder’s laces, then remove the implement and drop it back into the box. The moment his hands are free, Dirk sits up and pulls you into a kiss. It starts out with a simple caress of lips, and progresses into his tongue slowly pressing and rolling against yours after coaxing your lips apart. He’s not all worked up like before, but you find yourself making a few small, embarrassing sounds in your throat. Your own breathing has gone ragged by the time he pulls back enough to speak, and his soft words light your face on fire. “Can I get you off?”

You stammer at the question, and he gives you more time to think about it by leaning in and sliding his lips across yours a few more times, which isn’t entirely fair. You’re unsure of yourself again, now that he isn’t all trussed up and blindfolded, but then his mouth is at the side of your neck, leaving a slow trail of warm, gentle kisses. He has always been so very careful with you.

“Alright,” you whisper, not sure what he’s got in mind, but willing to take the leap. He doesn’t move right away, and when he does, it’s only to lie down on the bed like before. He retrieves your pillow and uses it to prop his head up, then reaches out to tug at your waist by the belt loops on your shorts.

“C’mere,” he drawls with a suspicious smile. He coaxes you onto the bed, then directs you to place your knees on either side of the pillow, until you’re practically sitting on his chest. He pulls your zipper down, and you bite your lip as he frees you from the confines of your undergarments, but instead of touching you outright the way you’d expected, he hooks his arms beneath your legs and pulls you closer. You obligingly scoot a few inches forward, but he isn’t satisfied with that and keeps on pulling, until you’ve got both hands on the headboard of your bed and can’t see much else besides the top of his head between your legs. Then something warm and wet - his mouth, that obscenely talented mouth of his - finds the tip of your cock, which has been sorely neglected up until now.

You immediately stuff a knuckle between your teeth, gripping the headboard with your other hand and trying your damndest not to thrust into his mouth like a feral animal. You’re gloriously, breathtakingly sensitive after ignoring your own needs for so long, and his tongue and lips pay special attention to that spot at the tip, like he knows it’ll drive you mad right out of the gate, and you are infinitely glad that you’re the only student currently residing on this floor. You’re close to drawing your own blood before you give up on keeping quiet, and instead grip the headboard with both hands like your life depends on it.

When your self-control slips, which doesn’t take long, he encourages your jerking half-thrusts by pulling at you with his arms around your legs, the message clear. The depth doesn’t bother him, and you know that, but it’s the principal of the thing. You try to pull out enough so that you’re at least not bumping the back of his throat, but that only gives his wicked tongue more room to work, and your eyes roll back at the feeling. It’s extremely unfair how good he is at this. You’re not even sure what he’s doing anymore, the sensations all coming together in a dizzying, heavenly combination of heat and tight, wet friction.

You’re fighting an unnecessary (and losing) battle, trying to keep your hips still and making shallow thrusts into his greedy, welcoming mouth when you can’t. You abandon the headboard to bury your fingers in his hair again, finally giving in to the coaxing pull of his arms and letting out a relieved moan when you push in deep. You were a downright fool to resist this. It feels even more incredible when you start to thrust in and out, giving in to that instinctual urge. He clearly wanted you to fuck his mouth, so you oblige him and do it.

Compared to last time at the studio, this position makes a lot more sense, given what you’ve learned about him. He’s beneath you with his legs still bound, and you’ve got his head trapped between your legs and your hands buried in his hair, giving you the lion’s share of control and making him, temporarily, into something for you to get off on. You’re not cruel, and you’ve never thought of other people as possessions or objects, but the moment your mind touches on that concept, it goes straight to the fire under your skin like kindling.

For the first time, you’re not shy about gripping his hair and pulling his head against you, holding him while you thrust into that irresistible vice. You lean forward and change the angle, pushing his head into the pillow and practically riding his face for a few glorious moments, before throwing your head back with a startled gasp as your orgasm blindsides you, shaking and spilling into his mouth as he eagerly swallows. You try to rise up on your knees so he doesn’t choke, but his head follows, keeping you trapped in the constricting heat of his throat as you moan and pant while he drains you with long, slow sucks, not letting go until you’ve ridden out every last little wave of your orgasm. You’re a complete mess by the time he’s finished.

After you’ve caught your breath and made doubly sure you didn’t choke him, you free Dirk from the remainder of his bindings and return the box of unconventional implements to the closet. He sits with his back against the headboard, and you wind up sideways with your legs over his lap because there isn’t quite enough room to fit next to him comfortably on the bed.

“I swear, on my grandfather’s grave, god rest his soul, that I had no ulterior motives when I asked for help with my homework,” you tell him, sharing your amusement at the cliche implications. He’s taking small sips of the soda he passed up earlier, his shirt wrinkled on one side and his hair still mussed on top. He looks like he’s just stepped out of a photoshoot for some racy, sex-charged advertisement, and you think he’d probably have a lucrative career as a professional model, if he ever cared to. He gives you that charming, lopsided smile.

“Technically speaking, I’m the one who offered.”

“I hope…” you start after a long pause, “I hope I didn’t...get too carried away, or hurt you, or anything like that.”

“Nah, you’re good. I mean...it was really good,” he says, making you blush at the honest affection in his verdict. Then he leans his head back and gives you a long, searching look. “This is gonna sound shitty, but I’m so fuckin’ glad you went broke.”

You give an indignant laugh, then smack him playfully across the leg. “Cheeky!”

“I’m serious. It sucks that you ran outta dough, but I don’t think we would’ve met if you hadn’t.”

“Well, in that case, I suppose it was an outright godsend,” you tell him, meaning every word of it. He grins at you over the rim of his soda, and you distract yourself by searching for the TV remote in your disheveled bed. “I think there’s a science fiction marathon tonight, if you’ve got an extra hour or two.”

“I’ve got all the time you want,” he says. It won’t strike you as an odd thing to say until later, but by then you’ll have wedged yourself next to him and dozed off halfway through the third movie with your head on his chest. Later, you’ll wake up to find that he stole your glasses and placed them next to his on the bedside table, before switching the TV off and falling asleep himself. He’ll accept your offer of an early breakfast at the cafeteria, though you’ll suspect he’s not a morning person judging from his bleary eyes and reluctance to leave your bed despite the sunlight creeping through your window, but you’ll have breakfast with him and make plans for next weekend, and even though it started out as one of the worst experiences of your life, in your new boyfriend’s own aptly put words, you really are glad you went broke.

#mfiction #dirkjake #homestuck fanfiction #are they still called pumpkin patch lmao #ran outta time to post this before work yesterday

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