#mid puff babe

[carolmunson]

orange colored sky-verse (of course)

He turns, eyes peering open seeing the glow of his bedside clock — 2:46 AM. He can hear your stirring, your breaths at a regular pace. Slowly, he shifts to his other side and even in the little light of the bedroom he can see that your eyes are wide awake.

“You been up this whole time?” he asks, a sleepy gruffness to his voice. You nod into the lowered brightness of your screen. Not only have you not fallen asleep, sleep doesn’t seem to be coming any time soon.

“S’cause you won’t put that phone away,” he says matter of factly. He doesn’t need the lights on to know your eyes are rolling g along side the short huff you puff out of your lips, “Don’t gimme that.”

“‘S’cause you won’t put that phone away’ — what’re you 80?” you mock, sharpness on the tip of your tongue. Your eyes are too open.

“Put your phone down, doll,” he says softly, “Please?”

“It helps me,” you say back, “I’ll fall asleep.”

“Babe, you’re just waiting until you physically can’t stay up anymore — that’s not going to sleep that’s — oh —” it hits him mid-scold, “You’re feelin’ anxious, aren’t you.”

You shrug under the covers, feeling him shift beneath them, closer to you than before.

“I don’t know why,” you mumble. He eases your phone out of your hand, clicking it to sleep and putting it on his bedside table instead of yours.

“That’s okay,” he says, voice still grizzly with sleep. Eddie leans in to kiss your cheek, ringless hand coming up to your chest between your shoulders. He puts just a touch of pressure, rubbing in slow circles, “Close your eyes.”

He feels you relax slightly, shutting your eyes with your face toward him. So pretty when you’re sleepy. Eddie’s hand continues in slow circles, “Count in your head, how many times I do it — okay?”

You nod, feeling his lips on your forehead. You count, he doesn’t. You’re fast asleep before the clock hits 3.

[man3at3r-mp4]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖇- 𝕳𝖍 𝖝 𝖒𝖆𝖑𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗

Chapter 3- Family feud

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 (𝐑𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞)

               𝐁𝐲 𝐄𝐦𝐦𝐚 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐨𝐧

                             

                              ↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

                 

                    1:35 ───ㅇ───── 3:47

Prologue Chapter 3.5

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

  "YOUR HIGHNESS!!!"

Liam's loud, shreeky voice called out to you. But you could care less, as you stormed out of the ball room, practically ripping off the uncomfortable and itchy gown you were forced to be fitted in.

The clicking of your hooves tapped against the crystal tiles of the floor, as you stomped off. You didn't know, you just wanted to get out of there. You picked up your pace as you heard the door slam open, and three pairs of footsteps following after you.

"Oh c'mon babe, where are you going?" You heard Adam call after you.

"Somewhere away from the three is you!" you snapped back, as you crossed your arms, one of your ears flicking in irritation.

"Your highness!" Liam spoke up, following not far after you, Adam and Lute.. "I understand your frustrations, but you shouldn't run off like that!" he clutched the schedule to his chest.

"Your highness, don't act to brash" Lute scoffs. Your eyebrow twitched at her words, but you continued to walk.

"Well I sure don't.." the exorcist angel quipped, "not to be a dick or anything, but you running off mid way through my sentence was a bitch move"

Your eye twitched, as you shot Adam a glare over your shoulder, causing him to blink as he shrugged his shoulders in confusion, "what?"

That got you to stop, you swiftly turned around and gave the other male the harshest glare you could muster, "What the hell do you mean WHAT?!?" Your ears were slightly pinned down. Apparently your yelling caught them both off guard.

"I just found out that my sister agreed to give you my hand in marriage and no one bothered to FUCKING tell me!" You growled, stomping your hooves on the ground, you were so enraged you didn't notice how you actually created a dent in the floor from how hard you were stomping.

"Your highness, language-" Liam interrupted.

"OH KISS MY ASS LIAM!" You pointed your finger at him, as steam huffed out of your nose. This caused the said Angel, to squeak as he shrieked back.

"Woah babe, chill out-"

"CHILL OUT?!?" You only got louder, "I'M BEING MARRIED OFF LIKE SOME FUCKING 16 CENTURY PRINCESS!! NO ONE EVEN BOTHERED TO ASK ME!" as you continued on with your rant, you were unaware of how you were actually getting taller. Actually, you were growing in size, as your usual e/c were now replaced with a golden glow, your horns elongated and sharpened, as you continued to grow. "YOU DIDN'T EVEN BOTHER TO ASK ME! YOU WENT STRAIGHT TO SERA!" Your voice deepened and became more echoey as you finally stopped growing. Your head touched the ceiling, as you had to get on all fours and duck your head down to Adam and Liam's level. You blew a puff of steam out of your nose at the exorcist, as you finished.

"Holy shit..." Adam murmured, his eyes wide in surprise. Liam and Lute held similar expressions. You expected him, to apologize and be a bit scared if not intimidated of you but this is Adam we're talking about.

"YOU CAN TURN INTO A FUCKING KAIJU?!?" He shouts, "oh that's so fucking sick!".

Liam and Lute shared a look before the female exorcist sighed, "Sir...I don't think this is the right ti-"

"Shut up Lute." Adam cut her off, resulting in Lute groaning and rolling her eyes. You blinked, taken aback from his response.

"Really is that what you're focusing on? And not the rest of what I said?" You asked, in a deadpan voice.

"Well duh, you never fucking told me you could do this" he says, as he placed his hands on his hips, glancing at you up in down. "Fuck, this is kinda doing it for me. I'd thought I'd never be into the whole size difference thing but maybe for our honeymoon you could-"

You growled again, your hooves scraping against the ground as you released another puff of steam from your nose. Liam took notice of this and shrieked, "Adam! Cut it out!" He pleaded. "You're making it worse!"

Lute nodded, "Sir, you're only angering him even more! Can you save your horny bullshit for later!" She said through gritted teeth gesturing over to you.

Adam huffs, "Fuck, fine..whatever I'll wait for him to be done with his little temper tantrum.."

"TEMPER TANTRUM?!?" You roared again.

"Oh no..." Liam squeaked, shrinking back into his wings. Lute only face palmed, at Adam's stupidity.

Fortunately, before you could do anything a familiar voice interrupted you.

"What is the meaning of this?!" A motherly voice spoke, It was Sera. Her voice booming throughout the room, as her wings folded gracefully against her back.

"Is everything okay?!?" A familiar younger looking angel called out, it was Emily and it was obvious she was concerned by her slight pout and furrowed eyebrows.

They both gasped as they noticed your monstrous form. "Y/n!!" Emily cried, as she quickly flew over. "What happened?" She frowned.

Meanwhile Sera was a lot less gentle with her tone. "Y/n! Stop this nonsense at once, whatever you're angry at shouldn't warrant this reaction!" She scoffed. "You're shaking the entire palace! Everyone in heaven can hear you!"

You huffed, "Well maybe I wouldn't be so fucking angry, if I didn't just find out I'm getting married!"

Sera's eyes widened,"how did you-" she cut herself off, as the realization settled into her brain, she shot a quick glare over to Adam. "Adam! I thought we agreed we'd tell him after he finished with his duties for the day.."

The said Angel shrugged, "You really expected me to wait the entire day? No bitch, it's not my fault you're so fucking busy..". Sera only rolled her eyes in response, she then turned back to face you.

"Y/n, I know this isn't an ideal situation to learn about your engagement but you must stop this nonsense at once." She sounded stern, as she still tried to maintain some semblance of normalcy in her tone.

"No! This isn't nonsense! I'm justifiably angry!" You groaned. "You always do this Sera! You make decisions about my life and never fucking ask me!"

"Language."

You growled in response, you went to speak again but Emily interrupted. "(Y/n)...please, I know you're angry but don't lash out at anyone, please. I'm sure we can resolve this if we just talk..?" She suggested. Your eyes softened a bit, as you looked into your sister's eyes. You let out another huff before, you began to shrink back into your normal size.

Sera and the others visibly relaxed as you retreated back to your regular size. You fixed the crown that laid sideways on your head, before soothing out your clothes. "Okay...I'll let you explain yourself..." you grumbled, crossing your arms.

Sera sighed, "I know you're upset" 'upset is an understatement'  you thought, as you listened to your sister speak. "But, I made the decision to accept Adam's proposal because I knew it would be good for you, it would be good for all of us."

You raised a brow, "how exactly?"

"Your union with Adam, will provide a  good service not only here but on earth. Love is a fundamental part of heaven, your marriage with Adam will symbolize love and happiness to the human. It'd help spread hope across the globe and help mortals stray away from sin"

"But what about my happiness??" You asked. "I don't want to seem selfish..but everything I've ever done has been for the humans or for heaven...I don't even know half of my subjects? I've never even been to the earth." You scoffed. "How do you even know this'll work?"

"I have faith it will." She responds, though it felt like there was something else she wasn't telling you.

"Faith?" You repeated. "I'm in an arranged marriage all based on your faith?" You growled.

"(Y/n) don't.." you heard Liam meekly whisper.

"(Y/n)..," Sera warned, narrowing her eyes.

"Y'know Sera " you spat out your sister's name like it was venom. "It seems like you're willing to do A LOT of things for faith huh?" You scoffed. "Like when you forced all your societal expectations on me !." You watched as everyone in the room stiffened.

"Y/n!" Liam said, "you can't-"

"I can! I'm sick of this! I'm sick of everything! You always treat me like a child! All of you do! I'm 23 years old! I'm not some naive little boy anymore Sera!" You huffed.

"You throwing this outburst isn't really helping me see that, is it now?" Sera replied, matching your sass.

Your eye twitched, as you glared up at your sister. "Go to hell, Sera." You spat. Causing her eyes to widen, and for Emily and Liam to gasp. You could see Lute narrow her eyes a bit.

"Y/n you do NOT speak to me that way!" Sera commanded, as her anger grew so did the eyes that began to appear in her hair as she retained a slight glow to them. "Being angry is one thing but you do Not  raise your voice at me!"

"There you go again, you're treating me like a child! I-" Emily then finally butted in.

"Y/n I know you're up about your engagement to Adam but we think it'll be a good idea.."

Your form slouched, as your tone grew quiet. "Wait...we?..." you frowned. "Emily..." you glanced down at her, obvious hurt in your eyes. "You knew...did the others-" Emily frowned, averting her gaze as he hesitantly nodded, giving you confirmation the rest of the seraphim knew and signed off on your engagement.

Your eyes welled with tears, as you backed away. Everyone knew about your apparent engagement, except you. It was one thing for Sera to make decisions for you but for Emily and the others too...it hurt. Emily was usually your aid for guidance and knowledge when you couldn't get it from Sera. She always told you the truth....but she made this life changing decision without even asking you about it.

You sniffled, you felt a bit embarrassed for beginning to cry in front of everyone. It sent you back to your preschool years when you remembered being scolded for being a crybaby and too emotional.  But you couldn't help it now, you felt betrayed and you didn't know how else to handle this.

At the sound of your sniffling, Sera's glare softened as well as everyone's posture. Instead of being tense you could feel them begin to pity you.

Surprisingly, Adam made the first move. "Y/n babe.." he began, his voice unusually soft. "Why don't you relax and we meet up later and-" he reached out to place his hand on your shoulder, but you slapped it away.

"Don't fucking touch me." You spat, hiccuping on your words as turned and dashed down the hall. You heard shouts of your name but you didn't care. You just wanted to get away from everyone right now.

Emily reached out to stop you, but Sera held her back. "No, let him go. Maybe some time alone is what he needs to digest everything" she sighed. "I hope..."

You slammed the door open of your room, shutting it behind you as you slugged your way over to your bed before face planting against the soft silk sheets. You let out a loud sigh as you did.

Skelly, who was happily snoozing in the corner of the bed perked up. He tilted his head, before stretching his body and trotting over to you. He seemed to notice your down mood and whimpered, nuzzling into your hand as he gave you puppy eyes.

You frowned, "Not now, Skelly..." you mumbled, as you sat up from your slumped position on the bed, causing the puppy to let out another whine.

"Can you imagine? Me," You huffed, "The wife of that, boorish brainless..." You stood up from your bed, walking over to your vanity, placing the engagement ring on your finger. "Madame Adam, can't you just see it?" You continued, as you sang to Skelly, who watched you in confusion.

"Madame Adam, his little wife. Ugh!" You growled out, as you ripped off the ring and placed it on the vanity. "No, sir! Not me! I guarantee it!" You walked over to the balcony doors, pushing them open. As you made your way to the balcony you gripped the railing as you sighed, " I want much more than this provincial life!"

You hesitantly took the golden crown that laid on your head, as you glanced over it before setting it on a nearby table.  With a determined look, wings sprouted from your back as you bent your knees a bit to boost yourself off the ground.

As you soared into the sky, you glanced over the city, before making your way to the roof on the tallest tower in the palace.  " I want adventure in the great wide somewhere!" You grinned, as you felt the wind blow through your hair. "I want it more than I can tell.." you glanced at a few residents of heaven you were able to see from the height  as you held onto the golden pole that held the flag of the seraphim.

"And for once it might be grand.." your voice softened, as you did a small twirl around the pole. "To have someone understand..." you made eye contact with the bright golden gates of heaven before your eyes softened, glancing past the gates as you leaned against the pole. Your cheek resting against the cold surface, "I want so much more than they've got planned..."

Sorry for the lateish update!!! I was preoccupied with my other hazbin hotel book that was in the works!!!!

@mixplara @lukerycyja-reblogs

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[vs120shound]

Can argue that no SF model/actress for defunct Lady Madonna Productions had any of its Smoking Angels reach stardrom. Naveire here did not but should've. A "Poster Child" for Marlboro 100s!

NAVEIRE RELAXES WITH HER TRUSTY MARLBORO 100s!

Super Stardom never claimed Naviere from LMP, based in Washington state (U.S.A.). Get the feeling this Marlboro 100s Gal was never tempted to try any other brand for any reason at any time. Lady Madonna was famous for a stable of nearly exclusive smokers of Marlboro Lights 100s! Cannot say she strayed for she is a Marlboros-only kind of BHYSW (Beautiful Hot, Young Smoking Woman)! Only several hundred of them sprinkled about SF!

Say Hello to Naveire. Should have been done long ago before today's introductory video post! She's been in SF since the turn of the century!

Dual-Media 2-Post, 44-Pack Megapost!

Lady Madonna Productions, from Washington, U.S.A. (perhaps in the Greater Seattle area), had a fine little SF shop going just after the turn of the century and boasted some unique qualities in contrast with the other SF websites of the time. Most noticeable was the marching out of SF models/actresses who had a strange affinity towards one brand ⏤ and one brand only ⏤ Marlboro Lights 100s. Two models, one of whom was Naveire, preferred Marlboro 100s and there were two Camels Filters Gals and three who were Newport 100s Babes as well. More than three-quarters of the stable expressed allegiance to ML100s. Naveire, with Latina blood from at least one biological parent, collected two votes when firming up the Honorable Mention awardees for the "unofficial" official Top-25 all-time favorite SF models list released here on vs120s-1 nearly 15 months ago. Two votes didn't do it ⏤ but, although we are big fans of Naveire, that was the just result! Why? Well, for starters, this could be her debut post in our franchise in terms of a video as the media. That would have been ironic for an SF model/actress to make "The List" without any video of her posted. Did not happen. So we threw something together to get her in to our domain video-wise. The first half of our compilation video is from Instagram@instasmoketv uploaded on April 13, 2024, with the longer, tail end of our clip uploaded on April 16, 2024 by Instagram@ciggietime10. Attractive young lady, most likely in her mid-30s by now, or older, who had a fine smoking style except for her squarely established tendency to produce consistently weak and shallow exhales. . . . and . . . she is the spitting image of the young adult daughter of one of our administrators here, who is N-S but experienced a "light-bulb"/"duh" moment when she was informed that smoking hookah was actually smoking tobacco! A BHYSW who isn't!

Photographs of Naveire of Lady Madonna Productions (all from its Facebook page)!

Previous Post on Our Network of Naveire!

From vs120shound on August 28, 2022, a re-blog of lung-masturbation-2 . . .

Videoframes (Screen Captures) of Our Centerpiece Video Clips!

Compiled by vs120shound staff!

YouTube Videos of Naveire!

From YT's "Girls Smoking in Silk Satin" webpage in 2022 . . .

From YT's "Sexy Smoking Glamour" webpage in 2022 . . .

From YT's "LadyMadonnaSmoker" webpage in 2010 (full scene) . . .

From YT's "LadyMadonnaSmoker" webpage in 2009 . . .

From YT's "LadyMadonnaSmoker" webpage in 2009 . . .

From YT's "Puff Pass" webpage in 2015 . . .

From YT's "Puff Pass" webpage in 2015 . . .

[miyuhpapayuh]

1. introductions.

New York

1995

Stevie sits up in her bed and peels the covers away, getting up and walk towards her closet, searching for an outfit.

She decided on a black overall dress that stops mid-thigh and flows out, a red bodysuit and chunky black sandals.

She puts her silk cap on and heads into the bathroom. Jumping underneath the hot water, she scrubs clean with her coconut body wash and wraps her cotton towel around herself once she's done.

She rubbed the lotion into her skin and put her deodorant on. She takes her silk cap off and sits it on the sink. She brushed her teeth and washed her face.

She walks back into her room and gets dressed. She grabs her flip phone, places it in her bag and slings it over her shoulder.

She heads downstairs, finding her best friend, Tyler, sitting at the table, eating a blueberry muffin and talking on her phone.

"I mean... my last class is at two, so we can if you want." She rolls my eyes, realizing that she's talking to yet, another boy toy of hers.

"Tyler, we have to go." She says, grabbing a muffin off the glass dish and heads towards the door. She grabs her keys off the hook and looks back at her.

Tyler sighs and rises up from her seat, pulling her bag on her shoulder. She rolls her eyes at her and continues talking to whatever his name is. She grabs her umbrella and shields them from the light rain.

They head out and hop into Stevie's Audi Sedan. She starts the car up and pull out the driveway and head towards the University.

"Alright, heffa." She hangs up and places her phone in her jacket pocket, staring at her friend. "How many classes do you have today?"

"Three. I have calculus, bio and my favorite, creative writing."

"I love your poetry, just as much as I love you, Stevie." She twisted her lips up at her and continued driving.

"I also, have three classes. Except, I have civics and english II and algebra II."

"I hate that you're a year older than me, Ty. We barely even see each other in this bitch." She parks in the designated zone and turns the car off. She pulls her key out of the ignition and they step out of the car.

"This is true. I'm sorry, babe." She sighs and they make their way inside, soon parting ways.

Tyler and Stevie have been inseparable since high school. She was the only girl that wasn't on some phony shit with her. The rest of them bitches were childish as hell.

She walks into her calculus class and sits in the front row, right next to the window. She's always the first person to get here, so she pulls her notebook and pencil out, and slings her bag over the back of her chair.

Soon, people start filing in. The way everybody's dressed catches her eye.

The girls always wear their afro puffs, braid it up or straighten their hair down their back. Their big hoops or diamond studs shine, along with their gold chains. Their clothes either match from head to toe or they wear those color block dresses that she wishes she owned. Baggy jeans, sweatshirts and sneakers are my favorite look on a girl.

The guys always look good, no matter what they wear. Whether it's a sweatsuit and some Jordans, jeans and a collar shirt or even when they dress it up a little, with their blue jean or leather jackets. Their waves be on point and their dreads do too.

She sighs and watches as their teacher, Mr. Evans, walks into the class and sits his folder down on the podium. He's one of the driest teachers ever.

༺═───────────────────────────────────────═༻

Finally done with her classes and up to her neck in assignments, she heads to the cafe to find Tyler.

She bumps into a couple girls on the way there, and of course they glare at her evilly. Rolling her eyes, she continues towards her destination.

She gets through the double doors and a tall figure almost wipes her out.

“Oh shit," his hands grab hers, before she hits the floor. "My bad, lil mama."

She looks up and all she sees is lips. Luscious ones.

Her eyes travel up to his. They're brown like hers. His skin is a rich cocoa. She pulls away from his grasp and regains her footing.

"I-it's fine." She smooths the bottom of her dress out and pulls her bag up on her shoulder. His eyes linger on her face.

"Nah, you 'bout became one with the floor. I should've looked down."

She smacks her lips, laughing a little. "I'm not that short!"

He cracks a smile, showing off a set of pearly whites. She's a sucker for pretty teeth and brown skin, yes ma'am.

"You're pretty small, compared to me." He says, chewing on his bottom lip.

She rolls her eyes, beginning to move around him.

"Hey," his hand latches onto her wrist, "is it cool if I get your number?"

She smirks, reaching inside her bag for a pen and reaching out for his hand. He places his hand in hers, palm facing up.

She writes her number on his wrist, looks up at him and winks.

She places her pen back in her bag and heads over to Tyler.

She sits down across from her and Tyler stares at her with a smile on her face.

"So, who was tall, dark and handsome?" She scoffs and sits her bag on the seat beside her.

"A total stranger. Why?"

"Okay, first of all, don't lie to me. You stood over there entirely too long, for him to still be a stranger to you. Second, you gave him your number."

"How did you—"

"Girl, who am I?"

"Alright, Tyler. Are you ready to go?"

"Hell no! I really wish we didn't have to work in that stupid ass place."

Stevie and Tyler have been working at Joes for about a year and a half now. It has its perks. They both get paid a little extra cause the manager loves them, but every job comes with those trying customers and employees.

She's almost lost her job once, and well, Tyler has had her fair share of strikes against her. Stevie always comes to her defense and saves her.

Sometimes, she feels like she's older than her.

"Get up, girl! We have to be there at three." She stands up and pulls her up, as well. She dragged her through the double doors and back towards the car.

"You're such a mom. Joe isn't gonna fire us, so you can definitely calm down." She unlocks the car and tosses her bag into the backseat.

"Tyler, that man is like a second grandpa to me. I don't ever wanna disappoint him, and you shouldn't either." She slides into her seat and Tyler does the same.

"I don't wanna disappoint the man, either. I just need you to loosen up."

༺═───────────────────────────────────────═༻

Clocking in and putting her apron on, she helps Tyler tie the back of hers and she does the same for her.

Her phone rings in her pocket.

She pulls it out and answers it. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's Rod."

"Rod?" She questions.

"Yeah, the rude muhfucka that bumped into you, earlier today."

She laughs and leans on the counter.

"Ah, I would've never pictured that being your name."

"What name did you picture, love?"

"Hm... maybe Jordan or something." He chuckles.

"That seems fitting, but nah. What's yours, though?”

"It's Stevie."

"Really?"

"Yeah. What? Is that not fitting?"

"I pictured you being an Angie or even a Selena."

She laughs and peeks my head out, looking to see if the coast is still clear.

"Those are cute but, I like my name better."

"Me too. So, what're you up to?"

"I'm actually about to start my shift for the day. What about you?"

"I don't go into work until five, so I'm just relaxing. Where do you work?"

"A coffee shop."

"What's it called?"

"Why, so you can stalk me?" She asks.

He laughs, again.

"Nah, baby. I'm not a stalker."

"And I'm not your baby." The line goes silent, and her patience starts wearing thin.

"I ain't mean it like that."

"It's alright. I have to go, anyway. Can we continue this later?"

"Yeah, definitely. Have a good day at work."

"Thanks, you too." she hang up and places her phone in her locker, heading towards the front.

She'd only been here for two hours and is beyond ready to go home.

The customers have been trying it since she emerged from the back, and if John accidentally brushes up against her one more time.

"Excuse me!" A white woman, a little bit shorter than her, snaps her fingers in her face, even though she's staring right at her.

"Ma'am. There's no reason why your hand should be this close to my face." She says, pushes her tiny wrist back, causing her face to flush red.

She has to purse her lips together to hide her amusement.

"Where's your manager?" She screeches.

She looks behind her and sees the man, himself. He makes eye contact with her and waltzes over.

"You've been requested, dear." She sarcastically spits.

They switch places and she starts going off about her, like the customers usually do. 

With the women, it's the usual she's not friendly enough or she can definitely be faster, when she's literally the fastest server in this fucking place.

Of course, the men don't like her because she don't flirt back or smile at them too much.

Men are entitled creatures and that makes her skin crawl.

"Ma'am.... is there a real reason why you're complaining? Stevie is always on her job and if she wasn't, I assure you that she wouldn't be here. If you would like to get served by someone else, we can arrange that. You can also call the 1-800 number at the bottom of your receipt and take it up with corporate, too, if you'd like."

Her pink face goes back to its original color, at the mention of corporate. White people love corporate.

He fixes her coffee, hands her change and receipt and sends her on her way.

He looks back at Stevie with a frown on his face.

"Stevie... you've got to be more careful with our fair crowd."

She instantly catches onto what he means by fair, almost choking on her spit, trying not to laugh again.

"In all honesty, Mr. Joe, fuck them. I don't know why they think that they can just waltz in here and demand anything from me. Do I look like the type of girl to be talked to that way?" He shakes his head, also rubbing his temples.

"Look, between John and these damn customers...." he sighs heavily, "I just want everybody to go away, but I have a business to run. And if John does something else, I'm beating his ass myself."

The sincerity in his eyes makes her heart thud in her chest.

"You know, you're like a grandchild to me. I protect mine, okay? I got you. Take five, if you need it." He pinches my cheek.

She smiles and pinches his back. He grins and turns on his heels, walking back to his office.

She leans on the counter, closest to the wall, watching Tyler take orders and get heckled by customers. She sighs and hops up on it and starts peeling the dark red polish off her nails; a habit of hers, when she gets agitated.

"Tough day?" The sleaze ball himself, comes up beside her and leans on the counter.

She scoots over, folds her hands in her lap and stares straight ahead.

"Aw come on, Stevie Wonder, I ain't come over here to mess with you. I just wanna—"

"Stop calling me that, first of all. Second, don't feed me no bullshit apology about how you just playin with me or whatever else is about to come out of your mouth. Go away." He moves in closer, opening his mouth to retaliate.

"Go away, before I make a scene in front of these customers. I'm not playin' with you." She says through clenched teeth.

He snarls his lip up at her and backs away, heading to the back.

"You want me to gut him like a fish?" Tyler walks over and flashes that menacing grin that makes Stevie's skin crawl.

"Nah, I think Joe's got that covered. I just don't know why that boy likes messing with me!" She rolls her eyes and hops down, walking back to her register.

The clock ahead of her reads seven thirty-two. Their rush usually ends around this time. She takes advantage of the quiet time to tidy up her area and pull her notebook out.

"Simply because boys are gross. They'll cross through however many girls it takes to find one that lets them have their way." Tyler says, wiping the back counter down.

"Well, only you would know that, Ty. I've never even had a boyfriend. And, if they act anything like John, I'll stay single forever."

"You don't have to have a boyfriend to understand that. It's common sense. I'm sure there are good men out there, but I ain't found none. That doesn't mean that you won't, though."

She sighs and thinks back to Rod.

Should she even give him a chance?

"Get out your head, chile. Didn't you talk to that tall, fine boy today?"

"Earlier, yeah. We had a typical conversation."

"Bad typical or just typical?"  She grabs a pen and stares at the prompt for her creative writing assignment.

What trials and tribulations have you gone through, so far in your life? What accomplishments have you made? Is there anything you regret at this point in time?

"Just typical. He called me baby girl and I snapped, per usual. I don't like pet names and shit, especially if I told you what my name is. It not baby, boo, ma—none of that bullshit." She puts her pen to the paper and lets the words flow like water.

"Ugh, one day, your walls are gonna crumble around you. What did he say?"

"He apologized and I said we could continue the conversation later. And, no they aren't cause they're gross right?" She mocks. Tyler rolls her eyes and leans her head on Stevie's shoulder, watching her pen move across the paper.

"I'm gonna grab my stuff from the locker, you want me to get yours too?" She looks back at the clock, again. It reads eight twenty-five.

"Yeah, that's fine. Thanks."

She nods and heads toward the back. Stevie continues writing her paper and casually looks towards the door and the few occupants still in the shop.

༺═───────────────────────────────────────═༻

She finally slides into her bed, with her journal and pen in hand.

She always writes a lil sumn sumn before I go to bed.

Men have this sense of authority to them.

Do as I say, and you'll be alright,

Or suffer the consequences.

If you don't smile, you're labeled as bitter.

If you smile too much,

you're labeled as wanting to be seen.

Don't talk back, cause he ain't ask for that.

Even though he asked for it.

with those slick comments he made.

It's wild, how all your buttons are pushed, and you snap,

And suddenly, they're the victim.

You're crazy and you shouldn't act like that,

Cause, men don't like that.

Fuck them and their opinions.

Entitlement and a mans' ego is a very lethal combination.

She clips her pen on the page, closes it and sits it on her nightstand.

"Welp, until tomorrow." She turns her lamp off and turns over, falling into the deepest slumber.

༺═───────────────────────────────────────═༻

The next day

She sighs and stirs around underneath her cover, growing irritated.

It's Saturday, which means that Tyler's parents, along with her own, are coming to see them and take them out for lunch.

Usually, it would be a breeze, but as of late, Stevie's mom has become very anal about her lack of experience in the dating department and is continuously trying to set her up with idiots from her dads' job.

Tyler's parents are very strict, overly proper people.

They try to dictate her life for her. Stevie's surprised that they even let her move in with her, in New York of all places. She was so sure they'd have a joint heart attack.

"Stevie! Are you awake?" She asks, coming into the room. 

She places her pillow over her head and slides down in her bed. 

She hears footsteps. Then, the pillow is ripped out of her hands. She opens her eyes and stares at Tyler's goofy facial expression.

"I am, now. What do you want?"

"Come on, they'll be at the restaurant at one thirty." She huffs and sits up, looking towards the window.

It's not raining today, but it's still pretty chilly outside.

"Fine. Are you gonna take your shower first?" She nods, tossing the pillow back on the bed.

"Yep. I just came to wake you up." She disappears down the hallway, and Stevie finally stands up and walks over to her closet.

She pulls out her oversized white button down, green fitted slacks and her black ankle boots.

She lays her outfit out and goes into her dresser drawer, pulling her beige bralette and panty set out. 

She sits back on the bed and turns the tv on. Pretty Woman is playing again.

Her phone starts ringing.

"Hello."

"Good morning to you, too." It's Rod.

"Good morning. Is there something you needed, dear?" A chuckle sounds on his end. She blinks.

"Well, I was just hittin' you back from last night. If it's too early…” he trails off.

"I was already up, you're good. Wassup?"

"I feel like we might've gotten off on the wrong foot, yesterday. I wanted to apologize for that." She smirks.

"I appreciate that."

"Alright, cool. So, can I ask you a question?"

"You can."

"Would it be okay if I took you out on a date?"

"It might. What did you have in mind?"

"See, I wasn't expecting to get past the asking part." He starts laughing, again. "I'll think of something real nice and let you know."

"See, this is why women will always be the superior gender. We stay quick on our feet. Y'all should take notes."

"Is that so?"

"Rightfully."

"Aight, so you always have date plans lined up and ready to go?"

"Well, maybe not date plans, but yes. I always have something in mind."

"If it was flipped, where'd you take me?" He asks. She starts laughing.

"I'm not giving you any hints! You tried it."

He kisses his teeth.

She hates that noise.

"I guess I gotta think of something grand, then."

"Don't hurt yourself. I'm a woman of simple pleasures."

"Is that right?" He asks.

She hears the smugness all in his voice. It sends a chill through her.

"Damn right." She looks up and sees Tyler pointing to her bare wrist, mouthing the words get your ass up. She rolls her eyes and wave her off.

"...maybe, next weekend?"

"Say that first part, again for me. My friend was distracting me."

"I was thinking, we could go out next weekend. Is that cool or are you busy?"

"Yeah, that sounds good. I'm always free on the weekends."

"Alright, I'll let you go. Have a good day, Stevie."

"You too, Rod." She hung up and stood up from the bed, making her way towards the bathroom.

"Mhm, what a lengthy conversation..." Tyler follows Stevie in, staring at her. She sighs and pulls her T-shirt over her head.

"And, what about it?"

"Ew, who stuck their dick up your asshole?" She laughs and smacks her arm. Stevie gives her a stale face.

"Shut up!"

"What's new, girl??"

"He asked me out on a date, and I said yes." Her eyes widen.

"What? Aw, that's really cute!" Stevie turns the shower on and nods, smiling to herself.

"It kinda is, honestly. I've never been on one so, I don't know what to expect."

"Don't expect anything, but a good time. You'll worry yourself, expecting anything else."

She nods and pulls the rest of her clothes off, dropping them into the hamper and hopping into the shower, this time wetting her hair.

She quickly scrubbed her body clean and hops out, since she only has like fifteen minutes left.

She dries off and lathers her body in lotion and puts her deodorant on. She puts her clothes on and fixes her shirt in the mirror.

She grabs her bag and places her phone and lip gloss inside, heading downstairs where Tyler is waiting.

"Well, don't you look cute!"

She stands up and spins around, showing off her fit. Stevie laughed and grabbed her keys off the table.

"Thank you, chica. You look cute, too. Fix this, though." She tightens the knot in her shirt.

"Alright, you ready?"

"Yeah, where are they?"

"Le Bernardin."

Stevie rolls her eyes.

See, her parents—well, both of their parents are very upscale, panties-in-a-bunch type of people. 

"Why don't they take us to a regular restaurant? They have to be extra, every time they come up here?" She laughs and they head out the door.

Twenty minutes later.

"Oh, Stevie! Look at how beautiful you are!" Her mom smothers her face in kisses. Her dad, on the other hand, pulls her into a rough hug and sits down. He's never been one to show a lot of affection, if any at all.

"Ma, you just saw me last month." She wipes her ruby red lipstick off her face with one of the crisp white napkins sitting on the table.

"I know, but you just keep growing up before my eyes!"  She coos, making Stevie sigh and take a seat next to Tyler.

"Tyler, you look gorgeous, as always." Her mom compliments and Tyler's mom nods, swiping her hair behind her ear. Tyler untucks it, letting it flow over her shoulder.

"Why won't you keep it the way I had it? It looks better."

"Because I like this way! Stop." Tyler places her moms' hand on the table and looks over at her dad. He sends her a small smile and clears his throat.

"How are you, lin?" She sucks her teeth.

"I would love for you to stop calling me that, and I'm fine."

"I can't call you a name that I gave you. Why don't you like it?"

"Because it's not my name. We have this conversation a lot. You can literally call me anything else." He sighs and picks his menu up.

"Alright, whatever you want, Tyler."

"Honey, I found another guy for you." It was Stevie's turn to roll her eyes.

Here she goes.

"Ma—"

"He's twenty-one, a scholar and such a gentleman. Right, Gene?" He nods and looks at her over his glasses.

"He'd be good for you, sweetheart."

"No thanks, I'm good." Her mom lets out a dramatic sigh.

"No, you aren't, Stevie. How long are you gonna keep this up?"

"Wha- keep what up? Turning down these tightwads at my fathers' law firm? Forever. How many times are y'all gonna keep pressuring me to date? Leave it alone."

"I am your mother. Did you forget that?" She firms, and Stevie feels the headache coming on.

"Of course, not."

"Then, why won't you let me set you up?"

"Cause, I don't need your help. I don't need anybody's help."

"Obviously, you do. You've never been on a date." 

She cocks her head back at her mother's statement.

"Have you ever thought about why? Oh, never mind, I'm sure you have a list of your own reasons."

"You're a very beautiful girl, I don't know what your problem is."

"My problem." She looks over at Tyler, who's got her own issues going on, before looking back to her mother.

“My problem is you. It's actually, the both of you. Stop trying to make it seem like dating is more important than anything else. Let me figure this stuff out on my own."

"Now, why would we do that?" They question. She smacks her forehead.

"Did you not just hear me? I'm twenty years old. I've been living without y'all for the last two years and you still find a way to instill these ridiculous things into my head. I'm so tired of it. Let me be an adult without you smothering me."

"That's what you want?" Her father asks.

"That's what I've been telling y'all."

"Fine. We'll stay out your business."

"Thank you."

"And everything else." She raises her eyebrows.

"What?"

"We'll stay out of your life. Since, you're ungrateful for us and we're smothering you, we're done being your parents. Starting right now, we'll stay in California and no longer visit you, pay for your phone bill or anything else. Fend for yourself, since you're such an adult!" He slams his fist on the table and gets up, walking away from them altogether.

"For his information, I've been paying my own phone bill and I buy my own clothes, with my job. Y'all haven't done anything for me, since I graduated, but try and throw me onto some random man that I don't even know. Just because your parents did that to you, doesn't mean you do that to me. I see where it gets you." Stevie defends.

"That is your father, whether you respect his views or not." She cries, while Stevie grabs her purse and stands up.

"Yeah, and I'm your daughter. But I see that means nothing to you." She says before walking out of the restaurant and back to her car. She gets in and locks herself inside.

Knocks sound on the passenger window. She unlocks it and Tyler gets in. She cuts the car on and pulls out of the parking lot.

"Stev, I'm really sorry." Tyler says.

"What are you sorry for? You didn't do anything." She says back.

"Well, cause I didn't know what to say to defend you and I felt bad. I don't want you to think that I don't have your back."

"Nah, I wouldn't ever think that. I understand how awkward that was. It's fine."

"But it's not. I can't believe they went off on you, like that."

"Well, they aren't my parents anymore, so I guess it's not my problem." She shrugs and turns the heat on.

"Stevie,"

"Just drop it, okay? I don't wanna talk about it." She sighs.

"Yeah, it's been a long day."

༺═───────────────────────────────────────═༻

She decided to meet up with Rod a little earlier than their original date.

She just needed to get away from the house and her problems for a few hours. So, he'd picked her up and taken her to McDonald's, per her request.

"You wanna talk about it?" He asks.

She dips her fry into her ketchup and shakes her head.

"It's honestly too much to explain. Plus, this is our first hangout, and I don't wanna scare you off with my problems. I'd rather ease you in."

He laughs. "Alright, I'll take your word. I'm just glad you're good, even if it's just for right now."

"Thank you. How's the paper coming along?"

"I fucking hate that class, first of all."

"Why?"

"Teacher's a total asshole, and she made me rewrite half of my paper. She claimed that I didn't meet my full potential, even though that was the greatest paper I've ever written." She laughs, watching his brown skin turn red in irritation.

"I bet it was. Don't let these bogus ass teachers get to you, though. They think that because they have a PhD, they can say and do whatever." She sips on her soda.

"Yeah, you're right."

"I know." She flips her hair over her shoulder. He chuckles, shaking his head.

He starts talking again, but her eyes are stuck on his lips.

She's not sure if it's because she hasn't kissed anyone since she was in middle school or because they just look so soft.

Maybe both.

"...like that, ya know?"

She snaps out of her trance and looks up at his eyes.

"Ima be honest with you. I didn't hear a word you said." She lets out a nervous laugh and he smirks.

"Distracted?"

"Maybe, a little bit."

He leans in closer, giving her a better look at his fine ass. 

"So, Ms. Stevie. Are we still on for next Saturday?"

"We are, dear. I'm so proud of you, for coming up with an idea." He rolls his eyes at her.

"Don't try me, girl." She giggles and pulls her hood on, growing cold.

"I guess we should head out. I'm incredibly exhausted and you look tired as well." As if on cue, he yawns.

"You right. Ten-hour shifts will do that to you." 

They stand up from their chairs and throw their trash away. 

Stevie tucks her keys into her pocket, and they head towards the door.

"Thanks for hanging out with me, tonight."

"It was my pleasure. I had fun with you." He smiles and holds the door open for her.

@soufcakmistress @504queen @ghostfacekill-monger @hearteyes-for-killmonger @uzumaki-rebellion @l-auteuse @blowmymbackout @supersizemeplz @chaneajoyyy @captainsaveasmut @cocoa-puffs @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @daddy-killmonger @twistedcharismaaa @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @headcannonxgalore @quietstorm-thundathighs @sheabuttahwrites @thegifstories @blackerthings @becauseimswagman1 @cecereads209 @nayaxwrites @xsweetdellzx @blackburnbook @darqchilddaydreamz @killmongerdispussy @brattyfics @trippyscotch @emjayewrites @unfriendlyblkhotti3 @blackpinup22 

[ladylooch]

Imagine Lex deepthroating nico or Emma deepthroating timo

Yeah… Let’s visit Timo and Emma for this one 😈

Happy smutty Sunday.

After the event, Timo pulls the car into the driveway, thrusting it into park and turning to me.

“I’ll go get Lee. Go get ready for bed.” Lio is currently with my parents.

I can’t help but chuckle as I unbuckle my seatbelt.

“Babe, turn the car off and come inside.” 

Timo hesitates, only because I definitely dozed off in the car for a moment mid-sentence. Slowly, maintaining eye contact with him, I pop open another button on my blouse, exposing my black, lace bra. The car turns off.

We meet at the hood of the car. Timo pulls me in with a hand on my waist. He lets me walk into the house first. We enter into the kitchen where I turn, shoving him aggressively against the wall. I hold him there with one palm flat against his chest. He startles, eyes wide, then a daring smirk pulls his lips apart. His low chuckle is dangerous. He spreads his arms open wide, indicating he’s mine to take.

“Good boy.” I muse, bringing my other hand up to his chest.

My fingers claw down his body, rippling the smooth fabric of his expensive suit. I go down to one knee, then the other. My fingers grip his belt, smoothing over the brown leather. I pop the clasp open, dragging the end through until it widens, swinging near my face. Slowly, I pull his shirt out of the waistband of his pants, pushing it up to expose a slice of his abdomen. My lips curl along the rectangular ab, then my tongue comes out, tracing it all over again. His hand comes to the back of my head, pressing my nose deep into his skin. I pull back, tsking.

“Did I say you could touch me?” I ask. His blue eyes melt further at my bossiness. 

“Should bend you over my knee for that.” He mumbles while releasing my head. His hand falls back to his thigh, but this gaze gets deeper, darker. Pleasure sweeps down my body, tightening my nipples and making a pool against the fabric of my panties. 

“You want me to be good?” I trail my eyes down to the large tent of his pants. “Or bad?” I counter, reaching out for the button of his pants and popping it open.

This battle of control continues as Timo puffs his chest out, sucking his cheeks in. All night, I denied him. Said no countless times, teased him by brushing my fingers along his arm, or tossing winks to him when our eyes met. And now, for him to get what he wants, he has to relinquish full control. It’s not an easy ask. The decision seems hard, so I help, gently easing his zipper down. His hard cock is directly in front of my plumped lips, clothed in his underwear that is damp above his slit. I bring my tongue out adding to the wetness as Timo sways. His eyes close, he moans, and his hand reaches out for my head again. I slap my palm into his, holding it against the wall behind him.

“I’m gonna need an answer, Timo.” His nostrils flare at his full name from my mouth, but his head remains tilted back. He reaches down for the waistband of his underwear, letting his cock jut out against my mouth. The wide band catches on the underside of his thick shaft. I drag the black underwear further down his thighs then sigh in pleasure at the full sight of him.

“Good choice.” I smirk, then grip him hard, tonging at the aroused, red skin. I take him halfway into my mouth. Timo’s finger nails scrape the paint on the wall by his hips. A choked breath spills from his lips as I swirl my tongue against his length. I test myself, pulling him to go deeper and deeper into my wet mouth. His lips whispers encouragement to me while I do.

“Yes. More baby, please.”

“Right there. Yeah.”

“Uhhh.”

His constant words of affirmation are exactly what I want to hear. I am achingly wet, pulsing around nothing. I look up at Timo, savoring the way his fingers grip at his shirt now with each bob of my mouth on him. I inhale steady breaths through my nose then force him down my throat, past my gag reflex. I breathe through it as Timo shudders. I bob up and down, up and down, up and down as I hear him grind his teeth then release a deep, groan.

“Holy fuck.”

We repeat this twice more. Then I pull him back to a better depth so I can catch my breath. When I’ve recovered, and blink out the tears forming in my eyes, I take him deep into my throat again. 

“I’m gonna come.” He yelps. “Baby, oh my god. Don’t stop.” I close my eyes, savoring the desperate tone of my husband’s begging.

A guttural moan shutters his chest as his cum slides down my throat. He leans over me, hands hovering around either side of my head, avoiding the touching he got scolded for earlier. I take every dribble of him down my throat, then enjoy the wet suction of him leaving my mouth. His spent cock bops in front of me. I lick a bead of salty spittle off my lip. Then I press a tender kiss to his tip, watching as he presses his bare ass back into the wall because of the overstimulation.

“Fuck.” He puffs out. I get off my knees with a shaky, helping hand from Timo. 

“You can touch me now.” I murmur, craving the feel of him holding me. He buries his face into my neck, sighing contently. His large hands consume my back, fingers curling into me.

“My ears are ringing.” He grunts. I chuckle, turning to kiss his cheek. He lifts his head, connecting our lips. I reach down, gripping his softening form in my hand as our tongues collide. “I’m going to go get our son.” He says, taking himself out of my grasp. He tucks himself back into his underwear, re-doing everything I undid. “Then I’m going to take care of you.” He strokes my cheek. I grit my teeth against the yawn expanding my throat.

“Mhm.”

“Go sleep while you can, babe.” He chuckles. “When I get back, it’s my turn.” He releases me moving towards the door. “And don’t think I won’t wake you up with my cock.” My mouth drops open as he exits the house. A shiver of pleasure tumbles down my body as I turn to head upstairs.

I’m definitely not falling asleep after that. But, fuck it, I might just pretend and see what happens. 

[daydreamingleclerc]

what about jealous Mick, or for a soft meeting the family fic x

gna do the jealous one bc there’s really not enough suggestive mick content on tumblr dot com i really feel like @whorekneecentral and i fly the flag currently

warning: smut

*

“Y/N? where are you?”

“at thirst, can you come and get me and sarah?”

the bass of the heavy music almost busted the sound on your phone as you called mick in the bathroom of the club. mick shifted on the other end of the line, and you realised quickly that he must’ve been in bed.

“if you’re in bed then-”

“don’t be silly, Y/N, of course i’ll come and get you,” he said, “i’ll be fifteen minutes, make sure you’re waiting outside okay?”

“love you.”

“love you too, sweetheart.”

you were excited to have gone out with a few of your friends, but it didn’t go as expected. fiona had ended up going home with a mystery man only an hour into the night, jasmine’s boyfriend scott had gotten far too drunk and it resulted in him getting booted from the club, and taylor’s purse had got stolen by someone who the bouncers managed to catch, and she was now giving a statement to the police alongside zara behind the bar.

all in all, it was a pretty shit night. sarah was on the verge of passing out thanks to a significant amount of jagerbombs, and her friend benjamin, who you’d met several times and hooked up with once long before mick was in your life, wouldn’t leave you alone all night.

mick pulled up outside the club and he watched you with eagle eyes as you laughed at one of ben’s jokes while sarah’s long term hook-up, sam, slid her into the backseat of mick’s car.

“Y/N? babe, come on, we really need to get going,” mick wound down the passenger seat window and you turned to face him mid-way through your innocent conversation with benjamin.

mick’s jaw tightened as he saw benjamin’s arm hook around your waist, and when you gave him - and sam - a quick, completely platonic peck on the cheek, he squeezed the steering wheel that little bit harder.

scrambling into the passenger seat, you’d barely shut the door before mick sped off in the direction of sarah’s apartment, which wasn’t too far from yours.

“are you okay?” you would ask him, but he wouldn’t respond, eyes on the road as his jaw clenched. you knew almost instantly that it was because of benjamin. “look, if this is about what i think this is about then-”

“-lets just wait ‘til i’ve dropped sarah off, baby.”

mick’s emphasis on the word baby implied that he was trying. to get through to you that you were his and his only, but you couldn’t help but have a little more fun with it.

after a few more minutes, sarah’s flatmate was at the front door to greet you and helped her wobbly legs up the stairs and out of your hair. you blew a harsh, hot puff of air from your mouth.

“how’s benji?” mick’s voice was almost like venom when he mimicked the name you called benjamin by. “does he still wanna get back into your pants?”

“probably,” you admitted, “didnt ask, but his bodies reaction to the kiss i left on his cheek told me the answer was almost definitely a yes.”

that’s when mick pulled over on the motorway. it was one thirty in the morning, and it was rare that a lot of people came down this motorway to get back from the city centre on a night out. you poked your tongue into your cheek, knowing full well you had got what you wanted.

you climbed out of the passenger seat and met mick at the front of the car, when almost immediately he had you pressed against the bonnet with your legs spread wide open. your hands splayed across the top of it and your cheek was cool on the metal.

“you’re mine,” he would say, leaving a harsh sting of lovebites down your neck, “havent i made that clear?”

you heard the elastic of his boxers pop back and before you could say anything, he’d pushed your dress up to your hips and his dick was already pressing inside of you.

he would leave you no time to adjust, one hand would wrap around your ponytail and he would pull you up, so now only your hands were braced against the bonnet, and your back was pressed flush against his abdomen.

his hand moved to your neck, and with each, harsh thrust you made a strained noise that made him grunt.

“how many times do i have to punish you for being a brat when you come home? hm?”

his thumb and forefinger squeezed at your chin, pressing your lips together so that you couldn’t even speak. “you’re so fucking wet,” one of his hands spanked your arse and you jolted, “all for me, isn’t it baby?”

you didn’t answer.

mick was riled up even more by that, and he pushed you back down to the bonnet and his thrusts became deeper, more intense and sloppier as you clenched around him with every thrust.

“i’m gonna ask you again,” he warned, “you’re so wet, aren’t you, sweetheart? and it’s all for me, isn’t it?”

“y-yes sir.”

“good girl.”

mick fucked you for a while longer until you hit your orgasm, and the feeling of you squirting your juices around him left him cumming inside of you, both of you panting as you desperately tried to get your voices back.

your hand rested on his thigh as he started up the engine again, and you smiled at one another.

“he means nothing to me, you know that, don’t you?”

“of course i do,” mick nodded, shooting you a soft, toothy grin as he excited the motorway. “i love you, sweetheart.”

“i love you and only you, mick.”

[24kaicy]

Redacted hair type and hairstyle headcannons

David

He wears his hair in low ponytail with headband under his bangs. Natural hair is 4a.

Asher

Short hair that wavy reaches his ears. His hair is 2a.

Milo

Mid back hair that either in cornrows or afro puff. His hair is 4c.

Sam

His hair is mid back Bahamian locs. His hair type is 4c.

Angel

Their hair is silk press to hime cut with undercut. They have 4c hair.

Babe

Has short wolfcut they maintain. They are growing it out. Their hair type is 3c.

Sweetheart.

They have wavy hair that they style different every day. Their hair type is 2c.

Darlin

Thier hair is in tomboy side tails with undercut. They have underlights. The have 4b hair they treat regularly.

I will do others later.

Pictures are for reference.

[softsnzstuff]

We are most likely all aware that Eddie would be a wonderful boyfriend to Steve. What if Steve were to admit to him how much he liked sneezing? Eddie giggles at first but he is really accepting. What shocks Steve the most is that Eddie does a little digging around his trailer, only to return with a pepper shaker and the fluffiest feather he could find. Eddie tells Steve he wants to let him see himself sneezing for the first time. Steve is shocked but beyond excited. Eddie would usually stifle his sneezes in front of someone. But when he hears that the person he loves most is interested in sneezing, no. He wants to make these the best sneezes yet. And he does just that. After instantly using what he needs to give himself that same old tickle in his nose, he lets out the most desperate, wettest, loud, spraying sneezes even he himself has heard. Steve is of course not regretting telling Eddie this news and enjoying every second of it. But even Eddie jumps back a little as he had no idea that he had the ability to sneeze like a total father figure. Afterwords, the two cuddle in bed as Steve spends his time looking at Eddie’s red nose, never forgetting this moment. I would absolutely love to see you write this! The content you have been posting is incredible :))

The latest of late replies, Anon, but here ya go! -KB

***

Steve and Eddie had been dating for a few months now. The younger of them was helping Eddie clean up the trailer a bit while Wayne was out of town that weekend.

Steve had a spray bottle and paper towel, while Eddie was looking around for their duster.

“There’s the stupid thing!” Eddie exclaimed, seeing it was on the top shelf above their laundry machine. With one hand firmly planted on the top of the washer, he jumped reaching up for the old school feather duster Wayne insisted on keeping.

Despite being pretty tall, his fingers only managed to knock the handle, causing the whole thing to fall down. He caught it mid-air right above his face, a small puff of dust dispersing around him.

“NxxT! Snff NXXXT!”

Eddie stifled against his ringed knuckles and turned towards Steve.

“Found it! It was- are you okay Harrington? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Eddie said the last sentence in a playful woman’s voice.

Steve blinked a couple of times. “I umm - that was cute.”

Eddie raised an inquisitive eyebrow, “My old lady impression is cute?”

“No, not that… the uh. Your sneeze. I liked it umm a lot.”

Eddie crossed his arms and leaned in towards Steve, a mischievous grin plastered on his face. “You like that hmm?” He held up a finger, “be right back.”

The older man walked towards the trailer bathroom and emerged with a small spray bottle.

“What is that?” Steve asked.

“Wayne’s fancy cologne. He had to stop wearing it because I’m like super allergic. Makes me sneeze like crazy. C’mere.”

Steve took a step closer to his boyfriend, who held the bottle at arms length and gave Steve’s collar bone a little spritz before setting the bottle back on the counter.

“Doesn’t take a whole lot…” Eddie pressed his body against Steve’s and kissed his cheek and then his neck, inhaling the cologne all the while. Eddie’s breath hitched almost instantly.

“AHTsssiEW! HNGkchEW! Hehh - ITSSIEW!” He braced himself by holding onto Steve’s shoulder with his left hand and sneezed down towards his chest, a cloud of spray hanging in the air between them just for a second. Eddie looked up just to make sure Steve was into it.

“B- bless you.” Steve was bright red.

“Thahhhhnks, hold on I’m gonna- HEH’TSCHEW!”

Steve was supporting Eddie as he quickly lost control. “NGT’schEW! Fuck… HKT’CHEW!”

Eddie coughed lightly and tried to sniffle back his now runny nose. “Can we sit down? Feel kinda light headed…”

“Yeah babe.” Steve held Eddie’s hand and guided him to the couch. Steve sat down first with Eddie laying on top of him, his back resting on Steve’s chest.

Steve grabbed some tissues from the box next to him and held them while Eddie’s breath hitched for the third time.

“HMMPtschhh!”

Eddie was only slightly mortified. He didn’t mean for his little game to turn into him sneezing all over his boyfriend.

“Sorry Steve, I can take those.” He tried to grab for the tissues Steve was holding.

“It’s okay Eds, I like it remember?”

Eddie nodded, eyes fluttering shut as Steve held up the tissues once again for his boyfriend. This went on for another ten minutes or so, until Eddie was exhausted and lay against Steve.

The long haired man turned his head to look up at Steve. “Think I’m done now.”

Steve smiled, chuckling a little bit. “Your nose is all red. It’s cute.” He reached out and playfully booped Eddie’s nose causing it to twitch.

“NGT’chEW! Stop it!!” Eddie whined jokingly.

Steve wrapped his arms tighter around Eddie and closed his eyes, wondering how he got so lucky.

[secretivemessenger]

Yes I did 😭😭

Good that I screenshotted it 💀

I'm not sending you the 300+ ideas, for your own sanity babe 😰

BUT

I can give you this silly imagine that I had one day.

Heizou and reader going on a date... but reader is a bit of a risky game, deciding to wear tights and a mid length skirt to the occasion. Only that they aren't wearing any underwear though. It excites them to walk around like that, not to mention the face they anticipate Heizou would make if he noticed. Would he drag them into a random alley and fuck them senseless, make them keep all his cum inside their precious, fucked out, puff hole and praise them for being so good, pretty and pliant for him? Oh yeah, btw reader is amab and either nb or male 😌✨

~Kouha

Ofcc it’s about heizou 🙄

But like- you gotta write that 😍 no motivation? I will give you some of mine (it’s nonexistent but oh well)

[petite-girl1-blog]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: NWT Strike A Pose Lace Mini Dress Size L.

[commanderquinn]

Good Space Chapter 5: Stuck In The Middle With You

! i dont! keep these posts! updated! like i do! ao3!

that means you're going to find typos and shit (and possibly minor detail changes) that don't match the ao3 version! that's because im not going to bother fixing the tumblr posts until i finish good space as a whole. im only uploading them here as a backup tbh

—

master list / ao3 chapter link

—

consistent formatting? nah. in this house we believe in Convenient Formatting 🙏 rapid fire and no flashbacks again (when they start to get Super Painful later on you’ll mourn the days when i skipped them for extra fluff) we’re Zeroed In on the nerds for another hot minute. this is what happens when you get hooked on a fic by an idiot that’s more inspired by screenwriters than authors, srry ❤️

also this chapter (and probably quite a few throughout this fic) is specifically for the babes that have had to pick themselves up from the dirt after a romantic crash. i cannot tailor this in a vague way that lets anyone picking this up have their own catharsis here, right? mega impossible to one size fits all that. but what i CAN do is use the bundle of greek myth references that is ava’s concept to tell a story about regaining personal power after a total shitass tricks you into thinking youre not completely bitchin as you are ❤️

and i guess make a bunch of canadian jokes bc those are really funny to me tbh. thank you donnatella moss for the inspiration. the best accidental moose canada ever had

anyways. sit. get comfy 😌 think of the ex you reallyreallyreally wanna stab 🥰 and then go project that exact motherfucker onto alec ❤️

—

"Put it on."

"No."

"Put. It. On."

"Nope."

"It's going to look good on you."

Bucky flicks his eyes up from the news article open on his tablet. "Yes, it would."

"Great. Your head is still gigantic post-defrosting. Good thing the one I picked comes with buttons. Leave three of them undone—"

"I know how many to leave undone." That was a misstep. He knows it the second the words leave his mouth. She's going to use it as if it's compliance. It isn't.

"And I'm sure you remember how to get your arms through the holes, too. So, let's go." Natasha repeatedly taps her hand on the kitchen table, making her rings knock against the aged wood. "Make with the wardrobe change."

"I'm not wearing that, and I'm sure as hell not going anywhere," he counters blandly.

"Yes, you are. Get up."

"Eat dirt, Romanoff. I have this thing called a will of my o—"

"So, you don't want to go?"

"Correct."

"Nothing could convince you to change your mind?"

"Absolutely not."

"Who do you think is going to be more disappointed when I repeat that at the bar, Wyatt or Ava?"

Bucky's eyes close slowly. Gently. The movement is a stark contrast to the anger swirling in him, the majority of which is aimed at himself, not the Russian seeking to ruin his life. This was so easy to spot coming. So easy. And he walked right into it.

"Have you given—" Steve attempts around a mouthful of food, cutting off when Natasha hits him in the back of the head to make him stop. He takes a moment to wash down the Coco Puffs with a gulp of fresh coffee after that. "Have you given Wyatt an autograph yet? I gave him one. Super nice guy, you'll like him."

"Why is the brain trust suddenly invited to a night out?" Bucky demands. This is a fucking trap. There is no possible way that this isn't a fucking trap.

Natasha rolls her eyes at him. "We're plying them with booze to try and keep them from suing us into the ground for inflicting you on the populace. Now shut up and go change. You're not wearing those pants."

"I'm—" He cuts himself off mid-refusal. There's not a chance, not even a fraction of a percent of one, that Ava would take offense to him not wanting to go. He's told her, on multiple occasions, that he hates getting dragged out to these things. His friends are awful, and they just do this to torture him. He's not inclined to entertain that most weeks, and Ava knows that. "I don't have any other pants aside from—"

"Yes, you do."

"I'm not wearing tux pants to a—"

"The leather ones you keep for long rides."

Bucky stops, and not because Natasha just revealed knowing another secret he hasn't told her. That shit doesn't even phase him anymore. His eyes move down to the blue button-up she's trying to force him into, his lips pursing slightly. The leather pants she's not supposed to know about are worn to hell and back at this point. Heavy weathering, a hole or two at the back of the heels, more than a few deep scratches that'll become holes if he's not overly careful. Not the kind of thing that would usually be suitable for a night out. 

That button-up is new, though. Looks expensive, too. Good quality silk. It'll look more natural on him under a jacket. Less like a significant effort and more like something he got roped into. Which is precisely what's happening.

Bucky sighs deeply, looking back up at her in resignation. "I have some ground rules."

"You're allowed to have approximately one."

He looks over at Steve in frustration. The bastard shakes his head with a cackle, a fresh scoop of Puffs halfway to his mouth. "Ooohoho, no. Nah-uh. There's a captain on deck tonight, but it is not me." He stands up, chewing quickly, a big dumb smile on his stupid face. "I'm being a good boy and following her orders."

Natasha knocks on the spot of hardwood directly in front of Bucky obnoxiously. "Name your singular rule. I still have to do my hair; hurry the hell up."

Her sass reminds him that he has to figure out what the fuck he's going to do with his hair. "I'm not dancing, for starters—"

"Great. None of us will hound you about dancing; you have my word. Go get dressed. We leave in an hour, and you'll be really embarrassed if I have to drag your unconscious body through the tower." Her eyebrows raise expectantly as she stands up, looking between him and the shirt. To add insult to injury, she taps her nails along his head on her way out of the kitchen.

Steve doesn't look over from where he's raiding the fridge for another snack. "For what it's worth, she sounded excited about the invitation."

Bucky's eyes squint suspiciously. "You invited her?"

"No, Nat did," he replies far too casually. "I was just in the room when she made the call."

"See, your fuck up here is that now I know—"

"I have information you can try to weasel out of me? Thanks, Buck, I appreciate that, seeing as I'm entirely inept when it comes to interrogation and spycraft—"

"Only for the most part. Was this your push or Nat's?"

"Are you asking to be a pest, or are you asking because you need to know?"

Bucky grinds his teeth. He can say the latter, and Steve will never know the difference. "I don't need to know, but—"

"Then fuck off." He shuts the fridge door with a gentle swing and a bright smile. "I have to go get dressed. So do you." He flicks at the bun resting against the back of Bucky's head on his way out. These fuckers are always touching him, and they don't pull the Canadian routine about it. "Should do something with your hair. It looks like it has blood on it."

It probably does. His last mission was designated complete all of twenty minutes ago, and he definitely bled through some of it. Bucky can't really tell on his end; he's still coming down from the adrenaline rush. Something Natasha used to her advantage, no doubt. 

"You fuck off," he grumbles long after Steve is out of earshot.

—

"I'm completely serious."

"No, you're panickin', ya big baby."

"I mean it."

"I'd like to go ahead and remind you that I was there when you purchased most'a your wardrobe. Both times. I think I'd know if y'didn't."

"I can't wear any of that. It's one thing when it's my space—"

"You're allowed to exist in other places, ya dweeb."

"I didn't say I wasn't allowed. Just that...." Ava trails off, her nerves finally catching up to her. The argument had felt like a funny joke when she poked her head through the doorway to start it. Now it's not feeling so funny anymore. Paige is doing that awful, shitty thing where she makes sense. Leaning against the frame and glancing down at the master bedroom's carpet, Ava feels small. "I don't know. The stuff I wear to conferences is too—prim. Most of it's ballroom shit and wouldn't work, anyways. All of my usual go-to's just... It all feels... stupid."

The energy drink chugging champion that is her best friend props herself up on her elbows where she's laid out on her bed. The headband she's wearing has two miniature alien heads poking up from it that wiggle with the motion. "Well, hey there, Alec. Long time no see, ya son of a—"

"Yeah, yeah," Ava waves her hand dismissively. The reminder does knock some of the pity party out of her, at least. There was a time when she made decisions for herself and herself alone. Those were damn good years, and Ava is trying like hell to get back into the mindset. The one she proudly lived in before she let someone talk her into being ashamed of who she is. "Let my freak flag fly, whatever. I still don't have anything to wear." Nothing that doesn't feel crushingly laughable, anyways.

"What about that lace skirt you've got, the one with the swirly patterns? That one's so cute."

Ava frowns. She's not looking to get squished in hosiery tonight, which would be the only way to save herself in something that short. "For dancing?"

"Mmm. That's, ya know, that ain't a bad point. It ain't exactly built for the breeze." Paige tilts her head to the side, making the aliens go wild. Her face pinches like she's brainstorming. Then her eyes go wide with excitement. "Oh! Wear that—the, the thing!"

"Gonna need more to go on." She snaps her fingers as Paige smacks at her own bedspread.

"The wrap dress!"

"You're out of your mind," Ava laughingly insists. Now that she's caught up to her best friend's train of thought, she's almost startled. "That's—first of all, I think it's technically a sun dress—"

"Who gives a shit? Ya look great in it."

"I look—that's beside the point. It... it's not too...?"

"Too...?"

"Shit, I don't know." She folds her arms over her chest and chews her lip for a few seconds. "What do I wear with it?"

"Nothin' but heels." The smirk on Paige's face is devious.

"You know what else isn't built for the breeze? Me. I'm not looking to flash the Avengers tonight, thanks." The words make her instantly think of Bucky, shamefully enough. He's not even going to be there tonight. She's absolutely sure of it. He's told her how much it takes to convince him to go out these days.

The manic pixie rolls her eyes. "Alright. The dress, the heels, and somethin' stringy."

"How about a jacket?" Ava reasons, already turning to go back to Paige's guest room, the one that's been unofficially hers for years.

"Pick one that's sheer, ya chickenshit," she shouts down the hallway behind her.

"That's a lot of sass coming from the woman who can't look America's Sweetheart in the eye!" 

"You'll thank me when you don't wake up here!"

Ava gets hit with the mental reminder that a certain sergeant has been threatening to fly her home for over a week. She hip-bumps her unofficial door closed with a huff. 

Bucky's not going to show up tonight. 

Even if he was, the man's a serial flirt, and she's his—the primary neurosurgeon on his case. Not-flirting through his appointments has been…. She's been trying to think of it as a bedside manner. A very unprofessional bedside manner. The kind she wouldn't have the balls to admit to out loud.

Natasha didn't mention him directly during the invitation call, only his case. All she said was that the whole team was welcome, including the duct rat, Findley. No mention of other attendants. It would have been brought up if he were going to be there; Ava's sure of that. 

Natasha did mention getting Paige home on time, which was suspicious. Tomorrow is the engineer's first mission assigned to the Avengers as support, sure, but they don't seem like the type to need a pre-check. Ava's only seen a handful of SHEILD agents listed in the medical reports from Bucky's missions, and he never mentions any of them directly. She's always gotten the impression that assigned agents are an unknown hand in that machine.

If Steve ends up tagging along, she'll have her suspicions about the Russian's intent with this whole thing. She might have an ally in the fight to push her best friend that she didn't know about. 

Maybe she'll go to the tower after Paige is home safe. Ava's brought up the idea of switching to night appointments before, and she doubts Bucky would say no to a quick ten minutes on the roof. He might even stay for a while without having the excuse of leaving her to her work. 

She could pick up some late-night bagels to bribe him with. Her favorite shop closes early, but they work til midnight sometimes just for the baking process. Ava does the yearly medical work for the owner and his family without charging him. In return, he lets her sneak in after hours for cream cheese and salmon. With that and a quick stop to her office for a handful of lollipops, she's got herself some super soldier bait. 

She might not even stop to change back out of the dress. She'll grab the lab coat, though. Bucky looks more at ease whenever she has it on.

—

He wants to leave already.

It's been eighteen seconds since they coraled him through the front door. He's very proud of himself. He didn't think he'd make it to half that before the urge hit.

Bucky looks around the crowded bar with the sourest face he can muster. It's loud, it's cramped, it's loud, he's already hot enough to know he'll be sweating at some point, and it's too fucking loud. The checkpoint out front is a disaster. He's not real clear on what the standards for a bar security chief are, but that pick-up artist with the handheld, battery-powered metal detector out front doesn't fit his definition of competent. Not by a long shot.

The Avengers haven't rolled out with the full roster tonight. Tony, mercifully, is away with Pepper, Barton fucks off to god knows where, and Rhodey's as much of a workaholic as Bucky is. He tries not to think about where Thor goes. That particular can of worms is pretty full. He's still trying to get used to the fact that they've got a Quinjet that can just go to space. Whenever he—they want.

The ones that did come don't give him any shit when he breaks off to do his walk-about. They all figured out pretty early on that it's a sensitive subject. Bruce doesn't even notice him leave half the time. Steve used to do a piss-poor job of inconspicuously following him back when Bucky was primarily non-verbal. Natasha never mentions it.

The building is two stories. There's a halfway decent camera set-up that he can tap into through the wifi. No windows in the bathrooms. The roof access isn't wired with an alarm. All the emergency exits are, though. The owner's room was locked before Bucky got to it, but the staff areas are open to whoever turns a handle. They've got a round of code inspections coming up at the start of next month. They'll fail at least two of them if they don't unblock that rear door.

Sam silently checks in with an offered fist bump once he's back at the table eight minutes later. Bucky doesn't hesitate to reciprocate it. There's already a half glass of whiskey sitting on the table waiting for him. He doesn't hesitate to get his mitts on that, either.

Wyatt and Hannah show up before Ava and Paige do. It's the first time Bucky's been faced with meeting them since Ava offered that one time. She never pushed it after that. He's been meaning to get around to it. But the idea has been making his teeth buzz too much to go through with it.

Hannah is laser-focused on him from the start. She's just as conscious of it as he is, then. He can tell the moment that the realization hits Wyatt. His eyes widen with a flash of concern, his burly frame curling in on itself as if that'll make six feet of muscle look less threatening. It's almost heartwarming that he's worried about looking threatening to Bucky, of all people. The anxiety on the kid's face gets swallowed up by excitement. Seconds later, another wave of anxiety surfaces. It teeters back and forth as Hannah pushes him up to the table through the crowd.

Bucky watched Atlantis the other night after one of his nightmares took away any chance of falling back to sleep. It saved him from having to wake Steve up for a trip to the supply store. He texted Ava about it once he spotted the sun through the small gap in his blackout curtains; she was thrilled. Seeing the baby-faced brain surgeon nervously approach the table makes him understand why she compares him to Milo, not Dr. Sweet. 

Bucky's not looking to be the aggressive silent type anymore. At least not when it comes to the people working their asses off for him. He reaches out with his flesh hand, giving a reassuring half-smile to Wyatt. "Good to finally meet you, Combs."

The grin that stretches across the doctor's face looks wide enough to hurt. A stubby hand reaches out across the table for an enthusiastic shake. "It's an honor to meet you, Sergeant Barnes."

"I'll sign that journal Ava's warned me about if you promise to call me Bucky," he bribes, taking his hand back for another sip of whiskey.

"Y'mean it?" He's already headed for his patch-covered messenger bag with a hopeful look on his face. "I can use whatever makes ya comfortable. I'm not gonna make ya sign—"

"Hand it over." He glances over to where Hannah is sitting down across from Bruce. They trade an amicable nod when she makes direct eye contact again. "It's good to meet you, as well, Schuster."

"Barnes." He hears the sound of a boot being kicked under the table and watches Wyatt glare at the side of her head. She gives Bucky a strained smile. He's got a feeling it's usually strained. "Likewise."

Bucky likes her already.

As Ava warned, it doesn't take long for Wyatt to start asking about maps. He's bombarded with questions the moment he hands the journal back, with a fresh, chicken-scratch signature on one of its pages. The kid has a lot of trouble picking one at a time, and Bucky's trying not to shorten his answers out of habit. 

He keeps a mental list of the information Wyatt's most interested in. A year ago, he would have done it out of ingrained habit. Tonight it's a deliberate choice. Bucky can get his hands on records the Combs family doesn't know about. The kind they can't make a legal request for because there's no official log of it.

Ava and Paige are the last to arrive. He's too busy trying to give Wyatt more stories when they walk through the door to spot them. Steve is the first to notice their entrance, pausing mid-sentence about a mission the Howlies went on that Bucky barely remembers. Looking away from Wyatt's face, he understands why his best friend froze up. 

Good fucking god almighty. She's trying to kill him.

The doctor that haunts Bucky's dreams is walking through the crowded bar in an outfit that should be triggering the tactical analysis in his head. The analysis that, lately, only ends when his mind catches up to the fact that he shouldn't be thinking about being balls-deep in her while trying to make eye contact. It's probably—definitely inappropriate. But something about the thin, light blue fabric of her dress is shorting him the fuck out. 

It's low-cut, which is the first strike. The second is the way that split up her right leg only stops when it reaches the top of her thigh. The third—the one that really knocks him flat on his ass—is the way the whole thing is pulled in to show off her hips. The ones he'd have a lot of trouble letting go of if she ever let him put his hands on her to begin with.

He roughly swallows around nothing but air. His eyes shoot up to Ava's face, desperate to stave off his bastard mind latching onto her outfit. The last thing he needs in his head right now is a full-scale plan for laying her out on the table to unwrap that thing like a present. She's smiling at him, genuine surprise shaping most of her expression. God willing, it's about his presence here, not where his eyes were a second ago.

"They let you out of the house now?" she sasses him over the roar of the bar. Her hand folds into a fist and props high on her hip as she stops at the table's edge, her other arm linked with her best friend's.

Bucky is so fucking hopeless for her. "Yes, ma'am. But only if I get enough green stickers that week."

"In that case, thanks for behaving. I didn't think you'd be here tonight." That smile of hers is still bright as the sun. Still aimed at him. Christ, he's never been happier about Natasha ruining his life. "I'm pleasantly surprised around you, for once."

Gimmie half a chance, and I can show you every kind of pleasant surprise there is. 

If this were 1943, he'd still have the balls to say it to her. It'd be suicide to say it around his idiot friends, but he was a dumbass who wouldn't have hesitated back then. Not with someone like her. 

It's probably a good thing it's not still 1943. "If I make all the surprises annoy you, you'll tell me to stop. I have to keep you on your toes, or you'll get bored."

One of her eyebrows raises at him, entirely unimpressed. It makes him want to hold her hand. "You do understand how cool my job is, right? You're also a literal cyborg I get to poke at whenever I feel like telling you it's medically necessary. What part of that am I supposed to get bored with, sergeant?"

Bucky folds with a shy chuckle, bringing up his glass of whiskey to hide his mouth behind. "You get used to the shiny parts."

"I'm sure he'll let you add more when he busts his ass again," Sam jokes from off to Ava's left. He's staring at Bucky with an overly satisfied grin. It makes him glare over his whiskey while Ava and Paige sit down.

"Sorry we're late," Paige says, her eyes moving to Steve and her cheeks turning slightly pink. "Gettin' through Bronx traffic is always fun."

"Ordered Ryder's usual," Hannah mentions, pointing to a tall glass of ale the waiter dropped off while he wasn't looking. "Didn't know what you were in the mood for."

"Somethin' fizzy." She rhythmically taps her mismatched nails on the table, humming to herself while she glances over the drink menu. "Or maybe somethin' icey."

"I went the margarita route if you wanna go halfsies tonight," Wyatt offers, nudging his frosted glass over to her. Paige perks up and leans over for a sip.

He looks over at Steve, who's watching the interaction with the sappiest smile. It nearly makes his eyes roll. Natasha and Sam sniffed out the captain's big crush a long time ago, but it's the first time Bucky's seeing it for himself.

Neither one of them has learned a goddamn thing. Not in a hundred years.

A much more gentle nail taps right in front of his arm, dragging his eyes back to Ava while she gets herself seated. "What made you decide to come?" 

She would hit him with a question that blunt right off the bat. He tries not to notice Sam's silent laughter next to her. 

"Heard the egg heads were making an appearance," he decides to be mostly honest with.

The pleased smile on her face takes on a softer edge. She really hadn't been expecting him to show. It makes him all the more glad that he listened to Natasha. "We convinced you?"

You did. "You're surprised? I'm not about to put in the effort for these assholes."

"He only does that for our birthdays," Sam tells her, leaning into her space slyly. 

Bucky holds out his hands, mildly insulted. "And bank holidays."

Ava turns her head to offer her hand to Sam with a warm giggle. She looks so fucking good in the low bar light. With her neck muscles stretched like that, Bucky wants to kiss under her jaw just to see her reaction. "I've been hoping we'd meet again under better circumstances. Ava Ryder."

Sam barks a laugh, wrapping his hand around hers. "I'd say watchin' you hand Steve his own ass was great circumstance."

"Well thanks," Steve interjects, flipping him off before going back to drawing on a napkin with Paige.

The comment, and the gesture, gets ignored entirely. "Sam Wilson, but you can call me your favorite Avenger."

Bucky almost rolls his eyes again. Watching Ava's giggles get worse stops the urge.

—

She was wrong.

He came out tonight. To a bar. To spend time with them.

Ava takes another drink of her ale, watching the Winter Soldier over the rim of her glass. Wearing a dress that could unwind from her with a few strategic yanks on a couple pieces of string. And heels that could have paid a month of her first apartment's rent. In a New York bar.

If her parents could see her now, they'd croak.

Bucky is so goddamn attractive in his dark leather jacket that it's un-fucking-real. The bastard looks softer with his hair down like that, and there's chest hair peaking out from that button-up he's left open to a torturous degree. It keeps distracting her every time he turns to say something to Steve. His hand is the only shiny part on display at the moment. 

The glory tales from Steve don't do the heartstopping aura justice. The fact that Bucky has had the nerve to lie—to her face no less—and say they're blown out of proportion makes her seethe sitting across from him now. No wonder he was prolific; how the hell could he not be with a face like that and the attitude to back it. Now that he's not in a professional headspace, the latter is coming out in spades. The super serum body is a mouthwatering, climbable bonus.

This is the man that keeps threatening to fly her home.

Ava takes a longer drink.

She hasn't been this in over her head since college. The familiar knee-jerk reaction of bullying him is the only thing that doesn't feel petrifying. Bucky is the last person that would make her feel unsafe, but good god, the man is intimidating. Trying to find something to say to him that isn't a joke is a lot harder than usual, with him looking that good.

Paige tuned out the moment Steve gave her meticulously outlined boxes to doodle in on an unfolded napkin. He's been adding detailed frames to them ever since while the two trade work stories. It makes Ava jealous. Her best friend might be oblivious, but at least she's not the one tongue-tied tonight.

Knocking her knees together under the table, Ava leans forward and tries another round of facing down the sergeant. "Worth the trip so far?"

Way to go, moron. Pressure him, why don't you? Of course he's having a good time; he wouldn't still be sitting here if he—

Bucky smiles at her, calming her nerves without even trying. "Every second." He looks down at the glass in her hand, then back up at her face. "You havin' fun, doc?"

She misses hearing him call her doll. It's starting to feel like maybe it was an accident the handful of times it happened. He hasn't done it in days. "Unlike you, I enjoy human interaction. Plus, the hippie thing makes me partial to loud noises." And sweat. And weed to make the loud noises sound better. And men with long hair and deep voices that would sound—

"I don't mind human interaction," he argues, folding his arms on the table and leaning over with her. "I'm just picky about the people I interact with."

"Awww," Paige coos at her side. "And we made the cut? I'm honored."

"You should be," Steve confirms with a smirk, his eyes never leaving the napkin under his hand. "He's not exaggerating."

"That's unusual for him," Ava jumps on Bucky with. She regrets it right up until he snorts and briefly covers his mouth with his hand. It's a real fuck up on his end; she takes it as an all-clear to do it to him again at her leisure. "The only people I've met with bigger heads are cardiologists."

"That's the second time you've brought them up," Bucky notes. She honestly can't remember the first, but it sounds accurate. They're fun to mock.

"Nice deflection, superstar." His eyes widen a fraction at her teasing, boosting her confidence. "Have you had the displeasure of meeting one? I'm allowed to be mean to them as a neurologist, by the way. Secret doctor pecking order and whatnot."

"If I have, I probably don't want to remember," he deadpans. Steve gives him a dirty look, but it makes Ava snort. The smug look Bucky gives her in return makes her stomach flip. "I wanna hear more about this secret doctor pecking order. How far up that chain are you?"

"I don't know, man. How far up is your brain?" 

Bucky's eyes shut in pain, and he smiles. "It's so hard to be proud of your ego when your awful puns surround it."

"You'll manage," she assures in a supportive tone. 

A low whistle drags Ava's eyes to one end of the table, where Natasha is getting up. "I'm going dancing. It's up to you losers who's coming."

A majority of the table, including most of Ava's team, moves to follow. She doesn't. Bruce and Hannah don't, continuing their discussion on a medical journal he read that morning. Bucky doesn't leave either.

He watches Ava as Paige leans over to kiss the top of her head. She's pretty sure he watches her all through their short yes, I'll watch your bag check-in. He's still watching her when she looks back at him, slowly circling his glass to make the whiskey inside it swirl.

"Not a fan of dancing?" he finally asks.

"I like dancing," Ava confirms. "I just like picking on you more." The words feel outrageously bold for how innocuous they are. It's the truth, but she feels a little stupid for saying it out loud. Whatever, if it means spending the night out with him, that's fine—

Bucky puts down his glass, a determined set to his posture. "Dance with me."

Her jaw almost drops. She doesn't catch her nervous burst of laughter in time to stop it. "I—what? You? Bucky Barnes, mister touch me and die himself wants to—"

"I let you touch me all the time." The tone he uses for the blatant—

Christ, is she ever in over her head.

She ignores his flirting like a coward, racing to hide behind professionalism as fast as her mouth can get her there. "The funny thing about that is I have your willing participation—"

"You've got my willing participation for this, too." He sounds like he means it, which is the worst part. It makes it impossible to bring herself to tell him no.

She hesitates one last time, primarily out of fear of embarrassing herself. "You're sure you want to dance?"

"With you?" Bucky stands up, allowing her to see the well-worn leather sitting low enough on his hips to turn her into a bigger wreck. "Yeah, doll. I'm sure."

Hannah leans over to slide the bag Paige left behind across the table, closer to her. She doesn't bother to stop talking. Bruce is smiling from ear to ear, stealing glances at her and Bucky. He's doing a terrible job of hiding it. 

Standing up on nervous feet, Ava watches Bucky circle the table. He offers up his flesh hand when he approaches her, his signature Brooklyn smirk on his face. "Ready?"

Fuck no. She slides her hand into his, breathing deeply when he squeezes her fingers. "I really hope someone's given you the memo on modern dancing because I have no idea what the hell you people did in the 30s." 

"I'm sure you'll help me figure it out." He's sounding more confident with every word, and it's scaring the absolute shit out of her. 

It's innocent at the start. Bucky's a perfect gentleman leading her through the crowd. He spins slowly to face her when he finds them a wide enough space, pulling her in close. The pressure of his fingers is barely there when his metallic hand moves to her lower back. Ava brings both her hands up to his chest when he lets go of one of them. 

"You'll tell me if you're uncomfortable, right?" she checks again, stretching up as close to him as she can. There's no way he has trouble hearing her over the music, but she doesn't remember that until she's all but hanging off him. It makes her cheeks feel warm.

His flesh hand moves over her hip, resting on it gently. Bucky leans down and turns his head in, getting right up to her ear. He's already starting to guide the direction of her half-hearted movements. "I will. You gonna do the same?"

"I will," she promises. Mirroring his words is the only thing her brain can come up with, given how unfairly good he smells. It's obliterating every train of thought she has. 

It is… terrifyingly easy to let herself go in his arms. The movement of her hips gets more involved, following the tempo of the song and the direction of his hand. Hers go up to his shoulders, bringing him in closer a fraction at a time. By the time the song changes, she gives up and lets them wrap around the back of his neck. 

Somewhere around the third song, when the bar's DJ is trying to ramp up into a faster energy, she ends up turned away from him. Ava isn't sure how it happened. It could have been his doing; she's not paying all that much attention. All she knows is he's pressed up against her back now, the hand on her hip moving towards her leg incrementally. Her head tilts off to the side as her eyes close, letting the Winter Soldier guide her.

His fingers stop their advance once they reach the top of the gap in her dress, the one that splits up her thigh. She gives him all of thirty seconds to figure out if he's brave enough to go further on his own. Then the ego boost from having Bucky—of all fucking people—trying to make a move on her wins out over her fear. 

Ava lays her fingers on top of the hand hesitating on her leg, urging it down. 

The first touch of his skin on hers makes them both suck in a breath. She can feel the tension in him against her back. He gets over his nerves faster after that. His hand glides down the length of her thigh, and his fingers curl under the fabric when it comes back up. Not all that far, but the intent is there.

In escalating boldness, she reaches for his metal hand, dragging it to rest at the top of her ribs. His nose comes brushing across her temple at that point, giving her an idea of how close he's keeping himself around her with her eyes closed. One of her hands goes up into his hair, and that's when things really go off the fucking rails.

His thumb moves in a wide arc, dragging across the underside of one of her breasts. Her fingers curl around his hair, and her head rolls in toward him. If she tilts it up, she could brush her nose against his; that's how far into her space he is. And then the hand on her thigh moves in.

The pounding music swallows up the slight sound it pulls from her, but she's willing to bet Bucky heard it. She leans back against him, making him freeze up momentarily. He's already moving again before her mind finally pieces together the why.

He's hard, Ava realizes.

With one hand under her tits and the other getting itself further between her thighs. With her ass pressed back against him. With his towering frame curled all the way around her.

Sergeant James Barnes is hard as a rock. For her.

—

How the hell he hasn't gotten his good arm ripped off yet, Bucky's not quite sure. It feels impossible that she's just... letting him do this. 

Spinning her around really fucked him over. He had been behaving pretty well up until then. He'd even managed to hold off on putting his hand as far down her back as that fucking dress allows for. But then he'd been dumb enough to turn her, and her head had relaxed off to the side, and god, it took every ounce of restraint he has not to kiss the length of her neck.

Now she's leaning back against him, fully aware of how wound up he is, and he can't figure out where to stop. She isn't slowing down any part of his stumbling. There's no new tension in her now that she's in the know about the current state of his cock. Her hips are still fucking moving, and now they're moving against him.

She's going to kill him tonight, probably right out here on this dancefloor. He just hasn't figured out if it's going to be murder or manslaughter.

He lets his left hand get bolder, trying to test the waters one last time before he lets his right one go any further. He moves it up, his thumb brushing over her nipple. He hears her pull in a shaking breath while it skims back down the side. She doesn't stop him, making him want to bite at her neck all over again. 

With no signs of her looking for an out, and not one shred of critical thinking or self-control left in his head, Bucky slides his hand further up the inside of her thigh. Her fingers tighten in his hair, nearly pulling on it at this point. All he has to do is hike up his thumb, and he'll get more information than he's probably ready to have. She could tell him to drop to his knees right here; he's mildly certain he'd do it. 

That dress is so goddamn thin. There's no weight to it at all. He can't spot the outline of anything, but he knows from how high her tits are sitting that she's got a bra on, at least. Another inch or two up with his thumb, and he'll be able to tell for himself if she came out tonight with underwear on. He's not entirely out of the goddamn loop; he knows skipping it is a much more common practice nowadays. 

Bucky's almost hoping his favorite hippie is the type. He's spent a lot of time fantasizing about ways to get her out of them. That doesn't mean he's not going to fucking lose it if his fingers don't find a strip of fabric between her legs. 

The flash of a new fantasy hits him, one of Ava letting him pin her to the alley wall out back with his head between her legs. If he takes her around the corner, he won't have to stop when the kitchen staff come out for a smoke break. If she does have underwear on, he can leave it in her mouth to keep her quiet. Or reach up to make her bite down on his fingers. With the serum and her height, it'd work like a dream.

The curiosity becomes a burning need, driving his hand all the way up. When he first touches her, it's not with his thumb, and it's not a gentle brush. He pushes his middle and index finger along the length of her lips, coming into contact with lace that's wet.

"Fuck." The word is choked when it tumbles out of him. He's coated his hand to the thought of her so many times over by now. And here she is, pushing herself up against him and just as worked up about it.

Her hand grips his arm tight enough to bruise in reaction. She doesn't push him away. God fucking help him, she doesn't stop moving either. Still, there's something about her body language that's not sitting right in his gut. She's not pushing him away. But she's not pulling him along anymore.

That's not always a stop sign. Bucky knows that. Some people like leaving the significant steps in the hands of their chosen partner. She's silently urged him to keep going a few times already. Assuming she wants that to continue isn't out of the question. But he's not the kind of man who's comfortable with that leap. Not anymore.

He moves his hand down an inch, leaving it between her legs. Not on top of the lace he wants to bite at. If she's interested, she'll put it back. Simple as that.

Bucky waits, holding her close with his metal arm around her ribs and his nose pressed into her hair while they dance. She's hesitating now, which has him convinced he made the right call. He's not self-wallowing enough to take it as a rejection. It's not like he'd been planning for this to go anywhere near as far as it did to begin with.

Her hand pulls at his hair in a way that feels conflicted. She tilts her head up, her eyes finally opening to look at him. Yeah, there it is. Right there in her eyes. It's finally catching up to her.

"I..." she tries, her mouth opening and closing a few times. "We can...."

"We can keep going," he finishes for her, not backing off from his hold on her. "We absolutely can. Or we can head to the bar and watch them make something with a cherry on it. I'm more than comfortable with both."

He watches her chew over the offered out, her eyebrows pulling in. He doesn't push her; he's not looking to make the call for her. If she wants him to get her off right here on this dancefloor, he's pretty damn sure he'd be willing at this point, even with the threat of criminal charges. He's also ready to let go and spend the rest of the night doing something that doesn't make her look torn. Even if it means ending it early.

"We should probably go to the bar." Probably. She doesn't sound happy about it, meaning it's fueled by her professionalism. He understands why she has the line. He respects the shit out of it.

"We probably should," he agrees. He doesn't move his hands. She hasn't moved hers. 

Her eyes move down to his mouth, and fuck does that do a number on his impulse control. He hopes she doesn't feel how it makes his cock jump. Ava Ryder wants to kiss him. It feels odd to celebrate that, considering where his fingers were a minute ago, but fuck. The girl of his dreams wants to kiss him.

"Let's go to the bar." The frustration in her voice almost makes him laugh. It definitely makes him smile as he turns his metal hand over to link with hers.

"You drink anything other than ale, doll?" He lets his fingers brush over the skin of her thigh reassuringly as he pulls it back out from under her dress. She looks so mad at the world, her face scrunching under her glasses. He wants to kiss her more than he's ever wanted anything in his life.

Ava takes a deep breath that she lets out with a huff. It looks like it cools off some of the annoyance. "My answer depends on how much of a narc you are, g-man."

He puts his arm around her shoulder, dragging her in close to his side. His friends will hand him his ass over this for a month, but he's not about to let her feel rejected. He's trying to respect a boundary, not ward her off. "Lucky for you, this g-man has medical strains growing in his room at the tower."

"There's no fucking way. You're telling me the Winter Soldier grows weed?"

"Are you tellin' me you buy yours? Chump."

She snorts hard enough to feel the need to cover her mouth. It makes Bucky feel damn good being able to make her laugh again that fast. "I can't believe I'm being ridiculed about the source of my pot by a senior citizen."

He holds back on reminding her that she was about to let a senior citizen stick his hand down her panties. "Has it convinced you to give up the inaccurate jokes about my job?"

"Inaccurate, he says! Don't you have a literal badge you can shove in people's faces?" Ava doesn't lean against the bar when they reach it. She stays pressed up against him while he leans on it, distracting the hell out of him. He looks down the line of people, searching for a bartender to give himself a second to refocus. "I think that's a pretty clear-cut definition of a fed."

"I think you're trying to find out if I've got a pair of cuffs handy." This is the other problem presented with her letting him go that far; it burned through what little filter he has. Now that he knows she's interested and not just humoring him, he's fucked. Hearing his own words still makes him wish he'd shut his damn mouth.

He hears her laugh in surprise again, but he's not brave enough to look at her yet. There's a momentary lull filled with the sounds of rowdy New Yorkers kicking off their weekend. Then he feels her head lean against his arm. "Something tells me you could improvise without them."

It's manslaughter. She's trying for manslaughter. By god, she's going to accomplish it if she says some shit like that again.

"I can improvise whenever you need me to." He finally looks back at her, catching her ogling his chest. Again. Her cheeks are a few shades darker. It's good to know he's not the only one reeling. "You should answer my question first, though. Unless you're looking to put in the order."

Her eyes finally flick up to his, and her smile turns shy before she looks away. "Surprise me. I burn more than drown. I'm sure you can think of a fun option to entertain me with."

Bucky should have guessed she'd give him a run for every cent he earned back when he still had his mojo. It feels like he's trying not to trip over himself while she's still getting warmed up. "One entertainment, comin' right up."

She gives him a look, doing a lousy job of holding back her amusement. "You don't get to complain about my puns if you're going to tell dad jokes like that."

"You're just jealous that mine are better." He finally flags down a bartender over her shoulder, throwing out an order for two Mai Tais. The only other cocktail he can think of off the top of his head is a Sex on the Beach, and he sure as shit doesn't have the balls to order that in front of her at the moment. A Moscow Mule is not a cocktail in his eyes. It's also not the kind of inappropriate he's looking for.

Ava's finger hooks into his front pocket, threatening to ruin every effort he's made toward getting his cock to calm the fuck down. "Some of your jokes are pretty great; I'll give you that. The dry ones make my day."

It feels backwards—and mildly alarming—to hesitate to brush her hair behind her ear for a moment. A few minutes ago, he'd been ready to go down on her in front of a room full of people. Now he's trying to find the nerve to touch her at all. Doing so gets easier when her eyes slip closed at the feeling of his fingertip moving down the side of her head. 

"Seeing you makes my day," he murmurs, not caring about letting his mouth run. It feels less intimidating in the wake of her compliment. God knows it's going to sit in his head. Probably forever. The fact that she probably can't hear it over the music certainly doesn't hurt.

Her eyes open back up slowly, with her smile taking on a wicked edge. "You feel like showing me your stash, old man?"

—

They haven't talked about it.

It's been less than an hour since they stopped dancing. In under sixty minutes, Bucky managed to get them a drink and all the way through Manhattan to the Avengers Tower. On a Friday, no less.

No wonder they threaten to revoke his license. Ava thought she was a speed freak behind the wheel. Now that she's got firsthand experience as his rear passenger, Bucky being allowed to have a motorcycle makes her question SHIELD more than ever.

He let her go up to the roof without him. He made it sound like he was doing her a favor by not making her go out of her way just to raid his stash with him. She's guessing it's got more to do with not being down for a surprise tour of his space. It's not as if she's going to fault him for it. 

The idea that she's actually going to let him fly her home after this is already hitting her nerves. If that's throwing her off, she has no clue where she's going to find the will to bring up the subject of—this. Tonight. What happened.

How far she was about to let it go.

He smells too good. She's decided to blame it on that, at least in her head. Mainly to make herself feel better about crossing that many ethical boundaries. It's easier than accepting that she was about to give a patient the go-ahead to finger her in the middle of a bar. Without so much as a word about it beforehand.

Ava pushes her hands under her glasses to hold her face, resisting the urge to scrub at it. She doesn't want to fuck up her makeup. Not while she still has to face Bucky. How stupid—and then she doubled down—god, now they're here, and he's getting weed—

"I was starting to think I'd never get you up here, doll."

The way his voice quells her anxious mind without any effort at all ties her stomach in a different kind of knot. She lowers her hands into her lap, giving him a half-smile. "I'd like to remind you that I'm the one who offered initially. And again tonight."

Bucky waves his free hand dismissively, his flesh one cradling a bag. "Semantics." He dumps it onto the wicker table she picked out herself. She hears glass hit metal, the sound muffled by the black cloth of the bag. "I didn't know if you were a bowl or a joint kinda gal. Figured I'd come prepared since I'm dealing with a degenerate commie."

"Steve was right about your manners," Ava insists, reaching out to open it with greedy fingers. She kicks her heels off under the table, getting distracted by the sight of him shaking his leather jacket off his shoulders. The man's tall enough to have to duck under the makeshift canopy built to account for Wyatt's height. "Tell me how many words you know for pot while I judge your choices."

"Are you forgetting they took me out for walks every few years?" Bucky walks around to her side and puts his jacket over her shoulders, surprising her. She looks up at him with a shy smile, momentarily forgetting the promise of weed picked out by a super soldier. He's such a gentleman that it's frankly obnoxious. One of his eyebrows raises at her. "Those walks included the 60s, young lady. I probably know more than you do."

"What do you remember about the 60s?" she goads as he sits down next to her.

"Plenty." Bucky props his arm up on the back of the couch, leaning into her space. She's grateful for it. Even with his jacket around her, it's freezing up here. The added warmth isn't the only reason she's grateful for it. "Personally, though, I think you would have had a better time in the 70s." He tilts his head back and forth a few times. "At least the parts of it I fucked around in."

The mental image of the Winter Soldier undercover in some sleazy disco hits her like a ton of bricks. It feels wildly inappropriate, even with him talking about it that openly. All the fantasies she has of Bucky do. Especially the ones she uses to get herself off lately. 

"I'm going to take your word for it," she murmurs. There's so much potential there to poke at him. He's offering up the bait on his end. Hell, there's still the list of weed names to dig for. But she can't get her mind to latch onto any of it with him this close.

He nudges his chin in the direction of her hands, which are still hovering in his little heap of paraphernalia. "You should start us up so I can get you home at a reasonable hour. I don't know how fast you like to—smoke."

It's astounding how good he is at riding the line between being a gentleman and a terror.

Ava looks back down at her hands with a smile. "That depends on the accuracy of your warning about this couch-locking me. Technically I'm off tomorrow, so I'm not about to say no."

"Do you smoke medicinal strains?"

"On occasion. I started for anxiety, oddly enough. Then I noticed it helped with my mood overall." She shrugs, setting aside his box of hemp papers. There's a heavy-looking grinder and two different pipes further in. One of them's a goddamn steamroller. He sticks with quality from what she can see so far. "I feel like there's a bong that was held back from this collection."

"There's a lot that was held back. I'm not gonna parade all my ill-gotten goods through the tower." His pauses while she gets the last of it emptied out." You gonna show me how it's done or put me to the test?"

"Definitely the latter." She turns her head to smile at him innocently, pushing her glasses up her nose. It makes his lips twitch. "I don't see anything to assist rolling. Does that mean you're confident enough to show me your handiwork?"

Bucky scoffs, his expression becoming entirely unimpressed. He almost looks offended, leaning over to grab the papers and the grinder. "You're telling me you people need tools these days? After all the work I put into teaching Captain America how to do it properly?"

Ava's brows shoot up in shock. "You're fucking kidding. I figured the weed was a new development—"

"Nah, I've been smoking since my first job." He's not watching his hands much as he lays out the foundation of his work. He's primarily watching her. "Worked for a guy that owed a corner store. He had family that ran a not-so-secret farm." He turns the grinder lid enough to loosen it, then flicks it to spin it the rest of the way off with a cocky grin. "I was an outstanding employee. So was Steve once I got him hired."

"America's Sweetest Stoners," Ava coos, making him chuckle. He's not stingy about what he's rolling for them. It makes her wonder how many plants he's got set up. "Do the two of you still smoke together?"

"He doesn't bother much. Takes a lot to build up any kind of buzz with our systems, so he looks at it the same way he does drinking at this point. He still shows up whenever Banner drops off some new hybrid monstrosity for me to try." Bucky glances over at her quickly, his fingers never stopping their work. "This is from one of the normal plants, don't worry. I won't start you off that far in the deep end."

Ava shrugs. Banner's main lab is here in the tower, so there's no chance the process isn't documented. JARVIS wouldn't let her use anything that could do her actual harm. "You can if you want, but you're responsible for explaining to Tony why I'm passed out on his roof."

He gives her the most insulted look. "I wouldn't leave you up on the roof. I'd be enough of a gentleman to carry you inside."

He's ruining her life. There's no way she's going to be able to walk away from tonight without being completely wrapped around his finger. It makes her smile at him like a hopeless fucking moron. "I believe you."

Bucky brings the most well-balanced joint she's ever seen up to his mouth, licking it closed in one smooth stroke. His eyes never leave hers. It makes her swallow. The fucker smirks at her and twirls the joint between his fingers, holding it out for her inspection.

"Well?" he prompts, watching her intently as she plucks it from his hand. He's preening. Waiting for his praise.

Goddamn him, she's going to have to give it to him. The joint is so perfectly rolled it's mesmerizing. Even distribution, not pulled overly tight, and meticulously sealed. She can't remember the last time she managed to do a job half that good. Bowls have always been her go-to. It's clear that this is his.

Ava giggles at the absurdity of it all. It feels surreal to be a step away from lighting up with a cyborg PoW she first read about in primary school. "You're such a dork. Shut up and hand over the lighter before your head explodes from being over-inflated."

"Now I know I did a damn good job by today's standards." For the second time that night, she gets the overwhelming urge to kiss Bucky as he reaches for the lighter. She props the joint between her lips to distract herself and lets him light it for her when he silently offers. The flame does stunning things to the color of his eyes in the dark. "You only tell me to shut up when you're really impressed with me."

She doesn't miss that he waited until she started inhaling to make the point. It makes her roll her eyes in exasperation. Ava can tell from the first drag that his shit is going to hit harder than her usual. She turns her head to blow it away from his face, handing back the joint. He tucks it between his fingers and brings it up to his mouth in one smooth motion.

"Now look who's outright lying. I tell you to shut up for various reasons." The muscles in his neck look unfairly good when he turns to exhale. It makes her want to run her tongue up his throat. She looks back up at his face. Everything below his chin is hazardous to her health at the moment. "I don't remember any of them being because I was impressed until now."

His eyes flick back to hers, then down to her mouth as he smiles. His hand was up her dress. It was between her legs only an hour ago. And yet watching him stare at her mouth still feels obscene. "You've got a real funny way of stroking my ego, doll."

"I get the feeling you enjoy it," Ava counters, snatching the joint from his fingers. "I wouldn't do it otherwise. You're always welcome to suggest an alternative."

"No, thanks. I'm a pretty big fan of what you do to me." 

Damn. Him.

Yes, the question was a check-in. Yes, she was trying to get a read on how far he wants this to go. Then he had to go and double down without hesitation. She knows by now what door he's trying to invite her through. 

Ava is so not brave enough for this conversation. It's not—it's complicated. She really shouldn't be working on his case if they're going to go down this road, at least not as his primary surgeon. She'll have to pass it on to Hannah and have a few very embarrassing conversations with a handful of people. Ones that involve fessing up to wanting to fuck Bucky Barnes.

She's not saying no. But she's not brave enough to say yes. At least not tonight, up here on the roof.

Ava leans back against the couch, feeling his arm curl in around her shoulders. "Good. Let me know if that changes."

—

u dont get to yell at me for the edging, i warned u that im gonna leave an * on smut chapters. anything less than Full Fuckin aint gettin the badge 😤 i have a Standard to uphold in this house of sin

(tho if anyone feels there shoulda been a warning tag for smthing you can always lemme know bb 💞)

also ill never be able to properly articulate how much i love writing cranky old fart bucko. heartstopper is stupid fun, feral trauma man keeps me on my toes, but stick-shaking geezer mode??? mr. “kids these days with their MEMES” himself??? beautiful. fantastic. superb. his final form, truly 🤌 i yearn to write more of it

anyways there are writers on the internet that can make their slow burn wholesome. in all my years on this space rock of ours, ive never been one of them

even if i do write the longfic of the sunshine dweebs steve and paige, that probably wont be all that wholesome of a slow burn either ajdhdskjfdjsjf. they ARE my tooth rotting fluff ship tho. mmm okay so maybe paige is a tragedy in disguise but its ME so thats expected 😌 the babes that like their romance extra sappy and cutesy take a lotta shit and deserve a Safe Space and steve rogers fits that bill, imho

bucky is for the babes that like to verbally get their hair pulled before hearing ily 🥰

the good news is, i get a few more chapters in this fic to torture you with before i let bucko and ava do the Big Sin (not murder, the other one. no, not hand holding, the other other one) 😌💖💞

also PieAnnamay's comment reminded me that i never linked my fav buckaroo fic, safe with me!!! for anyone else that hasnt stumbled upon bitsandbobsandstuff, i cant recommend them enough. i HIGHLY encourage you to go read through all their works while you’re waiting for updates on this, the bucky and steve fics are 😫🤌 perfection (i promise when i finally have a day to really do tumblr stuff, ill make a list of my fav fics/writers in my pinned post. i promise i will try to get to it Soon, i still havent even caught up on chapter posts there asldhfsadf)

❤️ https://archiveofourown.org/works/13798047/chapters/31721565

[bmwposher]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: Lulu’s To Love Black Jacquard Puff Sleeve Mini Dress.

[linorachas]

for the weekend. | bang chan

⁍ pairing — bang chan x reader ⁍ genre — fluff & smut  ⁍ word count — 4.8k words ⁍ details — established relationship, producer!chan, choreographer!reader, lots of cuddles and kissing, oral (m. receiving), dirty talk, d/s undertones, mention of the word “cockslut”, chan worship, you’re both really in love ⁍ a/n — hello! i’m a new writing blog for skz. :D this is my first work here, so i’d love to hear your thoughts. i accept criticism, but please be nice i am trying my best ㅠㅠ part 2 is here! thank you to everyone who let me know that they wanted a part 2! ♥️ ⁍ summary — After a long week of hard work, you finally spend a weekend with Chan.

Friday - 2:03 am

 Your footsteps are light and quick as you rush down the hall, duffel bag bumping against your back as it bounces from your movements. 

You were sweaty, sticky, and overall about to pass out, but there was a wide grin on your face once you stopped in front of a very familiar studio door.

You had just finished helping create a choreography for an idol group, a whole day of repeating dance moves and drawing positions on papers. 

Your out was supposed to be at 7, but you had done overtime with the intent to clear your schedule tomorrow. You would have to do overtime on Monday again, but that didn’t matter right now.

All that matters was the boy behind this door who was working just as hard as you are.

Inside, Chan was hunched over his desk, headphones in, hand cramping as he furiously jots down some notes. 

He wasn’t required to stay in, no, he could’ve left hours ago and be asleep right now. But going home without you always bothered him, so he had decided to stay until his girlfriend was finished. 

He knew you felt the same, though. You once told him that you would just be tossing and turning in bed if you went home without him. When the tables are turned and he was the one doing the overtime, you would doze on a chair beside him while he worked, or spend some time at the studio yourself.

Chan had checked the time just a few minutes ago, and he knew that you were already on your way here. Unfortunately, he had made the mistake of starting on a new project while waiting, so it would bother him if he left this unfinished while he rested at home. 

So now he was cramming, rushing to finish at least a draft. 

 You, on the other side of the door, didn’t bother with knocking, and just pushed the door open slowly. 

 Your eyes immediately find your boyfriend’s busy form; Chan’s hair was covered by a reversed snapback, basketball short clad legs tucked Indian style on top of his chair. 

 You feel a tug on your heartstrings as you watch Chan work hard for the sake of a free day tomorrow, a free day for you two.

 You smile at the way Chan taps the pen on the desk to an unfamiliar beat or taps it to the snapback on his head, before going back to writing again. 

 Chan also does these annoyed puffs of breath every few seconds, something you found to be very endearing ever since the first day you met. 

 When Chan groans in frustration, you finally walk inside and shut the door behind you, dropping your duffel bag on the floor.

 Chan freezes and stops writing when he feels arms wrapping around his neck, but the feeling is immediately gone when his brain registers that it’s his baby. 

 You press small close mouthed kisses on Chan’s cheek before you nuzzle your head against the crook between Chan’s neck and shoulder, and a smile blooms on Chan’s face.

 “Sorry,” Chan mutters, yanking his earphones down when you stop kissing him and pull away. You don’t answer. Instead, you remove Chan’s snapback from his head and card your fingers through his hair gently. 

 Chan sighs contentedly, eyes slipping shut as he leans his head back on the chair, following the flow of your fingers. He opens his eyes again when you lean down and press a kiss to his lips, 

 his nose, 

 and then his forehead. 

 You grin at him, and despite being in an unflattering upside down angle, Chan thinks you look absolutely gorgeous like this.

 Barefaced, happy, and in love.

 “It’s okay, Channie,” you finally say, after seconds of just gazing at each other lovingly passes. “I know you’re doing it for our vacation, anyway.”

 Chan lets out a small laugh as you fix the cap back on his head. “It’s just two days, baby.” 

 “Two days of sleeping, eating, and maybe some sex? I don’t know about you, but that sounds like a heavenly vacation to me.” You babble unashamedly, hands sliding down Chan’s torso to massage his pecs— making him squirm and laugh— before you slide them up again to massage his shoulder joints. 

 Chan sighs as he lets the feeling of your fingers relieving the aches wash over him, but then he catches sight of the mess of papers on his desk, and a frustrated frown replaces his smile.

 “Will you wait for me?” Chan asks hopefully. Though deep inside, he kind of already knew the answer.

 Still, his heart starts to beat too fast and his stomach fills with too many butterflies when you wrap your arms around his neck again, pressing your cheek against Chan’s own as you mutter, “of course. You know I always will.”

 And then you seal the promise with a kiss. Chan pretends he doesn’t chase after your lips when you pull away.

 He goes back to work with you still wrapped around him, and after a few moments, you start to shift. Chan’s free hand quickly darts up to your arms that are slowly loosening, so you stay still, alarmed. 

 “Stay.” Chan mumbles distractedly, eyes darting hurriedly across the papers. It’s selfish, yes, making you stand behind him for God knows how long, but Chan had always worked better when you were this close. 

 You would have seen the embarrassed blush that dotted across Chan’s cheeks if you weren’t so flustered yourself, hiding your face in Chan’s shoulder blades again when you fail to suppress a wide grin. 

 So you busy yourself with basking in Chan’s warmth instead, squeezing Chan tight every once in a while just to see him squirm and attempt to glare at you. 

 Suddenly, all your sore muscles from dancing were gone, and you were content to stand behind your boyfriend for as long as he wanted you to. 

 When Chan is finally finished and you’ve shut off all the lights, locked the door and gathered all your belongings— Chan throws an arm around your shoulder while you wrap your own arm around your boyfriend’s waist. 

 You both giggle, talk in stage whispers, and stumble down the corridor like drunken fools despite being completely sober. You hold onto each other like it was your last time to do so, as if you were reassuring yourselves that the other is still there.

 For extra measure, Chan presses his lips against your temple, whispering a sweet “I love you, Y/N. So so, so much.” that only the two of you could hear as you go out into the cold night, wrapped in each other’s warmth. 

 The streetlights look like stars in his eyes, and you ask yourself again how lucky you are to have fallen in love with Bang Chan.

Saturday - 2:54 pm

 3:16 am, you and Chan are pressed against each other as you settle into a deep sleep, blankets tucked around your bodies to shield yourselves from the cold. 

 4:23 am, you accidentally kick the blanket off the bed, leaving the both of you exposed to the cold temperature of the room. You shiver in your sleep. 

 Chan wakes up long enough to grumble about the blanket and do a half assed search around the room, just to end up pulling you closer to his chest and wrap both his arms around you. It doesn’t do much for Chan himself, but you stop shivering then, so Chan falls back asleep with a smile on his face.

 8:44 am, Chan’s phone rings. The ringtone almost rivals Chan’s snores, and the combination of the two sounds force you to wake up, annoyed. Chan was in the middle of the bed, arms and legs splayed out, while you were on top of him, cheek pressed against his chest. 

 You only have the energy to lift your head up, glare at the sun peeking from behind the curtain and at Chan’s phone, before you drop your head back on Chan’s chest heavily, startling the said boy awake. 

 Chan stops mid snore and the sound is so funny that you feel a smile tug on your lips, but then his  phone rings again.

 “Yah, Chan-ah,” you whine, wiggling upwards to bury your face in Chan’s neck. “Make it stop.”

 “Sorry babe,” Chan groans, trying to blink the sleep away from his eyes as he cups the back of your head. His free hand reaches for his phone on the nightstand, pressing it to his ear after 3 sad attempts of hitting the answer button. 

 Your hearing is muffled because of your position and Chan’s hand covering your head, and you only manage to hear a “no, no, we can’t, we’re sleeping in. Sorry Bin,” before you drown out the conversation entirely, the vibrations of Chan’s voice lulling you back to sleep. 

 Finally, at 2:54 pm, you wake up again, but this time you’re really awake. 

 Your stomach is grumbling and you’re so hungry it‘s starting to hurt. You try to move, but find yourself unable to because of the limbs restricting from doing so.

 This time, one of Chan’s legs is on top of you, covering your lower half entirely. Chan’s head is lying on the pillow, and there’s drool on his chin and it’s gross, so you use the sleeve of your shirt to wipe it quickly. Thankfully he didn’t drool on your hair.

 Chan’s holding your other arm to his own chest as if it was a teddy bear, his body curled into your side snugly. When you lean back slightly to take a proper look at him, Chan’s nose twitches like a rabbit and the grip on your arm tightens. You snort.

 “Chan. Channie,” you mutter before you bury your face in Chan’s hair, squeezing the sleeping boy in an attempt to wake him up gently. 

 Chan lets out a grunt, but doesn’t do much to prove he’s really awake. You sigh. 

 What the hell are you supposed to do now?

 It takes you more than a few attempts, but you finally release your arm from Chan’s grip. However, just when you were about to start working on his leg, Chan suddenly slips his own arm under you, turning you over so you end up on top of him again. He does it so easily that it startles you, cheeks burning red at the sudden display of strength.

 “It’s our day off, give me one more hour.” Chan grumbles. He was still half asleep so most of his sentence was incoherent, but if anyone was an expert in sleepy Chan language, it was you.

 You glance at the wall clock on the other side of the room, grimacing once you realize why you were starving. “Shit. We really wasted the whole day away by sleeping, dude. It’s 3 pm.”

 “Stop calling me dude.” He huffs. “And it’s a vacation, Y/N. Let me sleep. Let us sleep.” 

 You pout when you get your own words thrown back at you, and then it’s as if Chan has a sixth sense for your pouting, because he’s suddenly lifting his head up to press a kiss to your chin, eyes still closed.

 You’re guessing he was aiming for your lips, but he was fighting a hard battle between properly kissing you and falling back asleep. It was endearing.

 “Love you,” Chan mutters groggily, and was about to drop his head back on the pillow when you stop him with a proper kiss to the lips. It’s a very awkward angle, but you both blush and giggle as if it’s your first kiss.

 “Mmmmhm,” Chan pulls away after a few seconds of close mouthed kisses, eyes now blinking open as he frowns at you. “Don’t kiss me. Morning breath.”

 You giggle, leaning up on your elbows to take a proper look at him, heart squeezing at the way his lips were pouted. His bed head looked like a bird’s nest and his eyes were swollen. You couldn’t resist pressing another peck to his lips at the sight.

 “But I just did.” You grin, cupping Chan’s cheek as you press small, rapid kisses on his face. “Besides, it’s afternoon.”

 Chan rolls his eyes, pretending as if he wasn’t chasing your lips with every kiss. And you giggle again, because you were giddy that Chan is finally awake and you were in love with him, and those two don’t really connect, but whatever. 

 Barely a minute passes before Chan’s eyes start to slip shut again, and it’s only then that you realize you’ve been running your hand through your boyfriend’s hair unconsciously.

 “The day’s over, anyway,” Chan places a hand at the back of your head, gently leading you to his neck. He presses a kiss to your forehead then yawns, fingernails scratching your scalp gently to lure you into going back to sleep. “Let’s just stay in bed.”

 And you, you were so tempted to say yes, especially with how warm and comfortable you were in the love of your life’s arms, but then your stomach starts to wail like a dying animal, and both you and Chan wince.

 “Chan-“

 “I heard it.”

 You laugh, a loud, refreshing sound that makes Chan’s heart pump wildly, and you feel his lips form into a smile when he presses a kiss to your forehead again, longer this time.

 Chan then wraps both of his arms around your waist, turning you both over to the side. Your arms come up to lock around Chan’s neck, and your eyes meet when you look up. 

 Chan’s eyes were twinkling, and you’re not so sure if it’s because of the light behind you.

 “Hello,” Chan says casually, and you make a sound between huffing and laughing.

 “Will you at least let me go so I can make breakfast?”

 “It’s already afternoon,” Chan half-heartedly reasons, his arms tightening around you as he leans down to press another kiss to your nose.

 “Breakfast time is any time. Whoever thinks otherwise should be jailed.” 

 Chan ignores you, busy pressing a few more pecks to your cheeks, nudging your nose with his own. 

 You whine. “Come on, baby. You need to eat. I know you’re hungry too.”

 And Chan is, but he doesn’t want to leave the bed yet. He’s not pouting, he swears he isn’t, but he knows he’s making a face because you were smiling all amusedly at him again, like you were surprised he was acting this way.

 Who could blame him, really? He had a whole day off, a beautiful girl in his arms, and unlimited kisses to give and receive. Why would he leave this warm bubble without a fight?

 Chan tightens his grip and rolls again, and you were getting out of breath from laughing and trying to push him away. Your boyfriend pins you down on the bed, holding your hands above your head and intertwining your fingers together.

 “Hello,” Chan says again, grinning down at your flushed face.

 The sudden displays of strength kept catching you off guard, and your face was reddening for a multitude of reasons.

 “Hi,” you reply, albeit breathlessly, and you tilt your head up as a way of asking for a kiss. 

 Chan leans down slowly, too slowly for your liking, so you groan loudly. Chan laughs but finally presses your lips together, subconsciously loosening his grip on your hands. You free them from his grasp to cup his cheeks. 

 You can feel Chan smile against your own lips, and you only go as far as nibbling on the other’s bottom lip before you decide something and push him back.

 “Y/N,” Chan whines, chasing after you again, but you stop him with a finger to his chest and a quick peck to the lips. He stops, clearly confused.

 You push him back further, making him fall onto his side. He seems to catch on when you start straddling him, knees on other sides of his hips.

 “Oh.” Chan gapes, eyes blinking up at you stupidly. You laugh.

 “Yeah, oh.” 

 You drag the hem of his shirt up, deliberately scratching your nails against the hard muscles of his abs. Chan groans at that, hips bucking up involuntarily.

 As he busies himself with taking his shirt off properly, you start to press open mouthed kisses down his chest, tongue laving against the prominent lines of his stomach. You start sucking near the navel, leaving a big, deep purple hickey that contrasts heavily against his pale white skin.

 Chan hadn’t said anything since you started, but he was leaning back on his elbows, dark eyes following your every move. You felt the way his eyes followed the curve of your body as you adjusted to kneeling so you could move further down, making you shiver. It was almost like he was touching you with how intense his stare was. But his hands stayed at his sides, calm and waiting to strike.

 You knew that would change soon.

 There was already a noticeable bulge by the time you got down to his crotch, making you bite back a smile. You know Chan could feel your amusement because he uses his feet to tickle you at your side, making you laugh.

 “Get on with it, pretty.” His tone was playful, but his hooded eyes were saying otherwise.

 You listened obediently though, because at the end of the day, all you really wanted was to be good for Chan. All you wanted was to pleasure him, to make him feel good, to let him know that you wanted him to be happy. 

 And if a mindblowing orgasm from a morning wood blowjob was the way to success… well.

 You don’t waste any time in taking off his boxers, desperate to see the cock you loved. It wasn’t a secret that you were a bit of a cockslut, but it was technically Chan’s fault. When he slid his cock in you the first time and made you cum so hard you almost passed out, you were ruined for anybody else ever.

 You loved him inside you, loved him pounding so deep into you you felt the head of his cock in your cervix, and also loved him when he took it slow and let you feel every inch— every vein that lined along his fat cock. You loved when you were at his mercy.

 But you also loved when you had that same cock in your mouth, filling you all the way to your throat. You were guessing you had a bit of an oral fixation, since sometimes you craved the weight of it at random times of the day. You just wanted his cock in your mouth, and you knew Chan was more than happy to oblige.

 Chan’s sizeable cock slapped up against his stomach when you finally took away its confines, precum smearing against his skin. Chan’s fingers tighten against the sheets when you lean forward and kitten-licked that same precum off, his cock bumping against your cheek.

 “Baby,” he exhaled, brows furrowing. “Are you playing games right now?”

 “No,” you answer, but as soon as the word left your mouth, you flattened your tongue and licked a thick stripe up at the side of his cock, making Chan groan and throw his head back.

 You swirl your tongue around the angry purple tip of his cock, letting his precum coat your tongue. But you don’t swallow it, not yet. You let the liquids fall back onto his cock, using it as lubricant for your hand that comes up to stroke him. 

 Chan grunted, bucking up into the tight space of your hand as his head lolled forward. He watches you with lidded eyes, and you tilt your head so he could feel the hot exhale of your breath on his cock. Predictably, you felt it twitch.

 A hand comes to cup the back of your head, and you look up through your lashes to see Chan licking his lips and swallowing. 

 “Come on,” he urges, hand sliding down to tilt your head up. He slides his thumb into your mouth and your lips close around it immediately, sucking. Chan shudders. “Be good for me.”

 And you obey.

 As soon as Chan’s thumb slipped out of your mouth, you replaced it with his cock, tongue flattening as you took half of him in your mouth. Your lips stretched obscenely, Chan’s girth and length stretching your mouth to its limits. 

 But instead of deterring you, it only made you moan. You already felt so full even if you hadn’t taken his entire cock in your mouth yet, almost gagging when you felt the tip nudge the back of your throat. Your eyes flick up, watching as Chan’s jaw tightened, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

 You bob your head up and down slowly, understanding that Chan was letting you take the lead. His hand stayed cupped at the back off your head, a reassuring constant as you did your best to breathe through your nose. 

 The slick sounds your mouth was making echoed along with Chan’s muttered curses in your quiet room, the only other sound being the traffic outside.

 “Shit. Shit,” Chan exhaled, chest heaving. He was always much more sensitive in the morning. “Your mouth, baby. That fucking mouth.”

 And much more noisier.

 “So good for me.” Chan whispers, voice rough and heated. He brushes the back of his hand against your hollowed cheeks, then cards his fingers through your hair so he could see your face properly. “Look at you, my cock in your mouth first thing in the morning. What a sight.”

 You moan at his words, and the vibrations that come from your throat make him twitch in your mouth. Chan refrains from bucking his hips, but he slips up sometimes when gets too lost in the pleasure. There’s an apology on his lips every time, but you shut him up quickly with a harsh suck to his throbbing cock.

 You know he’s close when the twitching gets more frequent and his thighs start tensing around your head, his hand going from tugging on your hair instead of just resting there. Chan gets quieter as well, his nasty praises trailing off to grunts and broken moans.

 Your jaw was aching, but the quiet gasps of your name spurs you on more than you’d like to admit. Because as much as you loved to be under Chan’s mercy, something about him losing his mind over your mouth and saying your name like it was his last prayer did things to you. The slick heat between your legs reminded you of it.

 His pleasure was your pleasure.

 You’re forcibly pulled off when Chan tugs your head back, and you’re just about to complain when Chan suddenly sits up and grabs his cock with his free hand, keeping the tip of it in your mouth. 

 “Look at me.” He hisses, and you obey immediately. 

 You look up at him through your lashes, suckling at the head of his cock as much as he let you. He jerks himself off quickly, using your spit as lube and groaning at the lewd sight of your lips wrapped around him and the feeling of your tongue insistently brushing against the underside of his cock.

 “I’m gonna cum, baby, shit-“ he grunts through gritted teeth, and you squirm as you watch his abs and arms flex with each movement. 

 Chan had his head thrown back now, sweat dripping down his throat and his pale skin reddening as he got closer and closer to his release. 

 “I’m gonna cum in this pretty mouth. This perfect mouth, only mine to use, hm? Just mine and mine alone, fuck- god, fuck!“

 You tug Chan’s hand away and swallow his cock down your mouth again as soon as the first spurt of his cum hits your tongue, making him flinch. 

He’s clearly torn between tugging your head away due to  the oversensitivity, or pushing his cock farther down your mouth. His hand flexes in your hair, unsure of what to do. 

 You decide for him.

 Your throat works against him, struggling to swallow his cum and keep his cock in your mouth at the same time. You were determined to milk his whole orgasm out of him, and you weren’t going to stop until he was dry and shaking. The moans Chan lets out this time are almost close to whimpers as he falls back against the mattress, hips bucking uselessly. 

 “Y/N,” he whines, gasping for breath, and you rub your hands up and down his hips to ground him. You clean him up slowly, aware that the oversensitivity must be bordering on pain now.

 Chan groans, arms coming up to hide his reddened face.  “Baby, enough, please. Come here, come up, I want a kiss. Please.”

 You bite back a smile as you pull off his cock, sucking one last hickey to his navel and reveling in his stuttered moan. You crawl up the bed slowly, kissing the exposed part of Chan’s chin; the only area that wasn’t covered by his arms.

 “Good?” You ask, sitting on his stomach now.

 “Good?” He squawks, disbelief written all over his face when he pulls his arms away. His face was still red, as well as the upper parts of his chest. “Good?! You- god, I can’t believe you. Come here, you little minx.”

 He growls, pulling you into a bruising kiss. Your hands come up to cup his cheeks again, moaning as he bit on your lips and sucked on your tongue like a starving man. Chan’s hands grope your breasts through your shirt, thumbing your slowly hardening nipples and making you squirm. 

 When he pulls away from the kiss and trails his lips down your neck, his hands move lower as well. He hooked his thumbs in your shorts, one second from pulling them down and having his way with you. But-

 Speaking of starving.

 “Channie,” you whine, stopping his hands. He freezes immediately, pulling back to look at you. Concern was written all over his face, and you would have cooed if you didn’t have more pressing matters at hand. 

 You frowned. “I’m really hungry.”

 Chan gapes at you, stunned. He blinks rapidly, eyes going from your frowning face to his hands by your shorts. “I- are you- do you not want me to return the favor? You just gave me the best orgasm of my life.”

 You snort, knowing he was exaggerating, but Chan looked dead serious. You roll your eyes then, locking your lips in a heated kiss again for a few seconds to satiate your needy boyfriend. You keep your forehead pressed together when you pull back slightly to look in his dazed eyes, still filled with want. 

 You drag the tip of your index finger across his lip, smirking. “I’ll make you a deal. If you put some food in my stomach, I promise I’ll let you fuck me six ways to sunday.” You grind down, making him hiss. “It’s been too long since you made me cry, no?”

 Chan’s eyes darkened. You licked your lips.

 But then, the next thing you know, the world was upside down, and you were being carried outside your bedroom over your boyfriend’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

 “Bang Chan!” You squeak, heart pounding wildly in your chest. “Put me down, you crazy idiot! What the hell are you doing!”

 “Putting some food in your stomach.” Chan replied simply, like that was the answer to all your questions. “No take backs.”

 You pause for a second, then find yourself laughing at the absurdity of the situation. Chan was still naked. You smack his ass repeatedly, making him yelp on the way to the kitchen. 

 “You’re insane.” You laugh as he finally sets you down on the kitchen counter, wrapping your arms around his neck when he squeezes himself in between your thighs.

 “You love me.” He giggles, looking too smug for your own liking. But then his face softens, and you blink in surprise when he presses a soft kiss to your lips,

 then your nose,

 then your forehead,

 then your lips again.

 “And I love you . More than anything.”

 It’s the softest kiss you’ve shared since you woke up, and that was saying something. You look up at Chan, dazed at the sudden switch of mood. He was looking at you tenderly, eyes twinkling as he smiled, dimples popping out.

 Your heart pounded in your chest again, beating so hard you felt like it was going to come out of you. You love him. You were so in love with Bang Chan that it hurt, and you wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of your life in his arms, just like this. Always.

 “Now,” Chan grinned wide, stepping back as he clapped his hands twice. He was looking very determined, arms crossed and bulging over his chest as he looked around the kitchen. 

 Your eyes meet, and your breath catches in your throat when he smirks.

 “Time to fulfill my part of the deal so we can get on with yours.”

[kyberphilosopher]

Dark Red

Only you, my girl, only you babe. Only you, darling, only you.  Damian gets a birthday present. 

Word Count: 2404

Note: This can be read with the same reader as in Impact Play, acting as a prologue if you so wish. Obviously not proof read.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

It was no secret that Damian was never a fan of his father. Even when he held the mantle of Robin there was discourse. 

He seemed happier with Superman, which was alright, but sad considering it’s not how it should’ve been. You would’ve questioned his stance with his mother, but it was probably best not to. Something about that whole idea was off and after hearing Damian threaten Cyborg about it, you were certain. His mother was a no go. 

The rest of his family was spread to the wind. Dick had died years ago, to which Damian would only comment was an accident. Jason Todd was both nowhere and everywhere, though Damian never showed a real enthusiasm for tracking him down. And Tim was just gone. He was in Gotham, but he was... not a part of Damian’s life. None of his family was part of his life. 

At this point, you were not Damian’s family either. You were not even really his friend. You had sided with Superman, and he had sided with Superman, and sometimes you may have stood next to each other, but there was a bout of coldness. Conversations were short, no matter who initiated them. Training... you and Damian didn’t train together. He went off with Cyborg or Superman most of the time, and when you weren’t sparring Black Adam, Wonder Woman wanted to train you. Go figure. But from what you heard, Damian had a not half bad sense of humor and knew how to swing a sword. Maybe that’s why you were so aware of his familial life. 

After all, that was the reason you’d poked into Damian’s personal file anyway. Normally, you probably wouldn’t have done anything of the sort. But everyone else was on the other side of the Fortress of Solitude, and you were in need of a good scoffing. Certainly the details of one Damian Wayne could satisfy that need. 

You flip the file open, expecting something mind boggling. Instead, your brows only raise as you lean back against the icy computer monitor and desk. Your breathing comes out in thick puffs of white air even though you don’t feel cold. Only the balls of your feet feel the freezing temperatures beneath them. Not unlike your fingers, which dance over an old picture of Robin without thinking before your brows crease. 

 Superman and Wonder Woman have erased almost everything there is to Damian Wayne. His last name is listed as both Al Ghul and the latter. Nothing is listed under powers or strengths. His file is short. The photo of Damian in his Robin get-up is longer than the entirety of words on the paper. It’s as if you’d came for a scoff, and been given one to for you had not intended. Not even close. 

You’re about to close it all together and move on with filing the others when a certain set of words catch your eye. That’s when you discover something very interesting. Something you could actually do something with, if you wanted to. That Damian Wayne was born August 9th. 

The file closes and is stuck with the rest in a messy pile. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Damian is sitting in the dining hall when he hears your footsteps. At first, he thought it was Diana or Victor with how heavy and fast they were. But as you drew closer, he could analyze the weight of your heel and toes and that little pause your knees give sometimes and he knows. Sure enough, a minute later you burst through the entrance way, cooling down from a run. Your chest rises and falls as you look around the room, mouth agape. Finally, your eyes land on Damian, who’s mid chew into the only cereal he could find.

“Happy birthday,” you state, still catching your breath. Luckily, the room is empty between yourself and Damian, so Wonder Woman won’t make you do laps to build up your endurance again.

Damian doesn’t respond, but he does watch you. His chewing is paused, brows creasing under his mask as milk drops from his raised spoon.

“Can you wait right there?” you continue, building up the pace of your feet again. “Thanks.”

The ex-Robin doesn’t respond. Whether it’s because his mouth is full, he has no purpose speaking, or the exasperated confusion you can see in his eyes, he has nothing to say. Only his orbs follow you as you jog out the other archway of the room. 

It is Damian’s birthday. Even if he had no way to track the daily date, his mother had forced him to know the exact minute of every hour every day of the year. It had been his first thought this morning. Which meant there could be no mistake. It was Damian’s birthday. 

He wonders how you know. But then he thinks of the billion different ways you could have figured it out and so he settles on one of those. Superman had probably just marked it down for the details of Damian’s file, beside all his achievements and how to best use him in combat. Of course he had. Fathers keep note of their sons birthdays. 

Had Bruce remembered his birthday? When he was eleven, a year after his mother had sent Damian to Bruce, his adoptive brother Dick had found out that they’d missed Damian’s actual birthday. Then Dick had ordered a day long late birthday celebration inside Wayne manor. It was fun, for an eleven and a half year old. And there’s a bright memory of Bruce smiling down at Damian, Dick carrying the child on his back and shoulders. 

Damian shakes his head to clear his senses. He takes one bite of his cereal- two bites, three. The milk is cold down his throat. Unfortunately, as his lips pull away from the metal, some of the liquid sputters down to his armor. Two white drips on shiny a red and black suit are enough to make the entirety of it look uncleanly. Damian can’t say he’s pleased as a low, “Shit,” leaves the back of his throat. 

His eyes raise again to the side of the dining hall. You enter the room swiftly, seating yourself at the same table as him with only a good few feet between you. Your hand places a clump of tinfoil on the table. It’s creasing suggests something inside, thick and sturdy. There is silence. 

“Oh. This is for you.” You push the wrapped surprise closer to Damian. 

“Why?” he finally decides on saying, though it sounds more like a demand than a question. 

Instinctively, you scoff. “Sorry to bother you, Damian. I’ll just take my Basbousa and get out of here.”

You swipe the foil from its position and start to stand. Then the familiar pinching feeling of armored hands over the comparably thin fabric of your sweatshirt greets you. Damian’s strong hand wraps around your forearm, holding you in place demandingly. “You brought Basbousa?”

You tug your hand arm free with a jolt, then slowly seat yourself back down. Eyes glued to each other, the foil is released from your grasp. “See for yourself, birthday boy.”

The object is pushed towards him again. This time, the hand that previously gripped your arm instead moves his bowl of cereal out of the way and puts the foil in its place. Birthday boy. 

Sucking in a breath, Damian maneuvers his fingers across the shiny silver wrapping until it’s all but gone. Inside, sure enough, is a golden yellow square, no bigger than a cupcake. On special occasions, Damian would receive the dessert as a boy. But that was only when he was with his mother, and when he ate it too fast, she would have him hold hot coals in his hand as punishment to teach patience. 

He wonders if it still tastes as sweet as he remembers. 

“And you got this where?” Damian tosses to you. 

You only shrug in response. “It’s cold. Hope you like it that way.”

You watch Damian then. His eyes are fixated on the treat in front of him. From his side and this close, you can make out details that are a juxtaposition to his very nature. 

Damian’s lashes are long and thick, and look about as soft as a pile of fresh snow. His eyes flicker between green and brown and bronze, sometimes similar to honey in the light and others more like spring grass. There’s a freckle on the left underside of his jaw. Everything so calm and pretty in contrast to how abrasive and judgmental Damian Wayne really is. 

“Do you want me to sing?” you say to pull yourself out before you go into too deep of a daze. 

“Don’t,” Damian responds curtly. 

“So,” you begin, watching as Damian pulls his cereal spoon from the bowl and prepares to use it on the basbousa. “What did Superman do for your special day?”

“Nothing,” Damian reveals. “Victor did my laundry and now there’s glitter all over my clothes.”

An eyebrow raises in response. “Sucks.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want a candle for that?” you ask Damian, knowing full well there’s no way Superman would keep birthday candles in the Fortress of Solitude. Damian’s spoon breaks through the corner of the basbousa and it crumbles almost immediately. 

“No.”

It’s at that word that you come to the realization that you like Damian Wayne’s voice. 

“You know, I’m usually more of a taramisu fan. But this is good too.” Damian slips the spoon between his lips and his eyes flutter closed for a fraction of a second in enjoyment. Then, “It really is surprising that you got this.”

“So I’m the only one who remembered your birthday,” you slip your hands between your thighs for some heat. “Besides Vic.”

“Seems so.”

A minute passes. Damian keeps his eyes on his dessert- and apparently his only gift- while you keep still in wait. You’re not sure why. Damian is attractive, you know that for sure now, but it’s not as if you’re best friends. There were similarities, yes, but that was the reason why you weren’t close wasn’t it? Because you were shared some things that coincidentally kept you from each other?

“Do you uh...” your voice goes hoarse. You clear your throat before Damian can say anything, though you’re fully aware he’s picked up on it surely. “Do you want a present or anything?”

Damian’s pulse stutters. A gift? Offered to him? Dick was the last person who’d ever done that. And how had Damian repayed him?

He drops the spoon sharply to the table, no longer wishing to intake food. 

“I’d buy you something but I’m pretty sure we’re illegal. There’s some old sweaters in my place that don’t fit me anymore. Hope you like sweaters-”

“You did this for me?” Damian cuts you off, now turning to you. Against the blackness of his mask, the green in his eyes look pale and striking. The brown is noticeable for only a moment in a spark of icy light before submitting to the other colors within. 

Well, yeah. You guess you had. So that’s what you tell him. 

Damian’s eyes immediately narrow in accusation and suspicion. Of course. 

“Is it so I’ll do something on your birthday?”

You just furrow your brows and shake your head, because the answer is pretty obviously a no and Damian knows that. 

He dips his head back down to the table. Maybe in shame. But then he starts to speak again and you don’t mind at all because his voice is so nice and fitting and toned and-

“I haven’t had a lot of birthday celebrations in my life. My mother… This was nice of you.”

Hey… you did a nice thing. How many of those have you had to claim in your life? And from Someone so obnoxious as Damian Wayne, you know it must be true. How pure, how precious is that? And on his birthday too. Such an intimate day. So important, so close. So… friendly.

“It’s nothing,” you respond, lips parted with distraction as the two of you are seemingly locked in the same moment. Shake out of it. “Uh, so think about what you want next time Regime goes out. It’ll be a late birthday gift.”

“Yeah,” Damian says. “Yeah- yeah, I got it.”

He picks up the spoon again and continues his eating. When he nears the end of it, you’d pick yourself up and leave the area wordlessly. There’s no need for words for such a simple and barely there relationship. But, that could change. 

Right now, all there is is him. It’s something you’ve never felt with any boyfriends, any girlfriends, anyone. From your longest relationship to your shortest, this is the only time you’ve felt such a strange pull in your tummy. You barely even know Damian, and yet, this exact moment is buzzing and inexplicable. At least on your end. 

So what happens with the grandson of the demon and the marksman of the Regime is up to you. If the relationship would blossom, as it begs to, or if it would stand still, like the you and Damian in this minute. Because at this moment, there’s only him. Only him, darling.

“Happy birthday, Damian.”

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Something short and sweet I settled on for Damian’s birthday. He’s over hated, if you ask me, even in the Injustice universe. His character has a lot of depth and even though he’s easy to hate on the surface, I just can’t. So happy birthday to the beloved Damian Wayne, and a hopeful many more years for him. 

Also, basbousa is a real dish. I wanted to find something middle eastern to tie to Damian since he is, in fact, middle eastern. I don’t think DC has ever confirmed where exactly he and his mother are from so I had to chose something a little generic. Basbousa is found in Turkey and surrounding countries. 

[fruitcoops]

Hi Eve! Just wondering if you could write a coops smut where one of them wears lingerie? You sort of explored the concept in the Valentines Day smut where Sirius wore thigh highs, but i was maybe thinking a fic where one of them wears a full set. Its all completely up to you!

How about both? Happy smutty Monday, folks! Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW for smut, subspace/ subdrop

It was Friday, and Remus was learning the glory of stockings on hockey thighs.

It was Thursday, and he began to wonder how to repay his lovely fiancé.

It was Sunday, two weeks after Valentine’s Day, and between flashes of thunder outside and damn near howls of pleasure into their traumatized pillows, Remus was still thinking about the socks.

It was Tuesday, a bye week, and the last piece of his plan clicked into place as Sirius hefted him further over the countertop by the muscle of his thigh with one hand keeping his chest flush to the cool marble.

It was Wednesday, and Remus smiled to himself as Sirius snuggled closer in the darkness of a quiet night in. He ran an absentminded hand through inky curls, relishing the soft puffs of Sirius’ breath on the hollow of his throat while their legs remained comfortably tangled. You have no idea what’s coming, he thought, letting his lips linger on Sirius’ forehead. No idea at all.

It was Sunday, and Remus had spent two minutes hyping himself up in the bathroom mirror. The rustling from their bedroom had stopped long before. “Alright, you can do this,” he murmured, leaning his hands on the edge of the sink. “You look hot. This isn’t weird. He’s gonna lose his fucking mind.”

“Mon loup?”

Anxiety leaped in Remus’ stomach. “One second!” he called back through the closed door. He stared at himself for a moment longer, then sighed. It was a stupid idea—there was no way Sirius would want to see him in something as silly as this. He looked ridiculous, and it wasn’t even worth it; any clothing would be off in a heartbeat anyway. Sirius always preferred skin-to-skin contact.

The lacy edge of the garter belt itched the peak of his hip as he blew out a slow breath. Did Remus still dream about Sirius’ thigh highs over a month later? Yes. Did that guarantee Sirius would have a similar reaction to seeing him in actual lingerie? Not necessarily.

Remus liked guarantees. They were safe. Soothing. Unquestionable.

“Are you alright?” Sirius’ voice floated through the door on a wave of concern.

Fuck it. The bathroom lights caught the silver buckles. It’s now or never. “You can’t laugh, okay?” he warned, closing a hand around the knob.

“I won’t. I have a surprise for you, too.”

That bit of curiosity gave him that last push of courage he needed to open the door and step out of the safety of the bathroom. His pulse skyrocketed, though whether it was from the sudden feeling of absolute exposure or the sight of Sirius waiting on their bed in some sort of sheer, lacy top, Remus couldn’t tell. Sirius stared at him, lips slightly parted. Remus cleared his throat and spread his hands. “Surprise?”

“Oh.”

“You look—you look great,” he managed lamely. There were a million better words to describe the lavender fabric cascading over the planes of Sirius’ chest, but his brain had been replaced by the blush prickling up his neck and face. Going for the basic black garter belt and underwear suddenly seemed subpar instead of classically sexy.

Sirius shifted on his knees and reached for him. “Viens ici.”

“It—” Remus faltered. His chest and legs were bare, save for the satiny clasps holding the garters in place on his thighs. Sirius was just staring, like he couldn’t believe his eyes. It had been a long time since he felt self-conscious around Sirius; every bit of missed embarrassment flooded back at once as he sat on the foot of the bed. “I liked your socks on Valentine’s Day, and I figured—I dunno. This is the surprise, by the way.”

“C’mere.” Sirius’ eyes finally flickered up to his face without a trace of judgement.

“I’m here.”

“Here,” Sirius repeated, tugging him over to straddle his lap with an arm around Remus’ waist. He kissed him, soft and slow but undeniably wanting, before he leaned back. “You look so handsome, mon coeur.”

“Yeah?”

“Ouais.” And, god, if Remus didn’t love the way his voice curled around that word, turning it into a million perfectly lazy syllables.

He rolled the hem of Sirius’ top between his fingers and hummed against his mouth. “This is new.”

“You like it?”

“Mhmm.” It was hard to tear his eyes away from the shadow of muscle beneath the delicate fabric.

Mischief flickered over Sirius’ face. “It’s called a ‘babydoll’. Thought you might get a kick out of that.”

“Babydoll for my baby,” Remus teased, kissing his nose with a playful tug to the lace edges. Sirius’ gaze slipped back down to his lap—no, his legs—and his fingers toyed with the seam of the accompanying underwear. Remus placed a light kiss to the shell of his ear, watching every twitch of his hands. “What do you want?”

“To look at you.” There was nothing but honesty when Sirius glanced back to him. The intensity of it sent a spark up Remus’ spine; he had grown so used to Sirius’ general aura of focus that he had nearly forgotten what it felt like wholly directed on him.

“And…?”

“And nothing. Just to look.” Nervousness flickered across his fine features as he settled back against the headboard and pulled Remus with him. “Just for a minute, and then we can do whatever you—”

Remus silenced him with a kiss, bracketing his waist with his palms. The babydoll was like water under his touch, but Sirius was as solid as ever. “This is for you,” he said when they separated. “You can look for as long as you like.”

Except Sirius didn’t only want to look—he wanted to touch. That fact was made clear within seconds, when the hands smoothing up and down Remus’ thighs in rhythmic motions began dipping beneath the straps of his garter belt and sliding up to his narrow hips, then hooked around the backs of his bent knees. Sirius pressed one palm flat over his abs and Remus shivered, trailing his lips down his neck. He wasn’t aroused in the lightning-fast please please I need you now kind of way, but more of an I’m about to float into space if you don’t keep touching me like a treasure buzz.

“Re, honey,” Sirius murmured. It was only then that Remus realized most of his breaths were coming in short pants instead of kisses. The nickname was one of his favorites, reserved for the times when he was well and truly gone; it was more tender than mon coeur, and worlds more intimate than his own name or even sweetheart. He nipped the edge of Sirius’ jaw and felt him gasp.

Remus licked his lips as he pulled away just enough to speak. “D’you want me to take it off?”

“Never.”

He smiled. “It has to come off if you want to fuck me.”

“Deux pièces.” The arm around his lower back tightened as one hand came to rest on his ass, which was still fully covered by lace-lined black fabric. Remus had opted for the ‘boyshort’ choice, as it looked to be the most likely to prevent slippage.

That, and it had fewer strappy bits. The buckles were hard enough to figure out—adding an accidental wedgie into the mix seemed like a poor idea.

“Yeah, but the important piece can only come off if I take the fun one off first,” Remus explained, snapping one of the ties. Sirius stared at it for a long moment before blinking slowly.

“Are you sure?”

“Giving me puppy eyes isn’t going to flip this inside out, babes,” Remus laughed. “Two seconds.”

“But you’ll keep the fun part on, right?” Sirius slid down to lay next to him while he wrestled with the garter belt, hissing curses each time the buckles pinched his fingers. It was, quite possibly, the least sexy thing he had ever done. That did not seem to deter his fiancé—if anything, watching Remus struggle with black satin strips in the dark while laying flat on his back appeared to be the highlight of Sirius’ day.

The fog in his head cleared a bit as he worked his underwear down his thighs, being careful not to mess with the garters too much. It had taken him five full minutes to get the damn things on in the first place, and he wasn’t exactly in the mood to waste another five that could be spent in much more pleasurable ways. “The ‘fun part’—” Remus couldn’t spare a hand to do air quotes, but he hoped Sirius got the gist. “—is a lot more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Nope.”

He paused. “You’re not the one losing a fight to a few scraps of fabric.”

Sirius met his eyes, looking every inch the fallen angel with his hair splayed over the pillow and his lavender whatever-the-hell-glory pooling at his mid-chest. “Do you want me to take it off for you?”

“I thought you wanted the fun part to stay on.”

“Here.” Remus barely managed to kick the underwear off his ankles before Sirius shuffled over to lay between his thighs and attach his mouth just beneath the left garter.

“Oh, fuck me,” Remus huffed, letting his head fall back against the pillows.

“Gimme a minute,” Sirius said into his skin while he licked a stripe up to the first buckle and carefully pulled it down to hook into its proper place. Remus arched his back, only to be pushed down a moment later as Sirius electrified patches of skin he didn’t even know he had. Teeth slipped along the curve of his muscle and nibbled just above the back of his knee; Remus clenched his hands in the sheets with a shuddering inhale and tried his best to keep his wits about him.

By the time Sirius moved on to his other thigh, he was a goner. He could practically feel his pulse through his dick and the fog had returned with a vengeance, blurring the world at the edges while he let go of the tension in his back. How could he possibly be stressed when Sirius was saying such pretty things? The warmth of lips on his thighs disappeared and he stretched his arms above his head, relishing in his own contentment and Sirius’ light laugh. “You’re lovely,” he mumbled. Really, it was the only appropriate word for the occasion.

There was a rustling sound next to him, but Remus didn’t bother paying attention to what it was—Sirius’ weight all around him was more than enough to occupy—

“Oh.” His eyes flashed open as a lube-slick finger pushed into him to the first knuckle. “Oh.”

“Were you listening?” Sirius sounded faintly amused. Remus smiled lazily; he must have missed a joke (or a warning) somewhere in the tumble of words from that lovely pout. He rocked his hips onto Sirius’ finger, stretching one leg out as the other remained bent and tilted away. It was only kept in place by Sirius’ free hand, but even the idea of being held sent a tingling feeling all the way to his toes.

“How many?” Remus asked, looping his arms under Sirius’ to pull him closer. He needed warmth, and the smooth familiarity of Sirius’s chest against his own. He needed the encompassing feeling of being covered, which had yet to fade, no matter how much more muscle he gained.

Sirius smiled into the side of his neck. “Two.”

“Really?”

“Mhmm. Are you still with me?”

“Sure.” The world zoomed back into 3D focus when Sirius’ fingers brushed his sweet spot and Remus gripped his shoulder blades with a hitch of breath—his free leg jerked inward at the sudden shift. “There. There, now.”

“I have other plans, sweetheart.”

“Now,” Remus insisted. He would give Sirius anything he wanted if it meant he could feel that thrill again. Their bedroom was dim, but the lights popping at the corners of his vision as Sirius closed a hand around his shaft and continued sliding two fingers into him were so very bright. Remus moved his hands down from Sirius’ shoulders to his hips, then lower to give him a hint. “Now?”

“I was going to do three—”

“Now,” Remus said, brooking no room for argument. He pushed Sirius’ chest until he rolled onto his back—bless the man for his quick thinking skills, because Remus’ new muscle still wasn’t enough to manhandle him properly—and settled himself into his previous position on Sirius’ lap.

A dark eyebrow arched, though his dilated pupils gave away Sirius’ true feelings. “Like this?”

“You said you wanted to look, didn’t you?” Thinking back, Remus couldn’t imagine how he could ever have been worried about this. He took a few deep breaths as he sank down, biting hard on his lip against the dizzy want prodding the edges of his mind. This needed to last. Sirius’ mouth was cherry red and wet when he glanced down, fully seated and feeling rather confident about the whole thing. “Then look.”

The first rock of his hips brought a whimper from plush lips and Remus grinned; he took Sirius’ hands and planted them on his thighs before bracing his own against the broad planes of his chest. Silky fabric parted under his palms and his smile widened into giddiness as he slid his hands beneath it to rest on warm skin. Sirius pushed the side of his face into the pillow with a huff of breath.

“No,” Remus panted as he continued to move, pulling Sirius’ chin back up. His hands were shaking when he cupped his face. “Look. L—look at me.”

Sirius’ brows pitched and his silver gaze flickered down to the garter belt; Remus let his head fall back as long fingers toyed with the straps, sometimes tugging gently, sometimes snapping fireworks through his legs. The power shift between them ebbed and flowed like the tide. He wanted a tsunami.

He worked the words around in his mouth for a moment, unsure of how to ask for what he wanted. One of Sirius’ hands traveled to his back and began moving in steady presses up and down his spine. “Fuck me,” Remus pleaded.

A synchronized roll of their hips made them both moan. “I am,” Sirius said breathlessly.

Remus licked his lips and made a valiant effort to get air back into his lungs. “Please.”

His expression must have made the message clear enough, because understanding rippled across the puzzlement on Sirius’ face in mere moments; with a firm squeeze, Remus’ hips stopped cold. Mistake, his brain thought immediately as Sirius’ dick rested directly on his prostate. Mistake, mistake, keep moving or you’re gonna—

“Remus.”

The whine that tore from his mouth would have been embarrassing if he had any self-conscious braincells left to spare. He bit his lip again, teetering on a knife’s edge while his thighs shook and his knees slid on the sheets.

“Deep breaths.”

One.

“One more for me.”

Two. He was wheezing slightly with the effort of keeping down his moans.

“Try again.”

A frustrated grumble built in his chest, but he obliged. Three. The air was warm and smelled like Sirius; it was intoxicating. His next breath was even deeper, and he let it fill him.

“Good job.”

Something in Remus perked its ears up and he managed a lopsided smile, blinking his eyes open to look down at Sirius. His face was still soft, but his eyes had a tarnished edge to them that sent a shiver down Remus’ spine and nearly undid all his hard work.

“Color?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Green.”

“Are you slipping?”

Slipping, slipped, gone for good, he thought. “Mhmm.”

Sirius laid him back down, catching himself from sliding out at the last second. Remus arched his back at the slow press in. “How do you want it?”

“I already told you twice,” he said, planting a kiss to Sirius’ upper lip. The warm touch around his thighs had not faltered yet. “Come on, Captain, you know what I want.”

Sirius positioned his legs to wrap around his waist and kissed him fully, stealing the breath from Remus’ body in one fell swoop as he began to move his hips again; the pace increased so steadily that Remus nearly lost himself in it. The lace of the garter belt no longer itched, but slid in a blissful rhythm instead. The bits of cold where the small buckles rubbed against his skin were a mind-melting contrast to the cocoon of warmth he sank into.

“M—” Remus didn’t even get the word out before Sirius gave him a hard thrust and pressed their tangled fingers further into the mattress. He muffled a shout into the dip of his shoulder and sucked a mark there between moans. “Oh, fuck, Sirius.”

His head was spinning with the mixture of sensations—he had been so focused on being full that he almost forgot about the hand still moving terribly slow along his shaft. One leg kicked out on its own accord and he twitched, one hip canting upward until Sirius held it back down without breaking stride. Remus’ breaths were little more than staccato moans; he knew bringing out Sirius’ dominant side was an easy switch to flip, but he hadn’t been expecting the change to be quite so sudden. Not that he was complaining, of course.

Sirius let go of his hand to drag his leg back up, fingertips digging in just below the garter as the new angle drew a desperate ‘holy shit’ from Remus and a squeak of protest from their bedsprings. He had forgotten how long it had been since Sirius truly railed his lights out—the tingling sensation racing through his thighs and up to his chest was a welcome companion.

And he began to laugh.

Breathless and practically hiccups, but a laugh all the same. He could see Sirius’ confusion in his mind’s eye despite the fact that he had given up on trying to keep his eyes open several thrusts prior. The movement slowed. “What?” Sirius asked. “What’s so funny?”

“I fucking love you,” Remus said between gasps.

“Why are you laughing?”

“I don’t know.” Something warm slid down his cheek. “It’s so good and I can’t—I don’t know. Keep moving, please, please.”

Sirius’ thumb swiped across his cheekbone and he picked up the pace again; Remus’ shocked laughter faded back into panting and babbling within a few seconds, but the pure elation didn’t slip until he felt his orgasm approaching and resorted to leaving a trail of sloppy kisses along the line of Sirius’ collarbone and neck. Sirius liked his mouth, liked feeling it on him, and Remus could tell that he was getting close by the heat building under his palms where he struggled to find a handhold.

“I l—I lo—I love you,” he managed, adding a love bite to his collection around a groan. They were both sweaty messes, but the salt on his lips was exactly what he wanted.

“I love you, too.” Sirius’ voice was just as labored as his own, buzzing against every pleasure center Remus had.

“I lo—” He broke off with a strangled shout as Sirius squeezed the sensitive part of his thigh at the same time as a thrust. There was nowhere for his mouth to go. He bit down hard on instinct.

Sirius hissed in pain and Remus immediately pulled away, feeling frantic and worried and awful. “Ow.”

“ ‘m sorry,” he said, still a little wild as he covered Sirius’ cheek in apologetic kisses and searched for a hand to hold. “ ‘m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I promise.”

“It’s okay,” Sirius assured him, soothing his hands as they skimmed across his body. “Just surprised me.”

“Didn’t mean to hurt you.” Horror tried to push in around the tangle of joy-want-need-more, but there simply wasn’t room. Remus settled for running his trembling fingers through Sirius’ hair and kissing him gently. He hoped it would be enough.

“You didn’t hurt me,” Sirius said against his lips, rubbing circles with his thumb in the crease of Remus’ hip and thigh. The whirlwind in his head calmed to tv static—the world tunneled to them and their bed. Remus buried his face in Sirius’ neck and slid deep under.

He registered the pressure of Sirius’ hands and the feeling of his own throat pouring out nonsense; he felt his muscles clench and the slide of satin on sweaty skin before balling his fists so tight in Sirius’ babydoll top that it nearly tore. He heard his own breaths become shallow, knew it was Sirius’ hand running along the crown of his dick, and finally, finally shuddered apart with a hitching whine.

“Re, honey.”

Remus sighed through his nose and held him close. He was beyond comfortable, if not a little sticky. Again, his body suggested.

No, his brain answered immediately.

Yes.

No.

Yes.

No.

“I can’t,” Remus slurred.

Lips pressed against the corner of his mouth. “What can’t you do?”

“Go again.”

He felt laughter from the weight above him—Sirius, his brain supplied with a happy fizz down his back—and let his legs be pulled back down to the mattress. “Yeah, not a chance.”

The warmth inside him slipped away and he winced. “Put it back.”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“Cause we’re definitely done.” The laughter returned, bright as a summer day, and he rubbed his face in the hollow of angular collarbones where the vibration was strongest. “How are you feeling?”

“Noodle.”

“Okay, sweetheart.”

Remus closed his eyes and stifled a yawn; the world could wait until he was done with his nap.

“Hey.” Someone tapped his hip and he frowned. “No falling asleep yet.”

“I’m tired.”

“I know, but we need water and a shower.”

Remus squirmed around until he could fix Sirius with a look. “Can’t stand up.”

“You hate sleeping while you’re sweaty.”

Fair point. Remus became suddenly and harshly aware of how sticky he was and pulled a face, flexing his fingers on Sirius’ back. The high was softening; he felt more settled in himself already. He nudged Sirius until he laid down, then curled into his ribs with an arm and a leg slung over his body. The aftershocks raced in pops of lightning down his legs. “Teddy bear.”

“Hmm?”

“Teddy bear,” he repeated. “ ’s all you are, at the end of the day. I love it. I love you.”

Sirius pulled him closer and kissed his temple. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” He stretched all four limbs and felt his elbow pop, then relaxed. “Much better. Alright, I need to get this thing off.”

If trying to put the garter belt on had been difficult, it was nothing compared to forcing his unsteady and sweat-slick fingers to get it off. “Do you need some help?” Sirius asked, amused.

“No.”

He struggled for a moment longer, spoiling the sweetness of the drop with frustration, before Sirius’ hands replaced his own and carefully untied each strap so he could get it off properly. “There you go.”

Remus kicked it to the floor and glared balefully at it. “I love you, but I’m never wearing that again.”

“Never?”

“Maybe one more time,” he conceded. The confidence boost had been dizzying. “As long as you keep this.”

Sirius looked down at where Remus’ fingers were tugging with the hem of his slip. “I really like it, too.”

“The color’s nice.”

“C’mere.” Sirius wrapped his other arm around Remus’ shoulders and drew him in for a snuggle, rubbing his back with one hand. “Let me know when I can get us some water, okay?”

“You can go, if you need to.”

“Really?”

He hesitated, then moved his head to rest above Sirius’ heartbeat. “No.”

“D’accord.” Sirius kissed his forehead again.

Remus lasted three minutes before he couldn’t stand the tacky feeling of the lube any longer, but those three minutes were the coziest he could remember. Sirius was warm and traced patterns over his bare skin; his soft lips decorated Remus’ face, simultaneously lulling him and keeping him from falling asleep. With a sigh, he detached his arms. “Okay.”

“I’ll be right back,” Sirius promised. The room was darker without him—the bed stayed warm. Remus scooted over into the indent he left and basked in the memory, cataloguing his aches. Abs? Sore. Arms? Still good. Thighs? A bit chafed from lace, but alright. Neck? Scattered with love bites he couldn’t recall receiving, though that was a fairly common occurrence.

“That was quick,” he mumbled when the other side of the mattress dipped.

Sirius shrugged. The babydoll shift was tragically absent. “The usual two minutes, actually.”

“Must have zoned out,” he hummed, leaning into the cool washcloth on his face. A few tears always slipped out when they dipped into rougher territory, though he never felt sad. It was just…overwhelming, in the best way.

Sirius cleaned his thighs with the same careful touch as his face before handing him a cup of water. “Are you hungry?”

“Nope.” Remus downed the glass in two gulps and opened his arms. “Bedtime.”

“No pajamas?” Sirius asked with a laugh, though he obliged and let Remus laminate himself to his side.

“Unnecessary.”

“No shower?”

His instinctive response was god no, cuddles take precedence and I’m dead on my feet, but a shower did sound nice. Sirius washing his hair, scrubbing the last bits of shakiness and his drop away, going to bed clean…

“Alright,” he agreed grudgingly. “We’re probably going to need to change the sheets, too.”

“That can wait until we’re done.” And before he could even attempt to stand on his own, Sirius gathered him into his arms and hoisted him off the bed. If he wasn’t afraid he’d fall flat on his face without help, Remus would have protested. “Mon dieu, I forgot how muscly you are now.”

“Says the man who can’t stop ogling me whenever I take my shirt off,” Remus teased, then frowned when he saw the purpling bruise on Sirius’ neck. “Holy shit, my dentist could identify me with that thing. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Sirius paused in the bathroom doorway and kissed him hard, stirring the last dregs of arousal in Remus’ gut. “You have blanket permission to do that whenever you like.”

Remus gaped at him, speechless. “Well, that’s not fair,” he managed. “I’m tired.”

“Not a bad way to spend a Sunday night,” Sirius mused. His sneaky squeeze of Remus’ ass did not go unnoticed. “In my personal opinion, of course.”

“Of course,” Remus said drily. Maybe a shower wasn’t the worst idea after all. His knees weren’t nearly sore enough yet.

[luxekook]

when fire meets frost | kth

as part of the christmas with bangtan: secret santa collab

❅ pairing: kim taehyung x reader

❅ genre: second chance romance, exes to lovers, angst, smut, fluff

❅ summary: just like a bad holiday song, you gave taehyung your heart last christmas. only in this scenario, he broke it eight months later. now you’re both back at that same damn holiday party where you first met one year ago and you’re just praying for you and your heart to leave in one piece.

❅ word count: 5.8k

❅ warnings: 18+, cursing, suggestive comments, drinking, DIY mistletoe, light violence, random ‘A Streetcar Named Desire’ references, drunk tae (TM), break-up flashbacks, weird humor, hella tension, hella groveling, making out, smut [oral (m to f)], the fluffiest of fluff (borderline cheese...actually...full-on cheese)

❅ banner by: the almighty and powerful maggie @kimtaehyunq​ - who also is the collab host!

Present Day: The Christmas Party, 8:00PM

Taehyung is staring at you. Again. Though you're facing slightly away from him, you know that if you give even the slightest glance over, your suspicions will all but be confirmed. The heated gaze you feel skimming over your body continues as you take a much needed sip of your mulled wine and pray that you get out of his line of vision soon with your dignity still intact.

Seokjin, your best friend and current partner in conversation, notices your predicament and scoffs, “You really should just put that boy out of his misery, (y/n). Scrooge himself would be down to have a foursome with the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future if he was around all this pent-up sexual tension.”

Your red-painted lips curl in a surely unattractive manner that resembles something between a grimace and a grin. You’ve heard variations of this argument about a dozen times from just as many sources, but Seokjin’s might just be the most absurd.

“I don’t know how or why your brain went right to a ghost-fucking analogy, but I’ve long since given up trying to understand your thought processes.”

Seokjin’s chest puffs up at your words like they incite something he should feel proud of. You sigh and shake your head at him, feeling a mix of exasperation and endearment - a constant haze of comfort you feel around your best friend.

“I’m just saying,” Seokjin continues, completely undeterred by your attempts to divert the conversation onto him, “He’s hot. You’re hot. He’s still into you. You’re still into him. I don’t see the problem.”

“I never said–!” You cut yourself off. He’s baiting you. “You son of a nutcracker. You know full well what the problem is. I’ve told you more times than Yoongi has yelled at someone for getting too close to his precious sound system.

At your words, you both look over to your left where Yoongi is currently chewing out a sheepish Namjoon with a death-grip on his expensive ass speakers.

“And I’ve told you that your reasons are shaky at best, (y/n),” Seokjin sighs, placing his chin in his palm and leaning over to you. He continues with a conspiring whisper, “Just because you’re scared you’ll get hurt again doesn’t mean you should never put yourself back out there.”

“Oh yeah,” You scowl, “That’s easy for you to say. You’ve never been dumped by the boy you love because he ‘wants to explore other options’. And then have to keep being around said-boy because you’re in the same friend group. And then fast forward a few months to when that same boy shows up drunk at your doorstep asking for you to take him back because you’re ‘the only one for him’. Spoiler alert: that’s fucking bullshit. And then–”

Seokjin slaps a palm over your mouth, effectively cutting you off mid-rant. “Babe, you have to stop rehashing this. Taehyung clearly is still in love with you. He looks at you like he wants to fucking eat you for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Besides, Tae hasn’t even hooked up with anyone since he asked for another chance.”

“That we know of,” You mumble darkly behind Seokjin’s palm - your words only a barely audible jumble of syllables.

“Are you accosting my date, Jin?” The voice of your co-worker and close friend Felix meets your ears as you shove Seokjin’s hand off of you. When you invited Felix to come to Jimin’s annual holiday party, you briefed him on the situation - like any good friend would. You needed him there as an extra buffer. While you love Seokjin, he definitely can get swept up into petty drama - namely baseless arguments with Jungkook.

As your closest work friend, Felix knows all about you and Taehyung, and therefore he agreed to be your “date” in exchange for your help in getting him a date with Alicia, the new accountant in your office. You’ve spent countless hours sitting next to each other as desk neighbors and coworkers. Felix is quiet, cute and respectful - not to mention his voice is to die for.

Felix’s hand settles on the middle of your back in completely friendly territory, but you can’t help but feel the eyes on you have ramped up in intensity. You wonder if Felix can feel his hand burning from the heat and almost think he does when Felix drops his hand a second later.

It’s one thing to make you uncomfortable. You’ve learned to stomach that. But it’s another thing to make your friends uncomfortable. And for that you turn and level a glare at that beautiful asshole, sitting at a nearby table with Jimin and still looking at you with those goddamn eyes.

Taehyung shamelessly stares back at you as Jimin prattles on about something in his ear before noticing Tae’s mind is elsewhere. Following his gaze to you, Jimin groans and shoves Taehyung’s shoulder before strutting away towards the kitchen. You watch as Jimin saunters by and roll your eyes when he winks at you when your eyes meet. That one has always been trouble.

When you turn back around, Taehyung is still staring at you. No, this time he’s staring at your body - namely, your ass. You ignore the burst of heat that runs through you and make a face somewhere between a scowl and a glare. He looks up at you without the least bit of remorse.

Your eyes narrow. Your ass isn’t even out! Your green ugly Christmas sweater adorned with real ornaments basically falls to your knees. But then again, Taehyung has always had a vivid imagination - and an even better memory. His mind is like a goddamn vault.

You tug your attention away from your ex and back to the current conversation. But your thoughts wander. You still feel that pull towards Taehyung - that same damn pull that’s been there since you first met him. And that scares the shit out of you.

Flashback: The First Meeting, Last Christmas

You’re perched on the arm of Namjoon’s black pleather sofa (“It doesn’t stain! Can you believe that?” “Namjoon, it’s ripped in seven places.”). Surveying the flurry of friends scattered throughout the cozy apartment, you only see a few people that you don’t know. But something feels different tonight, and you just can’t figure out why.

Did Namjoon rearrange his plants? Did Jimin part his hair differently? Did Hoseok change his outfit - again?  

“A-yo, (y/n)!” Seokjin yells over to you from clear across the room. You’re always baffled at how clueless that boy is to social cues. “Come meet Taehyung!” Your friend continues to yell, practically pinwheeling his arms to beckon you over to his side of the room. You can vaguely make out an unknown figure standing with their back to you, facing Seokjin in conversation.

You sigh. Might as well get this over with before Seokjin decides to start pretending to lasso you over to his side of the room. Or worse - get his actual lasso that he has for some unknown reason. A natural performer that boy is. Getting to your feet, you cross the room. Your heartbeat thuds in your chest and you rub a hand over your heart absentmindedly.

What is wrong with you? Meeting new people always brings nerves, but you never usually feel this out of sorts. You step into Seokjin’s outstretched arm and into the embrace of your best friend. And then you look up at the newcomer.

Hooded dark eyes. Curly black hair. Perfect pink lips. Jawline chiseled by the gods.

Your breath catches in your throat. Words buzz in the air around you but you can't distinguish one from the next. You’re pretty sure Seokjin is making some sort of joke because his sides start to shake and the beautiful stranger looks exasperatedly amused. Yet, his eyes never stray from yours.

His lips part like his breath is caught in his throat.

“Taehyung-ie, don’t be rude! Say hi!” Seokjin shoves Taehyung, jolting you both out of your little staring contest.

“Hi,” Taehyung repeats. Your stomach flips at the depth of his voice. “I’m Taehyung. Kim Taehyung. You can call me Tae. Or V. Or just Taehyung.”

Your smile widens at his ramblings and the rising color of his cheeks. “Hi, Tae,” You can't help but grin up at the adorable, beautiful boy. He really looks angelic under the kitchen lights. His halo of curls frames his face in such a way that makes you want to curl your finger around one and tug.

Vaguely, you can tell that Seokjin is shooting rapid looks between you and Taehyung, looking like some sort of bobblehead in 100mph winds. Suddenly, a Grinch-like grin takes over his face. “Why don’t you crazy kids get some more wine? I need to talk to Yoongi...” Seokjin slips away.

In hindsight, you should have immediately been tipped off that Seokjin was up to no good. Seokjin seeking out Yoongi? Nothing good ever comes from that.

And you were right. Not twenty minutes later, you and Taehyung are both stuttering messes underneath a hastily tapped up branch of mistletoe - at least that’s what Seokjin’s calling it. You think it looks like a clump of grass with a grape thrown in there.

Just as you start to tell Taehyung that he doesn’t have to feel pressured by your lame friends, he cups your face in his hands and lowers his lips to yours.

Fucking magic.

There aren’t fireworks or sparks. There’s a whole blazing inferno between the two of you.

Your hands slide up his back, tangling in the curls at the nape of his neck. Taehyung lets out a small gasp as your fingers tug on his locks, and you slowly slide your tongue across his lower lip.

“Uh, okay… Hello? Hey, guys!”

Finally, Yoongi slams together two pans from the kitchen, jolting you both away from each other in fright.

“Break that shit up,” Yoongi shoots a glare at a grinning Seokjin. “I did not sign up for that level of PDA, Jin.”

“I can’t predict love, Yoongi-ah. I can only bring lovers together,” Jin sighs, clasping his hands over his heart dramatically. Yoongi pinches Seokjin in the side, immediately instigating a fight.

Taehyung reclaims your attention, shyly intertwining his pinky with yours. In the midst of all the chaos around you, he just looks at you like you are the only thing that matters.

Present Day: The Christmas Party, 9:02PM

“I don’t know how you survive when he looks at you like that. I’m practically melting just being in proximity of the two of you.”

Your friend Ciana’s comment pulls your attention away from your demon of an ex as he strides by, leveling you with a calculated smolder.

It’s a look that says he’s going to fuck you up in the best way - the way that used to leave you weak in the knees and covered in hickies. Taehyung’s fuck me eyes are your kryptonite. He knows it. You know it. The whole party knows it. Hence, it makes sense how he’s shamelessly using them any fucking chance he can just to mess with you.

It’s practically a fulltime job pretending it doesn't affect you. And it's a job you are failing at miserably.

You sigh and take a big sip of your drink. “Oh, I'm not surviving,” You confess, “This is just a hologram image of me. I’m practically clear across the country by now.”

Ciana laughs, “Girl, I don't blame you, but I have to say… He looks like he would follow you anywhere.”

You scoff. There was a time where you would wholeheartedly agree. Since your first meeting, Tae made you feel like you were the center of his universe.

After talking all night at Seokjin’s party, you exchanged numbers and within a few days Tae asked you out.

Your first date was to an art gallery. The two of you spent hours there, studying art and exchanging soft murmured interpretations. You would often catch Taehyung staring at you instead of at the paintings decorating the walls, and it made you feel all warm and fuzzy.

The dates continued until Taehyung managed to gather up the courage to ask you to be exclusive - his words, not yours. You hadn’t believed that he could ever have doubted your answer. But in hindsight, you probably should have doubted him.

Things were great for a while. No - they were better than great. They were the best eight months of your fucking life. Until they weren’t.

“Why did y’all break up again?” Ciana asks, pulling your attention to her once more.

You let a bitter laugh escape. “You’ll have to ask him that.”

Flashback: The Break-Up, August

“I want to see other people.”

The words strike you like a serrated blade. The plate you’re washing falls into the sink with a clatter. Your heart stills in your chest.

“What?” For a second you believe that you must have misheard him. Only he crushes that hope into dust within seconds.

“I said I want to see other people.” Taehyung repeats, a bit louder.

“You mean like taking a break?” You refuse to turn around and face him. You refuse to believe that your relationship is crumbling down. Your mind tries to grasp at straws. “Or trying ethical non-monogamy?”

“No, (y/n),” Taehyung sighs, “I mean that I want to break up.”

“But why? I don’t understand.” The tears begin to sting your eyes as you blink rapidly, trying to make sense of the blindside that Taehyung just threw at you. “What did I do? How can I fix this?”

“You can’t, okay?” The exasperation in his voice is palpable. “I’m bored here. I feel tied down. We’re both so young... How can we know we’re right for each other when there’s so many other people out there?”

“Where the hell is this coming from?” You seethe, finally whirling to face him. Taehyung flinches when he sees your tearstained face but you persevere and continue, “I bore you? That’s sure not what it seemed like two days ago when you were fucking me against the wall of that club bathroom.”

“Things change,” Taehyung scowls, “I need to explore other options, (y/n), and I think you should, too.”

Your heart is breaking, a fissure splitting it right down the middle. “You want to explore other options,” You repeat, in a deadpan voice. “Do you already have someone in mind?”

The split second pause Taehyung takes is all you need to know the answer to that.

“Get out.”

“(Y/n), it wasn’t the only reason!” Taehyung scrambles to explain. “We haven’t even done anything yet!”

“Oh, you’re a ‘we’ already? Fuck you, Kim Taehyung.”

“No! That’s not what I meant!”

“Well, I hope you’re happy with them. I hope they don’t bore you or tie you down. I hope you’re right for each other. I hope youre fucking happy with yourself and your decision.”

“Can’t we still be friends?”

You don’t deem that question worthy enough of an answer and slam your front door in the face of the person who ten minutes ago had been the love of your life.

Present Day: The Christmas Party, 10:21PM

The amount of love in the room is making your stomach turn. You watch as your coupled up friends exchange presents and kisses. You’re so happy for each and every one of them, don’t get you wrong. You just can’t help but feel increasingly alone with each passing minute.

Felix notices the dip in your mood and nudges you, “Hey. You okay?”

“Yeah,” You snuggle deeper into his side. Thank god for Felix. “Thanks for coming with me to this shindig. It would have been hard to be alone this year.”

“No worries, babe. Besides, how else am I gonna get Alicia to go out with me?”

You laugh at Felix’s words. The boy was oblivious to the fact that Alicia had already approached you to ask if he was single. Sometimes you enjoy your diabolical mind. “Oh, she’ll definitely go out with you,” You reply, pinching his cheek, “Who could resist this face?”

“You did. Three years ago,” Felix whines, shoving your hand away from him playfully.

“Sadly you’re not my type, pretty boy,” You sigh. It truly was sad. Felix is the nicest human you know - besides Seokjin. The fact that you're not interested just reinforces the idea that you have terrible taste in men.

“You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know who you could possibly be referring to,” You sniff, turning away.

“Oh, I don’t know… Maybe the guy that hasn’t stopped circling you like a fucking shark in water since we got here?”

“He has not,” You retort, rolling your eyes.

“A-ha! So you do know exactly who I’m referring to, you little liar!”

“Goddamnit,” You laugh. “I need another drink to put up with you. You want a refill?” You gesture towards his cup.

“Nah, I’m good,” Felix shakes his head. You nod and head over to the kitchen, thankfully seeing no sign of ‘Shark Boy’.

But you spoke too soon, because just as you’re reaching up for a new mug you feel him.

“Is that little boy out there your boyfriend? I didn’t think you were dating anyone,” A rough voice growls from entirely too close to your ear.

You turn your head and shoot your best side-eye at the asshole who’s heated stare is aimed straight down at you. You internally curse at the unfortunate fact that Kim Taehyung somehow still can manage to look gorgeous in a bright red sweater with a whole-ass Santa beard stitched to its collar. You have never hated him more given that you look like a hot mess of a Christmas tree that no one wants to climb.

“I don’t see how that is any of your business, Kim,” You retort, turning around again and grabbing a glass from the cabinet. You can feel his warmth surrounding you as he grabs the mug for you instead, his body pushed up against yours.

“Move,” You order, your voice shaking slightly. But instead of listening, Tae grabs your hips and turns you around, caging you in between his arms.

“See, you’re wrong, (y/n),” His eyes dart from your own to your lips, “Everything that concerns you is my business. It has since the moment I met you, and it hasn’t stopped since.”

The incredulous snort escapes you before you can attempt to rein it in, “Taehyung, you broke up with me! I’m pretty sure that means you consider me old news and - above all - none of your fucking business.”

“And I told you I made a mistake!” Taehyung leans closer, his jaw ticking.

“You were drunk!” You stab a finger into his admittedly toned chest that you can feel even through that abominable Santa beard, “And it took you two fucking months to say that, only to never bring it up again. So excuse me if I find your argument lacking.”

“Fuck,” Taehyung curses softly, running a hand through his mess of curls, “I miss that smart mouth.”

“Yeah?” Your response flies out too fast for your brain to check your words, “Well I miss being enough for you.”

Taehyung looks stricken. “Baby…” He reaches for you but you duck past him and beeline straight for Jimin’s bathroom. Locking yourself inside, you slide to the floor and contemplate your chances of sneaking out the tiny bathroom window just like you did that night some months ago.

Flashback: A Streetcar Named WTF, October

A harsh banging sound jolts you awake. “What the fuck,” You mumble, fumbling around blindly trying to find your phone amidst the blankets and pillows surrounding you.

Finally, your hand locates the small metal device and you switch your screen on. Your eyes immediately shut at the brightness and you muster up the will to peek at the time.

3:12AM.

Who the hell dares to pound on your door at this hour? What is this - A Streetcar Named Desire? Well, slap your ass and call you Blanche because this asshole is about to feel your wrath.

Stomping over to your door, you swing it open and say, “There’s no Stella here, Stanley. Fuck off.”

While you don’t find a drunk Marlon Brando on your doorstep, you do find a drunk Taehyung.

“Who the fuck’s Stanley?” Tae glares, trying to cross his arms but failing somehow.

“Good lord, Taehyung,” You groan, grabbing his arm and dragging him inside your apartment, “You smell like a whole goddamn brewery. How did you even end up here?”

“Walked,” He says proudly while smiling down at your hand on his arm like an idiot. “Who’s Stamplee? I mean, Stangfree.”

You pinch your nose with your free hand. This boy… Ignoring his idiocy completely, you question, “You walked?” You push him down onto your couch and head into your kitchen to grab him some water.

“Yup! All by myself! Are you proud of me? Sandflea could never!”

You jump. Somehow Tae still managed to sneak up behind you while drunk out of his mind.

“Kim Taehyung, sit your drunk ass down.” You jab a finger in the direction of the couch he just vacated.

“But you’re so far away when I sit all the way over there, baby,” He pouts, giving you puppy dog eyes. “And I’m not drunk!”

You don’t dignify his words with a response. Handing the glass of water to the problem currently sprawled out on your couch, you sigh. What are you going to do with him? He can’t stay here… But he’s in no shape to walk back to wherever the fuck he came from.

“Tell me, Kim, why did you think that walking to my apartment of all places was a good idea? I could have moved!” Disdain drips from every syllable, “Is anything going on in that brain of yours? If so, it’s clearly not making any sense.”

“I beg to differ,” Taehyung has the audacity to grin up at you as he continues, “My brain makes perfect sense, baby. You plus me equals three.” His eyebrows wiggle up and down as he swings his hands out, showering you with the glass of water you just handed him.

“Maybe I’ll call you a math tutor along with your Uber,” You mumble as you fight the urge to laugh at the mess of a boy staring up at you from your couch. Grabbing a kitchen towel, you dab the water off of you as best you can. Glancing back down at Tae, you notice his attention has fallen to your chest, where the water he practically threw at you has plastered your tanktop to your skin.

“Hey, eyes up here,” You slap his arm with the damp towel, but he doesn’t even flinch.

“One more minute,” He says, absentmindedly rubbing his arm.

His attention gives you butterflies for a split second before you lock that shit down. You aren’t a fool; you’re fully aware that Taehyung’s the farthest thing from available, but he’s still hot as hell with his muscular stature, his wicked brown eyes, and his full pink lips. And that deep voice… it has shamefully been the fuel of your fantasies for the past few weeks. But that is neither here nor there.

So while his undivided attention always did make you feel fucking incredible, now he’s just a drunk boy who’s acting like he’s never seen nipples before.

“I’m calling you an Uber, okay?” You finally say, grabbing your phone and pulling up the app.

“Can’t I stay here?” Taehyung pouts, “Or will Surley get mad?”

“His name is Stanley,” You automatically reply and then curse as Taehyung lurches to his feet.

“I knew it! Where is he? Where is my replacement? I challenge him to a duel!”

“A duel?” You can’t help but laugh, “On what grounds?”

“For your hand, of course!” Taehyung rapidly glances around your apartment before his eyes land on the broom tucked in the corner of your kitchen. “There’s my sword!”

Before he can take a step towards his ‘sword’, you grab his arm and push him back down onto your couch.

“Wow, you’re strong!” Tae stares up at you adoringly, “And so-o cute. Wanna date?”

“You’re drunk, Tae. Don’t say things like that.” God, he’s going to give you a complex. You had just started getting over him and now he does this? Why is life deadset on fucking you over?

“But I do wanna date you!” Taehyung insists, “Don’t you miss me? Miss us? I still love you. I never stopped.”

“Tae, please stop.”

“I made a mistake, baby, and I wanna fix it. Can you give me a chance? Please?” His brown eyes blink up at you slowly. His lids practically fight to stay open as his words slur together.

The boy is falling asleep. Sighing, you close the Uber app. Looks like you’re housing your ex for the evening.

“I wanna marry you,” He mumbles, “Bought the ring last week. If you can just love me again I’ll be the luckiest…” His words get more and more inaudible. Mumbles about Stanley and revenge and kisses and altars filter through as you place a blanket over his form.

“Goodnight, Tae.” You can’t resist brushing your fingers through his hair. Your heart stutters as he practically leans into your touch like a cat, smiling contentedly.

“We’ll see if you remember this in the morning,” You mutter, setting another glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen on the coffee table for him when he wakes up.

After making sure Taehyung’s on his side with a bucket for potential incidents, you head back to bed.

When you wake up, he’s nowhere to be found.

Present Day: The Christmas Party, 10:23PM

“(y/n)... baby, please let me in.”

The underlying meaning of those six words is not lost on you. Could you let him in again? Taehyung once held your heart and then he basically smashed it on concrete and backed over it with his car - twice.

“Go away.” Your words sound weak even to your own ears.

“No, I need to talk to you… Please.” His voice breaks on the last word and you cave. Standing you unlock the door and back up. You could have a logical and reasonable discussion with Tae and get some closure, leaving all feelings out of it. Maybe...

“Two minutes,” You declare, “Nothing more.”

“But–”

You cut him off, “1:55…” You tap your foot and smile as Taehyung shoots you a look.

“Fine,” He rubs the back of his neck, peeking up at you under his lashes. “I got scared, okay?”

Your disbelief must show all over your face because he continues.

“Yeah, I was scared - fucking terrified of how much I feel for you. How in love with you I am. How can it be that easy to find your soulmate? It didn’t make any sense to me. And then Pia began to show an interest in me and I convinced myself it was a good idea to distance myself from you. To see other people. To try to make sense of my feelings.”

You hold up a hand. “So, you’re saying that you broke up with me because you were ‘too in love with me?’ What the fuck kind of selfish bullshit is that, Taehyung? You broke my fucking heart for someone you didn’t even like because you were scared I was your soulmate? Don’t you see how that just makes me feel like shit?”

Taehyung sinks to his knees. “(Y/n), baby, please. I am so sorry. I fucked up in the worst, most selfish way possible. It kills me that I broke your heart.”

“Ugh, get up, you drama king.” You pull him to his feet, continuing, “Why did you leave after that night? You said all those things when you were drunk and then just left.”

“Yeah, I kind of don’t remember what I said or how I even ended up at your place.” A blush takes over his face, “It’s so embarrassing you had to see me like that and I kind of just wanted to forget it happened. And I really hoped that you forgot it did, too. I didn’t expect you to just keep acting like you forgot my existence altogether.”

“What does that mean? I see you all the time, Tae! We’re in the same friend group for god’s sakes. We’re around each other all the time… Maybe even too much.” You mumble the last few words, but he catches them.

“Too much? You avoid me at all costs! You don’t smile at me anymore. You don’t even look at me most times! It kills me that all I get from you now is ice, when I know you have so much fire.”

His words confuse you. So he does want you back? Your friends weren’t exaggerating? A small burst of hope swells inside you, but the memory of the break-up outweighs it. “You don’t even know me though, Taehyung. Not anymore.”

“No. You’re wrong,” Taehyung leans closer to you, and you take a step back. Your back bumps up against the sink, your plastic ornaments adorning your sweater clinking awkwardly.

Tae brushes a stray hair behind your ear, his eyes begging you to listen, “I do know you. I know that you still take your coffee black with caramel. I know that you started doing yoga but are too proud to admit you hate it. I know that you came to my art show last month but left before I could talk to you alone. I know that you–”

“Stop,” Your voice trembles, “Please, I can’t. Taehyung, you hurt me so fucking much. Don’t you get that? I just started feeling whole again. So if I let you back in and you hurt me, I might shatter completely.”

His hands cup your face gently, wiping away a tear you hadn’t even realized had fallen. “I won’t ever hurt you again, baby. Please give me one more chance. That’s all I need. I want to keep you forever, (y/n)... I bought you a ring, did I tell you that when I was drunk? I think I did. I still have it. It’s yours - just like my heart.”

“God, you’re still so fucking cheesy,” You can’t hold back your smile even though more tears are falling down your cheeks.

And then his lips are on yours.

Taehyung kisses you like you're the most precious thing in the universe. Like you might break in the palm of his hand if he’s not careful enough. And maybe you will. But for right now, you melt into him.

He tastes like home.

Taehyung’s touch is tentative at first. His hands slide into your hair, tugging you even closer. You feel like you might burst, feeling so many emotions. Love. Fear. Confusion. Hope. You hook your leg around him, wanting him pressed against you everywhere.

Taehyung groans and one of his hands drops down to grab your thigh, wrapping it more securely around his waist. “Jump, baby,” He mumbles into your lips, and you listen automatically.

He perches you on the edge of the sink, kisses you deeply, and then sinks back down to his knees.

“Tae–” You protest, as he runs his hands slowly up your calves.

“I haven’t tasted you in so long, baby,” His dark eyes burn into yours, “Please don’t let me go another minute without you on my tongue.”

Fuck. Well, you can’t argue with that. When Tae sees you open your legs a bit more, he grins up at you and places a quick kiss on the inside of your knee.

His touch becomes more frantic as he moves up, his mouth placing hot kisses higher and higher.

When he sees the lacy red panties you have on, he snaps, lunging forward and hitching your thigh over his shoulder. Pushing your underwear to the side, his hot mouth is on you, closing over your clit without warning. You gasp as he sucks your bud into his mouth, lapping at it with his tongue.

Your hand winds its way into his curls, pushing him harder against you. He moans into your pussy. “So fucking wet for me, baby. God, I love you.”

Taehyung places a soft kiss on your inner thigh before his tongue returns to lick at your pussy, up and down. His tongue sinks into you, making your hips buck against his face. His hand shoots up to steady you as his tongue continues to flick in and out of you.

The sight of the boy you never stopped loving tongue deep in your pussy almost pushes you over the edge already. “Ta-ae,” You moan, hand tugging at his hair, “Harder, baby, please.”

Your words have their desired effect as he replaces his tongue with two of his fingers and places his mouth back on your clit. You moan as his fingers curl inside you, brushing your walls.

The first few strokes of his fingers are slow. Too slow for your liking, “Taehyung, fuck me with your fingers.”

A rumble moves up his chest as he obeys, pushing another finger deep inside of you. “Fuck, baby,” He curses and begins to thrust his fingers in and out of your pussy, “You feel even better than I remember, so goddamn wet.”

His mouth finally returns to your clit, his tongue flicking over it every so often. You’re hurtling towards your orgasm as his long fingers continue to pound into you and his mouth continues to lick at your pussy.

You feel the heat building up and you come with a gasp. Taehyung continues to fuck you with his fingers and his mouth, carrying you through your orgasm until you slump back against the mirror above the sink.

Taehyung grins up at you, licking up everything you gave him. Finally, you gently push him off you. Still licking his fingers clean, Taehyung’s eyes sparkle up at you, “Well? Wanna get married?”

“Oh my god,” You burst out laughing, hopping off the sink onto shaky legs. “Why don’t you start by wooing me? We’ll go from there.”

“Challenge accepted.”

You blink.

Taehyung smiles. His wild dark curls are sticking up in random places - courtesy of your hands. His eyes are full of their usual sinful promises, but this time they also hold excitement and a tiny spark of hope. “Prepare to be wooed, wifey.”

“Fuck off,” You laugh, quickly fixing your hair in the mirror before smoothing down your sweater dress.

Nodding at your semi-acceptable reflection, you swing the door open to reveal just about every person from the party collectively gathered just outside.

“I knew it!” Seokjin shrieks. “Where’s my mistletoe?”

“My poor bathroom!” Jimin cries, “Defiled! Desecrated!”

“Why am I friends with you all?” Yoongi asks no one in particular.

“Well,” Tae whispers in your ear, “At least we won’t have to tell them, right?”

You smile despite the embarrassing situation and nod. This Christmas might just be your best yet.

a/n: sorry that this is late and severely unedited LOL plz be kind, this is my first fic back and YA GIRL IS RUSTY

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