#but am in the process of tidying up and it just. god. fucking bowled me over
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sorry venting
the joy of having fun little knickknacks and thingamajigs related to what you love VS. the desire to not become overwhelmed by material items + the agony overwhelming that comes with being keenly surrounded by stuff: FIGHT
#maybe it’s just bc I have ‘still living in my childhood bedroom as an adult’ syndrome#but am in the process of tidying up and it just. god. fucking bowled me over#sometime soon I gotta Marie kondo this place again#and maybe look into upgrading storage#instead of y’know sticking with the stuff I’ve been using since middle school#but also also pre Covid before (and after) my grandfather died#a lot of stress my mom was under (and me by extension) was that he was an awful hoarder#and he didn’t rlly care#but then he died and we had to take sporadic trips out to his old apartment and help his roommate/partner/person go through all his shit#and then we had to just start throwing shit out bc their rent lease end was coming up and she needed to have everything moved out#so now it’s like. I feel hypersensitive to it#and we still have so much shit in the house not even in my room#some of which is still his!!!#and it’s like….. mom wants to go through it all properly and try and sell it but I’m fucking so tired of it. just get rid of it you have an#an Outback just shove it all in your car and take a trip to goodwill and whatever goodwill doesnt take bring to the free section in the dump#but she’s not going to do that bc She’s Mom and whenever I try to just throw stuff out she says stuff that makes me second guess myself#or insists she’ll try to find someone to give it to#but then she doesn’t a lot of the time so it just sits in my room or some random spot around the house#she is picking and choosing every battle that is presented to her and she is losing and I am trying not to lose my mind
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10) “Please, for the love of god, do not explain any of what I’m seeing.”
I feel like there could be a lot good comedic dialogue with this one.
I’ve enjoyed your Supercorp stories so far ❤️
thank you!! here have some more fluff: this is disgust #10 from these dialogue prompts
"Please, for the love of god, do not explain any of what I'm seeing."
“Your Monopoly set is cursed.”
Lena glares at the board, currently filled with houses and hotels, abandoned pieces still spaced around the edges. She’s sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch instead of sitting on it and looking disgruntled. Her nose is scrunched in disgust, and Kara kind of wants to reach over and boop it.
Instead, she leans back on her hands and grins at Lena. “I don’t think the fact that you lost means it’s cursed.”
Laughter rings out loudly from the kitchen, and Kara catches Nia’s cackle above the rest. It’s the tail end of game night, the point where the games are starting to be forgotten halfway through and abandoned in favour of fervent drunk rants and trips to the kitchen for more snacks. Right now, Kara can hear Nia trying to convince the others to climb out the fire escape and up to the roof.
It’s just her and Lena left in the living room now, and Kara’s had enough aldebaran rum and coke that everything is a little fuzzy around the edges.
Lena falls forwards slightly, like she’s tilting on her axis. She’s a lot floppier when she’s drunk. “I think that’s exactly what it means,” she says. “I always win Monopoly. I am the queen of Monopoly. I do not go bankrupt.”
“You did in this game,” Kara laughs, catching her hands. Lena beams at her, forgetting to be irritated for a moment before she quickly overcompensates with an expression that’s far too serious to be believable.
“Because it’s cursed,” she says.
“Because Alex beat you.”
Lena gasps. “Alex cursed Monopoly.”
“Alex did not curse Monopoly,” says Kara, swatting at her. Lena laughs and swats her back, so they’re hitting each other’s hands as she talks. “There were just a lot of us and you had bad luck this time.”
“Like I said, cursed!”
There’s the sound of a window opening and closing, and the chatter in the kitchen swells and fades slightly. Nia must have convinced everyone to go up to the roof. Kara cranes her neck to try and see if there’s anyone still left in the kitchen.
“Stupid Monopoly,” Lena mutters, mostly to herself. “Fuck Monopoly.” And just as Kara’s turning back to look at her, she reaches out and hits the board off the table, sending cards and plastic pieces flying.
“Lena!” says Kara.
Lena does not have the grace to look abashed. In fact, she looks quite pleased with herself, like a cat who just knocked something over.
“You can’t just knock over the Monopoly,” says Kara, scraping up handfuls of little plastic houses and hotels from the carpet. “What if we wanted to keep playing?”
“Oh, pfft,” says Lena, unbothered, flipping dark hair away from her face. “Everyone’s too drunk to play now anyways. We weren’t going to keep playing.”
“You don’t know that.” Kara plucks a Monopoly house from her palm and throws it at Lena. It bounces off her forehead, and Lena’s jaw drops in a comical exaggeration of betrayal.
“Did you just throw a hotel at me?”
“It was a house, actually,” says Kara, picking another one to throw. This one bounces off Lena’s cheekbone. “That was a hotel.”
“You did not just do that.” Lena leans across the table and snatches a stack of Monopoly money, then launches it in Kara’s direction. It flutters down over the table and carpet. A bill brushes Kara’s ear. One lands on Lena’s head.
“That’s paper, it’s not going to do anything.”
“Don’t test me,” says Lena, scrambling out from behind the coffee table and grabbing the rest of the stack of money. She flicks it off her hand, a few bills at a time, sending a rain of multicoloured money over Kara and scattering the once tidy piles across the floor. The bills slide under the couch and TV. Kara chokes out stop between her laughter, still tossing tiny houses and game pieces at Lena.
There’s a bowl of gummy bears on the table, and when Kara runs out of Monopoly pieces, she reaches for a handful of those and starts throwing them at Lena instead. Lena’s moved on to throwing the cards at her, and it’s really going to be a bitch to pick it all up tomorrow, but Kara’s laughing too hard to care. Lena’s cackling, and she stumbles to the side and crashes into the coffee table, knocking over the remaining Jenga tower as she goes down. It only makes them both laugh harder.
Popcorn. The bowl of popcorn on the couch still hasn’t been knocked over, so Kara grabs a fistful of that and throws it. It’s better than the gummy bears, it sticks in Lena’s hair and falls down her blouse.
Having finally exhausted the contents of Monopoly, Lena reaches for her own handfuls of popcorn and gummy bears. “Take that,” she says, alternating between throwing the two snacks at Kara. “And that.” A gummy bear lands in Kara’s mouth. A piece of popcorn hits her eye.
Hiccupping back her laughter, Kara reaches blindly across the table for her drink, and without really thinking about it, flicks her wrist and tosses the entire contents directly at Lena’s face.
Everything freezes. Lena looks stunned, blinking rum and coke from her eyes. Amber liquid drips from her chin, her hair.
Kara, eyes wide, only manages, “Oh my god, Lena, I am so—” before Lena’s vodka soda is hitting her in the face. She gasps, inhaling a mouthful down her windpipe. Lena looks far too smug when she finally manages to stop coughing, and some instinct in Kara must take over because she lunges forwards and tackles Lena to the carpet.
Lena shrieks and laughs and squirms, and Kara pins both her hands above her head with one hand, sitting on her knees to straddle Lena’s waist. Instinct still driving her, she leans forwards and licks a wet strip up Lena’s cheek.
When she sits back again, Lena has stopped squirming and is staring up at her, utterly bemused. “Did you just lick me?”
“You’re covered in aldebaran rum and coke,” Kara grins. “Wouldn’t want it to go to waste. It’s expensive stuff, Lena.”
“Oh, so you’re trying to drink me.”
Kara shrugs. “Drink, eat, whatever.”
She’s basically sitting over Lena’s middle, which means she feels the way Lena’s stomach jerks slightly against her pelvis in a sharp inhale. Feels the way Lena tenses, like every muscle in her body has gone taut. Lena swallows, licks her lips nervously, which of course brings Kara’s full attention to her mouth.
Her lips are so pink, and so pretty and plush, and she suddenly looks so kissable it’s unbearable. It feels like Kara has to kiss her, like it’s a physical compulsion. She takes Lena’s chin in her free hand, squishing her cheeks slightly as Lena stares at her, and whispers, “Wait, wait, wait.”
Then, very gently, softly, quickly, she presses her lips to Lena’s.
Lena blinks at her, eyelashes fluttering, when she pulls away. There’s a long silence where she searches Kara’s eyes before she says, voice low, “Again?”
Kara leans forwards and presses a second experimental kiss to Lena’s lips. She lingers a moment longer than the first one, then pulls back an inch, still holding Lena’s hands fast above her head.
“Yes?” she whispers.
Lena nods, like she can’t quite remember how to speak. Then she says, “More.”
When Kara kisses her for a third time, her lips are already parted slightly, and they slot easily between Kara’s.
They’re so soft.
She tastes like vodka soda and gummy bears, and it’s almost more than Kara’s drunk brain can process at once; Lena’s warm body pressed to hers, her slim wrists in Kara’s hand, the softness of her lips, the taste of her mouth, the slick brush of her tongue. She loses herself in it, forgets time, forgets how they got here, forgets everything but Lena.
It’s finally quiet after all their shrieking and laugher, just the sound of their lips melding together. Kara’s not sure how long they’ve been kissing—perhaps a minute, perhaps a lifetime—when someone clears their throat loudly, like they’ve already done it once or twice.
Kara breaks away, and Lena makes a small protesting sound in the back of her throat, a tiny whimper. They both look over Kara’s shoulder at Alex, who’s standing in the doorway looking faintly queasy.
Kara watches her take in the scene: Lena lying on the ground with Kara straddling her waist and pinning her hands above her head, the pile of Monopoly money and pieces that they’re lying in, the gummy bears and popcorn scattered across the floor and in their hair, the drinks that are still dripping from both their furtive, swollen-lipped faces.
Alex opens her mouth, and then presses it closed again.
“You know what,” she says, after a long moment. “I don’t think I want to know. Please, for the love of god, just… do not explain any of what I’m seeing right now.”
Without another word, she turns on her heel and disappears back into the kitchen.
Kara and Lena turn back to each other, still pressed together on the floor, breath uneven. Lena’s flushed, eyes dark, lips parted. She really does look good enough to eat. Her wrists twitch under Kara’s hand.
They stare at each other. Several long seconds tick by. Then, simultaneously, they start laughing.
It’s a long time before they stop.
#supergirl#supercorp#supercorp fic#supergirl fanfic#lena luthor#kara danvers#i posted some awful angst earlier this week so here's some fluff#alex is perpetually being tortured by the 'gal pals' act her sister and lena have going on and so it shall always be#fellas is it gay to pin your bestie to the floor and make out with her#prompts#asks#anon#bluewritingbench writes#bluewritingbench ficlets
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In your hc, did Brynn have any strong cravings or aversions during her pregnancy from the mother's day fic?? How did Sam handle that??? I hope he wasn't a dickhead like with the other pregnancy when he cheated and gave her an STD. 😒
I was just thinking 👉👈🥺😇 that might be a cute little story. 😉
Btw I really enjoy reading about them!!! I'd L💗VE more. HINT proposal??? WEDDING?????
Hey, there! *big ol' hugs* thank you so much for the ask and the "hints". 🤣😂🤣 I hope you enjoy my interpretation of your suggestion! And yes, there is more to come from Sam and Brynn. Enjoy! 🍨🍓🍨
Warning: NSFW 🍋 (tiny little squirts; don't get too excited); language; angst; pregnancy-related stuff
***
The sparkle of fresh winter snow gathers along the window sill. A hint of gingerbread and fresh spruce waltz in the air. Melting with the smokey notes of kindled embers, the fireplace crackles in the darkened master suite--the only lively room left in the penthouse for the evening.
It had been an exhausting Friday. With Christmas and Brynn’s birthday next week, the Dalton family spent their day tirelessly getting things prepared before a very special winter vacation. Brynn attended Mickey and Mason’s holiday party at school, bringing her famous cupcakes and oven-baked Chex Mix, not to mention presents for all the teachers and faculty.
Because of the school’s early release, Brynn and the boys met Sam for lunch, where they served the entire company a catered, bountiful holiday meal, complete with generous congratulatory swag for another successful third year.
Sam spent the afternoon on phone conferences, which gave him time to pack up to work remotely from home; he wouldn’t be returning until the 28th. By the late afternoon, they had completed the grocery shopping, tidied up their home, fixed and ate dinner.
But for Sam and Brynn, the jam-packed day was far from over. There was still one more very important task to complete: sex. And lots of it.
Seductive whispers, tender giggles and lustful moans penetrate the quiet suite. Their exposed bodies hungrily intertwine together as their movements are kept rhythmically in time with the subtle creaking of the bed.
Sam grips tightly to his wife’s supple breast, brushing his thumbs over her erect pink nipples. With her left hand, Brynn sinks her nails onto the top of his hand, squeezing together with him; her other hand holds tightly to the headboard, straddling her thighs on top of her husband’s hips.
“Oh, God! Sam!” she exhales with each thrust onto his swelling, hardened girth, her voice becoming louder, more raspy. “Almost--! Almost--!”
“Brynn--! I--!” With one final buck of his hips, Sam spills over into euphoria. His fingers quickly drop to her voluptuous assets. He clenches savagely to her curves, pushing her drenched, tightening center to his hilt. Sweat drips off his brow as indistinguishable groans wail from his throat.
Watching her husband come undone teases Brynn’s own release. Tossing her almond locks over her bare shoulders, she is taken captive by the sensations tickling her voracious desires. She rocks her hips against Sam’s buried length, stroking her throbbing clit through her incessant waves of reckless ecstasy. Thunderous moans of pleasure escape her mouth as she gasps for a drink of air.
Almost too terrified to disturb the perfect moment, the couple savors the quietness of them simply being together, their hearts beating in-time, connecting as one.
“I love you, baby,” Sam whispers, breaking the silence as he gently massages Brynn’s thighs. His hands intimately roam, carefully finding their way to stroke her fully-blossomed pregnant belly.
A bright smile effortlessly spreads across her face. “I love you, too, baby.” Her delicate fingers meet his. She lifts his hand to her lips, peppering his knuckles with kisses.
“Hopefully,” he chuckles, “that’ll do the trick.”
She cradles her abdomen. “I can only hope so,” she titters, her fingers caressing her abdomen as she talks to their unborn child. “That was another eviction notice, precious one--”
Brynn and Sam had a preterm labor scare at 33 weeks, which landed Brynn in the hospital for a week being pumped with various medications to stop her contractions. She was discharged home, with the instructions to “take it easy.” Though it isn’t ideal to have a baby this early, her team of doctors agreed they weren’t going to do anything to stop her labor if it were to happen again.
Tomorrow, Brynn will be 41 weeks. For the past two weeks, she has been trying every trick in the book to go into labor. Her lab technician Meaghan swore by spicy food; that only gave Brynn ungodly heartburn. Lydia, the Dalton’s downstairs neighbor, gifted Brynn a bottle of castor oil; she spent a solid two days with uncontrollable diarrhea and belly aches. Carter’s wife gave Brynn a special tea blend; she would contract, but nothing painful; she actually fell asleep because of the delicious steep.
Then, there was her mother's advice:
“You’ve gotta have sex, Brynny--”
“Mom--!”
“--and I’m not talking about the mediocre, ‘are you done yet?’ , making-your-shopping-list-in-your-head kind. You need to orgasm--”
“Jesus Christ, Mom--!”
“You need his semen--”
“I can’t believe this is happening right now--”
“And fondle your breasts. Better yet, let him do it! Now you might leak a little, so if you have him suckle--”
*click*
“Brynny? Brynny?”
“I, for one, am not minding this eviction process--”
“Samuel!” she playfully slaps against Sam’s broad chest. Blocking her hits and laughing, Sam finally grabs Brynn, pulling her body down next to his. He wraps his arms around her, brushing his lips against her temple. He rests his large hands on her gravid belly, nuzzling his nose into her neck.
“Are you okay, babe?”
“Mhmm--” Brynn snuggles into Sam’s embrace, closing her eyes. “Just perfect, babe. G’night.”
“Night, baby.”
The delightful pops of the fireplace lulls Sam to sleep; Brynn, however, started having trouble. She turned to her right side, but soon flipped to her left side. When that didn’t get her comfortable, she sat up on the side of the bed, massaging her back and her abdomen.
“Brynn baby,” yawns Sam, “you okay?”
“I didn’t mean to wake you, babe.”
“It’s-k.” Sam fluffs his pillow under his head, keeping his eyes closed. “Contractions?” he slurs.
“Braxton Hicks. I’ll be fine. You go back to--”
Sam lets out a satisfied snore before Brynn can finish her sentence. Tickled, she tucks her husband into bed before she slips on a silk robe. Pulling out her exercise ball from the closet, she sits on top of it in hopes that rocking her hips will bring her some comfort.
She suddenly stops, clutching her chest. An all-too-familiar jolt of burning shoots through her belly leaving an unbearable sour sensation clawing at the back of her throat. Carefully balancing herself to a stand, she retreats to the bathroom for medicine. And to vomit.
“Brynn? Brynn?”
“I’m in here,” her pitiful voice echoes through the bathroom.
Sam slips on a pair of sweats, hurrying to her side in the water closet. Seeing his wife crumpled over the toilet, he drops to her side, pushing her hair behind her ears before rubbing her back. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she whispers gravelly.
“No, you’re not,” he tenderly touches her clammy cheek. “What do you need, babe?”
Brynn leans back, sitting her rear on the cold tile. Embracing her body as another contraction subsides, she quietly states, “I need ice cream.”
Sam’s eyes widen with surprise at the request. “You want… ice cream?”
“Mhmm,” she nods. “That would feel so good against my throat.”
“Okay, baby,” he chuckles, brushing his thumb across swollen lips. “Is there a certain flavor--?”
“Strawberry,” she barks, “it needs to be strawberry.”
Sam kisses her forehead, and jogs to the kitchen in search of his wife’s favorite ice cream. Scooping up three massive balls into a bowl, he returns to the bathroom with two spoons.
“Strawberry ice cream, m’lady!” He sits on the floor with her, presenting the cold dessert like a trophy.
Brynn observes the creamy pink heap. She slowly takes the spoon, poking at the frozen treat. She watches her husband take a bite of it first before she reluctantly tries it.
“No,” she spits out her small bite, “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
Perplexed, Sam spoons another bite for himself. “Is there something wrong with it? Is it freezer burned or--?”
“No, no,” Brynn’s eyes begin to well with tears. “It’s just not strawberry enough,” she sniffles.
“Okay, babe, there’s no crying in ice cream,” he chuckles, wiping at her eyes.
“I think it’s because I want strawberry ice cream.”
“Honey, this is strawberry ice cream.”
“This is strawberries and cream.” She uses her spoon as a pointer, “See how there’s vanilla and strawberry with pieces of strawberry? I just," she sighs, "I need strawberry ice cream.”
Staring at the wall, Sam pretends to understand his wife’s request. “Of course, baby. I’ll go get, um--” he clears his throat to keep from laughing, “the strawberry ice cream.”
“Hey, Sam?”
“Mhmm?”
“I love you, baby.” She offers a toothy smile.
He chuckles. “Love you, too,” he shakes his head with a coy smile.
Sam returns with another heaping mound of strawberry ice cream. “Alright, baby, just what you asked for: strawberry ice cream.”
“Sam,” irritation saturates Brynn’s voice as it begins to tremble. “This has strawberry pieces in it.”
“It’s because it’s strawberry ice cream,” Sam bites his tongue, watching his words carefully as he gnashes his teeth. “It’s exactly what you asked for, sweetheart.”
Brynn hangs her head in her hands as she sobs. “I wanted strawberry ice cream, not strawberry with strawberries ice cream!”
“Babe, are you fucking kidding me right--?”
“Don’t yell at me!” Brynn begins to sob harder.
“Jesus Christ,” Sam sputters. He runs his hands down his face, letting out a sigh. He sits down next to his wife, taking her in his arms. “How can we fix this? Can you maybe eat around the strawberries?”
“It just,” her breath hangs tight in her throat as she tries to control her tears, “it doesn’t taste the same.”
“Of course, it doesn’t,” he mutters under his breath. He sighs heavily again. “What can I do, Brynn? Tell me what to do.”
“I just want strawberry ice cream--”
“No. What. Do. You. Want?” He grabs his cell phone. “Show me.”
She does a quick google search, pulling up a plain pink custard with strawberry flavoring--no pieces. “This. I need this. Please.”
“Brynn, we don’t have this here.”
“There’s a 7-11 two blocks away--”
“It’s eighteen degrees outside.” Sam shakes his head, as he walks back to bed. “No, this is getting fucking ridiculous.”
Brynn glares at the spot where her husband once stood, her eyebrows furrowing; warm streams of tears downpour on her cheeks. Red patches of skin grow across her neck and face as her breathing labors.
“Samuel!” When he doesn’t answer, she carefully balances herself from the ground and waddles into their room. “Samuel!”
“What?” his muffled words slur as he buries his head into a pillow. “I just need a little sleep.”
“Oh, you need a little sleep? You?” Brynn rips the duvet off of Sam, her small body shaking in anger. “I have given up my body for ten fucking months to grow a baby, an actual human being that will more than likely rip me to pieces just to,” she chuckles sarcastically, “look like you!”
“Brynn, I--”
“I’m not fucking done!” She breathes through another contraction, stepping closer to her terrified husband. “I have not complained once, and yet I have given up every ounce of my dignity. I can’t control my farts. I can't control my pee. I’m growing rolls and stretch marks in places that I never even knew a person could grow them!” She steps even closer, her eyes darkening. “I fuck you multiple times weekly--sometimes daily--where I hide the embarrassment that my hot, chiseled husband is staring at either my double chin or my fat, stretch-marked ass--”
“Baby, I don’t--”
Brynn holds up a finger. “I reverse cowgirl you until my legs cramp because you like it. I suck your dick off because you like it--”
“I thought that--”
“I just want some strawberry ice cream, Sam!” she sobs, “And then maybe you can get some sleep!” Brynn cradles her abdomen as another wave of discomfort grips around her belly.
Sam sits on the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes. “Fine”
“And I need to come with you.”
“Yeah, okay,” Sam sarcastically scoffs. He slinks on a long-sleeve shirt before grabbing his coat. He turns back to his wife who is grabbing her coat. “Um, no,” he chuckles. “I need you stay here and just relax--”
“No, we’re going together.”
Frustrated with the conversation, Sam darts his eyes around the room, trying not to yell. “Why, Brynn?”
“Because--”
“‘Because’ why, Brynn?”
“Because my water just broke.”
***
@ao719 @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @forallthatitsworth @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @lovelyladyk88 @lucy-268 @neotericthemis @pixie88 @sfb123 @shannonsaid @shannonwrote @shewillreadyou @secretaryunpaid @thefrenchiemama
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Title: Convince Me To Go {7}
AU Chris Evans x Reader
Warning: Mild Cursing, Slow Burn
Words: 3.9k
Summary: When we run away, we’re usually running from something. This time you may have run toward it instead.
Note: Welp. 🤷🏾♀️ I hope you enjoy this.
***Loosely Edited/Proofread***
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
This was not what you were expecting. You honestly didn’t know what you expected really. Four walls yes. Something masculine yes. Something disorganized maybe. Something dark possibly. What was before you was not what you expected. It was masculine and bathed in cool colors such as navy blues, greys, some white here or there and even black, but it wasn’t dark, it felt airy and comfortable. It was also quite organized.
As you looked around everything was in place or a place that it looked to belong. It was a wide-open space that was separated enough to leave designated spaces for a kitchen, dining space, living room, another space that looked to be a lounge of some sort and another room that was down a few steps that had a wide table in the middle and several papers on top and other items that looked like they were precariously laying around.
“Everything okay?” You jumped hearing his voice behind you.
“I’m sorry, I thought you heard me come up.”
“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t—everything’s fine. Nice place.”
“Is that your honest opinion? I know it may not be what you’re used to.”
“What am I used to?”
“Waldorf, Crown Plaza, elaborate penthouses.”
You sighed and walked away from him while continuing to look around at the different items. You saw more than a few boxes lying around and wondered if they were moving in boxes or moving out boxes.
“What makes you think this?” He didn’t answer when you turned he was giving you the once over.
“Ah, my clothes. You know not everyone who dresses well is wealthy right.”
He shrugged then walked further inside as he peeled off his jacket. “Can I take yours?”
“Thank you.” For the first time that night, you took off your jacket and handed it to him. As he took it he looked over your body and gave a small smile. As he hung your coats you walked to the window and glanced down to the street. it was close to sunrise, you could tell.
“Are you wealthy?”
“I do well enough for myself,” you responded. Again, he nodded.
“Okay. So, a shower. How does that sound?”
“Like heaven.” He smiled and disappeared around a corner to what you assumed was the bedroom.
You saw a few pictures on a shelf and walked to it to be nosey. One was him with two other women and a man who all shared a resemblance to him. siblings, you guessed then moved on to another picture of him and an older woman who had a kind face and surmised it was probably his mother. You continued to scan the contents of the shelf and found yourself smiling at what was there. From the titles of the books, you concluded he was definitely an intelligent man who would be able to hold a conversation about more than sports which was an attractive thing.
You saw a picture of him and another woman who looked to be his age, her hair was brown with dirty blonde highlights. Somehow she looked familiar but you couldn’t place her and knew the likelihood of her being familiar was impossible, so you shook it off. She gave off a prissy aura, one that said she took herself very seriously. They were standing close to each other, but his arm wasn’t around her in any way. It looked like a rehearsed picture, one that he didn’t look to be feeling.
“All right, it’s all ready for you. I got you a clean towel and a bottle of bath wash, and this.” He held up a loofah and your eyes widened. “I had to dig in the deepest, depths of Christmas past to find this.” You smiled and approached him.
“Thank you, I appreciate it.” He nodded as you took the items, your hands touched in the process and your movements from then slowed.
“Uh, so the bathroom is right around there, can’t miss it.” He pointed to it. you nodded and walked to where he pointed then stopped before you went around the corner.
“Thank you white prince Evans.” He smiled and nodded then you walked away.
The scents in the hall were masculine and got stronger when you opened the bathroom door. As you stepped in and glanced around you noticed it was clean and felt relieved. Most men were messy, disgusting creatures but he looked to be the opposite. You could have guessed that from the way he was groomed. His beard and mustache were perfectly clipped, and his eyebrows were also neatly bushy. He took pride in his appearance, but it also looked like he took pride in the appearance of his house.
As you undressed you had to fight the urge to open the medicine cabinet and snoop. You wanted to know more but you also didn’t want to pry or invade his privacy. So, you fought the urge—hard. The first feel of the hot water on your skin was heaven. You must have stood there without moving for ten minutes. It felt too good to move so you just stayed there. When you turned you saw his products and that was where you couldn’t stop yourself from snooping. You read and opened bottles then sniffed to your heart’s content. Everything smelled so good. You decided on the one that smelled like Hawaii and a waterfall in the middle of a pine tree-filled forest. It smelled like him.
As you lathered, scrubbed and rubbed trying to wash the last several hours of dirt, grime, stress, worry and every emotion you’d felt since you hopped on a bus to flee home. It was then you thought about everything. You knew your parents had probably put out a missing person’s alert and everyone was probably trying everything to reach you. You were running out of time. Time was always against you from the beginning.
You took up his shampoo and began washing your hair, normally you were very picky about what went in your hair but right now you were a beggar and you couldn’t very well be choosey. You got lost in the smells, the feel of the hot water and the richness of the lather against your skin and with it lost track of how long you were in there.
After you tidied up behind yourself and wrapped yourself in the towel, you walked out and back down the hall you came down. The smell of pizza filled your nostrils and you moaned. When you rounded the corner, his back was turned in the kitchen. You leaned against the wall and just admired the broadness of his shoulders and the way his shirt sucked on him. he was easily six feet at least, an attractive six feet. He must have felt you there because he spun around but didn’t speak. He looked stunned silent. You started to feel self-conscious and gave yourself a once over.
“Uh—I know, a lot different. Not nearly as put together as earlier in the night, I know.” You walked closer as you spoke until you were behind the island counter with him on the other side.
“It’s—me no filters, or makeup.”
“At the risk of sound like a really huge sleaze,” he began and looked at you waiting for permission to continue. You nodded giving it to him. “You are a very—incredibly beautiful woman.” You didn’t miss the way his voice dropped an octave or two. It made you bite your bottom lip and take a deep breath. “You need no filters or makeup.”
You smiled small at first, but it spread to the size of Texas in no time. You felt like a Disney princess after her prince had just told her she was the prettiest in all the land. It was disgusting how the butterflies flit around your belly.
“Safe for me to grab a shower?” You nodded as he rounded the island.
“I actually found you some clothes if you want to wear something other than the towel.” He walked to the couch and held up the neatly folded stack. You took it and thanked him before he walked off to the bathroom. “Make yourself at home.”
The items he gave you were matching plaid pajamas. The top alone looked like you could wear it as a dress. When you were sure he wouldn’t come back out you put the items on. They were warm and smelled like him which made you snuggle in them. You walked around and made your way down the three steps to look at the papers on the table. They were architectural plans for some building. It looked sleek and modern in design. As you rummaged through the sketches you found yourself smiling at all the plans you saw. He was good.
You looked around the workspace and saw things a contractor would have, plans, sketches, binders and books of vendors, design, and more. From everything you saw, you felt his passion for his career and knew he could bridge the two with the right vision. You tried not to think about how easy it would be for you to fit into the mix with your real estate experience. Thoughts like that were crazy and dangerous.
The smells from the kitchen caught your attention again and you went to check what smelled so good and found two pizzas in the oven that looked just about done. As you took them out and placed them on top of the island you rummaged through the drawers hoping to find a knife of something to cut the pizza. You then looked through the cupboards and found popcorn and wine in the fridge. A smile spread across your face. this was a Sunday night for you, pizza, popcorn, and wine.
After another five or so minutes you looked up and saw him walk closer with sweatpants bottoms sitting low on his hips and nothing else. For the first time, you took notice of how perfect his body was. He was built to be naked. You bit your bottom lip while your eyes slowly took in every inch of him. who knew he hid all of that underneath that wool coat.
“Hungry?”
“God yes.” You sounded anxious as fuck. You were well aware. When you looked at his face he was smiling. You cleared your throat and looked away just as the microwave went off. You walked to it thankful for the distraction.
“I see you made yourself at home.”
“You did tell me to.” You dumped the final bag into a bowl and turned to him.
“Interesting combination you have here.”
“I promise you won’t regret it.” He smiled and took one of the treys of pizza and walked to the living room and put it on the wooden coffee table before he came back for the other. You walked with him carrying the other items. You dropped into the small sectional couch and groaned. He sat slowly while winching. You felt bad for him. You stood again and walked to the bag of dressing the hospital provided then came back to him.
“Will you let me help?” He nodded then sank in the cushions, so he was a little slouched. You dropped to your knees between his legs and prepared the gauze and antiseptic spray provided. While you read the back, you felt his eyes on you.
“This may sting—a lot, there is alcohol in it.” Peeping up to him you noticed the beer bottle in his hand. You didn’t realize he’d gotten the pack of beer.
“Do your worst fancy, I’m at your mercy.” He took a swig of beer and dropped his head back onto the cushion and waited. Once you wet the gauze you arched onto your knees and moved closer to him. your hand hovered over the wound; you didn’t want to hurt him. Seeing you didn’t have a choice you pressed the soaked material to the wound.
“Fuck me!” his pain was evident, all the color drained from his face and as he held his breath his neck and chest turned a bright tomato red shade.
“I’m so sorry, ten more seconds so it really seeps in there.” He groaned louder and squeezed the beer bottle tightly, so tightly his knuckles turned damn near paperwhite. You also noticed through his duress the veins in his arms bulged as did his muscles, he looked incredibly ripped.
“Fuck!” His shout shook you back to reality and you pulled the gauze back then instinctively bent to the wound and blew on it. You didn’t realize you were touching his thighs using them to keep yourself propped up. you blew for a long while then peered up to him.
“How is that? Better?” his eyes were glued to yours and the color was slowly returning to him. the way he looked at you made the hairs on your arms stand up and those damn butterflies return.
Slowly he nodded his head. You pulled back and cleared your throat and prepared the ointment.
“I feel so bad.”
Groaning he took a few breaths. “Why?” His voice was strained, pained.
“First you got a split brow and cheek saving me in that alley, then you got stabbed trying to protect me. You were probably better off never having met me. I may be more trouble than I’m worth.” You pouted.
He studied you and thought you were the cutest thing. He also thought you were being too hard on yourself. He never had the thought through this whole ordeal that he wished he’d never met you. He actually came close to thinking the opposite.
“I don’t think you’re trouble.”
“You don’t know me,” you added as you came closer again and began gently applying the paste-like ointment to his wound. The first touch of your hand made him flinch, not from pain or anxious energy for the pain he was expecting. He flinched at the sudden electrical shock he got, a shock only he felt apparently. He acknowledged as you focused on his side that your hands felt good on his skin.
“Eh, I think I know you well enough by now.”
“Oh yeah. Please do tell white prince Evans.” He took a longer gulp of his beer then sighed out.
“You’re the kind of woman who always does what she’s told, always does what’s expected of you. You would rather do it than risk disappointing your parents. Even though you dream of being brave enough to do just that but can’t because your family means a lot to you, it’s all you think you have but you’re wrong. You have so much more. You even offer more than beauty though that is all you think you have.”
You were speechless. He’d just read you pretty accurately. Your mouth was dry. Pulling your hand away from his skin you wiped the excess ointment off and took up the bandage.
“Stand up for me.” With plenty of groaning and grimacing, he stood while you remained on your knees before him. You then wrapped the white bandage around his waist making sure to make it tight but not too tight. His eyes remained glued to your face never once taking them off you. You could feel it, but it didn’t make you self-conscious right now. It made you feel, but you couldn’t figure out just what you were feeling.
“All done.”
“Thank you.” Nodding you stood and dropped into the couch as he slowly sat back down.
“I’m glad we met, I’ve had a lot of fun with you tonight,” he softly admitted. You looked at him and smiled.
“You have?”
“Of course.”
The two of you passed the time eating, watching tv and talking about everything and anything. He talked about architecture and why he chose it in college and talked about what growing up in Boston was like and so many stories that made you laugh. In turn, you told him about how you got into real estate, what you liked about New York and a little of how you grew up. you didn’t want to tell him too much, so you kept it very minimal.
After the pizza was long gone, as was the bottle of wine the two of you were now on the second six-pack of beer and completely enthralled in conversation not caring that the sun was beginning to peek from behind the clouds.
“So I have to ask now. After all that, why are you still single?” Your smile fell and you looked down. Raising the bottle to your head you took a few gulps.
“After all what?”
“You’re funny, you’re smart, you’re not as mean as you first come off, you’re beautiful that’s not hard to see, and you know how to have fun. So why?”
“what if I told you me knowing how to have fun is new—like tonight new?”
“Bullshit.” You smiled and shrugged.
“No bullshit. I have always been pretty boring. I work, shop, things of that sort. Yeah the occasional club, and dinner and drinks but nothing out of the ordinary.
“So, what was tonight?”
“I don’t know, me taking a stab at being another person. Someone who fits in better I guess.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Try to fit in. don’t ever try to fit in. it’s so clear you were born to stand out.” Your heart skipped a beat. It was a line. It had to be a line you thought. But damn it was smooth. The line coupled with the way he was looking at you it could have been so easy to just melt.
“Wow. Now I have to know. Why are you single? That line alone would have dropped a room full of panties.”
He laughed loud and groaned holding his side. Apologetically you pouted.
“First of all, I told you I’m picky. Second, it wasn’t a line. It was an observation.” You nodded.
“Okay, so you’re picky. What do you like? Tell me your ideal woman.”
He sighed and finished his bottle then took another. You finished yours also and he handed you a new one.
“I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”
“Deal,” you quickly answered.
“Fine, uh—someone smart there is nothing more attractive than a woman with a brain and some intelligence. Someone funny, she has to be able to make me laugh no ifs ands or buts. Hmm, someone polite, I am a stickler for manners. Someone who tells it like it is. I hate liars and people who feel the need to censor themselves all the time. Also, someone who isn’t a poser, she has to be able to be her own individual and not follow the masses. Someone who knows who she is and won’t try to change for anyone or try to change me. Someone who is passionate in everything they do.”
You sat there and just watched him talk. There was something beautiful about how he formed words, how his mouth shaped when he spoke. It was distracting. Through everything, he said none of it sounded like you.
“You didn’t say a thing about looks.”
“Looks don’t matter. If you look at my past girlfriends you wouldn’t be able to see a certain type. I don’t have a type. I follow vibes—feelings.”
You nodded and drank from your bottle.
“And you?” Sighing you groaned out and rubbed your forehead. You had no idea what your ideal man was. You thought you did but it’s funny what a few hours could change.
“What’s the matter?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“It means I thought I knew what my ideal guy was like, I thought I had it all figured out but now—I don’t think I do.” He was quiet for a few moments.
“Now?”
You took another sip and chanced a look at him. “Yeah, now.” The two of you sat quietly drinking your beers and gazing at each other. It was as if you both had tons to say but neither of you dared to.
“So, tell me what you thought it was.” Pulling your legs underneath you and hugging them you rested your chin on your knees then sighed.
“Someone outgoing, someone ambitious, secure in life, strong-minded you know the people who can hold their shit together and yours too, someone simple easy to handle and please, someone who had a plan and always executed, someone who was adaptable, conscientious, a good provider I guess.” As you listed the traits you knew it sounded stupid.
“Were you looking for a boyfriend or a business partner?”
You didn’t answer. He had a point it all sounded so stiff.
“It just sounded very practical, and—clinical.”
“What’s wrong with practical? Practical is secure.”
“Practical is boring,” he blurted.
“Well, I told you I was boring.”
“Plus, life and love are not practical because neither of those things are singular, it’s multi-faceted. There are so many layers to life and love. Relationships cannot be practical. Maybe for you to figure out what you want is to embrace impracticalness, embrace and go with it. you’ve gone with what is expected of you for so long I bet you don’t even know how to be impractical, impulsive.
“I hoped on the first bus I found without knowing the destination. That screams impulsive.”
“It was impulsive. How many times on the bus did you have a panic attack thinking you shouldn’t do it?”
You smirked and drank your beer. “My point exactly. Embrace the impracticality of life and love.”
You thought about his words and you really wanted to, but the word “but” was ringing in your head. He was staring at you as if he were waiting for you to either say something or do something. You bit your bottom lip and his eyes fell to your mouth. You looked away from him and groaned. You finished your beer and stood.
“Should probably clean all this up.” Before you turned he grabbed your hand and held it. looking at it you moved to look at him. He lowered his beer bottle from his mouth and put it down.
“Come ’er.” You turned then stepped between his spread legs. When you did he put his free hand on your waist.
“What’re you doing?”
“Something impractical and impulsive,” he responded.
Your heart was racing so fast you swore he could hear it. You bit your bottom lip but didn’t move, his hands traveled to the buttons of the shirt you wore and slowly began unbuttoning them. With each passing second, your nerves rose. This was something you wanted. You probably shouldn’t but you wanted him. when he’d reached halfway he dropped his hands. He was giving you time to make the final decision. He sat there patiently without an ounce of urgency in his expression. His eyes were another story they said everything. In them, you saw how much he wanted you, saw how much turned on he was, the intensity behind those lagoon blue eyes made the decision not much of a decision at all. This was probably where the entire night was leading.
After almost a minute you raised your hands and finished undoing the buttons on the shirt, then you shrugged it off. His eyes stayed on yours for a few seconds longer then they dipped to take in our exposed breasts. He tipped his tongue out and slowly darted them across his lips. He hooked his pointer in the waistband of the pants and pulled you closer. You sat on him, straddling his thighs.
“Tell me what want, fancy,” his voice was low, deep and sexy as hell.
“You.”
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#convince me to go fic#Chris Evans#chris evans fanfiction#chris evans x reader#chris evans x you#chris evans x black reader#chris evans au
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A Gamble - Noah Centineo x Reader
Word count: 3670
Requested by: @lokisaurusrex
Warnings: friends with benefits (ish), graphic sexual content, teasing, noah being somehow cute and sexy af at the same time
Game night had been a tradition in your friendship group for as long as you could remember. From your days growing up playing boggle, to the poker night Noah had suggested and had run with. Everyone had loved the idea so you had agreed to it on one condition; someone taught you how to play poker.
The evening went as smoothly as you would have hoped, hosted at Noah’s house as he had the table and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. No matter how many times someone tried to teach you to play, you just couldn’t pick up the game, and so instead you took to sitting next to your best friend and ‘helping’ him.
“That’s good right?” You spoke, and he turned his head an inch as if to acknowledge your words.
“The thing about poker is that you’re not supposed to let anyone know if our hand is good or not...” he spoke, a small smile on his features
“Well how else am I supposed to learn?” You frowned, earning a chuckle around the table and Noah shook his head.
“If you gotta ask questions, then whisper them to me alright?” He spoke, and you nodded, moving your lips closer to his ear, your hand covering your lips from view.
“Like this?” You whispered, lips grazing his lobe softly and you swear you saw his eyes flutter closed for only a second before he nodded.
The evening went great, your friend Charlie being the overall winner although he only won $28.50, and everyone had left in their Uber’s as you helped Noah to tidy his front room.
“Did you have a good time?” He questioned, pouring half-drunk bottles of beer down the sink in his open plan kitchen while you scoured his front room for paper cups and threw them in a bin bag, “I was worried that you weren’t having a good time because you couldn’t play..”
You shrugged, throwing a few cups into the bin bag and tipping peanut shells from a snack bowl into the bin, “It was just nice to see everyone y’no?” You picked up your own bottle of beer and sipped, “just maybe next time let’s pick a game that’s easy to learn..” you chuckled.
His brow furrowed and he refused to accept that you hadn’t had as much fun as the rest of them. “Nah, stop clearing up I’m gonna teach you how to play.” He moved around the kitchen counter, grabbing his beer and sitting back down at the table, shuffling cards.
“Noah..” you smiled, shaking your head, “you don’t have to..”
“Nah girl, sit down. We’ll play 21s..” he moved another of the snack bowls to the side of the table you wouldn’t be using and laid out the cards, not giving you an option.
You and Noah had been friends since you could remember. You had grown up in the same time, gone to the same school and even went to the same college. You would have said he was like your brother except for the looks that you constantly caught from each other as you grew older, the touches under blankets at group sleepovers, the drunken kisses in clubs that neither of you addressed but both of you hoped would happen each time you planned a night out together. It wasn’t like you liked him, he was just hot and you were close and you knew that if you wanted to kiss someone it wouldn’t be weird with him. He wouldn’t try and take you home and take advantage, he would always make sure that you weren’t bothered by anyone you didn’t want to be bothered by. It was a strange dynamic but one you treasured.
Sighing, you placed the bin bag down and sat on the chair opposite him, sipping your beer with a smile and flipping your cards over. Flinching as you saw a jack and a five, you looked up at him and his signature lopsided smile.
“Wanna hit it?” Momentary lust formed in your eyes as he stared you down, and you licked your lips before you shook your head.
“Do I wanna what?” He grinned and rolled his eyes a little.
“If you want another card, you’re supposed to say ‘hit me’” He took a sip of his beer and you shook your head,
“That's not what you said but okay sure, hit me.” He smirked a little as he lay another card on the table, and you flinched when you saw a two, bringing your total to a painful seventeen. Usually, when you played blackjack you were always one to just go for it, but as you had spent the entire evening helping Noah play a game you didn’t really understand, you desperately wanted to win.
“Want another?” He asked, skipping a song on Spotify before he looked up at you, something in his eyes that only appeared when he had a few drinks lingering there. This was such a different situation to what you were used to when you saw that look. Usually you had already been dancing with the girls, or you were leaning over him wearing a particularly low cut top. This evening it appeared that his mind had fallen firmly into the gutter of its own accord.
“Hmm..” You started, and before you could answer he had placed the deck down next to his beer, and his lips had pressed firmly on yours. It took a moment for you to realise what was happening, his hand holding your face up as he crouched slightly to accommodate your sitting height. You pulled back for a moment, looking up at him with an innocent expression that you had no idea drove him crazy. “Noah what..”
“I wanted to kiss you..” He spoke, licking his lips, “Is that alright?”
“But we don’t.. We only do this when we’re out..” You spoke, nerves running through your voice.
“You’re telling me you didn’t spend this evening wishing we were pressed against each other like we were in the club last week?” He whispered, “Your body against mine is all I’ve been able to think about since..”
You bit down on your lip, nodding and taking a moment to place a chaste kiss on his lips before you pushed him back slightly, an idea forming in your mind.
“Why don’t we make this game a little more interesting?” You whispered into the space between you before he sunk to his knees, curly brown hair tickling your thighs as he placed soft kisses there. His lips moved further up to where you desperately wanted them, but after all this time you weren’t about to let this happen that easily.
“Why don’t you just lay back and let me make you feel good baby..” He whispered his fingers popping the button on your jeans and beginning to pull down the zipper. He frowned as your fingers covered his own.
“If I win..” You continued your previous point, trying not to let images of him burying his face between your legs distract you because God did you want that, “I get to pick an item of clothing to come off of you..”
He smirked as he sat back on his heels, shaking his head, “Fine. But if you lose, I get to do the same to you..”
You grinned and nodded, and he let out a frustrated sigh, wishing that his advances had worked. He sat back on his seat, resting an ankle on the opposite knee to make it less obvious just how into this he was. It was true that he hadn’t been able to get his mind off of you since the previous week when you had gone out for Charlie's birthday. The two of you had been so drunk that you ended up grinding in the middle of the club, his hands gripping you tight to his body as your ass wound against him. It was the closest you had ever gotten to actually going home with him, and if it wasn’t for Charlie being so drunk that Noah needed to look after him you’re sure you would have.
“Do you want another card?” He asked, his eyes now hungrily taking in your figure as you sat in front of him. If he had been checking you out before he had been way more subtle than this. “You’re on Seventeen or eight..”
“Yeah go on..” You spoke, and he let out a groan as a four joined the cards. A grin spread across your face as you realised your luck, and you siped your beer before you let your eyes run over him. There were so many things you wanted to see. Of course you had seen him shirtless before at pool parties or coming out of the shower, but it had never been in a situation like this.
“Shirt off. Now.” You smirked before you sipped your beer once more, lips deliberately moving to tease and it was noted.
He pulled his white t-shirt over his head, already disheveled hair becoming more so and you couldn’t help but take in his toned figure. He smirked a little as he saw you devour him, as if you were confirming that you wanted him just as much. Taking the cards back, he shuffled them, eyes glancing up at you as he placed two cards in front of you.
His eyes glimmered with mischief as a two and a three sat in front of you, and it wasn’t long before you were going bust.
“Alright fine, Centineo. What do you want off?” You spoke, looking into eyes that had darkened even further with lust. You hadn’t been sober enough to see this before, and you wondered how you were going to continue playing this game if he looked at you like that for much longer.
“Everything.” He spoke, eyes running along the length of your legs, “But I suppose we’ll take those jeans off first.”
The way he spoke was so different from the playfulness you were used to, and you were loving it. Standing, you decided you would give him more of a show than was essential. You turned around and unzipped your jeans, bending to push the denim down your legs and showing off your pink lace panties in the process.
“Fuck..” He muttered under his breath, his voice a decibel lower and you were surprised to feel his hands on your hips once you had stepped out of your jeans. Turning, you took a step back as his hands began to move south, running along your panties.
“Nuh-uh..” You spoke with a cocky smirk, “Only one item of clothing remember…”
“Babe you’re driving me nuts..” He licked his lips, hands moving to grip your ass hard, fingertips unintentionally grazing softly over your covered entrance as he did so.
“Oh really?” You spoke, and he bit his lip, one hand remaining on your ass as the other palmed himself softly over his jeans. You licked your lips at the sight, and he looked up at you with a mixture of lust and desperation.
“Please...fuck this game, let me slip inside you…” He stood, lips ghosting along your neck as his hands moved to play with the hem of the t-shirt you were still wearing. You allowed him to hold your waist for only a moment before you pulled back and pushed him back down into his seat.
“Don’t try and get out of this because you’re losing, Noah..” You smirked at him and let out a small chuckle as he groaned in frustration.
“Shit.” He hissed, “Fine, but this is the last hand alright?” He spoke, and your eyes glittered with lust.
“Okay…” You nodded, smirking as he watched your lips wrap around the bottle before you took a sip “But whoever wins gets to do whatever they want to the other.”
“Deal.” He spoke, licking his lips and he shuffled the cards once more, placing a jack and an eight. Then tension was palpable, both of you desperately wanting to control whatever was going to come next. It had been literally years since you had started being attracted to each other, and although the last few months had seen you become more and more obvious about it, the idea of being able to be in control of your first time turned you both on almost more than the thought of the act.
“What’s it gonna be, beautiful?” He spoke, lust-filled eyes running up your legs and he wished momentarily that he hadn’t suggested that this be the last hand, just so he could see you sitting there fully bare for him.
You gulped for a second, biting her you lip as you weighed up the chances. You had won and lost the past two games by drawing other cards, and while you wanted to see what would happen, you were sure you could win with eighteen.
“I’ll stick.” His eyebrow quirked and he nodded, clearing his throat a little as he lay two cards on the table for himself, a queen and a seven. He licked his lips and looked between you and the cards, situation after situation running through his mind of what he could do to you, of what you would do to him, of how he could unravel you over and over the way he’d been so desperate to do for so long.
“What’s it gonna be, gorgeous?” You repeated his words, and he let out a deep breath before he lay down another card, his eyes fluttering closed in frustration. It was a six.
“Aw, looks like you lost..” You spoke, licking your lips and moving your foot to run up and down his denim covered thigh, “Which means I get to decide what happens next, and I get to do anything I want to you…” You bit down on your lip and smirked when you saw him shudder as your foot grazed gently over his clothed erection.
“That’s right..” He spoke, “Be gentle with me… or not.” He shrugged, smirking as he watched you move to stand and he sat up straight in apprehension.
An idea crossed your mind and you couldn’t help yourself, so you turned around once more and bent over in front of him, picking up your jeans with the full intention of pretending to walk away from him, but he had other ideas. Before you could even move to stand, he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your clothed entrance, his hand moving around your body and rubbing your clit softly through lace.
“Fuck…” You whispered, and you could feel him smirk against you, his fingers moving your panties to the side, his tongue darting across your clit and dipping inside of you with no warning. “Noah..” You moaned at the feeling, allowing yourself to enjoy his mouth for a moment before you stood up, pressing his shoulders back against the chair.
“Did I say that’s what I wanted?” You spoke, and he licked his lips with heavy eyes, shaking his head,
“Sorry baby I just.. I couldn’t resist…” You moved your hand to run through his hair, holding his face back by gripping curly brown locks and he smirked up at you, clearly enjoying this as much as you were.
“I won, so I get to do whatever I want to you…” You spoke, and he nodded, licking his lips and you couldn’t help but meet them. He was always a fantastic kisser but tonight was even better. You allowed his hands to hold at your waist, to move up your shirt and run along your bra. When he gripped the cups of your bra you pulled back, pulling your t-shirt over your head as you stood from him.
“Strip..” You spoke, watching as he let out a relieved sigh and stood to push down stretched jeans. Once the denim was discarded, you licked your lips as you watched his fingers move along to waistband of his tented boxers, eyes boring into yours and he knew exactly what he was doing.
“You want these off too?” He spoke with a smirk, and you nodded, biting your lip as you watch him comply. You let out a lust filled sigh as he stood in front of you naked, and before you could stop yourself you were pushing him back on the chair and falling to your knees.
He balled your hair into one fist as you ran your tongue along his hard shaft, his member much bigger than you had imagined and it only served to turn you on even more.
“Fuck babe..” He spoke, brow furrowing in pleasure as you wrapped your lips around his sizeable shaft, sucking softly at the head of his cock and moving slowly. Putting you in control may have made him think that this was out of the question, but you had been thinking about this for a while, and you wanted to unravel him in every way you could.
You gave him no warning before you sunk your head down on his member, his head falling back on the chair momentarily as he gripped your hair hard, your mouth moving at a steady pace. His moans were fucking hot, his deep and husky voice wrapping around your name as you drove him closer and closer to his end turning you on so much that you couldn’t even finish your task.
Removing your mouth from him with a dragging tongue as a flourish, you licked your lips and stood from him, his eyes look up at yours in desperation once more.
“Come on baby, don’t leave me like this..” He bit down on his lip, the puppy dog eyes that had always driven you crazy refusing to let you tease him any further. There was so much more that you wanted to do, wanted to see exactly how skilled he was with the tongue that he seemed so desperate to use, but how could you transition to that when he was already so ready and waiting?
“I’m not..” you whispered, pulling down your panties and he adjusted himself on the seat as you straddled him, your legs on the floor either side of him. You kissed him hard as you sunk down onto him, moaning against his lips as he pressed inside of you.
“Oh fuck..” He whispered against your lips hands moving to grip your ass as he had done before but this time it served to hold you even further open for him. “God, you’re even tighter than I imagined..”
You could barely speak as you got used to his size, and you remembered after a moment that you were supposed to be in control, so you began to move slowly up and down his shaft. Every additional inch that pressed in and out of you moving you closer and closer to your end, even when he had barely built you up yet. Something about this position, the tiniest curve in his shaft, the size of him, felt like it was tailored to make you cum in the most delicious way possible.
You wanted to maintain composure, but before long you found yourself bouncing on him with reckless abandon, your hips winding as you pressed down onto him and you were completely intoxicated by his moans.
“Fuck.. god you’re fucking good, gorgeous..” He moaned against your lips, and then, as if he couldn’t take it anymore, he began to buck his hips up into you.
“Oh my--Noah fuck that feels amazing…” You moaned, and he smirked against your lips as he gripped your ass harder, his hips moving to fuck up into you in a way you hadn’t anticipated.
“That’s it baby, let me take care of you…” He groaned, placing a chaste kiss on your lips before he moved a hand from your ass to your clit, his thumb pressing down and circling the ball of nerves, and you couldn’t help let your body arch back a little. “Fucking hell, you’re beautiful..”
You were completely lost in the way he was moving beneath you, his hands moving from your ass to your back to hold you in position as he drove his hips home, his thumb rubbing at your clit in delicious circles. You could feel your orgasm fast approaching, and you moved back to your previous position, his hand moving from your clit to your ass again. Your arms moved to wrap around his neck, lips dancing along each other as you looked into each others eyes, something that you both hadn’t expected to be so intimate.
“N-noah baby I--” His lips were on yours before you could finish your sentence, and you moaned into his mouth as his hips picked up the pace, throwing you firmly over the edge without warning. Your head fell back as you came hard for him, and he continued at the same pace both to let you ride it out and cum equally as hard inside of you. After a few more sloppy thrusts he came to a still, and you moaned softly against his lips as you held on to him for dear life.
You remained there for a few moments, catching your breath and biting your lip as you realised what you had just done. This was someone who was supposed to be your best friend, someone you had grown up with, and he had just made you cum harder than anyone ever had done. Before you had a chance to move, he lifted you from him, carrying you to the couch that was only a few meters away and laying you down.
“Fuck..” He grinned as he hovered over you, “I knew you were gonna be good in bed but damn..”
“I could say the same for you…” You chuckled a little and he leaned down to kiss you once more,
“I guess things are gonna be a little different from now on, huh?”
#lauren writes#noah centineo#noah centineo one shot#noah centineo fan fiction#smut#noah centineo smut#one shot
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Excuse me, I think you have my Suitcase
With @27dragons
Square: @tisfan T3 - sharing clothes @27dragons A1 Occupational Hazard
Warning: lingerie, oral, anal, condom use
Pairing: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes
Summary: Problem one: Tony and Bucky get their luggage mixed up. Problem 2: Tony’s suitcase is full of lingerie. Hijinks ensue. or... the one where Bucky exhibits extremely poor impulse control.
Link: A03
Word Count: 7,354
Credits to: Fast Food Drive Thru - by Stevens and Grdnic
Code Monkey - By Jonathon Coulton
Bucky threw his suitcase onto the bed, listlessly watching it bounce on the too-firm mattress. If he never saw another hotel room in his life, it would be too goddamn soon. Along with “fulfilling in creative ways,” minimal travel had been just another lie that Hammer Tech had sold him.
He’d been back in his own apartment a total of three days in the last month. His plants were dead, and thank Christ he’d never gotten around to getting a pet.
He picked up the phone and placed the least thought-process involving order to room service he could think of -- cheeseburger, onion rings, and a large orange soda -- and kicked off his shoes. Tomorrow would start a week-long seminar with Stark Industries (theoretically to brainstorm and resource share, but that was probably code for “get me something I can use” and he’d have to report up to Vanko that SI was decades ahead of the competition.) and all Bucky wanted to do was change into some comfy sweats and sleep for the next two days straight.
He fell onto the bed, his keys digging into his thigh. He shifted a little until he was mostly comfortable, and drowsed, waiting for dinner to arrive.
When it did, the waiter handed him a tray that contained:
One cheesesteak with onions and a bowl of those little orange slices that people gave to kindergarteners.
Bucky looked at his food. Looked at the hotel staffer. Sighed. Whatever. Why people couldn’t understand Cheeseburger, Onion Rings, and a Large Orange Drink… Bucky didn’t know. Maybe he was so tired he was speaking something other than English and hadn’t noticed. Sleep-absorbed Romanian or something.
Wasn’t that the idea of osmosis? Stuff moved from a high concentration to a place of low concentration. He was sure he’d read that somewhere. Which meant just about anything could have moved into his brain, since as far as Bucky could tell, everything else had leaked out recently.
He didn’t bother to correct the order.
Which he totally should have, because who the fuck put mayo on a cheesesteak? That was an affront is what that was.
Dinner finished, Bucky opened his suitcase to grab his sleep pants--
--and just about had a fucking heart attack.
(more below the cut)
Tony grumbled as he lugged his suitcase into the hotel room. Why couldn’t they have hosted this stupid conference at Stark Tower? Then he wouldn’t have had to travel, and he could sleep in his own bed, and the food would be better for everyone involved.
Instead, he was stuffed into a hotel room, with the dismal prospect of lukewarm meals and unevenly-heated showers and scratchy hotel towels. And worse, he’d have to “collaboratively innovate” with his competitors, all of whom would be sniffing around and hoping to steal Stark Industries’ ideas. He could only hope that Hammer’s representative wasn’t that creepy Vanko guy again this year.
Like, who came to a business conference and wanted to make small talk about whips? Ug.
Ah, well. Travel and all its foibles were occupational hazards that Tony knew well. But he was going to change into something comfortable and then he was going to call Pepper to report in and make her listen to him whine about the accommodations.
He heaved his suitcase up onto the bed. Damn it, the TSA assholes had stolen his lock again. He sighed and threw back the lid--
--and stopped.
That... was not his suit. Or his dress shoes. Or his sweatpants, or his t-shirts, or his underwear, and oh fuck, he had gotten the wrong god damned suitcase at the baggage claim.
Which -- oh fuck -- meant that someone else had his suitcase. And everything inside it.
Unable to drag his eyes off the neatly-folded stack of underwear, Tony fished his phone out of his pocket. “Call the airport baggage claims.”
Okay, okay, Bucky thought. Call baggage claim. Someone probably was looking for their honeymoon suitcase, or whatever the hell this was. A collection of silk and lacy-- things. Along with a few changes of men’s clothing, but no women’s dresses or blouses.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Barnes, we’re so sorry about the mix up--” the woman on the phone said, after Bucky hastily explained that he had somehow ended up with the wrong suitcase. “We’ve already been contacted by the other owner-- where are you now, we can send a courier over to retrieve the bag, and make arrangements to get your own things back.”
“Uh, sure, I’m at the Hilton on East Londontown Street, but what am I supposed to wear tomorrow?” He found himself reaching for the contents of the suitcase again and snapped his hand back as if the clothing inside were on fire.
“Oh, well, that’s easy, then,” the woman said brightly. “You’re both staying in the same hotel! Why don’t you just take the suitcase down to the lobby and I’ll let the staff know. You can have your own things back this evening, probably. I know the other man was concerned for his belongings.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Bucky said. A man’s suitcase. Not a couple. Not the woman was concerned. He reached for one of the pieces of lingerie, a lacy black number. Looking at it more closely, he realized it was styled for a man, little silky things that resembled boxer briefs. Huh.
He shivered. “Yeah, yeah, okay, I’ll do that. Take this right downstairs, and you’ll, uh, you’ll call me--”
“We’ll get the hotel to let you know when they have your suitcase,” the woman said. “Thanks for flying Southwest.”
Click.
Bucky put the phone down, and then fingered the slippery material. Couldn’t quite resist-- he brought it up to his cheek and rubbed the fabric against his face. Smelled clean and like men’s cologne. What would that be like, Bucky wondered, that soft material against his cock?
He shivered again. He was going to put it all back and take the suitcase down to the lobby. That’s exactly what he was going to do.
He rubbed the fabric again. There was so much of it-- teddies and underwear and a little frilly robe. Silk stockings and a garter belt.
Shit. He probably shouldn’t have rummaged through the guy’s stuff; there was no way he was going to be able to fold that up to anything remotely resembling tidy again. He tossed the one piece on his bed and started folding anyway. Closed the suitcase and headed down to turn it in.
The suitcase really did look like his, it did. Down to the scuffed handle and the broken lock. Huh. He thumbed the ID tag.
You Know Who I am
“No, no I don’t,” Bucky muttered. Out the door and down the elevator, he went up to the desk clerk and explained-- “I don’t know, Southwest was supposed to call you, I don’t know whose suitcase this is.”
The clerk finally found the note. “We’ll call up when we have your luggage.”
“Right,” Bucky said. He started back toward the elevator, then paused. Wondered what the guy looked like who owned the case.
Without quite consciously deciding he was going to do it, Bucky grabbed a seat in the lobby, picked up a magazine and pretended to thumb through it. The clerk had gone back to their duties, the guy would never need to know--
The room phone rang, and Tony snatched it up before it had even finished the first ring. “Yes, hello?”
“Mr. Stark, your luggage has been turned in. If you could bring the incorrect bag down to the front desk, we’ll be happy to return it to you.”
Christ, why couldn’t they just bring it up? Tony suppressed a sigh and made a note to tell Pepper to make sure he only stayed in hotels with concierge service, from now on. “Right, I’ll be down shortly.”
He ran a hand through his hair and looked at himself in the mirror. No chance, really, that whoever had gotten his luggage by mistake had realized it before they’d opened it. He could hope they’d only gotten a glimpse, and were assuming it was luggage for a couple. Not that he was ashamed of his lingerie -- he’d lost all sense of shame years ago -- but it got tiresome, having people raise their eyebrows and sneer about things that didn’t even concern them.
Well, whatever. Whoever it was wouldn’t know it was Tony unless they saw him with the luggage, and the front desk clerk probably hadn’t looked in the bag. (And hotel clerks probably saw much stranger things anyway.) He stuffed his phone in one pocket and the hotel key in the other, and headed down to the lobby.
There were a few people milling around in the lobby, a tired-looking businessman checking in at the desk, a young couple by the bank of tourism brochures trying to decide what to do on their vacation, another man slumped in one of the chairs reading a magazine. Tony took a second look at him; he had a rather appealing five o’clock shadow and a gorgeously rugged jawline, and broad shoulders that suggested he’d probably be making his way down to the hotel gym at some point, because damn.
Tony was so busy surreptitiously eyeing the guy that he didn’t notice when the businessman finished checking in and walked away, dragging his suitcase and briefcase and garment bag along with him.
“Sir?” the clerk prompted.
“Oh!” Tony turned back around and stepped up to the counter. “I’m here for my suitcase.”
“Oh, yes sir,” the clerk said briskly. “If I could just see your ID?”
Tony leveled the guy with a look. “You know who I am,” he said drily.
“It’s procedure, Mr. Stark,” the clerk apologized.
Tony rolled his eyes and fished out his wallet. “There. Good? We’re all good here? Can I please have my bag now?”
The clerk looked at the ID carefully, as if Tony might actually be some sort of imposter, and then nodded. “Yes sir, thank you sir.” He pulled the suitcase out from under the desk and wheeled it around to Tony’s side of the wall. “Please call the desk if you have any other issues we can help with.”
“Yuh-huh,” Tony muttered. He left the other suitcase where it was, grabbed the handle of his own bag, and turned to head back to the elevators.
The hot guy with the magazine glanced up as he passed. Tony tossed out a jaunty wave and kept heading toward the elevator. Now he really wanted to change into something nice, and possibly spend some quality time thinking about the guy’s mouth, because holy shit.
As soon as the elevator closed behind the guy who returned his bag, Bucky scrambled for his phone. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” Bucky muttered. “That was Tony Stark.” He was pretty sure, at least. Thumbed up his web browser and clicked up a bio for the CTO of Stark Industries.
Yeah, probably. More than likely. Why hadn’t anyone ever waxed poetic about what a great ass the guy had, because really--
Bucky had a sudden image of that ass in those little silk nothings and all the blood in his body rushed south in a hell of a hurry. “Oh, god,” he said, swallowing hard. Not the only thing that was hard around here, Jesus Christ.
He almost threw the phone across the room in sudden shock when it rang.
“Mr. Barnes? Your suitcase has been returned.”
Why he’d thought they’d call the room -- well, honestly, they probably had called the room first -- he wasn’t sure.
Bucky got up and walked away, awkwardly aware of his erection as he headed toward the lobby’s restrooms. “Yeah? Great.” That sounded mostly normal. “I’m just gonna finish this drink and I’ll pick it up.”
“Of course.”
He hung up.
He was in the bathroom. Sporting a very firm erection.
Bucky sighed. Splashed water on his face a few times and tried to think about something unsexy. His high school Government teacher. Steve’s bad habit of leaving a half inch of milk in the jug and putting it back in the fridge, back when they used to live together. His mom’s corned beef hash on toast.
That did it.
Okay. Okay, he was fine. He was going to go get his bag and get some sleep.
It wasn’t until he got upstairs with his bag that he realized that he’d left one piece of the lingerie on his bed; the little black silky thing that had felt so soft against his cheek.
His neglected erection came back, full force.
Shit. Shit shit shit. There was no good way to give it back now.
Was there?
“Guess it’s mine now,” Bucky said, and that was a shivery little bit of kinky thought there. Like a prize, or a trophy. Look at this, I have Tony Stark’s underwear.
Bucky went weak in the knees, practically collapsing on the bed.
Finally. Tony opened his suitcase and -- yeah, this was the right one, thank Tesla. He pulled open a drawer of the dresser and opened the closet, and started to put things away so they wouldn’t get wrinkled.
Except the first thing he pulled out -- his gauzy, soft robe -- wasn’t so much folded as mangled into a more or less rectangular shape. Frowning, Tony hung it up and reached for the next piece. Which was similarly rumpled. As was the next.
Whoever had opened his bag hadn’t just looked in it and closed it up again. They’d looked through it. Damn it.
Well. Nothing for it, really. He didn’t have time to have everything laundered tonight. He’d just have to deal with it for now.
He put everything away and then stopped, unsettled. He opened the drawer again and counted the underwear. He was one short. He was absolutely certain he’d packed enough for the whole trip -- he’d double-checked -- but now there was one missing.
He checked the suitcase again, making sure it hadn’t slipped under the lining, or gotten tucked into one of the pockets. No dice.
Someone had taken his goddamn underwear.
Great.
Tony dropped into the chair and massaged his forehead a little to try to stave off the headache he felt coming on. It wasn’t like it was that big a deal, was it, really? Even if the person knew whose it was, there was no way to prove it. So he was out a pair of underwear. He’d just run out after tomorrow’s meeting -- the first day was always short, just introductions and business bluster -- and buy some more.
Right. Yes.
He put the incident out of his mind. Well, tried. He changed into a satin teddy and pulled on his robe, and laid back on the bed, feeling the soothing caress of the fabric against his skin, and tried to think of something else. That guy from the lobby with the pouty mouth and the shoulders, that was a hell of a combination.
Tony wondered what he’d look like in Tony’s underwear. Mmm, nice. That scruff would probably feel amazing, dragged over Tony’s stomach, the satin only barely softening the scratchy feel of it. Yeah. Yeah, that was very nice.
“Probably the dumbest thing you’ve ever done, Barnes,” Bucky told himself, threading the belt through his loops. The soft pair of lacy boxer briefs cradled him like a lover, under his pants.
No one will ever know.
There was no reason, even, to think that anyone would figure it out.
And even if they did--
That had occurred to Bucky after he’d jerked off, the little shorts held in his free hand against his throat.
Bucky looked at himself in the mirror. He didn’t look any different -- well, maybe his color was up a bit. There was an awareness. Something. He wasn’t sure.
“Take ‘em off and stop acting like a complete creep,” Bucky told himself. He got his hand on the buckle, except he remembered how nice they’d looked, against his skin, the way the fabric clung to his ass. Fuck it. One day of deviating from his normal habits of being as unremarkable as possible wasn’t going to kill him.
No one had to know. And he’d probably never see any of these people again, anyway.
He turned around and checked his ass. He couldn’t see the outline. Hell, he couldn’t see any outline, not the normal wrunkle where his boxers sometimes showed. It was all smooth and perfect.
Tony checked his ass in the mirror -- perfectly smooth, as it should be -- and then pulled on his suit jacket and adjusted his Day One Power Tie. He slipped on the matching sunglasses and checked the mirror again. Yeah, he was going to own the conference.
As usual.
He double-checked that his important shit was in his pocket or his briefcase, then headed down to the conference room.
Where he nearly ran over the hot guy from the lobby, now sharply dressed. In a suit that looked... familiar.
Tony blinked and took half a step back, and offered the guy a sharp smile and a hand to shake. “Hi. You’re here for the tech consortium?”
“Hmm?” The guy blinked a few times as if he’d accidentally looked straight into the sun. “Oh, yeah, right. James Barnes, Hammer Tech.”
Well, well, well. The conference was looking up already. “Yeah?” Tony let his grip linger just a couple of seconds longer than necessary. “Looking forward to hearing what Hammer’s pulled out of his ass for this year’s show. No offense to you, just your boss.” He grinned, not quite making it a joke.
“I’m sure Mr. Hammer will be delighted to hear you remember him,” Barnes said. He looked down at their clasped hands. “Not to gossip, but he has like the biggest man crush on you.”
“Well, who doesn’t?” Tony said. “Too bad for him it’s not mutual. My taste is a little more refined.” He gave Barnes a quick wink, then turned to help himself to the coffee.
Barnes selected a seat, and, either still half asleep, or absent-minded, he dropped his stuff on the table. A pen rattled, rolled, and fell on the floor. “Damn it,” Barnes muttered and bent over to retrieve it. His suit slacks -- not very slack at all -- clung to impressive thighs as he moved and Tony couldn’t help but follow the line down.
Barnes’ thighs and butt were… utterly smooth. Flawless.
Tony’s gaze lingered, and then realized he was looking at shoes that he’d seen before, too.
Shit. Shit shit shit, Barnes was the guy who had the matching suitcase.
The guy who’d swiped Tony’s underwear. Tony took another look at Barnes’ ass, and was about 80% certain Barnes was wearing Tony’s underwear, because Tony had seen the stuff Barnes had packed, and there should be a line.
About twenty percent of Tony’s brain was annoyed and indignant. The other eighty percent was rapidly falling down the hole of imagining (again) what Barnes would look like, stripped out of that suit.
Fuuuuck, other people were beginning to filter into the room and Tony did not have time for an inconvenient erection right now. He willed it down and set his briefcase down on the table, claiming a seat directly across from Barnes, before pasting on his meet-and-greet smile and turning on the charm for the other attendees.
This was going to be the longest day ever.
Bucky couldn’t have felt more naked than if he’d actually shown up to the meeting like he was in some horrible dream about high school.
This had been a huge mistake.
He was positive that most of the room could sense there was something just a little off about him.
The very first person he’d met at the confabulation was Tony Stark, who’d gripped his hand a little too long and had eyed Bucky like something he wanted to stuff and mount on his wall.
He knows.
Why hadn’t it occurred to him that Stark was going to be at the damn conference? He knew that Stark was supposed to be there, it just… hadn’t really dawned on him that he’d have to make conversation with the man while wearing Stark’s damn underwear.
The table was narrower than he wanted it to be, too.
Bucky had long damn legs and there never seemed to be a setting on the adjustable chairs that was comfortable, so his legs stuck out further than the safe, halfway point.
And of course Stark sat down right across from him.
The first time Stark bumped Bucky’s ankle under the table, Bucky jerked back as if he’d been electrified. The talk and introductions and five minute elevator pitches went over Bucky’s head; if he heard one word in twenty, that was being generous. Bucky muttered his own intro and the carefully memorized scriptette, talking to the table.
And Tony had winked at him.
What. The Hell? Was Tony flirting with him?
Bucky went hot all over, his body flushing. He raised a hand to loosen his tie, and exhibiting more bravery than he’d ever managed in his life, glanced up to catch Tony’s gaze. He lifted an eyebrow, didn’t look away.
Tony didn’t stop talking about... whatever it was, carefully-worded hints about SI’s new proprietary coding engine or something, but the corner of his mouth ticked up, just a bit, and his eyes drifted down to Bucky’s mouth, and then lower, to Bucky’s throat, before sliding slowly, unhurriedly, back up to meet Bucky’s gaze again.
Bucky let his leg slide over until it bumped against Tony’s calf.
And didn’t pull back.
Tony didn’t pay much attention to the conference. He wouldn’t have anyway -- his tech could run rings around most of these clowns even if he slept through the whole thing. And with Barnes -- James -- playing along with Tony’s game, he had more important things to concentrate on.
That light flush that had crawled up James’ face stayed put, but he kept bumping his leg up against Tony’s under the table, kept giving Tony those steamy looks from under his lashes, kept biting and licking his lip and trailing lazy spirals on his notepad with his fingertip.
When they broke for lunch, Tony pretended to be checking and answering texts on his phone as he watched people filing out of the conference room one by one, chatting and shaking hands and exchanging business cards. Tony watched until James actually left the room, counted to ten, and then got up to follow at a leisurely, unhurried stroll.
He walked into the men’s room just in time to watch James realize that if he unzipped at the urinal, everyone would be able to see that underwear.
Tony met James’ eyes in the mirror, smiled knowingly, and pushed into a stall to wait for the few other people to leave.
Tony could hear James splashing water on his face.
“Heh,” one of the other guys said. “it'll be less boring tomorrow. Don't fall asleep.”
The guy left and James said to no one (or maybe to Tony), “Bored ain't even half the problem.”
Tony checked the floor under the stalls and saw no other feet. “No? And what is the problem, James?” He came out of the stall and leaned one hip against the sink counter, close enough to James to feel the heat baking off the man’s body.
“Super busted,” James muttered. “About thirty percent bad luck, thirty percent bad timing, and forty percent lack of forethought.” He glanced up to meet Tony's gaze in the mirror. “Took a calculated risk, but man am I bad at math.”
Tony grinned, sharp and toothy. “I rather doubt that. You strike me as a man who appreciates a good curvilinear function. Not to mention the thrill of discovery.”
James chewed on that lucious lower lip again. “In my, rather minimal, admittedly, defense, I didn’t notice that it was on the bed, before I took your suitcase down. And then, what? I couldn’t--” His gaze wobbled a little, nervous. “--couldn’t figure out how to give it back without making a mess of it. Reckon I did that, anyway.”
Tony slid just a little closer, until he had to cant his head back a bit to keep meeting James’ gaze. “So you thought, as long as you had them, you’d try it out? See how it felt?” He cocked his head, studying that gorgeous flush on James’ skin. “So tell me. How does it feel?”
“Nice,” James said, and his voice squeaked a little, like it was a question. He rumbled a cough, then, “it’s nice. Soft. Kinda… decadent. Like, oh, I ain’t s’posed to, but God, I want to.”
“Well, good. I’d hate to think of you sitting through all those tedious presentations all day wearing something that scratched and chafed, and you not even able to scratch that itch.” Tony let his gaze drop, let James see it as he took in the flutter of pulse at James’ throat, the heaviness of James’ breath. “Speaking of things you’re not supposed to do, but want anyway...”
Those blue eyes went wide and dark. “Yeah, you got somethin’ tender that needs attendin’? An itch to scratch?” Whole constellations spun out and died in space in the seconds it took James to move, his hand moving almost in slow motion, until it rested on Tony’s wrist.
Tony didn’t bother with any more words, just tipped his head and leaned in to slot their mouths together, teasing at the seam of James’ lips with his tongue until they opened to let him in. Tony curled his hand around the back of James’ neck and plundered that sweet mouth, tasting every bit of it, stealing the breath out of James’ mouth.
For a long moment, James met him, kiss for kiss and lick for lick, but barely moving, as if he was frozen in place, and then suddenly Tony found himself backed up against the wall, cool tiles against his back. James laced their fingers together, pinned Tony’s hand to the wall. The other roamed down Tony’s arm, to his hip, then down his thigh, urging Tony to hook his leg around James’s hip.
The space between them disappeared, and Tony could almost hear the soft whish of the silk under James’s trousers.
Tony dragged his free hand down James’ chest, teased at the waistband of his trousers, dipping a finger inside just far enough to feel the soft lace of the underwear. “Come up to my room for lunch,” he growled softly. “I’m sure we can find something tasty there.”
James was dazed, eyes a little glassy, and he nodded. “Yeah, probably this is not the best place--” He blinked, then gave Tony a slow, creampot smile. “Yes. I want--” He left it generally unspoken, but the hard line of him pressed against Tony’s thigh was clear enough.
Tony tugged his hand free, then left the bathroom, not really looking to see if James would follow, but feeling the man’s presence behind him palpably anyway. They didn’t speak as they waited for the elevator, but once they were inside, Tony let himself examine James’ reflection in the mirrored wall. That sweet blush was something special.
James ran his thumb wonderingly over his lip, soft and swollen, as if he was checking to see if it was real, as if he’d been somehow changed by a few minutes of frantic making out in a public bathroom. He caught Tony watching him, and while his flush grew a little darker, it seemed more of arousal and less embarrassed.
When the elevator opened to an empty hall, he let his fingers slip into Tony’s hand and followed him down the hall.
Bucky supposed it could be a trap, an elaborate set-up slash revenge. Or even angry hate sex, meant to punish him for his thievery. He didn’t think so, but even if it was, he was pretty sure he’d follow Tony’s mouth anywhere-- that man could kiss like setting the world on fire.
They’d barely gotten inside the door of Tony’s hotel room -- several pay grades above Bucky’s own -- when he got another taste of that mouth. Tony pushed him against the door and kissed him like a starving man.
And each time Bucky’s hips moved, he could feel the lace, the silk under his trousers, like some erotic torture.
The silk stretched to cup him as he swelled, the material breathing easily. He was convinced he might die if Tony didn’t touch him, and then was positive that he would die, as soon as it actually happened. “Shit, that’s-- okay, okay, that’s…” He wasn’t even sure what he was saying, and his hands explored Tony’s body, lithe, lean, the muscles hard and wiry. Down Tony’s back and slid under the man’s belt to--
Why hadn’t it occurred to him that Tony was also wearing the fancy drawers? His fingers encountered more of that slippery, cool stuff and the entire rest of him burst into flames.
He let himself sink to his knees in front of Tony and rubbed his cheek against that bulge that was tenting up Tony’s slacks.
Tony’s hands slipped through his hair, surprisingly gentle given the urgency of their kissing and groping. “Oh, yeah, that’s nice, that’s-- Hang on, let me...” He tugged at the belt and opened his trousers, pushing them down to the middle of his thighs, revealing elegant lace stretched over a gorgeous cock, the faintest dark patch over the tip where he’d leaked a little precome. “You can lick right through them,” he told Bucky in a conversational tone only just touched with a hint of unsteady wobble. “Go on, give it a try for me.” His hand was back in Bucky’s hair, stroking and petting.
It took him probably longer than he meant to actually try it, too busy staring and admiring and trying not to shoot off like he was a fourteen year old kid dry humping someone under the bleachers during school pep-rally. He let his fingertips graze down the fabric, not quite touching Tony’s dick. Just enough to notice how slippery, almost frictionless, the material was. More of a tease, maybe, than he meant. Until Tony’s knees unlocked and his thighs were quaking.
“Oh, can I?” Bucky asked, finally getting with the program. He closed his mouth a moment, just breathing warm air over the thin material. He darted his tongue out to taste, and the underwear was slick against his tongue. Not rough or lint-y, but like the next best thing to skin. Curious, he pulled back just a little and blew cool air over the wet stripe. “Reckon I can.”
Tony hissed and shuddered and his hand tightened in Bucky’s hair for a moment. “You certainly can,” he agreed. “Please do.” He shifted a little, making the trousers fall all the way to the floor and stepping out of one leg to widen his stance.
“Holy hell, look at you--” Tony was wearing black stockings; dark enough that they looked like men’s dress-socks at his ankles, but they went all the way to halfway up his thigh, a patch of lace and elastic holding them up. Bucky’d played around a little with dressing up -- everyone he knew had been in the Rocky Horror cast at one time or another -- but he’d always taken it as an illicit joke, a bit of a thrill. Acceptable, but only under certain circumstances.
And here was Tony goddamn Stark wearing the most elegant, obviously made for him as his --
“You wear this all th’ time? Or just special?” Bucky hoped that came out as curious, and not accusatory, because god, he could spend his whole life on his knees, looking at Tony looking like that, and not have one single goddamn problem with it.
Tony wobbled the hand that wasn’t still in Bucky’s hair, so-so. “Sometimes,” he said. “Half the time, maybe sixty percent? Not when I’m in the workshop -- too easy to get runs in the stockings -- and not when I’m flying, because all it would take is one TSA agent willing to dump confidentiality for a big payout. But definitely when I’m going to high-level meetings and shows. It’s a real power boost.”
“I can see that,” Bucky said. He reached up, very slowly, and unbuttoned Tony’s shirt. One at a time. Accompanied, or perhaps punctuated by, darting little licks at the fabric stretched around Tony’s cock. Each patch of wet made the silk more see-through, made it cling to him obscene and gorgeous.
Bucky wore simple, thin white tees under his dress shirts.
Tony wore a dark silky camisole that would have been even less visible under his blue business shirt than Bucky’s tank. His nipples were hard, under the camisole, poking at the fabric, and Bucky rewarded them with a tweak. Tony’s shirt spread open, the tie still around his neck, pants around his ankles… “You are the most fucking beautiful thing I ever saw.” He wanted to take a picture, to keep it, even if this moment was going to be seared in his memory for the rest of his goddamn life.
Tony smirked a little. “Likewise, hot stuff.” He brushed his thumb along Bucky’s lip, eyes dark with wanting. “Christ, you’ve got me wound tight already. Feel like a damn kid again. Can I-- Let me see?”
“What-- Oh, yeah, hang on.” Bucky gave Tony’s cock one long lick, as if he was saying goodbye, feeling a smug sense of satisfaction when Tony moaned and quivered under it.
Bucky tugged off his shoes, dumped the jacket and tugged his tie loose, but left it threaded through his collar. Tony watched him avidly, and Bucky felt the heat at the back of his neck, the way his ears burned. There was something erotic and very intimate about taking off his clothes while Tony gazed at him with those doe-eyes.
He shucked the shirt and undershirt, knowing they were going to be horridly rumpled, and didn’t care. The sound Tony made once Bucky’s chest was bare was worth it.
Finally, he dropped his trousers and stood there a little awkwardly, wearing the lacy panties and his business socks. He wasn’t quite sure what to do next; his arms felt strange, like he should be able to take one off or something, hang it on a hook. Without pockets, without touching Tony, he wasn’t sure what the hell his body language was saying.
Tony didn’t seem too concerned about Bucky’s hands, at least. He eyed Bucky up and down, hungry. “Oh, honey, just look at you.” His hands ran down Bucky’s hips, thumbs caressing the soft fabric, then dropped to one knee as he continued on down Bucky’s thighs. “God, you’re gorgeous, and I can’t even imagine how amazing you’d look dressed up in pretty things. These thighs... Nng.”
He leaned back to look up at Bucky, admiring, and cupped Bucky’s cock through the panties, making the soft lace drag over the sensitive skin. Bucky shivered and Tony did it again. “Yeah, just like that.”
Bucky was about to offer Tony anything he wanted; he’d wear anything Tony gave him, do anything, give Tony his soul on a fucking platter, as long as Tony didn’t stop touching him. He wondered what it would feel like to rub his dick against Tony’s through the layers of fabric. Shuddered all over, and then realized he could just fucking find out. The bed was huge, covered with a white, soft comforter. It would look a hell of a lot more inviting with Tony spread out over it, needy and desperate and rising to meet Bucky’s touches.
He nudged and brought Tony up for a quick kiss -- and then again, because he couldn’t seem to resist that tempting mouth -- before walking him backward across the room. Tony went over easily enough, squirming to fucking crawl into the center of the bed.
Holy hell, the back of Tony’s drawers were even more tempting than the front, sheer enough for Bucky to see everything. Before Bucky could even think to pounce, Tony rolled over, lazily sprawling his limbs out spread eagle like an offering.
Bucky took him up on that invitation, crawling up between Tony’s knees and covering him like a blanket. Rained kisses down along the planes of Tony’s cheeks, against that jaw, along his throat, and with each kiss, Bucky stroked himself against Tony, rutting them together. “Jesus,” Bucky swore, nipping at Tony’s throat lightly, then lower, licking his clavicle.
Tony rocked his head back, exposing his throat for better access. His hips rolled, his spine arched, he looked utterly lost to pleasure and entirely unselfconscious and unashamed for it. “God,” he groaned. “James... I want... I want more, I want--” He lifted his head to look at Bucky again. “You like to top, honey?”
Bucky tucked his face against Tony’s throat, weak with wanting. He would take whatever Tony was willing to give him, but letting himself sink into that hot, lean body would be-- could be… “Yeah, anything you want.” He licked at Tony’s neck again, slid down to nuzzle at Tony’s belly, soft and fluttering under Bucky’s questing mouth. “You-- uh, you got a condom an’, I mean. I didn’t expect--” They weren’t even in his room, where he had a bit of lube just for jerking off.
“I always travel prepared,” Tony said smugly. He squirmed out from under Bucky and walked to the closet where he’d stashed his suitcase, letting Bucky get a good look at the way the lingerie framed that stunning ass. He came out with a strip of condoms, a bottle of lube, and a cat-in-the-cream smile. He tossed his finds onto the bed and climbed up, straddling Bucky’s hips and leaning in to suck at Bucky’s neck, leaving a mark just barely low enough to be covered with the shirt collar.
Bucky ran his hand down Tony’s chest, ending with a loving stroke and squeeze at that gorgeous cock. “If I wake up from a wet dream, I am gonna be so disappointed,” Bucky said. He kept stroking Tony through those obscene little panties, until Tony was rocking into Bucky’s touch, practically riding him.
He slid his hand lower, then between Tony’s legs, teasing at his balls, and that flat, sensitive patch behind them before reaching all the way back. The lingerie didn’t leave anything to chance, each curve and wrinkle in Tony’s skin perfectly outlined. Bucky rubbed at Tony’s hole, using that frictionless fabric to smooth the way.
Tony moaned wantonly, pushing into Bucky’s touch like a cat for a minute, before stripping the panties off entirely and crawling onto the bed, pushing that ass up into the air, begging shamelessly. “Come on, gorgeous, want to feel you filling me up. You’re going to give it to me so good, I can tell.”
“You keep talkin’ filthy like that,” Bucky said, getting himself upright, “an’ what I’m gonna do is come untouched, and then where will you be? Hmmm?” He stroked Tony’s bare ass. The man’s skin was almost as soft and smooth as the drawers. Bucky couldn’t quite help himself, he leaned over and rubbed his cheek and chin against the firm curve of Tony’s ass, the same way he’d rubbed his cheek against those drawers.
“Mm, I bet we could get you up again,” Tony said, almost purring. “Could be fun to try it, really.” He hummed again thoughtfully, as if actually considering it, then sighed. “Not enough time. Maybe later.”
Later? Bucky swallowed hard. He hadn’t thought any further than this one afternoon, but-- “We got all week,” Bucky offered, and then he wet his fingers with the lube and blew on them to warm it up. Slippery stuff, like it was supposed to be, and it smelled nice. Like ritzy skin cream or something, instead of cheap bathroom coin-op lube. “Gonna touch you now.” He put one hand on the base of Tony’s spine and let the other tease at Tony’s hole, fingering the opening to Tony’s body.
Tony groaned like it was the best thing he’d ever felt. He barely resisted Bucky’s tentative probing, relaxing quickly to let Bucky in, and then drawing him even further in, hungry. “Yeah, that’s, that’s perfect, that’s-- Keep going, just like that, honey, that’s just right.” He pushed back as Bucky sank into him, eager and needy.
Bucky had to count backward from a hundred, and then again, to keep from just diving right in as soon as he’d gotten out of the drawers. Condom first, he told himself, and then had to struggle with it awkwardly, his fingers slick with lube, to get it open and on. Tony whined and wriggled, as if urging him to get a fucking move on. Nothing Bucky wanted more, but he wanted, oh, he wanted it to be good. To be… sublime and perfect and everything Tony deserved.
He was on his knees, bent over, those stockings still clinging to his thighs, a little red circle around each where the elastic had slipped a little. It was the most erotic thing Bucky’d ever seen. Making love in the middle of the damn day, sun bright in the hotel room, and Tony on his knees.
Fuck.
“That’s the idea,” Bucky told himself, just loud enough to get a hazy “hmmm?” out of Tony. “I gotcha, gonna take care of you,” Bucky promised, rubbing Tony’s hips as he lined himself up. He nudged the head of his cock against Tony’s hole. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Tony said. He reached back with one hand and pulled on his hip, spreading himself open. “Want you in me, want to feel you in me, c’mon, now...”
Bucky nodded, even if Tony couldn’t see it. Pushed in, slow and steady. Tony was warm and slick and inviting, and Bucky had to run through a whole handful of unpleasant things in his head to keep from just slamming home. “Don’t move,” he said, panting as he felt Tony unclench around him, and then squeeze again, until he was confident he wouldn’t go off like a bottle rocket. “There, there you are.” He rocked back, and then in again, short strokes, but deep. Tony was all around him, an eager clutch.
Tony sighed and rocked in counterpoint, trying to pull Bucky even deeper inside. “Yeah, oh, god, James, yes, more, harder, harder, make me feel you all day.”
It didn’t take long before Tony’s encouragement and eagerness had Bucky moving; harder, faster, deeper. Each slick slide, each desperate clench, drew him closer and closer, but Bucky kept his eyes on the prize, waiting -- even though he wanted so much his thighs ached from the strain -- wanting Tony to get there first.
He reached around, curled his fingers around Tony’s cock, gave him something to rub against. “Yeah, you feel so good, baby, I-- yeah, that’s sweet, like that.”
Tony cried out, his body jerking in Bucky’s grasp, thrusting into Bucky’s fist at a near-brutal pace. “Yes, yes, yes, I-- Oh, fuck, that’s-- Oh!” He went rigid, shaking all over, and wet warmth flooded over Bucky’s hand. “Oh, god, yes.” Tony slumped a little bit, shoulders going lax in the wake of his orgasm.
Bucky swore fervently as Tony clenched around him. It wasn’t much longer, no more than a dozen more strokes through that heat and squeeze, before Bucky went over the edge after Tony. They were both panting for air, sticky with cooling sweat. “Holy christ.” Bucky grimaced and gripped the edge of the condom as he pulled out. “You a cuddler, or more of a ‘thanks, go away now’ kinda a guy?”
Tony slumped out flat on the bed and threw one leg over Bucky’s. “Shh,” he mumbled. “Time for a fifteen-minute nap.”
“‘Kay,” Bucky agreed. He struggled with the comforter for a moment, then got it, pulling it over them like a burrito, letting his nose find the dip in Tony’s throat. “Jus’ wake me up.” He nuzzled Tony once, twice, and… fell asleep before he could do it a third time.
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The Raven Part 3
I was released from the hospital the next afternoon and Pepper insisted on buying groceries, making dinner and staying the night. Loki never messaged me so I was lost on what happened.
What couldn’t he do?
Now I stood in front of his apartment door, keys in hand. I was back to my old self and even had coffee for the first time in a long time. A whirlwind of questions swirled in my head as I unlocked the door.
Was he here? Was he ever going to speak to me again? Did I do something wrong?
The apartment was stuffy when I walked in and sat my bag next to the door on the floor. He was here before, at least, as there were fewer boxes in the hall. I sat my set of keys at the new foyer table that was set up. On it was an envelope with my name it. Inside was a pack of new one hundred dollar bills. I stuck it in my purse and pulled back my short hair with a ponytail.
We never discussed payment but he definitely overpaid. I mean, how does a God make money anyway?
I started my way towards the kitchen and prayed the fridge was at least full with non-rotten food. There was a note on it, written as elegantly as my name had been.
Make sure you eat Lunch.
Loki
A smile fell over my face as I took the note and folding it to keep it in my pocket. It was strange to have someone who refused to speak to me fret over me so much. I opened the fridge. Much of his homeland food was inside but there were many other things, like sandwich meat and cheeses inside as well.
I picked off a berry like the one I had when I was in Asgard and closed the fridge. My eyes fell on the sink, which was empty.
Did he think I’d never come back?
I looked in the cupboards but there was nothing inside, besides some bread and other random snack foods.
“Did he throw all the dishes away, or something?”
I checked the trash but it was empty. With a confused look on my face, I grabbed a rag and some cleaner. I cleaned the counters and the front of the fridge. The stove was pristine and I eyed the door of the oven. I rushed over to it and opened it. Nothing.
After a moment, I gave up. I continued cleaning around the kitchen, slowly moving into the dining room. Boxes littered the table, most of them empty. I removed them, emptying the partially filled ones on the counter and breaking them all down to sit them by the door neatly. Returning to the dining room, I found spots on shelves for the various nicknacks he had.
One was a porcelain sculpture of a raven, arms spread, looking down towards the ground. I smiled, thinking of the painting I had made before I went into the hospital.
Where did that go?
I let my mind wander over the nicknacks, not paying attention to any particular one. After a few moments, my gaze fell on that raven again. It seemed to gaze into my soul the more I looked into its beady eyes.
Ravens were intelligent birds. They had always been my favorite.
“No wonder I like your owner. He reminds me of a Raven.”
I almost laughed at myself. I was talking to a bird and half expected it to caw back at me. This was the apartment of a God, however. I wiped the surfaces down and moved into the bathroom that was just off of it.
I grumbled when I turned on the light. Covering the bathtub was the empty dishes.
Bingo.
I muttered to myself as I returned to the kitchen, grabbing the dish soap and a scrubber. In the dining room, I laid out two towels from the bathroom. Then I spend nearly two hours moving from the tub to the table to set the dishes on the towels. My body was nearly soaked in sweat and my muscles ached from the constant up and down as I bent in front of the tub.
When I finished, I cleaned the tub and finished the bathroom. It sparkled by the time I left it. My stomach growled and I wandered to the kitchen with one of the dry plates. I made a plain turkey and cheese sandwich and stole a few more Asgardian fruits. Sitting at the table, I ate slowly, my eyes once again falling on the raven.
Did it move?
It’s wings no longer spread across the space it filled. Instead, it almost seemed to be bowing.
“So you’re enchanted. Great. As long as my words stay between me and you.”
It nodded.
“Can you speak?”
Not aloud, miss.
“Oh fuck. Okay. Hi. I didn’t expect that.”
My master told me about you. He thinks highly of you.
“Wow. He hasn’t spoken to me in days. At least he tells someone.”
I had finished my sandwich and fruits and I stood to clean it in the proper sink before putting it back on the towel.
“So did he enchant you or something,” I asked as I made my way down the step and into the living room, which was packed more with modern furniture and boxes.
Yes. He created me to be his confidant.
“Do you have a name?”
He has ever called me by what I am. Raven.
“Well, Raven, I’m glad that he tells someone how he feels about me.”
He wants to explain but it is not in the master’s nature.
“Being a God must be so tough.”
Harder than you think.
We continued chatting as I unpacked the boxes and wiped down everything. I spotted something in the corner of my eye as I passed his bedroom door, which was open. Taking a few steps back, I found the painting I made of a raven hanging above his bed.
He likes it very much. He doesn’t know how to repay you.
“Tell him not to be afraid to speak to me,” I replied, my heart blossoming like a flower but also burning with rage.
He’s afraid of doing what he’s done before.
I eyed the bird. “What do you mean?”
Not my story to tell, miss.
I grumbled and turned back to the painting, letting myself lean on the doorframe. My heart calmed its anger, leaving behind only the warmth of happiness. I stepped into the room slowly, looking around. It seemed to be the most lived-in room so far, with the messy bed and books strewn across the room. I replaced them on the floor to ceiling bookshelf that covered the wall with the door. Then, I tidied the bed.
He’s home. But someone is with him.
I heard a girl’s laugh and froze. A sick feeling twisted in my gut and I jerked upwards and made my way out of the bedroom. In the living room, I found Loki, his arm wrapped around a model with beach blonde hair. He smiled at her. She trailed a finger down her button down.
“I’ll put away these dishes and head out, sir.”
Loki’s eyes met my eyes and he almost twitched. “You’re still here?”
I could’ve thrown up. “I was going to put these dishes away and leave,” I repeated.
“As you will,” he said with a wave of his hand before smiling at the blonde again.
I turned on my heels and eyed Raven again. “If this is what he feels,” I muttered once I was out of earshot and stacking the plates and bowls, now dry.
I am sorry.
I carried the bowls to the kitchen, placing them rightfully in the cupboard. On the way to bringing the plates back to the kitchen, a moan from her melted into the air. I tried to ignore it by zoning out as I put the plates away but that was a terrible idea. The sound of something crashing broke through my thoughts of being anywhere but here and my gasp filled the dead air.
I dropped to my knees and began to scoop the glass into a circle, cutting my hand in the process. I muttered a curse word.
Are you okay?
“Do I look okay?” I looked up to Loki standing at the doorway. I hadn’t realized I had spoken aloud but Loki’s confused face confirmed it. “Ignore me, sir. Just broke a plate,” I said, not taking my eyes of mine.
He looked hurt and I didn’t let myself feel anything for him.
“I will get the broom,” he said, passing me as I stand.
I grabbed at him, a lump at my throat. “I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. Go and enjoy your guest and pretend I’m not here.”
He looked down at me and I dropped my hand. Luckily, the hand I grabbed him with was not the one bleeding at my side, leaving no trace of my cut on him. He was breathing heavier and he lifted his head to focus on anything but me.
“So be it.”
I let out a shaky breath as he turned back and left the room. I let off a silent tear and I wiped my hand, smearing a bit of blood on my cheek.
“Fuck,” I whispered, lifting my other sleeve to wipe the blood away.
I wrapped my hand with a rag and grabbed the broom from beside the refrigerator. I cleaned up the glass as fast as I could, ignoring the voice in my head that wasn’t my own.
He has his own demons. He cares about you. He will come around. Just wait for him.
“Tell him to burn that painting when I leave,” I whispered, as I replaced the broom and tossed the rag into the trash.
I didn’t hear another word from the enchanted bird as I picked up my bag and, with another laugh from the pretty blonde, left the apartment, my keys for it still on the small table. My breathing was heavy as I began making my way down the first flight of stairs.
“Stephanie?”
I looked up from the stairs, tears running down my eyes. James was in front of me, with a light blue shirt clinging to his torso and blue and black plaid pants hanging from his hips. He had a bag of garbage in his hand but propped it up against the wall when he noticed me.
“What's wrong,” he noticed my hand, “What happened?”
I showed him my hand and he practically pulled me into his apartment. With his free hand, he closed his door and then moved me to the couch. He disappeared down the hall.
“I broke a plate, is all,” I muttered as he returned with his first aid kit.
“Why didn’t your boss take you to the hospital?”
“Cause he was busy and I would’ve refused,” I said, biting my lip as he cleaned the cut.
“You can’t expect me to always be on vacation,” he said, examining the now clean cut.
I huffed a sort of laugh. “And here I thought you were just one of those online nurses you talk to on the internet.”
“They have those? That sounds shady.”
I smiled lightly, wiping my leftover tears on my hoodie. James looked up and sat my hand on his lap to grab an alcohol wipe.
“You have blood on your cheek. Let me see,” He said and I moved closer to him.
He concentrated on wiping my face before gazing into my eyes for a moment. My eyes shifted to his lips, my heart pounding inside my chest.
He doesn’t care about me. I don’t need to wait for him.
“Why were you crying, Stephanie,” James asked lightly.
“Because I cut my hand and it hurt,” I lied, our faces getting closer slightly.
Then he pulled away, grabbing a piece of gauze and some tape. Silently, I watched him wrap up my hand and when he glanced back up, he smiled at me.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” he said with a small laugh.
“I’ll just have to keep away from the plates and ice,” I chuckled, “I’m normally not this clumsy.”
He was still holding my hand, much like Loki did in the hospital. It would’ve felt nice if Loki wasn’t my first thought.
“Would you like to stay for dinner? I have chili and cornbread.”
I wanted to refuse but my stomach rumbled like a monster I used to be afraid of in my closet when I was five.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he let go of my hand and pointed to a wall of movies as he stood, “Go ahead and pick a movie and we can watch it while we eat.”
He made his way to the kitchen as I stood and approached the movie case. He had so many. It was hard to choose.
“Hey, how is your head feeling, by the way?”
“I’m okay now. I passed out and ended up in the hospital.”
“Oh fuck. What happened after you left here?”
He was coming back around the island and half wall, sitting two bowls and a plate of cornbread on the table. I sighed, straightening myself.
“Too much. I guess I didn’t relax enough.”
I picked a movie, something scary with a slash across the front. I showed it to him. “Slasher?”
“Sure. Pop it in.”
I did as he said and I returned to the couch. I found as the movie started that James could cook. The chili was mouthwatering and the cornbread made a perfect comparison. The movie was mostly ignored, seeing as how I probably picked the worst horror movie on the market to watch.
“How was your childhood,” I asked, taking the last bite of my chili.
It was rare for me to eat so fast and to feel so full. It was nice.
“Mom was a surgeon and dad was a stay-at-home. It was pretty good when I could see my mom. But when she was there, you would never feel like she was ‘elsewhere’ ya’ know? She is the kindest woman I know. What about you?”
I sighed. “Not so much. My mother stopped contacting me in college. My father died when I was in high school. My mom was the least kind woman I knew.”
“I’m sorry for that. That must’ve been rough.”
I shrugged. “I still fight with it but I’m alive still.”
He took my hand and curled our fingers together. I smiled at him. There was a scream from the screen and I laughed.
“This movie is actually terrible.”
“You picked it.”
“That doesn’t make it any less terrible.”
He smiled, sitting up and turning towards me. “You are beautiful, you know that?”
I smiled, glancing down at my hands. It didn’t feel the same but that doesn’t mean I didn’t appreciate any less. “Thank you.”
“Listen,” he said, taking both of my hands this time and rubbing the backs with his thumbs, “I know something else happened or you're going through something. But I want you to know that I will be here, in case you wanted something real. If you want someone caring and someone who would love you. I haven’t known you for long but I already care about you and could see myself falling in love with you.”
I sat, stunned for a moment. This is what I wanted to hear; what my heart yearned for. It wasn’t from the right mouth or in the right key of vocals. But I quickly learned that I just wanted the words.
He looked almost uncomfortable until I sat up and moved my hands to the side of his neck. He had a bit of brown scruff where a beard would grow. He would look good with one. I was comfortable with him but could I love him?
With that question, I closed the space between us, our lips falling against each others. As we pushed further, guilt settled into my stomach but I ignored it.
I will forget Loki.
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Culture in Real Time
by Don Hall
“I have a surprise for you in honor of February!”
Dana and I have this thing we can’t quite find common ground upon concerning birthdays. She is a minimalist from a wholly unsentimental Pennsylvania family. I’m a materialist raised by a mother who calls presents “prizes” and gives gifts as a part of her love language.
While I’m old enough not to care, I still want my birthday to be a celebration of me. It’s small in spirit but, in that self-diagnosis we all attempt on our own psyches, I was the child of a beautiful woman who attracted men who wanted her but tolerated me. Birthdays were my mother’s way of reminding me that, at least to her, I was someone of note.
“I’m putting the blue in the toilet!”
Another unusual record skip in our marriage is those Tidy Bowl tablets you put in the tank and turns the water blue. To her, they are a sign of white trash, low culture, unnecessary expense. To me, they are an odd bluish signal of semi-wealth and extravagance.
For the most part, the toilet remains clear. She likes it that way because she can then examine the color of her urine to see if she been hydrating properly (too yellow and she’s not). Once in a moon, she indulges me with a tab of unnatural blue with a hint of ammonia. It’s stupid but I love it every time.
We are both Aquarians which means we both are almost zealous in our personal independence and the sight of her in the bedroom and I on the couch, doing our separate things in the same space, is common. We do well together.
Our differences—in terms of how we view money, consumerism, art, reading, politics—are bizarrely cultural.
My DNA is mostly Irish. Some British, a bit African American, some Native American, but mostly Irish. I have the fair skin and propensity to addictive behavior of someone Irish but culturally I’m not one who embraces Ireland or her ways. Culturally, I’m a bit trailer trash, a dash biker gang, a sprinkling of Southern United States with a Midwestern sensibility.
I’m an American mutt.
A child of the seventies, a GenX guy who came of age in the 80’s, I’m the archetype of classic rock and slightly retrograde sexist attitudes that almost every Motley Crue and Scorpions song conveys. I still call women I meet “darlin’” and “honey” as a sign of friendliness. I prefer to throw the rock and roll horns to a thumbs up. I have tattoos but most are quotes from my favorite authors.
Culturally, I’m a fucking mess, man.
I have friends who live a more culturally identifiable life. I’ll admit to being somewhat envious of them.
Arlo is black. I mean, black black. He is originally from a tiny county in Georgia and laughs as I tell him how much he fits the stereotype of a sixty year old black man from Georgia.
"You could be played in a movie by Louis Gossett, Jr." and he cackles.
Arlo has a love/hate relationship with his cultural bedrock. He loves the food. "Barbecued pork, collared greens, black-eyed peas. My gramma's kitchen table was what I think Arab suicide bombers dream of instead of virgins." He loves the music. "Mississippi John Hurt, John Hooker, Buddy Guy? Sh-eee-it." He hates the drug culture which he was surrounded by growing up. He hates the idea that all black people can dance. "No one in my family had any of that. No dancing."
Jim (his Korean name is Junghoon but everyone who knows him calls him Jim) tells me he feels out of place when he sees his family. "I guess I'm like a self-loathing Jew in that I'm Korean but by way of Decatur, Illinois." Culturally, he is a "no zone" in that his parents tried to instill the cultural markers of a second-generation Korean kid but he was never really into it. "I always hated kimchi. Hot Pockets. Pepperoni. Keep your Bibimbap to yourself. Give me a bag of Doritos, please."
Culture is comprised of four things in increasing levels of significance: symbols, heroes, rituals and values.
What the three of us all have in common is comic books. All three of us claim to have learned to read courtesy of Stan Lee.
The Fantastic Four. The Avengers. The Amazing Spiderman. The X Men.
The difference between the DC world and the Marvel world was that the heroes in DC were gods and the heroes in Marvel (mostly) were humans with godlike power.
These were the legends and fables of growing up. These were the morality tales of my youth.
From Peter Parker I learned that with great power comes great responsibility. From Logan, his mantra that "The pain let's you know you're still alive" resonated. Daredevil showed that any liability can be overcome (with the help of some radiative waste).
Bruce Banner instructed that anger can be managed. As an angry Irish-esque kid in Nowhere, Kansas during high school, I needed that lesson. Arlo loved Luke Cage ("But not the Netflix one. The one with the chains and the afro. I was country-black but he made city-black look cool.") and Jim was a huge fan of Ben Grimm ("He always felt like a freak but had his family to give him a purpose.").
I had girlfriends who had broken my heart but nothing I could compare to Peter Parker's grief from Amazing Spiderman #121-122 ("The Night Gwen Stacy Died"). Not only did he lose his great love, he snapped her neck trying to save her. Holy fuck! I was seven years old when I read that and the gravity of a beloved hero failing so horribly was traumatic and took me years to process.
Iron Man #120-128 has Tony Stark dealing full-bore with his alcoholism in "Demon in a Bottle."
The entire early X Men storylines find an incredible synthesis of the civil rights issues of the late sixties. While the debates about discrimination, non-violent vs violent protest, and inclusion bypassed my ten year old brain, the ideological battles between Charles Xavier and Magneto set the groundwork for when I started reading James Baldwin in high school.
Even more pervasive in the Marvel Universe was the idea that heroes were as flawed as the villains. Doctor Octopus was the bad guy but not evil. Galactus was not evil but simply trying to survive and his means of staying alive involved eating planets. The crossover of villains to heroes was commonplace in the Marvel Universe cementing an ethic that anyone—even Magneto—could find redemption.
My friend has a kid who loves his superheroes. His introduction to them was the MCU and the films of the Avengers. One day, he and his kid were watching Captain America: Civil War and the child wanted to know if Tony Stark was a good guy or a bad guy. My buddy had a bit of a conundrum because in this case there was no easy answer.
This is a bedrock principle of Marvel: there are no good guys or bad guys. Every character is flawed and can make mistakes. Every hero gets to take turns being selfish, afraid, greedy, and enraged. Every villain has a tortured past and is only the villain out of misguided and traumatized perspective. Like the Netflix Daredevil series when Kingpin doesn't realize he's the bad guy until the thirteenth episode and then is astonished by it.
“Culture is how you were raised,” a friend tells me.
Comic books and the desire to be one of these flawed superheroes are culturally important to me. They are as defining of who I am and who I wish to be as natural hair on a black woman working in an office defines her or traditional prayer rituals are to someone raised in a church. These heroes have been a part of my life since I can remember having memories and I've been engaged with them since that nebulous time.
Isn't that culture? My cultural identity?
We GenX types were raised, in part, consuming pop culture in ways previous generations did not. Hours upon hours of televised stories infused into the soft tissue like an army of Manchurian candidates waiting for the buzzwords to activate our consumerist triggers. The advent of VHS tapes made viewing movies the ultimate babysitter. While a kid born and raised on the streets of Detroit might have very little in common with another born and raised in Idaho, both had cultural roots in their mutual boners for Jill Munroe and devastation over the death of Lt. Colonel Henry Blake. A black kid in Birmingham, Alabama could be as racially different from a white kid in Salt Lake City, Utah but both could bond over Star Warsand Nintendo.
As I read it, culture is comprised of four things in increasing levels of significance: symbols, heroes, rituals and values. By that quite academic frame, it seems that as we parse out our differences in our current multi-cultural war in America, it is a fixation on the symbols that trip us up. Skin color, hair, clothing and style, food, language, sexual proclivities and the presence of certain genitalia are all surface-level identifiers. They are the symbols of each human on display.
I knew a (white) guy who grew up on the South side of Chicago, went to predominantly black populated schools, had mostly black teachers, and whose only friends were black. He dressed black, spoke black, acted black. Did any of that make him somehow less white and does that make any difference? I know a (black) woman—you'd know her, too, if I shared her New York Times Bestselling name—who, if you talk to her on the phone sounds like the secretary from Ferris Bueller's Day Off but looks like Weezy Jefferson from Good Times. Did her accent and nerdy mannerisms make make her less black and does that make any difference?
“Culture is how you were raised,” a friend tells me. “A lot of it is hidden in the back. It’s not just the food you ate growing up but why that food and not something else. It’s what your family decided to spend money on and what they wouldn’t spend money on. It’s those weird rituals you’d practice every holiday. It’s the clothes you wore but more deep than the fashion is why you wore those specific clothes.”
He tells me a story about clothes. His family didn’t have a lot of money so they saved cash by handing clothes down from one sibling to the next. It was frugal and smart with five kids. By the time my friend got the clothes (he was number four of the five) the strain of wear, the places his mother had stitched up, was obvious. And his little brother then got new clothes because four was the limit of the physical shirts and pants.
My friend spends a lot of money on fashion. He wears the latest trends and has a closet full of suits. He says he spends maybe a third of his take-home on shoes. “That’s culture in real time.”
I don’t dress up for much. I own no suits. I have ties but they’re mostly Marvel, Star Wars, and Beatles ties. My dress shoes are either decent tennis shoes or boots. When I was a kid, my mother wanted to please her aunt. Her aunt was a church-goer so we joined her church. I remember the day she told me I couldn’t go to church because my clothes weren’t up to snuff. “You can’t go to church dressed like that!” she guffawed.
I recall being embarrassed. I didn’t have anything nicer. She laughed at my best clothes. It obviously stuck because I still cringe at the memory. As a result, I bristle at the idea of dressing up for anything or for anybody and I do not go to church. “That’s culture in real time.”
While a follower of The Avengers as a kid, I was never a fan of Captain America. No good reason for that. Steve Rogers just never did it for me. That is, until Chris Evans portrayed the character in the MCU movies. Maybe it was my time to appreciate his retro-goodness; maybe I needed to be a bit older to fully appreciate his specific kind of superhero.
Perhaps I needed to live some life before the ideas that the “I can do this all day” persistence did me any good. The belief in something so strong that he’d go against all of his friends in a fight. His loyalty to Bucky despite the fact that his childhood friend had become a villain. His enduring love for Peggy Carter. His stalwart acceptance that he is almost a century older than he looks and most of his friends are long dead.
I didn’t need those values as a kid. I need those values today.
Dana is fourteen years younger than I am. No, I wasn’t looking for a third wife who was born when I was entering high school. It just worked out that way. The age difference feels sometimes like I was encased in ice for seventy-five years only to be resurrected long after the war was won.
The differences we have are bizarrely cultural. She is a free spirit. I am a worker bee. She is a poet in need of inspiration and subject to the mood swings of that breed of writer. I am an essayist who approaches writing like the laying of bricks to build a house who becomes more a follower of Stoicism the older I get. She grew up in the same house she was born in. I grew up moving from place to place with no true sense of a physical grounding. She is relentlessly frugal. I am an impulse buyer.
But we make it work.
Once in a while I wake up in the morning to take a leak and the toilet water is blue.
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Text
Love, Huh? - Chapter 4
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You woke up feeling refreshed. Must be the alcohol from last night. It has been a long time since you’ve had any. And you gotta admit, Sehun’s bed was extremely comfortable, with lots of pillows and thick comforter, you remembered he used to have nightmares since he was young and needed to hug someone or something to help him sleep easily and nightmare-less. Chanyeol must’ve brought you here, since you fell asleep on his lap last night.
You checked your phone to find that it’s 11 am. There was a note at the bedside table with the messy almost-unreadable handwriting that you know by heart.
‘Hey, we’re gonna work for the day. These are some numbers for deliveries. Don’t forget to take your med. Call us if you need anything.
-S’
You smiled reading the note. You recalled last night before he went to sleep he informed that you were going to be alone for today because they needed to do some finishing touches to the album. You almost laughed remembering Sehun’s frown when telling you all of this, clearly not liking how he had to leave you alone.
After shower and changed into your own clothes you walked out of the room and had some water. The apartment they lived in was very modern and expensive looking. It was also, surprisingly, very neat, considering 3 young guys lived here. But then again, you recalled how Kyungsoo would become very active with his words (and sometimes hands) every time the others would trash around. And they’ve been living together since their debut in 2012, so it made sense they would pick up each other’s habits. Even his neatness rubbed off on you after the constant sleepovers you’ve had until a year ago. Remembering how your ex basically forced you to stop hanging out with them made you mad at yourself. They were all that you’ve had, and you threw them away for someone who didn’t even treat you as good as they do.
Not wanting to think about him first thing in the morning, you decided to clean up the apartment. After finding the tools you needed, you vacuumed the living room. Feeling a bit bored, you borrowed whoever’s headphones on the couch and used it to listen to some music.
When Kyungsoo got home, his brows immediately furrowed together. Someone’s vacuuming, but their scheduled cleaner shouldn’t be here for another 2 days. Following the sound, he found you inside Sehun’s room, singing and dancing along to the music you were listening to with the vacuum in your hand. He couldn’t stop the corners of his lips going up, forming an amused smile.
“OH shit,” you cursed, completely shocked by the additional person in the house when you turned around.
He chuckled and took the vacuum from your hand, putting it away in the living room. “Someone cleans the house every week, you don’t need to do any.” And not waiting for your response, he went to his room to put down all of his stuff before coming out again. “You need help with unpacking?” he asked noticing your suitcase opened earlier.
A smile replaced your pout, and you nodded enthusiastically, knowing he would color coordinate your clothes. He regularly does that to his friends’ closets, destressing he would say. It even surprised you a bit knowing they have someone cleaning their place with his love of making his house spotless, but then again, they are very busy people.
Both of you went back to Sehun and your room. Sehun has emptied out (more like moving some of his clothes to the unused closet in their studio) one of the closet in his room for you to store your clothes. Kyungsoo went straight to work and started to fold your clothes neatly. You on the other hand unpacked your other stuff.
Silence consumed the room, but neither felt uncomfortable. It’s always the same with Kyungsoo. Quiet and peaceful. You’ve always loved how he makes silence so enjoyable. It’s also one of the reason all three of them work, they balance each other out. With the other two being really noisy and loud while the shortest and you when you were around, would keep things peaceful, especially when their competitive ass played games against each other.
But today, you missed him too much to not talk to him. “So how did Sehun get the master bedroom?” you started the conversation as you put away your underwear.
Organizing your hung clothes to color coordinate them, he answered, “We played rock, paper, scissors for it.”
“Shouldn’t the oldest get the biggest room? Or at least you as the leader?”
“We have no leader.”
“Okay, unofficial leader.”
“I still wouldn’t say leader. The most likely not to make fool of themself?”
You snickered, “Yea sure. So how did it happen? Did he convince you both to play for it?”
“Yup.”
“How?”
“That’s Sehun’s maknae power for you,” he simply said while finishing up.
You almost clapped at his work, but decided to just gave him thumbs up. He moved to the sink, tidying up the products you put earlier while also cleaning after Sehun’s mess. You grabbed your money box from the suitcase and tried to put it at the most top shelf of your newly owned closet. But as you reached up, you felt a sting on your ribs and shrieked out of pain while dropping the box in the process.
Kyungsoo noticed the noise and found you crouching down clutching yourself. “Hey are you okay? It’s your rib isn’t it?”
If there’s one thing everyone loves about him is how good he is at reading the atmosphere and people. Without even explaining anything to him, his face changed to express something between worry and annoyed, understanding that you haven’t took your meds yet. He took a deep breath and gestured you to follow him once the pain subdued. Without saying anything he pulled out some side dishes from the fridge and also a bowl of rice. Again without any words he gestured you to eat once he set everything down in front of you on the dining table.
Taking the first bite, your eyes widen and mouth open, surprised at how good the food you were eating, “Wow, this is so much better than last year,” you moaned out. Seeing your expressions a smile replaced the frown on his face. It was not the first time someone complimented him on his cooking, but he did miss your over reactions towards his food.
When you ate the kimchi, a familiarity hit you, “It’s Sehun’s mom’s kimchi isn’t it?” He only nodded. You slowed down your chewing, thinking of the right words to ask.
“No, we didn’t tell her. Do you really think she would let you stay with her super busy son and not take you home with her?” See? People reader.
“Thanks.”
It’s weird, Kyungsoo thought, that he could never took his eyes off of you. The way your eyes would lit up when eating was his favorite thing to see. So for the 2 weeks you were in the hospital when you looked so weak, his heart broke. He loves your laugh and smile, he wished you would always have those on your face. What is this feeling, he would ask himself for years. Romantic feelings? Love? Obsession? He didn’t dare to explore the forbidden area. He still remembered the day Sehun found out Chanyeol had feelings for you. He was furious, for reasons he never asked, afraid of the answers he’s gonna get. He was thankful tho his friends are not as good at reading people as he does. Or is it just because he hides his feelings better?
He thought last year, when you found happiness in your boyfriend, he thought maybe, he could finally stop his . When you moved in with him, he thought, it’s time to forget. When you failed to pick up his and Chanyeol’s calls, he thought, okay you’re happy now. When you didn’t hang out with them anymore, he thought, maybe it’s God’s way of helping him to move on. And when he saw you opened your eyes, he thought, fuck, he can’t move on. So he’s just gonna do what he does best, hide his feelings.
“Oppa,” you called, looking up to him finding his eyes never left you, “Is.. Sehun okay? He was kind of different these last few days.”
He took a deep breath, wondering what to tell you. “Honestly, no.”
“What should I do then?”
His brows furrowed, looking deep in thought. “I think what we can do is to show that he’s not to blame, and let time heals him. And everyone,” he explained softly. Seeing how deflated you were, he reached forward grasping your hand, “Just act like you normally would. And don’t tuck away your feelings. Show it. Tell him. Tell us. Let us help, it will help us heal too.”
Then he released your hand and brought the dirty dishes for him to wash. Ignoring your wish to clean after yourself, he asked you what food you wanted to have for dinner.
You lit up at the thought of eating more good food, he noticed this and his mouth curved into a smile. “You know, I miss every food you’ve ever made. But I think what we need tonight is samgyeopsal and soju, don’t you think?” You cocked your head to get a better glimpse at his face from beside him.
He finished washing up and turned his body to face you, “Sure. But we have to buy it first.”
“Hmm, I also need to buy some stuff. Imma change then.” You replied with a huge smile plastered on your face.
.
When you got home, something caught your eyes. More like their hair color. Sehun with his orange hair and Chanyeol with pink permed hair with both sprawled in the sofa. You paused going to the kitchen, turning to face the guy with his thick glasses behind you with both your hands full with groceries, “You were at the salon today? How come your hair is still black?”
He walked pass you, “Don’t wanna have our fans blind with too much bright color.”
Looking up from their phones, Chanyeol immediately rushed towards you giving you a huge smile that you mirrored before tackled the bags you had and noisily went to the kitchen asking what are they eating for dinner, almost earning a hit from Kyungsoo for his unnecessarily loud voice. Sehun slowly approached and patted your head, “Feeling better?”
Still smiling you just nodded. “How you are not bald yet is beyond me,” as you proceeded to ruffle his hair, which was still soft despite all the bleachings.
He copied your expression and then went to the kitchen, Chanyeol’s loud voice caught your attentions. Then there he was, dancing around the kitchen while cheering, “Samgyeopsal, samgyeopsal,” over and over again before Kyungsoo finally hit the back of his head, sharply said, “Help or shut up, idiot.”
“But I’m your idiot and you love me,” Chanyeol sticked his tongue out to his chingu before laughing loudly and ran off outside the kitchen seeing Kyungsoo was picking up the chopping board to hit him. You and Sehun just took the scene in front of you and laughed along.
“I swear I will hurt him someday,” Kyungsoo said, fixing his glasses and put the board down to cut some vegetables.
You walked towards him, touching his shoulder lightly, “No you wouldn’t. You love him,” you tease and replaced to help him chop things before he got the other things ready.
Kyungsoo cutely (never tell him that he is tho, he hates it) pouted, before continued doing his things in his way, quietly.
While you were doing that, Sehun took out the meat you bought earlier, and put them in a bowl before putting away the other groceries. He might seem normal, but you knew this was him not being himself, around you at least. He’s always soft towards you, treating you like a baby, but not all the time. You would act like cat and mouse sometimes, fight occasionally, but lately he’s been on his toes, being very careful. With his words and touches. Heck, he wouldn’t even care about what happens in the kitchen before being the one who everyone babies all the time, but now he even helped. This earned a confused look from Kyungsoo as well. But maybe your longest friend was confused as well, frustrated even, not knowing how to act around you. And maybe Kyungsoo was right, time was needed to heal everyone. Still, you needed to talk to your friend, this you knew.
.
“Can you guys stop? I can pick them up myself,” you tried to stifle a giggle after the continuous putting-meat-on-your-plate for the last 30 minutes. You hardly saw Kyungsoo next to you who did all the grilling eat. This caused Chanyeol to unstretch his arm from across Kyungsoo. He looked back at you, with his big puppy eyes, trying to look as rejected as possible. So for the last time, with a smile you told them and yourself, you opened your mouth to receive his meat (grilled meat, get your head out of the gutter).
Then the dinner continued as normal, except for when you choked on your water did the three pairs of eyes (two sets with exceptionally big size) looked at you with concern. This time you laughed. “Guys, I know what happened made you worried about me. I know even some of you,” you focused your eyes on the guys across you, “are still blaming yourself. And let me say this again, none of what happened is any of your fault. I love all of you, and I can’t thank you guys enough for everything that you’ve done to me. But please, trust in me, that I can be okay again, that I am going to be alright.”
Not decent, Kyungsoo reminded himself, to blush when you said ‘love’. He knew you meant it differently than what he wanted, but what you needed at the moment is a friend, and that’s what he was going to be.
When everyone finished eating, Sehun left to pick up a call from his manager while the rest of you stayed to clean up. You caught his hyungs saying things like “It’s probably just an excuse to not clean”. But again, everyone, including yourself has a soft spot for the youngest, so you just continue to clean, before, another phone rang and it’s Chanyeol’s turn to pick up his phone. He started his phone call with a very sweet, “Hello? Oh hi, I’m sorry I forgot to call you.”
“So he’s dating someone?” you asked Kyungsoo as he washed the dishes and you wiped them dry.
Kyungsoo just scoffed, “It is rare to see him not,” he said mindlessly as he passed you a plate.
You continued doing that, again in silence, just like how both of you prefer it. Somehow the quietness amongst the chaos in shape of a Park Chanyeol and Oh Sehun made both of you felt warm and found solace in it.
The guy next to you kept convincing himself that the tingling feeling on his stomach and warmth in his heart whenever you would accidentally touched his arms were probably due to the fact you haven’t been around each other for a year and he just missed you a lot. He ignored the sound of his heart beating harder than it should be, trying to make himself believe it was just the soju affecting him. He pushed away his thoughts and wishes of hugging and kissing your cheeks when you smiled ever so brightly at him when you finished. He prayed to all the gods out there that what he felt now, was going to fade, and then disappear.
Another reason why he refused to drink more when all of you were gathered at the coffee table again, other than the fact he’s not as heavyweight as the rest of you.
“So, who’s the lucky one?” your eyebrows waggled at Chanyeol.
“What?”
“The one you’re dating.”
“Ah,” he paused to chugged down a shot, “Why don’t you guess? But for every wrong answers you gotta do a shot,” he challenged, “I miss your drunk state.”
“Okay. Wait do you all know who?” you asked towards the other guys who just shook their heads. “Let’s play together then!”
“Nope, not interested,” Kyungsoo backed down to the sofa behind him.
“Sure,” Sehun said from across Kyungsoo.
“But I need clues,” you replaced your soju with a glass of water instead, not wanting to be drunk obviously. “If I could guess, that means they’re famous right?” Chanyeol just nodded. “Okay, female or male?”
“Guess, and if you’re wrong you could always drink,” he grinned.
You pouted but played along anyway, “Male?”
Chanyeol’s grin just got bigger and you scowled. “Wrong. Drink up.”
“Okay. She’s an idol,” you guessed after finished your shot.
He nodded. This time Sehun tried out, “I’ve seen her?”
Again Chanyeol nodded. “She’s in a group?” you asked.
“Yup.”
“A noona?”
“Another shot, lady.”
It continued like that for a while, with you asking more questions than Sehun of course. You’ve felt the alcohol kicking in, but not for nothing. You’ve concluded that the girl would be from JYP Entertainment.
“Is it Suzy?” you hesitantly asked.
Chanyeol just smirked while shaking his head. “She changed agency last year.”
You sighed in defeat and took another shot. “I’m using internet.” You informed no one in particular and moved back to lean on the sofa next to the guy who was silent the whole time. Kyungsoo noticed you moving and stretched his arm out so you can put your head there. And you did. After finding the comfy position, which was Kyungsoo’s chest (with him silently hoping no one noticed his breath hitched when you moved closer to him), you googled female idols under JYPE.
“Oppa, I swear to God if it’s ITZY’s maknae Yuna I’m gonna punch you hard.”
This caused all the guys to crack up. “Why?” Chanyeol asked in the middle of his laugh.
“She’s a minor, you pedophile.”
“Well thank God she’s not the one then,” he replied still laughing.
“Okay she’s a member of Twice then,” Sehun chimed in.
“You’re getting closer.”
So you googled Chanyeol and Twice but found nothing too helpful other than he collaborated with Nayeon and Jihyo, and MC-ed with Dahyun. He also was in a show with Sana. But being trained how to act in front of the camera, you couldn’t really tell anything different from the photos and videos you saw.
Before you could guess any other name, your phone rang and showed Yixing’s name as the caller. So you sat up straight, leaving Kyungsoo’s embrace, something he hates, and picked up the phone.
“Oppa,” you said to the phone when the other one didn’t say anything. Three heads snapped towards you with the word you said. “Oppa, it’s me,” you said once again not getting any reply.
You could hear a relieved sigh from the other side before he talked. “Jesus Christ, I thought you were gone.”
You broke into a smile before answering, “It’s gonna take more effort for that I’m afraid.” You excused yourself from them before heading to the kitchen.
Three sets of eyes kept following your movements in the kitchen, how you kept smiling and laughing to the phone. They also didn’t leave your figure until you were seated back next to Kyungsoo.
“Hmm, just text me the address. We’ll talk later, kay? Bye,” you said to Yixing after catching up with him.
Those eyes were still pointed at you, obviously curious who’s the caller. You gave them “What?” look when you noticed their staring.
“’Oppa’?” Chanyeol prompted.
Their protective natures brought a smile to your face. “He’s a friend. A good one.”
They looked like they have more questions but sensing how you didn’t feel like talking about it, Sehun changed the subject. “Don’t tell me it’s Nayeon.”
“You really think she wants to date me? She only has eyes for our little friend right here,” he pointed his eyes at Kyungsoo which earned him laughs from you and Sehun and also a glare from behind the glasses.
Feeling a bit drowsy, you knew you had to go to bed soon, so after settling back to Kyungsoo’s arms you guessed for the last time, “Okay, last guess, cause I don’t wanna be drunk. It’s Sana.”
“Bravo,” Chanyeol clapped.
“Yes!” you cheered and yawned, feeling the sleepiness the alcohol caused.
The man you were leaning on just smiled fondly at you and shook your shoulders, “Go to bed.”
You hummed but didn’t budge an inch. Kyungsoo was too warm and comfy. Instead you closed your eyes.
When you opened it again, you were already on your bed. For two days straight someone had to put you to bed, and you loved it. You noticed it wasn’t morning yet when Sehun came out of the bedroom with his sheet mask on and plopped down beside you. “Care to tell me who your friend is?”
You moved closer to him, missing the warmth of Kyungsoo’s body and needed someone else to replace it. He welcomed you and hugged around your shoulders, hugging you tight. He wasn’t as tired as last night, since he could nap at the salon earlier, so he wanted to spend as much time as possible with you. “He’s the club owner I told you about. Turned out he has a café and we decided to meet up there.”
“When?”
“I don’t know either. Tomorrow maybe? The sooner the better?”
“Hmm, I was thinking of having dinner at my parents’ tomorrow, my mom said it’s been so long since we had a family dinner,” he informed.
“Ohh, with me too?”
He took off his mask and put it on the nightstand, “You are family, idiot,” and kissed your temple.
“Fine, dinner with the Oh’s it is.”
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