#I just think his way of going about it was trash

[captain-bubble-wrap]

I'm having a bit of a downtime. I feel so conscious about my appearance. May I have Quinn reassuring me that I look good?

My love, I'm sure you're absolutely stunning. Chin up, buttercup! 🩷

Quinn hadn't participated in practice today. While he caught up on some rest, you had decided to go into the city for a little retail therapy of your own. Only it hadn't quite gone the way you had hoped. Everywhere you looked, there was a girl you felt was prettier than you, looking at something you had been interested in for yourself. It was easy to look at her, then at yourself, and convince yourself that you couldn't wear it near as good as she could. Self-sabotage and insecurity were bullying you into a early shopping trip.

It didn't matter what you did, they were all beautiful while you felt like trash. What did Quinn see in you, you wondered on the drive back to his apartment. He could have his pick of any Instagram model he wanted, so why had he chosen you? You would beat yourself up the entire time, resigning to tears after parking his car.

You had returned empty-handed.

"What are you doing back so early?" Quinn asked, seeing you walk through the door unexpectedly. He had been in the kitchen making himself some lunch, and had he known you were headed back, would have made you something as well.

"I wasn't feeling it." Your eyes were still red as you caught sight of your reflection in the mirror by the door. Quinn was bound to notice soon enough. "I think I've got a migraine starting."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that, babe. Do you have anything you can take?"

"Yeah."

He was genuinely being helpful, but you had blown him off and shuffled past the kitchen towards the bedroom. As he watched you go, your eyes down to avoid making eye contact, he knew there was more to it than the headache excuse. He'd let you go for now, not wanting to push you too much that you just shut down completely.

In the bedroom, you had gotten under the covers, hugging Quinn's pillow like you did when he was away on the road. You didn't want to cry anymore, but you had hurt your feelings so badly that there were no good thoughts left to give you even a drop of confidence in anything.

"Sweetheart?" Quinn asked, darkening the doorway some time later. You had almost drifted off to a nap when he called out to you, and could have faked being asleep, but you weren't trying to be mean to him.

"Yeah?" You mumbled into the pillow.

"Are you alright?"

"Sure."

You could hear him sigh from across the room and soon the feeling of him climbing in to bed with you would finally make you give him your full attention. He had laid his head against the pillow of his you were clutching. His pretty eyes waiting to catch sight of yours desperately.

"What's wrong?" Quinn asked softly, his hand getting lost amongst your hair.

"Bad day."

"You seemed happy when you left." His brows pulled in slightly, trying to guess what had triggered the bad mood. "Did something happen while you were out?"

You bit your lip, pulling your eyes from his face. Why did he have to be so good at figuring out what was bothering you. "Just..."

Patiently, Quinn looked at you, his fingers giving you the gentlest scalp massage while he kept his hand buried deep in your hair.

"I just didn't feel like being shopping, that's all."

"Y|N, why don't you want to tell me?"

"Because it's a stupid reason," you choked out, eyes flicking back to Quinn's in haste.

His gaze softened, "Nothing is a stupid reason if it makes you feel like this, but I won't make you tell me. I just want to know you're alright."

"Why are you attracted to me?"

Quinn's expression twisted slightly. That was about the last question he would have dreamed you'd ask him. "What do you mean? In what way?"

"Why me over some model or something?"

He'd raise his head, propping himself up with his right arm. "I wasn't attracted to you because of your looks, sweetheart. That's just an added bonus. Do I come off that petty?"

"No, you don't. I just-- it's hard to not judge myself against all the other girls that could have my spot. I told you it was a stupid reason."

There was deep concern in Quinn's expression. There were few things he hated more than when you got down on yourself.

"As cliche as it might sound, looks eventually fade and no longer matter. What makes you, you, is your personality, baby. It's what shines through any amount of makeup or outfit. You can't fake a personality, not a real one. You know, as good as I do, that there are plenty of girls faking all of that just to get with any of us. They can't keep up the charade, and away they go, and another takes their place. Do you know how refreshing it was to meet you? How you genuinely smiled? That little snort you let out when you laughed at yourself for being nervous asking for that autograph? Do you remember how bad I blushed? I could hardly sign that jersey. I thought I was going to have to replace it because my signature looked like a fake."

You laughed softly remembering that day. He had been a little bit of a bumbling mess but it was so cute.

"You kept popping up in my head the whole rest of the day. Your eyes, your smile, hell, even that perfume you had been wearing. Drove me crazy all day. I see beautiful women everyday, but not a one of them are waiting for me back home like you are. I don't picture any of them waiting for me, wearing one of my t-shirts like you do. Each time I hear your voice when I'm away, I melt, because I get to hear it every--single--day."

You had been chewing on your bottom lip to keep the tears at bay and Quinn had noticed. The hand that had been lost in your hair moved to hold your face, and his thumb would coax your lip from between your teeth.

"You're the only person I have eyes for -- the others are just people. You're my baby, and I love you. They don't mean anything to me. You have my heart."

"Quinny~" you whispered, knowing everything he said was his raw, unfiltered truths.

"I mean it, all of it. You might think the other girls are prettier than you, but I don't. Not for a second. You're the only one I want."

You didn't know what to say. His ability to melt away any bad mood you were dealing with, soothe any hurt feeling you had, and reassure you through it all had been a natural talent. It was times like these that you didn't feel like you deserved him, but you'd never tell him that. You knew already that he hated when you put yourself down and when you thought you should have less. Instead, you'd try to be thankful for him taking the time to explain his reasonings to you.

"I'll reassure you more, if you want me to. I just need to know. I'll do whatever I can to make you feel better, just to keep stuff like this from happening. I just don't want you to shut me out, okay?"

You'd give him a nod. "I'm sorry to be this way."

Quinn smiled, "It's alright. Do you think I don't wonder why you put up with me half the time?"

"But I love you!"

"Exactly! Because I know you love me -- that you truly love me for me and not the other stuff-- I don't have to worry about anything else; I don't let the other stuff rule me. Does that makes sense?"

"Mhm," you nodded.

"And before you say it, you don't need to be sorry. Things happen, and sometimes we just need a little more to see what we've been overlooking."

The air went out of you like a balloon. Quinn's ways with words left you speechless more times than you thought he realised.

"If it would make you feel better, I'll take you out sometime next week and let you know how beautiful I think you'd look in anything you try on. Anything you like, it's yours. No limit."

"Quinn~"

"I mean it. If it makes you smile, I want you to have it."

"You make me smile."

He laughed softly, "You have me already, silly."

You'd roll over on your back as he climbed on top of you, lips hovering just above each other's. "Unless you're wanting something more. Then I can give you that, too."

[rayraelleaizawa]

They're going hard on you

TW: none i think

gn!reader

Short stories of when OP men go hard on you out of worry

Characters: Shanks, Trafalgar Law

Shanks

You sat in the captains office and looked at Shanks who was unusally quiet. You had an anxious feeling in your guts. You knew you had fucked up, but you didnt think he would be that mad.

The red hair pirates docked at some uninhabited island, and you were assigned to not leave the ship since Shanks wasnt sure how dangerous the island would be. But when you saw a strange animal falling from a tree and into a river, trying desperately not to drown and reach the shore again but couldnt make it, you left the ship and jumped into the river and helped the animal out of there. The scared animal didnt realice you only wanted to help him, and trashed around in your grip and scratched and bit you.

When Shanks and a part of his crew came back from exploring the island, and he saw that you were standing on deck, soaked from head to toe and trying to clean up your bloody injuries, his usually carefree face fell. He wore an unreadable expression as he told you to come into his cabin when Hongo was done treating your wounds.

Now, half an hour later and bandaged up, you sat in Shanks office and looked at your lap. He still had that unreadable expression on his face and you werent sure in what kind of trouble you were right now. You had breaken the rules before, nothing too bad, but he never acted like that because of you. You thought that he'd understand why you left, everyone knew that you had a soft spot for animals.

You anxiously waited for him to start talking, but he didnt even look at you. After another silent ten minutes, he finally said something.

"What did Hongo say?"

"He said that it is nothing too bad, just some scratches. I need to go check up regulary tho in case of infection and if I feel weird I am supposed to go to him instantly. Hongo checks the books right now if the animal that bit me is poisenous or not."

You gladly would have left out the last part, but you knew you shouldnt do that right now. He would talk with Hongo and find out anyway.

There was another short silence before he spoke again.

"What did I tell you to do? No, what did I order you to do?"

"To stay on the ship" you quietly said.

"And what did you do?"

"I...left the ship."

"You disobeyed my orders. That's what you did. No matter what relationship we two have, I am your captain and you have to follow my orders like everyone else on this ship."

You were quiet for some time. You didnt mean to disappoint him, but you didnt think about his orders when you saw that helpless animal fighting for its life.

"I'm sorry. I only wanted to help the-"

"I dont care what you wanted to do. You had clear orders. Orders, which were meant to protect you. Protect you from exactly those animals that hurt you. We have no idea if they are venomous, or aggresive, or a religious species for any natives that live here."

You stayed silent. The uneasy feeling in your stomach growing by the second. Sadness and fear joined that feeling too. You thought he'd understand you, but in the end you just disrespected him infront of his crew with ignoring his orders.

"I'm sorry for messing up" was all you could get out in that moment, and you heard Shanks sigh. He stood up from behind his desk and walked over to you.

"What am I supposed to do with you? Even when i try to protect you you still seem to find a way to end up in Hongos medical office. Why cant you just listen to me?"

His tone was softer than before, and you finally dared to look up at him. He had a worried expression on his face.

"I- I didnt think in that moment" you admitted as he bend his tall frame down to you, looking at your bandaged hand where that animal bit you.

"You have no idea how it felt to see you all bloody on deck. How it feels to know that you could die if that animal was highly venomous" he said, gently touching your arm.

You avoided his eyes and looked at the stump of his left arm.

"Yes I do know how that feels. I didnt want to make you experience this too. I'm sorry."

He sighed again, moving his hand under your chin and forced you gently to look him in the face.

"Never do that again. I love you too much for that."

Trafalgar D Water Law

You didn't look at him as he walked past you. You both ignored each other since the argument you had. You felt frustrated and angry at him, but mostly because he was right.

There was an emergency at the submarine, something about the boiler malfunctioning in the middle of the night. You were the closest to it so you tried to fix it, but you werent an engineer - you weren't sure what to do so you just improvised and tried your best until the persons who knew what to do came. Before that happened, hot water splashed onto your arm leaving a nasty burn on it.

Law had bandaged you up, but you noticed something wasn't right with him so you asked him. Which resulted in a heated argument between you two which ended with him snapping at you.

"If you have no idea of something then why do you even try? You're no help here, we just have more work now because of you."

Your eyes got teary when you thought back to his words, but it hurts even more knowing he was right. He had more work because he had to bandage you up, while your crewmembers probably had to fix the boiler more because you damaged it even more with your improvised actions.

You self doubted your worth on this crew now. Sure, you knew how to fight, but that was it. You could bandage up small injuries and cook, but in the end everyone knew how to do that. You had no specialty like the others.

With frustration bubbling up inside you that your captain and lover thought of you as an useless inconvinience, you started working even more. You didn't take a break, you just cleaned the Polar Tank or trained. The burn on your arm hurt most of the time, but you didn't care. You wanted to prove yourself that you weren't just on this crew because you and the Captain were dating.

You asked Shachi if he could explain to you how the boiler and stuff worked. He was perplexed as why you wanted to know that, but you convinced him with saying that next time an emergency happend you could actually help. He agreed, tho he knew that Law wouldn't be so happy about you working when you're already injured.

He explained stuff to you in the engine room and of course, no other than Trafalgar D. Water Law walked in on you two while you were trying to name some parts of the enginge. He looked displeased and coldly said your name and then just walked off.

You didn't want to follow him, but knew that he would be even more pissed if you ignored him. He led you two to the infirmary and told you to sit on the exam table. He then grabbed your hand and unwrapped your bandanges.

"What do you think you're doing, y/n-ya?" he spoke calmly, but you immediately noticed that he was holding back.

"Learning new stuff so next time i can actually help" you answered in a snippy tone.

"You won't do anything next time. I don't allow you to" he said while turning around.

You started to argue back that you just tried to be a help when he interupted you mid-sentence.

"How do you want to be of help when you cant even look after your own wound!"

"You were the one who told me I wasnt capable of anything, and now it's wrong when i try to become usefull!" you almost yelled back, tears of frustration and hurt in your voice.

"I never said you weren't capable of anything, I simply stated that-"

"You said I am no help, that I have no idea what I'm doing and that you all have more work because of me!"

A tear rolled down your face and you started shaking slightly as Law looked at you with widend eyes. He grabbed his hat and pulled it over his eyes as he looked down.

"That wasn't what I meant. I just...you got hurt on my submarine while I was present. I- you shouldn't have gotten hurt when I'm there to protect you."

You looked at him with wide eyes, the tears now streaming down your face.

"You are more than capable of sorting stuff out on your own, you are a big help to everyone on this crew. I didn't mean to insult you or tell you you aren't worthy to be here. It's just...this could have ended up bad. And now I see you working in there again. I can't have you getting injured when I'm just a few feet away" he added as he walked towards you and grabbed your face so you'd look him in the eye.

"I want you to be safe, y/n-ya. And i failed to do that. You and this crew, you're everything I have. I'm a doctor but I can't heal everything. I'm sorry for insulting you, my heart."

Your eyes softend at the last nickname he called you. It wasn't often that he used it, which made it even more special when he did. He is a big softy and constantly worried about you. You laid your head to his chest and murmured an apology, while he leaned down and kissed your hair.

[bunny-jpeg]

sinful sentence (five)

lando norris - "you're so very tempting..."

tags: smut/pwp, friends-with-benefits (with feelings), simp!lando, sanrio plushies, possessive behavior, jealousy & manipulation, safe sex

the sinful sentences catalogue

this was not according to plan. this was supposed to be fun. you should be honoured really, lando never liked tapping the same girl twice. let alone three, four, five, seven times. he had lost count the amount of times he had fucked you into the mattress of his bed. watched you reach climax in the sea of soft pillows, your heavy pants into the light grey pillowcases as your back arched with a primal want.

but what started out as a means to an end. had become something a little more intense. it was like lighting matches in a gas station, the inferno was bound to happen. and it all started over a fucking stuffed animal.

"liam got you this?" he asked as he plucked it off of your bed, "are you fucking him?" he tried to keep the jealousy at bay.

"no!" you said as you crossed your arms and looked at him, "you know people give gifts to each other and not just when they're apologizing for something." you had a vast collection of luxury items from lando because he fucked up. you didn't know why he was getting jealous of liam.

lando looked at the stuffed animal, it was of hello kitty or one of those little sanrio things. the marketable plushie that seemed to invade every female's bedroom like mold. lando hated the thing. he looked at it and said, "you're so very tempting... tempting to throw in the trash." and the toy was taken from his hand and you wrapped your arms around it quickly. the face of the toy was right in the valley of your breasts that were covered by your bra.

"excuse me! don't talk that way to my melody!" that was the name of it, "be nice to her!"

lando made a face, "i would be nice to her, if she wasn't given to you by that fucker." he got into bed with you. he got his hands on either side of you and leaned you further back into the bed, "i don't like him touching what is min."

you frowned, "we're just friends, lando. you didn't want commitment, remember?" lando's biggest failure. it wasn't on the track, but rather not pinning you down. he said he was casual and he had regretted it every day since.

"well, unless you wanna be used by drivers until your worn out like a tire, i suggest you limit your driver fucking to one." to him. and you shoved him before you laid back in bed. the toy discarded to the other side of the bed.

"i didn't think you were capable of being so fucking possessive." you said before you pulled him by the front of his t-shirt. you sealed your lips against his and he started to get his joggers off. his stupid fucking words excited you sexually. and while it was all casual, it was nice to see him get so wound up over you.

you knew he was a sucker for you, and you flirted with that idea. liam didn't get you the stuffed animal, you bought it yourself at the drug store and lied to lando about it. to watch the british driver bite his words because some rookie is trying to get in his territory. it was cute in its patheticness. his clothes came off along with your undergarments.

you watched lando angrily grab one of the condoms out of the box on the nightstand and get it on before his situations himself between your legs. his handsome eyes bore into your heated flesh like he was trying to make holes in your skin. only he got to see you like this, under him and sexually needy.

when he sank into you, he cursed under his breath. you fit like a vice and even with the condom on, he could still feel the heat of your pussy. this was why he didn't want liam lawson to be sniffing around what it is. yeah, it was casual, but that didn't mean lando had to share. call him a selfish prick for that, he didn't care. you were his, and no rookie was going to take that from him.

especially when he leaned forward and started to move against you. he maintained eye contact as he thrusted against you. he held onto the covers under you as used the surface as leverage to work his cock inside of you. the bed creaked under the movements and the slick sounds of fucking filled the air paired with your heated noises.

"shit, that's it. that feels good." lando licked his lips and made eye contact with the stuffed toy near the wall. its plastic eyes watched lando ruin your cunt. stuff it full of him. he knew it was stupid, but he grinned wickedly at the toy as he continued to move against you.

he wished he could take photos of what he was doing to you right at that moment. show liam exactly how to pleasure a woman of your caliber. lando was certain that liam wouldn't even make you cum, that you'd have to fake an orgasm. but you've never faked with lando, he knew it. because he knew your body like he knew his. how to hit at just the right spots to make you see stars.

this casual affair between you two was heated to its roots. lando wanted you more than just sexually. but no amount of luxury he could give you was enough. you weren't easily swayed by material goods. as you once told him, "i'm not a crow, no need to distract me with shiny objects." but lando knew he was going mad every time he saw you with someone else.

you sated every need in his body, why couldn't you simply be his? why did you have to keep so close to the terms of being casual. lando needed you and he didn't need someone else trying to worm their way into your life. he couldn't allow it, he wouldn't allow it.

"look at you, under me. don't need plushies when you got me. you hated gifts, what made lawson so special."

you pushed your luck as you replied, "because he's actually a gentleman. not a panting dog looking to get his dick sucked every hour of every day. he at least knows how to treat a woman." it was all utter bullshit, but you felt lando's pace stagger for a moment from your words.

"bigger than me, princess?" he panted heavily, "does it stretch you out the way i do? leave you a mess? i know you talk big game about wanting a gentleman. so i need to know, is he bigger?"

you reached out and held onto his shoulders tightly, "no." then pulled him in for another kiss. you moaned into the kiss and tightened your thighs around his waist as he fucked you with heavy strokes. the pleasure made your head throb as the he clutched onto the covers tighter.

the pleasure was intense, the movements were rough. the sexual electricity was felt between you two as the kisses got more heated. you liked when lando became a man possessed when it came to his envy. he was a slave to his jealousy when it really gripped him. his breathing were heavy pants as he continued to move against you. the pleasure was a monster inside of him as his movements continued.

when he broke the kiss, he looked down at you with a glint in his eye, "he could never fuck you like this. he could never take you the way i do. he's a pussy." he pressed into you further, his pace was brutal and it made you only hotter.

your orgasm felt close the more he fucked you. the more his heavy thrusts made your mind go blank for a split second. you held onto his shoulders tightly and let him use your pussy to his liking. taking every ounce of pleasure that he could give you. if he was jealous then you were greedy for his cock.

he was right, no one else could ever have you the way he did. no other man could bring you to climax the way he did. he had re-wired your brain sexually that other hook-ups seemed so bland. lando knew exactly how to fuck you. so it was no surprise that after another round of heated kisses, you held onto him tightly and your toes curled.

you came around his cock and he soon came in the condom. you tensed up and lurched forward from the sensation and he kept you pinned down as you both finished. then slowly he came to a stop and grabbed you by the face to kiss you once more.

lando groaned against the kiss and he rubbed his softening cock inside of you to get that extra bit of pleasure before he felt content with what he had done. when he pulled out. he got up to toss the condom and when he got into bed. he grabbed the plush and looked it in its plastic eyes.

before he could make more threats to it. you plucked it from his hands, "either your nice to it or you can make yourself comfortable on my couch tonight."

he made a face and mentally promised himself. is liam lawson thought your affection was for sale, then lando would have to double the offer and make sure that you didn't end up in that rookie's arms. <3

[forgetme-eternally-blissfully]

Choi Han, for a test from a god, is sent to an unknown land with "Cale."

Choi Han, upon arrival, realizes something is strange about this Cale. He's got a similar appearance to his own Cale but the eyes are sharper, with a witty bite to his tongue and a quick sneer always at the ready.

He's clearly confused and distressed about being in a strange place with a strange person but he does his best to not let it show. His hand reaches for a bottle of alcohol that isn't there.

Choi Han thinks that this Cale isn't like his Cale at all.

Choi Han has a hunch that this Cale is the one from before Kim Rok Soo's possession. It makes sense. So he isn't his Cale.

However, though Choi Han wants to become cold to this stranger version of Cale, when he looks into those red-brown eyes and sees fear, he draws back. It's an instinctual feeling that he gets, right as Cale is spitting more vile words to cover up the trembling in his hands, that he doesn't want to see even a terrible Cale be afraid of him.

This doesn't stop them from arguing. Through towns, forests, deserts, they both learn on an intimate level that they would never, ever get along. Cale is too loud, too threatening, and Choi Han can't resist from debating with this strange Cale about morals, of all things. They argue constantly.

Though they argue, Choi Han can't help himself from sometimes mistaking this Cale for his own. He tells himself it's because they look alike.

They're both in the midst of an argument when a noble-like individual approaches them with cloying words, which seek to lure them inside of the noble's home. Choi Han is suspicious, but before he has the chance to decline, Cale steps in front of Choi Han and demands to speak to the noble who wants to see them.

The noble-like individual turns out to be the servant of a more powerful man, something that Cale saw through immediately.

Choi Han is stunned.

How did this, this trashy Cale with no moral upstanding, clock the intentions of a person so quickly and accurately?

He asks him directly. Cale shrugs. Choi Han believes he's mistaken when Cale's eyes flicker with calculating intent. They don't discuss it further.

Little moments like these keep occurring. Cale does something impressive, Choi Han inquires, and Cale downplays it with a sneer or an insult and refuses to speak about it again. It's weird and strange but it's familiar. Extremely so. Not the insulting, and the sneer is too odd to be his own Cale's face, but it's familiar in the sense that they both underestimate themselves. They both refuse to acknowledge what lies under the surface of their visage.

This Cale is a strange individual. He swears and laughs and grins, he's too calm about their situation, and it's difficult to get through to him when he makes up his mind about something. But the strangest thing is that all of these things remind Choi Han of his Cale.

Finally, it all comes down to a final battle. One more fight and both himself and this Cale can go back to where they belong. Choi Han is ready.

Cale receives a power from a book before the battle and it's unlike anything Choi Han has ever seen. But the coughing up of blood makes him have Cale swear to never use it. Cale swears.

Choi Han makes Cale promise to stay on the sideline and not approach. Cale easily agrees.

They get to the last stage, the last time they'll see each other again, and the villain of this world is too powerful. It's as if he weren't meant for them to fight. It's as if he were made so that they struggle.

Choi Han swings his blade to block a blow that he knows he can't block, knows might end him, and he thinks about how he can't possibly die right now and leave this Cale behind... but he's too weak.

He wonders what his Cale would do in this moment, when everything seems hopeless and nothing is working.

Cale steps in front of him and uses his power to its fullest extent.

White light is shining everywhere, blinding Choi Han who keeps his burning eyes open, desperately keeps his eyes on the Cale that's bleeding from his mouth and his nose and his eyes and his skin is starting to crack, crack like he is about to turn into dust and disappear.

Cale turns to look at Choi Han.

"Ah. I was worried it wouldn't be enough to take out the villain." His eyes stained with blood curl up in a smile. A ball of dread sits in Choi Han's stomach. "I'm glad. I'm really, really..." eyes drifting closed, his body begins to shatter further and further. "Happy for you, Choi Han."

This is why they felt familiar.

It's with a cry of grief and anger, anger at himself, that Choi Han reaches out to hold Cale, hold onto even a piece of him.

Cale's eye, the only one left as he is disintegrating, widens.

Choi Han grasps a fragment that's about to vanish from Cale's chest, somewhere next to his heart, and this piece doesn't break, doesn't disappear from Choi Han's hand. It stays solid and firm and real-

And it's all that Choi Han is left with when the gods test ends.

Choi Han wakes up, surrounded by his family, with a red, glass marble in his hand. He holds it to his chest. It hurts.

It hurts.

[revelboo]

Immensely down bad for Sides and Sun. Both at the same time. Purely carnal.

They can share

Can’t Finish What You Started Pt 13

Sunstreaker x Reader, Sideswipe x Reader

• Sketching while the twins play what you’ve decided is indeterminable rules space chess, you’d given up on trying to figure out the rules hours ago. The pieces all look the same to you, but some move one way, some move like drunks on a ship at rough seas. But they’re both quietly trash talking each other as they play, the tone companionable. “Do humans bond for life?” Sideswipe asks suddenly, head turning toward you and your hand stills. What had made him ask that?

• Glaring at Sides, Sunstreaker vents softly and moves his piece. “Kind of, I guess?” You say, attention dropping back to your sketchbook as you fiddle with a bit of charcoal. “Some people fall in love and stay with the same person for life. Some just fool around. Why?” Fool around? Sideswipe is ignoring his warning look, staring at you. Wished he’d drop it, but knows that look on his twin’s face. Whatever this game is, he’s going to see it through.

• “So you guys frag for fun then?” He asks, sitting up from when he’d sprawled on his berth. Because this is much more entertaining. ‘Frag?’ You echo and he grins. “Interface.” Can’t stop thinking about those noises you’d made when Sunny had rubbed your back. And your expression is still blank as Sunny punches him in the shoulder in warning. Like those sounds hadn’t stirred him up too. “Coupling? Mating?” There it is, you face reddening. That one you understand.

• “Some people do.” Why is he asking about this now? Trying to understand how Sideswipe thinks is pretty much impossible, though. He seems to just do whatever he wants when he wants and worries about the consequences never. You’re pretty sure you should be concerned about his sudden interest in the human sex life, though. Hoping he’s not about to ask about babies or something. What possible interest could a giant, alien robot have in sex, though? Maybe it’s a sort of horrified curiosity? It’s probably messy and gross to him.

• “Do you?” Sides asks and Sunstreaker growls his name in warning. Because he’s remembering that stupid announcement Megatron had made about not fragging the wildlife. “Because I’d be up for some mutual stress relief,” Sideswipe adds and your mouth opens and closes, expression blank. Growling Sunstreaker puts his face in his hands. Hears your weak little ‘I’m sorry, what?’ And it’s not like he isn’t curious, but who just asks like that? No romance, no coaxing, just ‘let’s frag.’ Primus.

Previous

[junedenim]

knackered converse

a tea & a donut

warnings: fluff monster, smut, piv, fingering, blowjob, the works

word count: 10.1k

His Converses stick against the beer-soaked wooden floors. His plastic cup of his own beer has run to the bottom leading him back to the kitchen-turned bar to fill it up to the brim. The place has already been fairly trashed and he's just thankful he doesn't have to clean it up, even if that means he has to avoid the packet of smashed Jaffa Cakes all over the tiled floors and the bottom of his shoes will be left with a beer residue for the next month.

A guy he doesn't know fills up his cup. This place is filled with people Alex doesn't know, which is mainly the reason he came. It's the whole "making friends" part of university. He has a few mates here helping him not feel completely gangly and awkwardly alone but still he's gangly and awkward and currently alone, even if he's being smushed up against the refrigerator.

He shimmies his way out without spilling any liquor and manages to make it over to the open window for some fresh air. The place feels like a furnace and he's been charged with keeping it burning. He knocks his fingers against the plastic of his cup, listening to the rhythmic beats, memorizing them, and the strange way it makes things feel a little quieter.

The creeping autumn breeze brushes on his back in a gift of relief that prevents a giant sweat patch on the back of his shirt. His shoulders curve forward as he gives into his bad posture in favour of some comfort. He knows that in order to meet people he actually has to talk to them and seem approachable. Right now he probably gives off the appearance of a hunchback with his night off from the bell tower.

He gazes outward to the crowd of people as he tries to find someone to latch onto. There has to be another weirdo here. A person who doesn't knock his insides and intimidate him with their steroidal muscles or caked-on make-up. Honestly, he's just insecure and he knows it. He's still trying to figure out how to live within his skin and meanwhile, it feels like everyone else has.

Alex looks down at his shoes. The front of the left one is about to split open and his mum told him to get new ones before school started but he didn't. He should listen to her more often.

"Did you go to the kitchen?"

"Huh?" His eyes snap up to see where the contributing voice came from. He thinks there's a mere possibility he made it up when his eyes find you standing before him. You have your own plastic cup in hand and a smile that he would definitely deem "approachable." The kind that people gravitate toward.

You giggle at him, probably finding him goofy with his bug eyes and the way his ears stick out with his new haircut. "I stepped on the Jaffa Cakes in the kitchen. Messed up my shoes."

You stick out one of the orange-chocolate-covered messes. You're wearing Converses too, the same kind as his, and he thinks that makes me a bit cooler just by association. They're just as knackered as his pair. Graffiti-covered by friendly scrawl and shoelaces that are missing their aglets.

The bottom cuffs of your jeans have denim threads ripping out of them. You wear a black leather belt that seems to be the only thing that oozes luxury off of you. Your shirt advertises Great Heights Space Camp with a tiny astronaut sitting on top of your left breast.

"Oh." He chuckles with you and lifts his shoe with the slow sound of stickiness. "I've only got beer on mine."

"Yours?" You take a step closer to him, refreshing yourself with a sip of beer.

Alex scoots over as an invitation for you to sit beside him. He watches as you lower yourself. With your face now right beside him, he grows nervous of you seeing him up close and personal. He can't stop thinking of the pimple on his flaming cheeks. "No, I haven't been that clumsy yet."

"I once fell down the stairs when I was drunk. I think I've still got a bruise from it." You spread your knees and sit the same way his dad does when he watches football. You turn your foot out and knock the rubber lining of your shoe with his. It's clearly intentional, enough to make his cheeks flush from the recognition.

"I rarely have control over my body," he tells you. It makes you laugh and his stomach contorts itself at the thought that you found him funny. "And that's not even when I'm drunk." You laugh harder and it's one of those contagious laughters that grabs everyone in the room and makes them want to laugh too.

"I like your shirt." He points to the little spaceman before sipping his drink to hide the embarrassment of having just pointed at your boob.

You gaze down on it and shake your head in shame. "Thanks. I've had it for years. When I was younger I thought I might be an astronaut or a pilot."

"Why aren't you?"

"I'm terrified of heights."

He shares a laugh with you. He feels infected. You've contaminated him from here on out. "I've always liked space. Looking out at the stars with me dad. So close yet so far." It's the way he feels with you now. How easy it could be for him to reach out and touch you but what a terrifying idea.

"We're looking at them and they could already be gone, bursting into a supernova." He doesn't want you to go. Please don't go.

*

Outside the Eastman building, there's a coffee shop where Alex sits and reads—attempts to read. He often gets off-course. Sometimes with more productive things like writing, sometimes with less productive things like doodling. It helps kill time between classes. They also have good donuts but that's neither here nor there.

The most important thing is that on Thursday after the party, you walk over to him. He's doodling by that point with the closed copy of A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man sitting across from him. His head is down so intently paying attention to his pen drawing across the page that he doesn't see or hear you approaching.

"Are you taking that Joyce class?" Once again your voice snaps his head up. You're dressed the same except for the light hoodie you wear unzipped and the backpack hanging off one of your shoulders. Your fingers quickly flick through the book's pages.

He closes his notebook full of nonsense and devotes himself to you. "Yeah, yeah, but I'm kind of regretting it now."

"I almost took it but I went with the Virginia Woolf class instead." You drink out of your cup and warm both your hands on the cardboard. He imagines a world where you two share a class. You'd sit by one another and Joyce wouldn't seem so boring anymore. You could liven up any discussion and you'd make fun of the way the professor spat every time he tried to say Künstlerroman.

"How's that going?" He asks.

You shrug. "Considering I finished Mrs. Dalloway last night and you're here ignoring Joyce, I think I made the right choice."

"Do you want to help me ignore him some more?" He reaches across and clears Joyce away from the table, dropping it into the deep end of his bag.

You accept the seat, placing your cup where the book once sat. "What else are you doing?"

"Just killing time before the Joyce class," he explains. "I forgot about the fact that I would actually have to do work at uni."

"Yeah, they never tell you that," you joke, leaning your head on your hand.

He laughs embarrassingly. "I don't mind it for the most part but I'm terrible at time management."

"I'm the opposite. I hate being late, especially to class. I feel like everybody watches you when you walk and you're the loudest person ever. It makes my skin crawl."

"You would hate me then."

"I doubt it," you reassure with a smile.

You do these things to him. Things that make him feel all funny inside and question what he was thinking and what he was doing before you sat down in front of him. He felt that way at the party too. And after, when you had left with your group of friends and he questioned why he didn't ask for your number. But then you cropped up here. You fell into his lap. He can't help but think that means something.

"I've got a planner and everything but, I don't know, my internal clock is off or something."

"Hm. Mine is perfectly aligned. Biological and the moon and all that."

"You mean like your period?" He read about that once. How women's menstrual cycles are connected with the moon or tides or something.

You laugh into the palm of your hand. "Yeah. I guess so." Your face is red. It's nice to know that he isn't the only one on edge. "I didn't mean to get on that subject."

"That's fine. I'm not afraid of blood or anything."

You double over, completely shielding yourself from his view. "Don't worry. I won't free bleed on you." You lean back with pink cheeks. "Is this the modern equivalent of Joyce writing about shitting for 20 pages in Ulysses?"

Alex shrugs. "I don't know. I never read it."

"Neither did I."

He smiles without a care for how wide it looks. "What else are you reading?"

"I'm taking this Shakespeare class. My group has been assigned to put on a production of Hamlet. Since I'm the only girl I'm both Ophelia and Hamlet's mother."

"Sounds like Hamlet has a complex."

"Yeah, we're going to lean into that whole Oedipus thing. I'm just hoping that I don't butcher the whole thing. I'm not very good at memorising things. Do you like Shakespeare?"

"I love the guy," he fibs. Alex hasn't ever bothered with Shakespeare. Not even in school. "I'm sure you'll be great in it. You'll at least be there on time." He's about to be late for James Joyce. It would be worth it too. But this teacher has already scolded him twice and Alex can't give him any more reasons to hate him. "I have to go to class but if you'd like to give me your number."

"Yeah." You're smiling, which is a good sign. You grab a pen out of your bag and snatch a napkin. "I have to go to this student production of Romeo & Juliet if you'd like to go."

"With you?"

"Yeah. If that's alright. It's Saturday at 7. We can meet outside Neumann."

"That'd be perfect." Alex stands up nervously, swinging his bag over his shoulders.

You stuff the phone-number-covered napkin into his hand. "Good luck with Joyce, Alex."

*

Shakespeare is funny, at least this production is. It lies somewhere between an attempt to retell Romeo & Juliet as a comedy and tragically awful and that's without the whole death part. He tried to keep his laughter under wraps because you seemed engrossed in it but then you let out a snort in the middle of the nightingale and lark scene. Or he should just say sex scene with the way the two actors maul each other.

Alex and you give the production a standing ovation because A for effort. You start whooping cheers just to make him laugh, which he joins in on. Every other attendant gave questionable looks but the cast members looked pleased as they gave their final bows.

"Do you think we encouraged those poor kids too much?" You ask as you leave the theatre. You swing your purse around your finger. You've dressed far too nicely for a production so poor. Your dress falls just above your knees with flowy fabric adorned on it that only the last few days of warm weather will allow. "They're going to go home and think they're the next Laurence Oliviers."

Alex walks with his hands in his pockets. He wore a dark pair of khakis because they are the only trousers he owns that don't have holes in them. "They won't make it far. We gave them one night of glory."

You flash him a smile. It charms him, shooting arrows through him, endearing him to Cupid's uncontrollable spell. "Thank you for coming with me," you tell him. "Sorry that it was so bad."

He shakes his head. "No, no. I had fun." 

"Good then you can come with me when they do Macbeth," you joke. "No, I wouldn't do that to you. I'll let you pick what we do next time."

"That's a lot of pressure."

"It can't be much worse than what we just watched. What do you like to do for fun?" 

You're staring at him with eager eyes like he's expected to say something like skydiving but for the life of him, he feels like the most boring person alive. "I don't know," he says with a weak chuckle.

You take your eyes away with a nod. "Okay. I'll let you think on that. This is me." You point to the building behind you, inching away, out of his reach. "Thanks again for coming. Text me if you think of anything. See you 'round, Alex."

"Bye." He feels dull and foolish. You looked like you were trying to escape his grunts and indecision. He supposes that it's his fault for feeling so nervous for no reason. He needs to be put at ease. He sighs and walks back home.

*

On Monday he spots you reading To the Lighthouse in the corner of the cafe. You look up and wave with no hesitation. He walks over with his donut and copy of Dubliners. "I've got something for you," he says. "If you'd like."

You stare up at him with a smile. It’s like lightning with the way it leaves him feeling singed and searing and hollowed out. "Is it a gift?"

"Maybe. It's an invitation." He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out two pieces of paper. "I don't know if you like them but Nick Cave is coming in on Wednesday and I was looking for someone to go with and, well, this is what I do for fun."

"I love Nick Cave."

*

You're in the swell of the crowd, pressed up against one another and about 2,000 other people. The music is good but all he can concentrate on is the vicinity of your body to his body. Half his chest touches half your back, which means half his crotch touches half your ass. He shouldn't be expected to pay attention to whatever the fuck Nick Cave is singing about when that's occurring.

"Can you see alright?" You turn around and ask.

"What? Yeah, yeah. Can you?" He can't see for shit but he could give less of a fuck right now.

"Uh, kind of. It sounds good. I guess that's all that matters."

You're moving, you're shimming, you're beating on his bones, knocking on his soul, inviting yourself in. Sure, there's a tall, smelly guy pushing up against his ass but that only pushes him closer to you and you're not inching away. There's no attempt to escape. You lean back into his chest and smile like this was all part of your plan.

He reaches for your hand when the show ends. It's under the excuse of not wanting to lose you in the crowd but you're two blocks away from the venue and still holding hands. "Did you have fun?" He asks. "I thought they were great."

The street is clear but you lean close to him and knock your shoulder into his with only pleasure on your face. "It was wonderful. Thanks for taking me."

"Thanks for coming with me." He looks over at you and feels like he's been knocked off his feet. He's not letting things slip through his fingers again. "Do you want to get a drink or something? Are you hungry?"

You pull from your soda by the straw without lifting the cup to drink, leaning forward with your burger still in your grip. Alex finds it, quite honestly, adorable. He is irrevocably fond of this girl. It's hard for him to believe that he got you here, sitting across from him in a tacky red booth at some shitty 24-hour diner.

"So, Alex, how often do you go to concerts?" You ask before taking a bite out of your burger.

"Depends," he replies. "I've got friends who've knocked about in bands and I go to their shitty little gigs sometimes. Doesn't cost much and makes for some fun nights."

You've already vowed to pay for the meal since he paid for the tickets, though he might insist on paying for his half of the receipt because it's the gentleman thing to do and his mother told him to always be a gentleman. 

"Do you work?" You ask.

"I had a job back home, but I haven't found anything here. I'd like to. What about you?"

"I work in the school's mailroom."

"Oh, so you're the one who's been stealing all my mail."

You laugh into a napkin, trying to prevent spitting your food out. "I've done no such thing. Half of the mail is junk anyway. I'm saving you from all the adverts."

"I like the little adverts. Seriously," he says when you pull a face. "I like the bad slogans they have and sometimes they come with a coupon."

You squint at him all playful, elbows on the table, not even close to prim and proper. You are messy, in the way you move, in the way you speak, in the way you eat, and he loves it. "I'll be sure to stuff your mailbox full of them next time."

He wonders if you've noticed how close you've gotten, how you're both leaning across the table. He can see directly into your eyes—into your soul. They are earnest, all intrigue, bright and reflecting light the way the moon does. He thinks he could stare forever and never get tired of the sight. Cars streak past, the city bustles, and he is oblivious to it all. It’s just this, just you. 

*

The next time he opens his mailbox it's flooded with adverts, most not even addressed to him. In the middle of the mess is a postcard of the Virginia Woolf quote "I feel so intensely the delights of shutting oneself up in a little world of one’s own, with pictures and music and everything beautiful." Written on the back of it in beautiful cursive penmanship is "Do you really go through all the adverts? Next donut on me if so."

*

He slides the postcard across the table to you on Monday morning. He crosses his arms with a smirk as you pick up the card. You roll your eyes and slide the card back over to him before standing to purchase him his signature glazed donut.

"I think you're single handedly keeping this place in business," you say as you drop the donut in front of him.

He unwraps it with a shit-eating grin. The glaze melts in his mouth. "They're good. Here. Have some." He breaks off a piece and hands it to you.

You try to refuse but he pushes it closer and closer to your mouth until the sugar flakes are brushing against your lip. You finally oblige, taking the piece into your mouth, the tip of his thumb rubs against your bottom lip. It feels like he's touched the forbidden fruit. 

Alex plays it as cool as possible and focuses back on the donut before him. You hum, "Okay, it's good."

"I have good taste. Is that hard to believe?"

"Maybe," you hold your thumb and index finger a hair apart from one another, "just a little."

"You're the one who took me to that shitty Shakespeare production."

"Hey, that was for a class and Shakespeare is classic no matter the form he is done in." It's cute how you get all wound up over this as if it's anything more than a joke. It's in the same vein as you drinking that scalding hot tea with no care for your tongue. All these perplexities about you that he finds deeply entrancing. If there is an end to this fascination, he hasn't found it yet.

"Do you know what classes you're taking next term?" You ask, licking your lips clean of the glaze. The pink shine of them smacks against one another. They are staring him dead in the eyes with no remorse. "'Cause there's this British literature class I was thinking about. I thought, maybe, it would be cool if you took it too."

You look nervous. He's never seen that before. You hug your arms around yourself, leaning on your elbows, and staring down at the black tabletop. "I'm not very good at reading," he says like a dope. Like he's five years old and you're teaching him the alphabet.

You anxiously giggle. "Then you can cheat off of me."

"Sounds like a good plan."

*

Friday nights Alex tends to end up drinking with his mates. It's sloppy and informal, stuck in someone's dorm with a pack of beers snuck past security. Sometimes someone rolls a joint. Other times they stink up the room with cigarette smoke. One day they'll probably get caught but it hasn't happened yet.

Matt's room tends to be the best. He's got the most chairs and this bean bag chair that the guys fight over who gets to sit in and, with the lifelong advantage of knowing Matt, Alex tends to win the claim over it.

He slouches down in it with a beer can wetting a circle into his jean-clad thigh. The guys are having some pissing contest that he can't follow but laughs along with anyway. Matt spins around in his chair and faces him. "Alex has got a bird," he says. "Don't ya?"

"What?" He chuckles with faux obliviousness. 

"Oh, come off it. We've all seen her. The way you ogle."

"I do not ogle. We're just friends for now." He toys with the beer can and doesn't dare make eye contact with Matt. 

"For now?" Matt questions with a raised eyebrow. "Alright, Al." They back off after that. Thankfully.

*

On a December morning, there are ringlets in your hair. Tight ones that he wants to pull at and watch bounce. You're zeroed in on a stack of papers, one hand fiddling with one of the corners, the other clutching your cup of tea.

"Hey there, Ophelia," Alex says while sitting down with his donut and a hot chocolate. (What can he say? He's feeling festive).

"Shush," you loudly sound off. Your eyes laser in on the paper as if you're trying to scan it with your eyes.

"Shall I get thy to a nunnery?"

You look up with a death glare. "If you're not going to be quiet, you have to leave."

He's amused, a smile crossing his face, which he's sure isn't pleasing you one bit. He reaches across and tugs at your pages. "Come on, let me help you. I'll play Hamlet."

You hum. "You'd be a good Hamlet." You give in and let him take the pages.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

You chuckle at his offense. "You know, you're all brooding and melancholic."

"Wow, thanks."

"You can't deny it if that's how you come off."

"Well, you're certainly no Ophelia."

"Thanks, I don't plan on drowning myself anytime soon."

"'Doubt that the stars are fire, doubt that the sun doth move, doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love,'" he recites.

Your face flashes with surprise. "You know Hamlet?"

He shrugs. "Some." Yeah, he totally looked up quotes the night before and memorized them in the hopes of impressing you.

"You're a total Hamlet."

He pushes his eyes away from your gaze and stares down at the script. "Okay, come on, you only have thirty minutes until you have to perform this."

You groan. "Why did I ever take this class? I don't want to act. I don't even give a shit about Shakespeare."

"Alright, Ophelia, quit your whining. 'Let the doors be shut upon him that he may play the fool nowhere but in ’s own house...'"

*

He doesn't see you again until the barren cold of January in the frigid Felton Hall for British Literature. You're there on time, of course, and you've saved him a seat. With a wide smile and a wave, you summon him over to you. 

"Good, I was thinking you wouldn't show." You pat the chair beside you and it's hard for him to wrap his mind around the excitement you show. So endlessly pleased to see him and he wonders why he's ever questioned your sweetness toward him. (He wonders why he won't just suck it up and make a move).

"Now, why would I do that?" He questions as he takes the seat beside you, taking the winter coat off his shoulders.

"'Cause you're a cruel man. But then I remembered you're always late. In fact, I'm shocked you showed up before class started."

He wonders if you know it's because of you. This isn't a regular thing to arrive early. It's for these spare minutes that he can sneak a conversation with you. "What can I say? I'm improving."

"New Year's resolution?"

"Something like that." He smiles.

The professor starts speaking some boring gibberish about the theme of the class and the supplies you'll need. Alex isn't focused on that. You'll give the rundown anyway with all of your note-taking. God. You're taking notes. What a nerd. He's gonna marry you.

Alex spares you one last glance, and he doesn’t even bother to hide the way he’s looking at you this time. The sweater you're wearing is really working for you, fuzzy blue angora that doesn’t quite reach your waist, riding up to expose the small of your back and dipping in a sharp V at your clavicle. He knows you know he’s looking, teeth around his pen, and the thing is… the thing is, you look back. With dark eyes, no care for the way it makes him feel in the middle of Charles Dickens and the Brontës.

Your eyes meet. His lip quirks up. Yours does too. You both look away. What the hell is he doing?

*

Alex takes you to one of his friend's concerts. It's at this shitty bar that you marvel at the whole time like it's the Taj Mahal. You come back from the bathrooms that smell like vomit and talk about the stickers plastered on the door for fifteen minutes. He loves it. Loves that you love all this little detail. How you won't shut up about the PJ Harvey poster hanging behind the bar and how much you'd kill to see PJ Harvey live in concert.

You sip your rum & Coke in tiny segments and you giggle after you burp with a quiet "'Xcuse me." And he's in love. He's deeply entrapped in the prison of you and there's no need to escape. It's quite a lovely thing. He thought it would scare him for the longest time. He always found love to be daunting and the idea of giving it away to someone felt like this massive overwhelming thing but now he feels it with no hesitation. There are no attempts to fight it off. It's the cozy thing. It's not a steaming fire. It's a fuzzy blanket on a snowy day. It's easy. That's the biggest relief of all.

"I always thought these kind of places would be louder!" You shout into his ear over the banging music.

"This isn't loud enough for you!" He yells back. 

You shrug. "I thought my ears would be bleeding."

"And you wanted that to happen?"

"It'd be a cool story." You're so close, your breath right up against his ear. He turns his head and stares at you. "What?" Like you're oblivious. As if he isn't obvious in his longing stares or in the way he casts his eyes down to your lips. Like he hasn't been waiting for this moment, for this chance since you approached him with Jaffa-Cake-smeared shoes. "What?"

He moves in. He finds you and he keeps you for himself. His chapped lips land on yours, those smooth glossy pink things that have been staring at him for months. He's careful with it. He doesn't want to come off as forceful. He wants to take this with grace. He wants to lock it in and show you he can take care of you.

You pull back, mildly stunned. He's worried he's misread this whole thing until you let out a little giggle. "I like that."

"Do you now?" He chuckles back.

You nod fervently before pulling him back to you. He wants to take you apart with his teeth. He feels in control now with no worries of rejection. It’s a rough thing, a raw thing. You fall into it, into him, your mouth tastes like cherries and rum and moves against his own with the same ease he feels. He holds your face in his hands and you tug at his lower lip and it’s fireworks in his chest, its sparks flying and embers glowing. It runs like an electric current down the rungs of his spine, felt from the soles of his feet all the way to his scalp. Warm.

*

You don't wait around because he's been waiting for this for months and he gets the feeling you have been too. So, when it's time to go home, you don't resist when he holds your hand and pulls you in the direction of his dorm. 

He feels like something within him has been awakened. There's no need to quiet the feeling down, he can just let it flourish. You slot your head on his shoulder while you wait for the elevator and it's crazy how this morning he woke up from a dream about this and now he's here with you beside him in the flesh.

Inside the elevator, you're the one to act first. It makes him take three steps back, his body forced against the metal walls, the leaning bar pressing into his back. He can't help but smile into it, his teeth skimming yours. 

When the elevator doors open, you pull away from him like you've been zapped. It makes him chuckle and then he's tugging you down the hall with a skip in his step that is so rushed it makes you laugh. "Eager much?"

"Yeah," he sighs, "I'm beat. Can't wait to go to bed." He leans against his door with an exaggerated yawn, covering his mouth with his hand.

You pull him off the door. "Very funny. I'll just head home then." He's got a hold of your hand before you're even able to take a step. He pulls you to him, knocking your hips against one another. He digs his keys out with one hand and keeps his touch on you with the other.

It's a crash from there. A race to his bed. A tsunami plummeting its way to shore. Your hands tug on the hem of his shirt and his unbutton your jeans. Your touch cascades over his torso and it's a balm to the skin. It feels like no one has ever touched him there before and no one ever will again. That this feeling will only ever exist at this moment with his body up against yours and his lips kissing under your ear, making you squirm.

You pull away to kick your jeans off the rest of the way and he takes the opportunity to do the same. Your blouse flies somewhere over to his desk and then it's just him in his underwear and you in your bra and underwear and he just wants to take this moment to look and not touch. He takes it in and looks so long that you start to shrink under his gaze, covering yourself up with your hands.

"No," he promises, "I just wanted to look."

"You're allowed to touch. If that's alright with you?"

He nods and takes a step forward, one that reconnects, and soon you're back in the swing of things, wrapped up in one another, twisting around one another in some desperate example of making love.

He unclips your bra and it falls to the floor and then you fall onto the bed with you on your back and him hovering above, his hand slipping down, thumbing the hem of your underwear until he slips under and allows himself to touch.

He kisses at your bare chest and you tug at his hair. You raise your hips when he mouths at your breasts, your face tucked away in his neck, his hands on your ribcage. You reach down to rub him over his underwear and, god, he’s hard. You stroke him over the cloth and he moans a little, which makes you grin. 

You rid yourselves of the rest of the cloth between you and from there, it’s a sweaty haze. He fills you all up, it makes him feel whole, and you're intoxicating with the way you look at him—all blown pupils and messed-up hair, alternating between rabid and rapt, pulling your hair back to kiss your neck.

It's just right and he hopes it's just right for you too. He tries his hardest. Flicks his hips just right in the way that has you fighting back, tugging on him, digging crescent shapes into his back. You pull him closer and you're moaning in his ear so he thinks he's doing it right.

You utter a tiny "Fuck" and he can't help but come then. He dumps his head onto your collarbone and you moan and tighten around him, arching up and letting go.

"You okay?" He asks, wrapping his arms under your back, holding you close. He kisses your temple, something divine.

"So okay."

You ask to spend the night like there’s even a possibility he’d turn you away. And whether because you don't want to sleep naked or in your underwear or maybe you just want to wear his clothes, you ask, “Do you by any chance have something I could sleep in?”

And so, after a quick rifle of his drawers, he produces a ratty David Bowie t-shirt that’s long enough to cover everything and a pair of boxers.

"I can’t believe we’ve known each other for this long and I’ve never seen your room before," you say. "I was expecting clothes everywhere and posters of half-naked girls. Is it always this freakishly organised?”

He clears his throat. “Helps me think.” He lays back on his bed as he watches you walk around his room, inspecting every corner.

“But you can't show up to class on time?” 

He shrugs. His hand lay on his bare stomach and he tries to think of something funny to say but you're too distracting. "What's your room like? Are you messy?"

You snort and point at yourself. “You think I'm messy?”

"I don't know. I thought maybe we'd be the opposite of one another."

"No such luck, mister. I'm too anal. Frustratingly so." You're plucking through his CDs. He wonders if you'll comb through each one, giving them each a rating.

"You're perfect. That's what you are," he says.

You turn around and shake your head. "Don't put that on me. I'd only let you down."

"Doubt it." He stands up and shakes the stiffness out of his limbs. "I'll be back." He heads to the bathroom, half because he needs to use it and half because he wonders what you'll do while he's gone. 

When he returns to the room, he finds you sitting on his bed like something that belongs there, like it’s the place you retire to every night. He leans against the doorjamb. “Hi.”

You look up from the book you're skimming. The side of your mouth quirks. “Hi,” you whisper back. “Come here.”

And it’s so easy to listen to. He doesn’t wanna be anywhere else, after all. He joins you on the mattress and you curl up to accommodate him, but he wraps an arm around your waist to pull you closer. 

You turn to him and start saying, "You write little—"

"Your nose is bleeding." 

A little red stream escapes out of the left nostril and your hands rush up clutching it. "Fuck. Sorry."

"It's okay," he reassures. He reaches across his bed and grabs a tissue. You clutch it to your nose, pinching the bridge with a giggle erupting from you. "What's so funny?"

“Nothing, just noting the conveniently placed Kleenex box and,” you check over your shoulder, “oh, look at that, a bottle of lotion. Wow, you really are just like every other boy.”

He snorts a laugh and says, “Shut the fuck up, you’re making your nose bleed more." He reaches out and holds your hand to your nose pressing the tissue to it.

“Do you keep glam mags under your bed?”

“No.”

“Computer porn then?”

“None of your business,” he says shortly. “I've already exposed enough of meself to you tonight.”

“Alright,” you say. “I just like thinking about you that way.”

“Stop." He falls on his back and stares up at the ceiling and tries to think of anything else imaginable. Dirt bikes. The Strokes. Shit. Trees turning into paper. "Don't say shit like that."

Your eyes are bright. “Why?” You toss your tissue away and lay down beside him.

"'Cause I'll never be able to go to bed again."

You shrug, all amused. You lay down beside him. “I wouldn't mind." You reach out, tracing his jawline. “I had fun.”

“Me too.” 

You reach over him to yank on the lamp chain and stay there after the darkness floods in with your head on his chest, your leg hooked over his hip. He pulls the covers over you and just holds you.

*

Everything you do is the same, except with a kiss. Coffee and tea at the cafe but your feet are entangled the whole time. Class but he sits with his arm around you. Concerts but you rub up against him with no shame. Partying but you leave early to fuck.

He loves it all. He loves how you seep into every inch of his life. He actually starts paying attention in class because you make him. You sit down and read together. Sometimes Alex or you read aloud, sometimes he reads over your shoulder, sometimes you read on separate ends of the couch. But you love coming together and talking about it. You speak with such passion that he wants to get to the end of a chapter just to hear what you have to say about it. And sometimes the end of the chapter never comes because he distracts you with, you know, other things. He likes that best.

Dates happen. He's not sure what qualifies as one and what doesn't—like do all those cafe visits count?—but he knows for sure that the one where he took you out to dinner and you wore that low-cut dress definitely does. And he knows this party that you're at now definitely isn't.

It's a rowdy one where everyone has gathered in the living room to watch two guys arm wrestle on the coffee table. You're sitting on the arm of the couch with your arms wrapped around his waist, cuddling him to you like one of your teddy bears.

When one of the guys pins the other's arm down, you shout out, "I bet I could beat Al in an arm wrestling competition."

And everyone is oohing and awing and Alex is standing bug-eyed and afraid. He taps your arm with a nervous, "I'm sure you could, honey."

"No, no, no." You're so drunk. He's never seen you like this. Part of him is amused and finds it beyond adorable. You scrunch up your nose like a little bunny and he just wants to kiss you all over. He's also terrified of you. You flex your arms out like you're the Hulk and all he can think about is his little noodle arms and Matt shouting, "Oh, come on, Al."

So, you're kneeling on the ground with your arms propped up on the coffee table with a look of determination in your arms. "You have to let me win," you slur your words.

"Why's that?"

"I lose, no kiss for you." You wag your finger and seal your lips.

"No kiss for the winner?"

"Only if I'm the winner."

He goes limp and allows you to instantly push him down. "I win!" You shout.

Alex picks you up off the ground with you cheering behind him. "We're going home now," Alex tells a laughing Matt. It's fun. Going home together. Even if it's his shitty dorm.

*

One night in his room while you're sitting on his bed criss-cross flipping through your flashcards on the Enlightenment and he's trying to focus on his psychology homework but he's more occupied by you, he says it. He kind of can't help himself. It just rolls out. "I love you." It's massive and too soon and for a long time he probably would have shrieked, covered his mouth, and ran out of the room, but he doesn't care. It's more relief than panic. Like it's out and not buried in his ribcage anymore.

You look up, your hands with your flashcards dropping into your lap. Your lips part at first before breaking into a small smile that so softly plays on your lips. "I love you too." It's there. It's funny how so much emotion can be stuck in with so few words. Still, he feels it all. Cupid's arrow and everything.

*

Right when spring begins to crack through the bitter winter chill, the realization of spending a summer apart hits. He used to find people who complained about that to be dramatic. It's only a few months not years but the term break feels dull when all he's returning to is Sheffield without you around.

You've promised to visit, maybe sometime in July, but it won't be long and it won't be the whole summer. The separation aches at him and he feels like such a loser until one night you curl up beside him and say, "I don't know how to function without you anymore."

You're the Sun. Everything revolves around you, at least it feels that way. Maybe it's being young and in love but the idea of going from every day together to nothing at all pulls him. He's a sap, he knows.

For now, you both avoid it—that inevitable terrifying passage of time. You read Wuthering Heights for British Literature and the whole time he does his best Kate Bush impression in your ear. 

He starts finding post-its around his room and crumbled-up in his pockets after you hang out. They're covered in quotes from the book like "If he loved with all the powers of his puny being, he couldn't love as much in eighty years as I could in a day" and "Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you! Oh, God! it is unutterable! I can not live without my life! I can not live without my soul!"

And no matter how many romantic quotes you write down from the book, you both agree you hate everyone and it's not a love story. His favourite post-it is the one he finds stuck to his alarm clock reading, "I love you as much as I hate Heathcliff." It's dorky and makes him laugh so he leaves it there, swearing to get it framed.

It's the first day where it's bearable to go outside without a huge winter coat, so you suggest taking your tea and his donut out onto the grass. You remark how you wish that you could have a picnic with a blanket and a basket instead of risking grass stains on your jeans but nonetheless, you sit against a tree and he sits in front of you, leaning on your crossed knees, and you talk about last hurrahs. 

"We could go somewhere," he suggests. "Maybe take the train somewhere?"

"In the middle of finals?"

"We could go to a theme park."

"I'm scared of roller coasters."

He raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

"I'm scared of heights," you remind him. "You know that."

Alex nods. "Right. Right. But that could make it a lot more fun. You could cling to me the whole time."

"I'll pass. We could go strawberry picking."

"And pay to do manual labour?"

You sigh. "Or we could just hang out with each other. How lame."

Alex leans closer. His nose brushes against yours. "I know." He puckers out and plants a kiss on your lips. He wraps his arm around you, pulling himself into you. "How lame."

You let out a heavy sigh. "And with nothing to occupy us."

"We could always just barricade ourselves and fuck until break is over." He moves closer, almost straddling you like he's about to take you right here on the grass.

You laugh. "You'd like it that way."

"Yeah." He smirks. "And I have a feeling you would too."

*

You don't quite barricade yourselves. But you get pretty close. 

With final exams looming, Alex is able to reason that sex is the perfect kind of stress relief. You're sitting in his lap with his hands running up the back of your thighs to cup your ass over your jeans, and you give a hint of a grin, sitting up. "You're going to have to study at some point."

He hooks his finger through the belt loops, yanking you closer. "I am. I'm studying for anatomy."

You roll your eyes. "You don't take anatomy."

He ducks his head closer and places his forehead against yours. He talks in a soft voice, one that shakes your insides. "I'm getting a head start." He closes the remaining gap, locking lips, and reeling you in completely. You don't refuse then because there's no way to refuse this and how good it feels.

You move your ass just enough to have him groaning into your mouth. He has to do something with his hands. He can't keep trying to feel you up, he has to commit action. He fiddles with the button of your jeans, snaking his hand through, not even bothering to push them off. He has to fight back.

He gets you moaning with the mere touch of his fingertips to your clit. You curl your arms around his neck and duck your head into his neck, whimpering against his neck. Chills run down his spine as you say his name into his skin.

He moves his hand lower, slightly pulling your jeans down to be able to enter. He enters two fingers. Your grip tightens in response. He's confident now. He's done this enough times to know what works. He knows how to please you but this feeling—clutching, moaning, begging—never gets old.

Alex holds your body to him as you squirm. He works quicker, pumping his fingers in and out, flicking his thumb against your clit. You mutter, "Fuck," and he whispers back, "I know, I know" like he can feel it too because he does. He feels like you're conjoined in this pleasure. That making you come is a far greater feeling than his own pleasure (well, almost, you have a very talented hand...and mouth...and pussy).

You buck your hips into him. The open zipper of your jeans grinds into his boner and he’s cursing too just like you are as your orgasm crashes. Your breathing is heavy and you've placed permanent wrinkles in his shirt with how hard you've been clutching it. 

"Good?" He checks.

You nod against his skin as you try to figure out how to properly breathe. "You certainly know where the clit is."

"See. I'm guaranteed at least a passing grade for that."

You sit up and look him in the eye. You still looked dazed with flyaways and an unbeatable smile. "I don't think they teach you that in school."

"I'm a prodigy then."

Now is when you would usually tell him to not be so full of himself but your lungs are heavy and he considers that to be a 100% if you're unable to scold him for being pompous. 

He lifts up one of your flashcards. "The form of theological rationalism that believes in God on the basis of reason without—"

You smack the cards down. "Shut up," you laugh.

"Come on," he says, lifting them back up. "You're going to regret not going over..." He checks because, of course, he doesn't know the answer. "Deism with me when you get it wrong on the exam."

You straddle his hips. "I'm sure I won't forget it now." You snatch the cards out of his hands, flipping through a few until you ask him, "What are the common features of the Romantic Period?"

"Wordsworth and stuff," he answers."

You slap his chest. "Alex, you can not write 'Wordsworth and stuff' on the exam. Come on this is easy. Give me two more."

He falls back on the pillow with a groan. "An appreciation of nature."

"Okay. Good. And?" 

He shrugs.

You scowl at him. "You act like this sometimes," you hint.

"Stop that. I am not a Byronic hero."

"Well, it'll help you remember," you reason. "Now, what are some works within the Romantic period?"

He groans. "I don't want to do this."

"Would you like to fail the class then?"

"I'm not going to fail. I'll wing it and be fine."

"Alex," you whine.

"Let's do something else. Let's go to Matt's or something." He'll try any possible way to get out of this. He's getting a headache from this and he can't pay attention with your boobs in that top.

You cross your arms. "If you do this, I'll give you some incentive." Your brows quirk indicating to him clearly what you mean. Your lips in a tempting smirk.

Yeah, okay. "Lyrical Ballads, Pride & Prejudice, Keats, Byron, Shelley. Do I get my prize now?" He blasts a cheeky grin. You roll your eyes but shift down to his thighs and pop the button out of his jeans.

"You'll thank me for this one day," you say as you pull down and free his cock.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll thank you after."

You snort and wrap your hand around him. "I meant studying, idiot."

"I did too!" He lies.

You hum and wrap your lips around the head of his cock. It's ecstasy. This is what humans were made for. Your tongue licks delicately and you move in an infuriatingly slow manner that he knows you're doing just to torture him. He raises his hips to signal more, instead, you move with him never going past the head liking it as if it's an ice cream that will never melt.

"Come on. I've been kind to you."

You pop your mouth off of him and move your hand up and down the shaft of his dick. "I never asked you to do that."

"You weren't complaining." He needs more. He can't handle this. He's just a boy. He doesn't have patience. 

You raise an eyebrow as if to threaten him but you take him into your mouth again. You move slowly still but this time you take one more inch in each time until, eventually, you reach the base of him. He tickles the back of your throat and your nose brushes against his skin. 

You pull off with a string of spit connecting. Taking a deep breath while you pump your hand, you say, "Good enough?"

He's moaning and biting his lip, trying to not give you complete satisfaction of being right that sometimes that torturously slow start does make for better head and he should not be arguing with the expert. He nods. "Yeah, yeah, keep going."

He shuts his eyes, unable to ignore the pleasure. He hears you laugh before your mouth reattaches. Warmth engulfs him, taking him over completely. He thinks he's going to lose it. That this pleasure will kill him. His grave will be marked Death by Blowjob and you'll be convicted for your deadly talent.

Alex clutches the back of your head just to have something to keep him grounded. He feels like he's floating as you take him completely in your mouth again. He mutters curses and lifts his hips, forming an arch, and being taken over. He empties into your mouth, trying to control his movements and not force his dick straight down your throat. He chants, "I love you. I love you. I love you."

You wipe your mouth and laugh at him like he's your little clown, which he's fine with. He'll put on the makeup and the garb if it makes you laugh like that, especially if he's coming like that. "Thank you," he mutters.

You giggle again. "You're welcome." You reach across him to his nightstand. "Now. From what poem is 'Thou still unravished bride of quietness' the first line?"

He groans but he'll say the blowjob was worth it.

*

On the last weekend of the term, he convinces you to leave your studying nest. You've been holed up inside ignoring the beautiful weather in favour of your exams. His studying has still been scattered but he's managed more than in years past because of you and your incentives.

He drags you out of town toward seclusion. Mainly because he wants to be alone with you but also because people online said this place is supposed to be pretty beautiful. He holds your hand as you walk toward the spot. He doesn't think he'll ever get tired of that. Your warmth wrapped around him, fighting off that cold from within.

"Is this the part where you kill me?" You joke. He wanted to surprise you, something he has been notoriously bad at in the past. He has a blabbermouth when it comes to you. He's spoiled presents and date nights, but he just wants to tell you everything. Nothing feels real until you've heard about it.

He squeezes your hand. "No, that'll be next fall."

"Okay, good. I'm glad you're giving my parents time to say goodbye."

Alex breaks into laughter then, nervous and unable to keep up the bit. "Should we stop here?" He asks. The sun is shining just enough through the trees and little flowers pop up in the grass around you.

You shrug in your adorable overalls and hair woven into two braids. He could stay looking at you like this forever. There's no other need in life. "You're the one with the plans. I don't know where we're supposed to be going. Is this the surprise?"

"Kind of." He's nervously laughing. "It's kind of been with us the whole time."

You smile and your eyes shift down to his side. "You mean in that bag, right?" The one you've been trying to peek into the whole way here. "Is it a dog?"

He reaches into the bag and pulls out a blanket. "I couldn't find the proper basket but I thought we could have a picnic."

You’re staring at him. You have glassy eyes, ones he can't quite read but he thinks is a good sign. "We're having a picnic?"

"Yeah," he says, "if you'd like."

You quickly nod, your lips breaking out into a smile that exposes your teeth. You clutch a hand over your mouth to head the glee. You break eye contact away from him and look around as if to process the whole scene. 

He lays the blanket out and sits down on it. He pulls on your hand for you to sit down next to him. "I can't believe it," you say. 

"I had a good idea for once. Well, I guess it was more your idea."

You shake your head. "You planned it. You listened to me and some stupid comment I made and you made the best last weekend possible."

"I win?"

You kiss him. "You win."

"Wait until after you've had the food. It isn't the best. Just sandwiches and store-bought things."

"I don't care. You could give me anything and I'd love it."

He pulls a container from the bag. "How 'bout strawberries?"

You hug your arms around him and nearly knock them over in the process. "I love you," you whisper in his ear. "Thank you."

"Of course." He holds you back, never tiring of it. "Love you too."

You pull back and pluck a strawberry. You pop it in your mouth and moan. He tried his hardest to find the best English strawberries possible. Ones so sweet they could ruin any other food for you. "I really love you."

*

On the morning before you leave, he sits at your desk chair and watches you finish packing the remainder of your things. He watches as you struggle with the zipper of your suitcase until you exhaustively ask, "Can you sit on it?"

He plops down on top of it with a chuckle. You pull in the zipper and it finally reaches its end destination. You sigh with relief and lean back on your heels. You clap your hands together before leaning forward and kissing his cheek. "Thank you."

Alex stands up and reaches his hand out to help you up. "Is that the last of it?" He keeps his hand in yours even after you've stood up.

You look around with one last gaze at your room, stripped completely of you. "Yeah, I guess so."

He wraps his arms around your waist, bringing your hips to his. "Should we do it on your bed one last time?"

You pull a face and giggle. "Ew, no. Not without any sheets and my parents waiting in the car."

He tilts his head back heavenward. "Ah, where's your sense of adventure?"

"I'm leaving it here. Besides, we were never that adventurous to begin with." It's easy to have the plain locale of a bed when the sex is so good.

"Next year, I guess. We'll have to finally do it in the showers."

"Yuck, stop. I know people who've shit in there."

He shakes his head sarcastically. "You're no fun."

"I know." You lean closer, tapping your forehead against his. "I'm lame and boring and I'm gonna miss you."

"Yeah." He can't even say it. The words have consumed him for days, every conversation ending with "Miss you." He's tired of it and it hasn't even begun. If he speaks it now, his voice will crack. He'll crack. He'll break in two and there will be nothing of him left here, except a puddle and you.

So, a kiss will do instead. He wants it to sear into you. Tattoo it onto your skin, imprint, force it onto, mark you, make you remember him. He wants them on him too. He wants to look down and see a lip gloss mark. He wants a freckle to remind him of his picnic. He wants the taste of cherries to be permanently set on his tongue. He wants the stickiness of a glazed donut on his fingers. He wants you.

On the walk to the car, you talk about a trip to the beach you took when you were ten. It's filled with your laughter and your humour and it dulls the throbbing in his bones. He kisses you goodbye once more before you run off with your parents.

"See you in the fall," you say.

He smiles. "See you in the fall." 

*

Before he leaves he finds another Virginia Woolf postcard in his mailbox. This time it's just a portrait but the back reads, "Woolf wrote to her lover Vita, 'It gets worse steadily – your being away. All the sleeping draughts and irritants have worn off, and I’m settling down to wanting you, doggedly, dismally, faithfully – I hope that pleases you. It’s damned unpleasant for me. I can assure you.' I've tried to say my feelings better than that but I can't. I miss you and I love you."

*

a/n: i might do a part two to this. maybe. probably. ignore any errors. i'm lazy. sorry. thanks. bye.

[hornydilfsinyourarea]

just thinking about your detective lover who unknowingly becomes your partner in crime. they're stressed on finding the infamous serial killer, frustrated with the lack of clue to go on, unaware that they were the one that let the said killer get away <3

the trash you told them to throw out? the murder weapon is neatly wrapped in there. whenever he's close to finding a lead? you're there massaging his tense shoulders, convincing him that maybe he's taking the wrong way. the killer somehow always two steps ahead? well, maybe he should think twice about revealing his plans to you.

and if you somehow managed to put the blame on an innocent civilian? well.. that's just a bonus.

-🌹

ILOVETHISSOMUCHHH (for some reason I thought of Will Graham)

𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄....𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝖺 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗌 𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖺𝗅 𝗄𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗋, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝖾𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗉𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝖾 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝗎𝗍- 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗇, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗄𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗌𝗍𝗒𝗅𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗐𝖺𝗒𝗌 𝖽𝗂𝖿𝖿𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋—𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝖺𝗌… 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆, 𝗂𝗇 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗄𝗂𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝖾𝖿𝗍 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝗂𝗆𝖾 𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗇𝖾, 𝗍𝖺𝗎𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆, 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗆𝗎𝖼𝗁 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗈𝗒𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗍, 𝗐𝗁𝗈 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗇𝖾𝗑𝗍 𝗏𝗂𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗆—𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝖼𝖺𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖺𝗒? 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗍, 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 𝖽𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗂𝗋 𝖾𝗒𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆, 𝗐𝖺𝗍𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝗀𝗎𝗌𝗁 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝖽𝗒, 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌… 𝖾𝗑𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖺𝗋𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀… 𝖡𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗆𝖾𝗍 𝐇𝐈𝐌, 𝗀𝗈𝖽, 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝖿𝖾𝖼𝗍- 𝖺 𝖽𝖾𝗍𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗈… 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄… 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗈 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗈𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝖾, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖻𝗎𝗆𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋, 𝗆𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝖺𝗏𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗍𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗍𝗌—𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗈 𝗉𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖼𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾, 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗎𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀. 𝖠𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝗒𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗇𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗐𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋. 𝖮𝖿 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇'𝗍 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗌𝖺𝗆𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗀𝗋𝗂𝗉 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗉𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄 𝗁𝗂𝗆- 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗐𝗋𝖺𝗉 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝖺𝗍, 𝗌𝗊𝗎𝖾𝖾𝗓𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗂𝗇 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗁𝗂𝗆- 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗄𝖾 𝗉𝖾𝗈𝗉𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗁 𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗆𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝗉𝖾𝗈𝗉𝗅𝖾. 𝖧𝗈𝗐 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗇? 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝗂𝖽𝖽𝖾𝗇- 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗉𝖺𝗐𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗆𝖾𝗌, 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗈 𝖿𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝖾- 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾'𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝗇 𝖺 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖼𝖺𝗌𝖾, 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗆𝗎𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝖺𝗎𝗌𝖾𝖽. 𝖧𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗅𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆- 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗎𝗍𝗁. 𝖧𝖾𝗅𝗅, 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝗀𝗂𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍'𝗌 𝗁𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇- 𝗁𝖾 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗌𝖾𝖾 𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗆 𝗂𝗇 𝗂𝗍, 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝖽𝖾𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗅𝗌. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗆! 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗋… 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝗇'𝗍… 𝖳𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗋𝗎𝖻 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌, 𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗌𝖺𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗍𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒 𝗐𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖼𝗈𝗈 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗀𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗍 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌, 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗁𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝗌, 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝗐𝖾𝗅𝗅 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖽𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈𝖽𝖺𝗒- 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍… 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾 𝗎𝗉𝗈𝗇 𝗉𝗋𝖺𝗂𝗌𝖾- 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗐𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋… 𝗂𝗇 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝗌𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽. 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗌𝗈 𝖼𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀- 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗋 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗋𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌, 𝗆𝖾𝗋𝖼𝗂𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌, 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌… 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖼𝗈𝗎𝗅𝖽 𝗁𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖻𝗅𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗄 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎?

𝐨𝐡… 𝐢𝐟 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭…

[dragoncoven]

Dumb Transformers One Headcanons That I Thought Of Instead Of Being A Normal Person

Warnings: Language. Talks of death and murder, but nothing worse than what has already happened in the movie. Sentinel "Prime" deserves his own Trigger Warning.

This one is mainly for if they ever go to Earth/can be applied to other versions of Transformers: the one vehicle that no transformer can take after as an alt form is the Tesla Cybertruck. That vehicle is so much of a mechanical failure that it's physically impossible for any of them to even scan it. If anyone tried to transform into one, they would get contorted into a metal cube- like the ones that Wall-e makes- and it would take several medics to undo the damage. That's how bad it is and IRL I'm convinced that the so-called "truck" is made of garbage cans and fancy duck tape. They're better for being used as flying projectiles to hit Decepticons with. The owners can just get a new one.

Like the Bumblebee movie, TF One Bee would get his name from a human he befriends during a visit to Earth. The friend would still call him Badassatron every now and then when in a joking mood.

Pompeii by Bastille, especially the MMXXIII version, would make Optimus Prime cry like a baby.

I've been thinking and reading theories on why Bee was sent to Sublevel 50 since I first saw the movie. From the simple "probably pissed off Darkwing" to "accidentally uncovered something related to Sentinel Prime's treachery", but guys what if it's both? Like Bee loading the "trash" crates onto the trains like we see in the movie, but somehow bumps into Darkwing and a bunch of energon spills out from the crate. He is taken in and reported to Sentinel, who tells Darkwing to yeet Bee down the trash chute. The Blue Bastard joyfully agrees to do so since Bee has pissed him off multiple times on other jobs. He even plays a cruel joke by telling the optimistic bot that he's got a new job for him. The whole energon debacle was forgotten over time by Bee until he goes to the surface and uncovers the truth.

Speaking of Darkwing, he runs away from both Autobots and Decepticons fearing punishment from both leaders (Optimus would put him in jail for abuse to minors and aiding and abetting Sentinel like in the headcanon above, Megatron would just give him the old Kit-Kat treatment) and would end up being spotted by the Quintessons. He's the first Cybertronian they have seen since Sentinel promised them more energon so they kidnap and question him about why they haven't received any shipment since then. They kill him after Optimus sends them that message at the end of the film saying that they won't be receiving any more energon and leave his scrapped body on Iacon's doorstep as their war declaration. Sorry that was a little dark, but I just hate the dude. Not as much as I hate Sentinel, but it's pretty close.

Speaking of Blue Bastards, Sentinel's wings are add-on upgrades that were mainly for cosmetic purposes and that's why they seemed to come off so easily when D-16 was fighting him and they both crashed to the ground.

D-16 would have mained King Dedede in Smash Bros. Dont ask me why. I just like the way "dee" sounds.

Referring to the second Bee headcanon, Sentinel did tell Darkwing verbatim to "yeet B-127 to Sublevel 50 or something, I don't care just make sure he doesn't leave". I hate them so much I hope they both die in agonizing ways (Thank you Megs for taking out the trash).

Sometimes, in order to convince D-16 to get involved in his shenanigans, Orion Pax would bring out the puppy-dog eyes and Dee is helpless against it. He does manage to build up an immunity against it and that's why Orion didn't use it to convince him to participate in the race.

Optimus would later regret that part of his life because Bee uses his own puppy-dog eyes to convince him to give him extra missions or a cookie or something.

Elita trained Badassatron in fighting and also helps him realize when someone is being mean or taking advantage of him, that boi is naive even after the movie.

Anyone caught, tried, and convicted of knowingly helping Sentinel Prime with his evil acts (so Airachnid and those golden drones if they were sentient) during his reign is sentenced to 2 eons (or whatever is considered a very long time for transformers) of jail time with community service, stuff like building new housing quarters for the newly cogged former miners and tearing down whatever Sentinel statues weren't blasted off by Megatron and the High Guard and cleaning up after the ones that did. Optimus Prime may be trying to be peaceful and forgiving but he ain't a wuss.

Those who managed to slip through the cracks of the Iacon's new Justice system still become social pariahs and even if they join the Autobots in the coming wars, no one ever fully forgives them.

Because depending on how Cybertronians are born, I find it hard to believe that Sentinel managed to be there to take every t-cog out of every bot before they onlined. He probably paid off some nurses or something to do his dirty work for him.

Elita destresses after every day by doing something completely unrelated to kicking ass and taking names- writing crack fanfic of the Primes. She keeps it private and publishes under a pen name- especially when her former-worst-employee-in-the-world becomes a Prime. No one can ever know.

Bee finds out when using her computer because she forgot to close the Cybertronian equivalent to Microsoft Word. Everyone in Iacon knows who writes the funniest Prima×Megatronus fics by the end of the day.

Orion is a semi-constant reader, but once recognized a scene from one of her stories because he and D pulled that exact same stunt once and Solus reacts the same exact way that Elita did to them. As Optimus Prime, he now knows why he got deja vu.

No one makes fun of Elita for it, but she gets hounded by fans of her writing so much that she threatens to knock out the next person who brings it up to her in person. Despite this she keeps her Cybertronian A03 account alive and even still makes posts. Though she borrows less from her private life now.

She also absolutely refuses to write anything about Optimus Prime because that's her friend.

Bee learns better control of his knife hands over time and cooks with them now. Wait. Do Transformers even cook meals like us humans do? They have energon cubes in all sizes but that's the only thing we've seen them eat so far. Do they try anything with the plants and animals that they find on the surface? Cyber-deer venison, anyone?

I'm gonna cut my ramblings off now. Maybe there'll be a next time. Idk.

[willowlevulett]

The second part of my self-indulgent Jayce smokes sadly on the balcony drabble. Truly, this man can not be written without a desperate longing for his lab partner. Small CW for a small reference of Jayce's canon attempt.

-

The balcony door clicks closed. Jayce feels his throat close along with it.

The freezing air wraps like a wreath around the soft brown hair of his partner, puffs of white smoke from his lips. Puffs of white smoke from Jayce's. Despite everything, all he wants is to know what it tastes like if those clouds meet in the middle.

Despite everything, he wants to press his palm back to the side of his throat for the entirety of whatever was to come. He wants to feel the words Viktor was about to press into the distance between them. If they are to be seperated, deathly final and with a flourish, Jayce wishes he could enscribe each syllable to the harsh callouses on his fingers.

Dramatic, Caitlyn would tease him.

Viktor, despite the surely audible thrash of Jayce's fast beating heart, simply sits and does not speak for several minutes. He stares forward, his eyes focused in a way Jayce knew that he was not on this balcony. Not really. He was a million miles away, dissecting and ripping apart something with his teeth. Savoring each mouthful before he would even think to bring it to Jayce. So he waits, like he always does.

He busies himself with straightening out the mess he made. The one he can at least. The ash tray, now chipped but intact, returns to its spot on the small side table. He scoots his chair back into the position it was before and tosses the chip of glass from the tray into the small trash can where he throws his cigarette butts. It is finished woefully fast and Viktor still isn't looking at him.

He lights another cigarette, angling his chair away from Viktor and blowing the thick smoke out over the side of the balcony. The freezing wind whips it away and ushers it off to better things. His sighs through his teeth. This was stupid. He should just shatter this silence between them. He usually does whenever he messes up bad enough for Viktor to have to gut and clean the imagined Jayce in his head. Looking for clues in the bloodied carcass of his imagined partner of how he could be so stupid. Usually, Viktor would give up, hands buried deep in his spectral innards and demand that Jayce give him the taste of the real thing. And Jayce does, every time.

Jayce would let Viktor rip him open from sternum to hip hone. Would let him dig through as he pleases, caress organs and sinew with the methodical care only Viktor is capable of. Precise and calculated movements, laced with warmth and that small smile Jayce loves so dearly.

Jayce wants to scream 'tell me what to do and I'll do it. I would tear myself apart to keep you warm'.

He keeps his goddamn mouth shut and takes another drag.

"I hate that you got an apartment with a balcony."

The silence stretched for so long, the statement said so briskly that Jayce once again startles.

He huffs a humorless laugh, smoke bleeding through his lips as he repsonds.

"Come on, Vik. You know I'm too dramatic to settle for my own balcony."

"That's not funny."

"It's a little cold to be funny. What did you need? I know you need something. You got that look in your eye like your knee deep in my fucking brain stem." Viktor doesn't turn his head but his eyes shift, giving him an incredulous side eye like Jayce should have no idea that he does that. Feeling bold, Jayce steadily meets his sideways gaze, dares him to deny the assessment.

"I can guess but I always prefer to get my dress downs directly from your mouth." This makes the side of Viktor's mouth quirk. Jayce almost hopes he takes the bait that statement creates. At least it would make this conversation more bearable.

He doesn't.

"What you said." The pause afterward makes Jayce want to tear his hair out. God, he could feel that this conversation was going to be a sputtering engine. Roaring to life and then choking out black smoke, stuttering to a stop in painful stalls.

"You can't just," he bites down onto his lower lip, running it between his teeth before releasing it, "say things like that."

Jayce wishes Viktor would take him between his teeth. Leave dents and marks in him until Viktor was satisfied.

"But it was cruel of me to send you away like that. I apologize."

Cruel is how Viktor still hasn't fully looked at him. Cruel is the unsteady breath Jayce is taking and the pinprick of tears behind his eyes. Cruel is the freezing night air that rushes in the space between their bodies.

The conversation sputters black smoke.

Finally, after one long drag, Jayce rubs his temple and manages to push the words out, "Okay, well, thanks for that. And I am sorry that I made you uncomfortable. I'll keep my feelings to myself from now on."

Viktor seems to crumble in on himself at that. The side of his face looks pained which confuses Jayce. Is this conversation not a continuation of the rejection he received last night? What did Viktor want from this? It certainly wasn't what Jayce just said.

He could feel the cogs slipping in the machine but he couldn't see where it was misaligned. He needed to tear the hatch cover off, get his hands dirty, and potentially mangled in the process.

Well, if there's anything Jayce is good at, it was certainly throwing himself into the blazing heat of forward motion. What were a couple more scars anyway.

"Why does it make you so uncomfortable? Is it truly so horrible that I feel this way for you?" He meant to sound firm, maybe even stern. Instead he sounds petulant, small. The last part of the sentence whispered with a mortifying crack in his voice. He also realizes he hasn't said what he means. Not really. He knows his eyes poured out the truth like a weeping wound, staining Viktor and the couch below them both. But there is a misaligned cog here.

"Viktor, I-"

"I can't." Black smoke, a click of a tongue in frustration, the restart of the engine, "You can't play with me like this, Jayce. You can't look at me like all the hookups you sweep off their feet in bars. I can't be that for you." It was his turn for his voice to drop down into quiet and small. The voice crack sending painful shivers down Jayce's spine.

The statement is so confusing to him at first that he simply stays still for a second, his cigarette dropping ash between his thighs. Can't be that for you and all the hookups you sweep off their feet.

What?

"What?" The misaligned cog in the conversation catches him in the meat of his thumb, ripping out a chunk and sending his heart into a painful squeeze.

"You think that I- oh gods Viktor please look at me."

Finally, oh finally, Viktor turns and his molten honey gaze burns into Jayce. If he was a funeral pyre, Jayce would light the wood himself.

"You think I want a quick, messy fuck?" He huffs out a laugh at the thought. Gods, no. Jayce wanted to bash his skull open and leave his cerebrum as an offering at Viktor's feet.

"Well it makes the most logical sense. You were inebriated and looking at me like-" he clears his throat awkwardly, "like you wanted to eat me alive. After all these years? Of me quietly- well it made the most sense. And I got, emotional. Angry." He shakes his head as if this was the most ridiculous part of the situation, him being angry at Jayce.

"Quietly what, Viktor."

"Please, Jayce."

"Quietly what?"

The wind stills, as if holdings its breath along with the two men on the balcony. Jayce was and always will be reckless.

Jayce slides down onto his knees, the cold ground immediately biting through his jeans and into the bone. He puts his hands forward, clasped as if in prayer, onto Viktor's lap. When the other man startles and looks down at him with a wild look in his eye, Jayce slips his prayers between them, grabbing firmly onto Viktor's hands. His breath, tinged with cigarette smoke and the heat of his emotions boiling over in his stomach, puffs up into the face of the man he's so desperately in love with.

"I am in love with you. So painfully, so wholly that those words aren't enough. If I could tear out my heart and let you inspect it for defects, for a lie, I would. If I could carve your every breath into my ribs, I would. Whatever you want. Whatever you need." He shifts on the ground, pain pulsing up from his right knee. A crunching noise reaches past the pulse pounding in his ears, and he realizes that there was a tiny shard of glass under that knee. He hopes the wound scars.

"I don't care what you have 'quietly' been feeling this whole time. If it's a fraction of what I feel or simply tolerance. I don't care. I'm done folding this away and trying to be normal. I will be whatever you want me to be. A lover, a partner only in the lab, your bed warmer on cold nights. Whatever you want. If I could hand over my soul for you, I would"

As soon as he finishes his dramatic speech, he realizes he means it. More than anything, he means it. He feels insane. He is insane. Those are insane words to say to someone, no matter how entwined you are with them. Despite this, he wants to say more. Needs to say more.

"I don't want to eat you alive." Jayce presses a kiss reverently to Viktor's red tinged knuckles. "I want you to eat me alive."

Black smoke clears, the engine clicks into gear. Viktor's hand snakes out from Jayce's grip and latches onto his chin, a mirror of last night but flipped on its head. Last nights grip was stilling, horrifying, causing him to beg for forgiveness before even knowing the sin. Instead, this touch was electrifying, a potential. A spark for a wildfire that Jayce's mouth stretches open to catch on his tongue. Viktor's thumb sweeps to the side, catching on his lower lip and staying there like it was always meant to.

"You mean it." His mouth is apage in awe, his breath ghosting past his lips and puffing over Jayce's face. "Fuck, you really mean it, Jayce."

And like god sending rain down to parched earth, Viktor presses his freezing, chapped lips to Jayce's. The spark alights on Jayce's teeth and burns through him in a blink of an eye, a gasped breath pushed against a closed mouth.

The kiss descends quickly from the press of lips Viktor might have meant it to be into Jayce desperately angling his head upwards, greedily sucking Viktor's bottom lip between his. Determined to feel where his teeth had sunk into it just a couple minutes earlier. It tastes like smoke, like hot iron, like day old coffee. He drinks it down and begs for more, pressing upwards so his hands can slip from Viktor's lap and into his hair. It's sweaty at the nape from a day in the lab and tangled from his incessant play of the strands there. It's everything Jayce thought it would be. Viktor gasps against his mouth, and that too is everything Jayce had hoped it would be and so much more. Hot and humid breaths passed between mouths. Teeth clicking in a desperate attempt to get closer. Viktor's hand tangling in the fabric of Jayce's sweater, tugging insistently forward, forward, forward.

They break for air out of necessity, but Jayce doesn't let them separate. He buries his face into that column of throat he so desperately wants to map with his tongue.

"I fear more talking will be needed." Viktor out of breath, chest heaving panting breaths that Jayce can feel where his lips brush his neck.

"After. Whatever you need. But after." And Jayce pulls his face down to his once more.

[majoryeager104]

im rlly freaked out rn cause the coyoetes are howling nearby my house rn and im already having trouble sleeping due to night terror

they sound like fucking sirens, from the sounds of em its a big pack of them

they probably just killed something from the yipping :/

could u maybe due a comfort fic (whenever you have the time, dont rush) of Dabi comforting a reader who gets really freaked out by coyoetes due to them losing a childhood dog to coyoetes?

hope ur doing well and taking care of yourself! Have a blessed night or day :3

I’m scared of em too 😭 I used to live out in the country growing up and when I’d take the trash to the end of the driveway I’d always bring my flashlight, and one night I heard like a crap ton of em and when I turned on my flashlight to look in the field across the street where I heard it there were like twenty of em and they all went dead quiet 😭😭😭 I was like ten and ran away screaming ofc but like I still think about it sometimes 💀

and I didn’t lose a dog to coyotes, but I did lose my baby goat sunshine to em when I was little, which was rough bc he was the sweetest lil thing T_T

anyways sorry this took me a while I was sick and had a migraine that lasted two days straight 🥲

✦••······················••✦•······················•✦••······················••✦

It had been a long time since you’d been in an area like this. A little ways out of the city, where you could see the stars clearer, and every night was filled with the sound of wind and crickets. You’d come out here to meet someone on a job, settling in an old building not far off from the road. It was cold, but you’d brought blankets, and had made it work. At least the building was in good shape- a lucky find out in these more rural areas. Dabi went with you of course, (he’d never let you go far for a mission alone) and was sleeping rather soundly in the calm environment, snoring softly at your side, totally peaceful.

But you on the other hand were very much awake, listening with your eyes wide open. Because you didn’t just hear crickets outside, or the occasional gust of wind making the windows creak; you were hearing coyotes, and they sounded close. It wasn’t your first time hearing them, of course, you’d grown up in an area very much like this, but maybe that was the problem. The sound of their barking and yipping made goosebumps crawl along your skin, up your arms and back, like the kind you’d get in an indescribably terrifying situation, despite the fact that you were currently very safe.

You sat up straight, the blankets you’d brought falling down and leaving you to be hit by the cold air. You couldn’t tell if you were shivering from the cold, or the twisted feeling in your gut telling you that you should have left this mission to someone else. Every howl and bark you heard brought back a single terrible memory, each second of it more visceral than the last. You were so trapped in thought that you didn’t notice Dabi sit up next to you, his blue eyes taking in your shivering.

“hey, what’re you doing up like that? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, doll”

You flinched slightly at his voice, and at his sickeningly warm hand as it touched your shoulder. You were so on edge that you had him looking around like there was an intruder. “Hey. Y/n” he said your name a little louder than he’d spoken before, his voice still gruff and groggy from sleep. You looked over at him, the warmth of his hand not so disconcerting anymore as his worried tone shook you from your thoughts.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, relaxing a little now that you seemed less panicked. “Don’t you hear them?” You whispered quietly, just as a rather loud bark could be heard out the window. Dabi looked up, listening for a moment. “The coyotes? They’re not gonna get in here, you know, and if they did you know I’d burn em” he replied, his warm hand squeezing your shoulder. But he could tell there was more to it by your reaction. The way you shook your head and furrowed your brow, the way your eyes flickered between that fear and something else.

“y/n, just talk to me.”

He said it so simply as he tugged you closer, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He was always so warm, his scarred arms feeling rough but ever so welcome against your skin. You sighed, leaning back as your racing heart steadied, the feeling of his calloused hands tracing circles on your stomach outweighing the coiled up anxiety in your gut. “I just hate coyotes… when I was little, I had a pet dog, and…”

You didn’t finish the sentence. You didn’t need to, really. Dabi sighed, his hands still working gentle circles under your shirt against your skin as he tugged you to lay down, his free hand tossing the blankets back over you, warming your formerly shivering body. “That sucks…’m sorry” he mumbled against your hair, pulling you closer against him. He didn’t really know what else to say, or do, really, till he got an idea.

He sat up, the warmth of his body leaving yours causing you to look up in confusion. He reached over for your bag, pulling out your earbuds. Before you could ask, or even sit up, he’d laid back down, pulling out your phone and sticking an earbud in your ear. “What’s your password- oh wait never mind I remember” he muttered, typing it in. How he knew it, you weren’t entirely sure. You glanced over at him, watching his blue eyes scan over the screen, scrolling for a moment. “You need new playlists. Your music taste sucks ass” he chuckled, tugging you closer with his free arm.

You didn’t object, your previous nerves satiated as you moved closer. The sound of the coyotes was muffled significantly by the earbud in one ear, as well as his heartbeat thudding softly against the other. He picked a tune and tossed your phone aside, sighing as he settled in again, the arm that he’d pulled you closer by wrapped around you and gently rubbing your side.

“don’t worry about the dogs, ‘k? Just go to sleep”

He said quietly, his voice vibrating through his chest and against your skin, the feeling so familiar and ordinary and yet so much more meaningful now as he used it to keep your worries at bay. He whispered and hummed till you eventually fell asleep, after all.

✦••······················••✦•······················•✦••······················••✦

Definitely the song he picked because I know for a fACT this man listens to way too much Radiohead

[neuroticbookworm]

Theory of Love Romcom Rewatch Episode 1: Dear Dakanda

Yesterday I watched Dear Dakanda for the ToL rewatch project and unsurprisingly, spent the whole time facepalming over Mhoo. The movie looked gorgeous, and the cinematography constantly put me in my I Told Sunset About You feels. Yet it was clearly evident that Third had learned all the wrong lessons from this movie, as @lurkingshan pointed out here. The movie follows Mhoo as he makes his way through college, while pining for his best friend, Dakanda, the whole time. He chooses to never speak of his desires and ultimately gets his heart broken when Dakanda starts dating. As the movie ends on an ambiguous note with Mhoo emphasizing how his friendship with Dakanda will never change, I couldn’t help but notice the romanticization of pining, the implied purity of choosing friendship over romance, and how it affected the friendship that Mhoo (and Third) hold so dear.

Both Dear Dakanda and Theory of Love looks like a friends-to-lovers narrative on the surface, but I propose that it is actually a pseudo friends-to-lovers narrative. Mhoo and Third become infatuated with Dakanda and Khai from the very first moment they meet them. Third accepts and enjoys Khai’s friendship, while simultaneously watering his affection for Khai in secret till it’s rooted deep in his heart. This colors every interaction between them, because the parameters of relationship that Khai and Third are operating under are very different. Khai thinks that he is just ditching his dudebro best friend to go spend time with whoever is his Girlfriend of the Week, but for Third it serves as yet another painful reminder that he is never gonna be as important to Khai as Khai is to him.

The show even underscores the difference by having Khai genuinely cross a line that is egregious, by heterosexual male friendship standards. When Khai gets caught by Third after he cancels plans to watch Toy Story 4 together, and instead takes his new girlfriend to the movie, Khai apologizes to Third the next day. Because he knew that watching all the movies of the Toy Story franchise together was an important friendship ritual, especially for film majors such as them, and that it was a real dick move to violate that pact.

Third’s pining causes him undue pain, because his actions when it comes to Khai are not in line with what a friend might do, but rather what a lovesick fool would do. When Khai asked Third why he threw his girlfriend’s stuff in the trash after Khai had asked him to return it to her, a friend would’ve immediately told him that she was the one who told him to toss it all in the garbage. But what did Third do? He stood there and let Khai scream at him, then slinked out to the garbage cans, retrieved the box from inside the trash can, came back in and gave it to Khai, and got the door shut in his face for good measure. Good fucking god.

I am not overlooking Khai's abhorrent behavior in this episode, I felt extremely uncomfortable watching how he treats Third like a doormat every chance he gets. But I will say though, Khai could take Third for granted because Third let him, from the very beginning of their relationship. Mhoo and Third’s secret feelings make their respective friendships disingenuous and lopsided from the get-go, and it was almost tragicomic, watching them convince themselves to pine their hearts out in secret, all in the name of protecting their friendship.

[a-x-ce]

Worst part of the end of Enies Lobby is Zoro's bullshit pride take on what Usopp and Luffy's fight was about. I need to go and look at the translation used in the manga but in the anime they have him say ''we also can't keep trusting a guy who started all of this on a whim'' like bitch WHAT?!

The fuck did he witness throughout Water 7 that would make him say something so dismissive of the heart of what that fight was about? 'Whim' completely trivializes everything that happened, every single word Usopp said, it dismisses Merry and everything she did. It pisses me off so much.

Also makes me mad how rude he was to everyone else, especially Nami, during that whole scene. Telling her to shut up as if her opinion doesn't matter when truly her opinion should matter the most, like aside from Luffy being the captain, she's the real reason they can sail the sea at all!

Usopp's the whole reason Merry could save them at all (aside from Iceburg patching her up during Aqua Laguna) getting off Enies Lobby, AND he was the person who motivated Luffy to get up and finish Lucci off. 'Cause up until that point Luffy's heart was still broken from losing him in the first place, like Luffy knew his crew wasn't complete without Usopp and he regretted not being able to keep him from leaving.

Why Zoro felt the need to talk over Luffy and decide things for him, a direct display of disrespecting the captain he's holding against Usopp, while Luffy just goes along with it versus make a decision himself. Luffy SHOULD have gone to talk to him, BOTH of them should have had a deeper, more meaningful conversation about the fight, Usopp got to say goodbye to Merry in a way that satisfied him AND Luffy at that point, all they needed was an apology. And Usopp was not the only one who needed to give one, Luffy handled that abysmally from the start, it could have been settled way better than Zoro's method of needing Usopp to grovel and beg while letting Luffy get away with not giving a fuck about how he handled everything to begin with.

I mean thankfully Luffy learned from that experience, as we see when Sanji left during Whole Cake Island, but it came after having completely ignored Usopp's core issues, never addressing them directly, hence why he then goes into Thriller Bark not any different except now he's OPENLY bragging about being negative and self-loathing. Like very cool, very well handled guys...

It's almost like Oda couldn't have that happen then because Usopp still needed to have his core issues (recognizing he IS brave, he IS strong, he IS smart and useful and needed!!!) and that the best place to do that wasn't until Elbaf. Like he left his character on pause for hundreds of chapters and many MANY years and it's only in the next few that we might get the full payoff as we finally enter the Elbaf arc. (Which is interestingly also turning into a Robin-centric arc so Oda does seem to be cooking with that one already.)

Anyway, had to vent about that again, 'cause it's the only time I ever got mad at any of the crew and it was never addressed again. As soon as Usopp does say sorry he's accepted right away and they all go back to acting like nothing ever happened (which is how Luffy was operating anyway the moment he woke up back at Water 7...). Zoro's prideful way of doing shit is often not the best way to handle things and thankfully that's been pointed out before (Punk Hazard by Tashigi) but I genuinely wonder if Oda has any plans to tackle that as a character flaw in any later arcs.

[somber-cryptid]

Kim Rok Soo learning to cook at a really young age.

Like. Five or six. When there was nothing ready to eat in his uncle's cabinets that he could find. The milk had gone bad, and the only other thing in the fridge was an egg or two.

His uncle hadn't been back for two days, and he preferred it that way. He could wash his own clothes in the sink and hang them to dry by the window. Get up for school by himself, dress himself, and walk to school by himself. The only issue was food.

He got food at school for free. That was the best food in Kim Rok Soo's opinion. Food he did not have to risk asking his uncle for. His teachers even praised him for eating all of his side dishes when his classmates were picky about theirs. Being picky was something that you needed money for.

Kim Rok Soo didn't have any money. If he did, then his uncle probably took it with him. When he was older, he'd get a bunch of money and share it with everyone but his uncle. That would be a while, though, and he was hungry now.

Yesterday, he'd eaten the last slice of bread in the entire apartment (he'd checked everywhere, even his uncle's room.) It'd been moldy, but as his uncle often said, 'beggars can't be choosers.' Kim Rok Soo now missed the bread he'd had to pick little blue spots off of. He should've eaten the spots, too. Maybe then he wouldn't be as hungry as he was right now.

Now he stood in front of the fridge (careful not to open it, his uncle got mad if kim rok soo ran up the electricity bill) thinking hard about the egg sitting inside of it. What if his uncle got home and wanted the egg? Then what? Get hit a lot just because Kim Rok Soo couldn't wait until the next day? It wasn't even the weekend yet.

Kim Rok Soo still ended up opening the fridge and holding the egg in his hand. He could crack it open over a cup and slurp it down. Kim Rok Soo didn't want to take such a risk for something he couldn't even chew though.

So he decided to cook it. He'd seen it in books, television, and even in person when his uncle was still nice to him. If he could do the rest by himself, he could do this by himself, too.

Kim Rok Soo gathered his supplies (a stool to stand on, a pan, and his uncle's egg) and stood in front of the stove. Remembering what cooking an egg looked like, he cracked his egg on the counter and emptied the inside onto the pan. A few eggshells fell in, but Kim Rok Soo just picked them out like he did the blue spots in the bread.

He knew which knob to use to turn the stove on, but he didn't know how much. So he decided to turn it halfway and left it on medium.

Kim Rok Soo stood there for what he felt was an eternity just watching his uncle's egg. Then the edges started to turn white, and he felt a little thrill. His stomach grumbled in anticipation. The pan kept getting hotter, and eventually, Kim Rok Soo couldn't see the pan through the egg anymore. As far as Kim Rok Soo knew, the egg was done.

A very smart child, Kim Rok Soo made sure to turn off the stove. His uncle had left it on before and blamed him for it, so Kim Rok Soo couldn't forget how important it was.

He put his plate on the table and then tried to flip the pan over so the egg would come out. The yolk hit the side of his plate, but the rest of his egg didn't budge. Kim Rok Soo frowned.

What the hell? It never ended up that way for anybody else. He'd just have to ask the auntie downstairs about it. She'd taught him how to fold his shirts too.

In the end, Kim Rok Soo found a spoon and scraped the rest of the egg into his plate.

It was pretty good, or at least Kim Rok Soo thought so. He was still hungry afterwards, but not as hungry. The entire process left him feeling satisfied. Another thing he could do on his own. Soon enough, he'd be able to live on his own and never see his uncle again.

Thinking about it, he'd have to get a job too, wouldn't he? You had to earn your meals after all.

[butch-bakugo]

Oh my God a fucking " anti-transandrophobia truther" perisex fuck wrote word for word, in a massive fucking post " I wonder if intersex people know being Intersex affects your gender" (NO SHIT???)

And!

" I'm pretty sure all the afab/cafab (coercive meaning ya know ... GENITAL MUTILATION OF INTERSEX BABIES FORCING THEM INTO THE AFAB IDENTITY. The whole camab/cafab thing was stolen from the intersex community.) intersex people who claim the transfem title don't actually have transfem experiences"(regardless of the kind of the type of intersexuality they are?? You are just outting yourself as someone totally fucking blind to actual intersex experiences.)and! " They need their own term because they don't 'fit'". They tried to dress up the offensive bigoted nonsense they just spewed by trying to make it sound like they had our best interests at heart and "shouldn't be forced into using perisex language".... You are litterally trying to push intersex people you don't like out of our terminology to other them .... This literally reeks of literal terf rhetoric " most intersex lean one way and therefore shove them under that label" like...

Ur both intersexist freaks and bigots just in different ways. Imagine trying to claim you care about intersex people then try to determine our labels for us and push us in the way you think we should go regardless of our actual fucking lived experiences because you don't like sharing the transfem community with people who've experienced both transmysogny and transmascphobia. Not to even mention the fact the last time people tried to make a term to talk about their experiences, you've not shut up about it in years and called it a mens rights movement to try and silence an entire fucking portion of the trans community so you don't have to care about them. You literally fucking said " trans men experience both transphobia and mysogny but not at the same time (we do????) but trans women do" ok and ur blind to Transmasc issues because you think that nonsense and we are the same as cis men. Ur blind to our issues in the way you accuse us of being blind to your issues but only expect us to shut up and listen.

Anyway, denying that trans men can't face their own issues while also ignoring any trans man who disagrees with you and then attempting to delegitimize all intersex people who look you dead in the face in the transfem and Transmasc playing fields and tell you ur wrong...

Bro just say you hate Transmascs and anyone who might be slightly aligned with them and go home you intersexist piece of shit.

Also the whole " stop calling anti-transandrophobia truthers baddels! That's something specific"

My brother in CHRIST, THEY ARE LITTERALLY UNIRONICALLY IN THE USERNAMES OF THE PEOPLE YOU REBLOG FROM. BULLSHIT.

Anyway the fact y'all are all fucking white trans women and CONSTANTLY bring up black and indigenous people's experiences with gender while also being unironic baddels aka a horrifically abusive to trans men (including rape) and racist ASF movement within your community tells me everything i need to know as a native american two spirit intersex person with no "lean" whose experienced transmysogny and transandrophobia.

This is why they don't trust you motherfuckers, you got no class, just entitlement and weak ass attempts at silencing people you already hate and a weird trauma fetish for black and indigenous people. There is over lap between the transfem experiences and bipoc experiences but there is also an overlap between Transmasc and bipoc experiences, nonbinary and bipoc, like almost everyone can relate to our shit, ur not special 😭 leave us alone and don't use our oppression to try and legitimize your fundamentally transphobic views.

[yutamayo]

...is it that obvious?

[cielosuerte]

hitting my head on the wall really hard over and over rn bc one of my roommates genuinely feels like he was put on this earth to make me a worse person