#also the tense in this post shifted like a million times

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

stay for a fortnight

a/n: as promised, here is part three of the bodyguard!bucky story ৎ୭

summary: “yes, ground rules,” you sighed, forcing your eyes to rest on anything but him, “it’s just you and me here for two whole weeks, so we’ll need to come up with a plan.”

warnings: bodyguard!bucky barnes x reader, smut, reader’s mom is the british ambassador to france, age gap (10-15 years), tattooed!bucky (both a metal arm and tattoos as picked in a poll by you), beefy!bucky, forbidden romance, staying for two weeks at a chateau in the south of france, forced proximity, bucky is a shameless hoe and we love him for it, kissing, love confession, shower sex, dirty talk, manhandling, size kink, belly bulge, gaping, handjob, fingering, impact play, squirting, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cumplay

word count: 3870

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“I’m sorry, darling. I tried to get out of it, I really did, even for just one day, but I can’t join you at the chateau this time.” 

“It’s alright, mom,” you exhaled, “I understand.”

Soothingly rubbing her palm down the length of your arm, she suggested, “well, since it won’t be as crowded down there, why don’t you stay a little longer? Maybe a proper break might cheer you up. Maybe one extra week?”

“Actually, two weeks of alone time is just what I need right now,” a faint smile managed to emerge on your lips, “thank you.”

“Great! You go and pack your things, I’ll let Barnes know to do the same,” she announced, and squashed the brief relief you felt just as soon as it had washed over you. 

It felt like ages that Bucky made you sit and wait in the car while he went around the estate to do his initial sweep, making sure it was safe and secure before you got to enter. 

The tenseness that still floated ethereally in the air between you didn’t fade away when he finally came back to crack open the door for you to exit the vehicle. 

“So,” you exhaled once the two of you had crossed the threshold of the chateau, “my room is the one upstairs and at the end of the hallway, yours is wherever the fuck you want, there are like a million bedrooms in this place.”

Your footsteps echoed against the elegantly tiled floors as you twisted to check that he even heard you. He had, seeing as his gaze was still ever glued upon you, though he didn’t offer you a reply. 

Shifting the large bag that hung from your shoulder, the luggage that you stubbornly hadn’t let him carry, you paused just before your stride began to ascend the grand staircase in the middle of the foyer.

“Also, I think we should come up with some ground rules.” 

Your bodyguard’s dark eyebrows then crinkled as he half scoffed, “ground rules?”

“Yes, ground rules,” you sighed, forcing your eyes to rest on anything but him, “it’s just you and me here for two whole weeks, so we’ll need to come up with a plan.”

Exhaling slowly, he simply stated, “whatever you say.”

Before you then began to drift up the wide steps, you cast a glance over your shoulder and said, “meet me in the kitchen in ten.”

“Alright,” you breathed, leaning against the cold marble of the kitchen island as you stared down at the small list you’d scribbled down on a stray post-it you had found in the bottom of your bag, slightly crumbled and with a doodle on the other side, “first rule I’d like to instate is an obvious one, but still needs to be set and stone in order for us to be here together. We can’t sleep together.”

When you heard a low sigh seep from Bucky’s lips, your eyes snapped up to glare at him. 

“Hey! Take this fucking seriously, okay?”

“I am,” he assured you, though his tone indicated the complete opposite of his words. 

“So, rule number two is in prolonging of the first one, which is that we can’t do anything that’ll make us want to sleep with each other,” you cast your glance back down to your messy handwriting, “two A, no swimming in the pool, two B, no nudity, two C, definitely no drinking, and two D, no staring at me,” your eyes flickered back up to catch his blue ones, “especially not like that,” you swiftly gestured to the way he gazed at you.

“Like what?” he didn’t change the manner he looked at you. 

“Like you’ve seen me naked!” 

Your shriek unfortunately only won you the glimpse of a smug smirk upon Bucky’s lips, one you swiftly tried to ignore. 

“Okay,” you blinked in an effort to redirect your attention back to the task at hand and not the butterflies that now soared in your stomach and made you slightly dizzy, “rule number three is technically also under the subsection of number two, but we can’t eat our meals together. No candle-lit dinners, not even a snack.”

Budding in, the man on the other side of the kitchen counter then said, “can I say something?”

With a soft sigh, you mustered the courage to look up at him, “shoot.”

“Do you wanna decide what I wear as well while you're at it? Maybe also when I’m allowed to breathe?”

His jest didn’t as much as conjure a twitch at the corners of your lips as your gaze simply narrowed in his direction, “are you mocking me?”

Boldly leaning his forearms down against the tabletop, he stared back at you, “so what if I am?” though when you assumed he was kidding and you let out a groan, you heard him go on, “all I’m saying is that maybe we don’t set a list of hard rules just to avoid each other. We seem to do just fine when we toss them all out the window.”

“I'm sorry, wait, what?” you blinked. 

“We’ve got two weeks here, so why don’t we make them count?” he shrugged. 

Mouth agape, you dumbfoundedly stared back at him, “you’re kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” calmly, his head tilted slightly as he held your stunned gaze, “just think about it.”

The sun only barely managed to set before you felt yourself crack and give in to your bodyguard’s offer. 

Storming into his room, his dark brows only got the chance to rise slightly in astonishment before you nearly tackled him to the ground, throwing your arms around his bulky frame and crashing your lips against his before any of you could say even a single word. 

You didn’t try to hide the raw emotions that came pouring out, causing your efforts to be rough and desperate, though it didn’t take long before Bucky’s touch mirrored the feral nature of your own, leaving you dizzy as you eventually withdrew from the starved kiss, clutching onto his shirt for support as you breathlessly ordered. 

“Take off your clothes.”

Keeping your eyes closed, you tilted your head back to let the drizzle of water rinse out the shampoo from your locks. 

The door to the bathroom was wide open, so when you twisted your form to face the showerhead, you didn’t notice as your faithful protector stopped in his slow tracks right on the other side of the threshold. His eyes trailed down your glistening spine till the sight of you caused him to crumble completely and take advantage of the gift that had just fallen into his lap.  

A low purr vibrated within your chest as the warm water rained down upon you, though suddenly, it wasn’t just the hot shower embracing your form, as a pair of burly arms snaked their way around you. Leaning back into his bulky frame, you caught sight of a crumbled bundle of his clothes tossed on the other side of the fogged-up shower door. A blissful hum crackled within you like a roiling fire as you felt his lips begin to plant soft pecks along the line of your shoulders. 

Though as his touch began to bloom and wander boldly down your frame, a gentle hiss tore through your lazy smile as his fingers came into contact and brushed over your core. 

Nipping at your neck, he murmured, “oh, do you want me to stop?” not removing his metal hand, though halted the pattern he had begun to draw over your petals. 

He already knew full well just how sore and swollen you still were. It would have been impossible not to be after the vigorous activities you’d kept the past week busy with.  

Digging your digits into his forearms to keep you in his embrace, you shot back hazily over your shoulder, “don’t you dare,” before a whimper rippled out of you as Bucky once again rolled your puffy pearl beneath his steely touch. 

“How is it that we’ve already done this for a whole week, yet it only feels like a day?” his voice tickled the shell of your ear as you leaned more of your weight back into him. 

“Really? Because I don’t believe you’d be able to fuck me in a day as many times as you have this past week,” you jested through a whimper, “even for a guy with your stamina.” 

“It’s a good thing it’s just the two of us here… imagine if we hadn’t been alone, if it hadn’t been me walking by and seeing you seduce me like the wicked temptress that you are?”

“I wasn’t trying to do anything of the sort,” you chuckled airily. 

“Really?” he teased just as his touch did, “leaving the door open, that wasn’t on purpose?” 

“No, I swear,” you then tilted your head and admitted, “at least not this time…”

“You mean the time back a month ago when didn’t close the door while taking a bath,” he murmured casually, “then called out to me, asking if I could fetch you a towel, and I had to pretend not to hear you?”

Spinning around at once, your eyebrows were nearly at your hairline as you blinked, “you knew?” 

“Baby, you never had to play that hard just to torture me,” he smiled down at you, “that move was downright cruel,” before he reached for the knob and switched off the water.

A squeal bubbled out of you as Bucky then suddenly plucked you up into his arms, wasting no time before he stepped out of the shower, only pausing for a beat in the comparatively more spacious area, though only in order to manhandle you further and toss you over his shoulder before his feet began to shift once more, leaving wet prints in their wake on the cool tile as he strode towards the exit. 

Strung over his shoulder as if you were a wet piece of laundry and he was the line, you giggled, “wait!” and just managed to catch one of the fluffy towels hanging on the hook he passed. Blinking down at the floor as he crossed the threshold, you watched as droplets of water dribbled down from you both and left a trail on the herringbone flooring, “you’re dripping, you’re gonna get the whole house wet!”

Landing his wide palm in a wet smack across your ass, he chuckled, “I thought that was my line, sweetheart,” teasing about the manner your pussy drooled for him, already leaking down your thighs at this point. 

Soon, the long hallway disappeared from your periphery as Bucky entered the nearest of the many bedrooms, though you barely had time to register your new surroundings before the world fell out from under you and he plopped you down on the bed in the middle of the room. 

Standing his ground and looming above the giggle that was your horizontal form, he stole the towel from your grasp before dragging the terrycloth across your skin. As he dried off the droplets of water that clung to your body, a handful of pecks adorned your flesh as well, often shadowing the cloth. 

Gazing up at him with smile-crinkled eyes, you stretched your feet up in the air, against his torso, and rested them against his wide shoulders as he briefly paused to dry himself off as well. But as he returned to sweep the towel across the last remaining spot upon your body that still glistened from the shower, the peck he pressed to the valley between your boobs was swiftly halted as your grasp found his jaw and you guided his face up towards your own. 

As you brought his lips to your own, you swiftly felt the mattress dent and ripple as he crawled up to hover above you. 

“Ahh, fuck…” he then groaned against your lips as your hand snaked down between your bodies and began to stroke his throbbing girth. 

Tossing the towel to the side, a gasp soon tumbled out past your lips as Bucky’s palms found your tits in a gentle squeeze. Your pebbly nipples stood up to the challenge as he swept a knuckle teasingly across one of them before capturing it in a pinch and tugging slightly to summon a sinful sound deep within your body. 

As your fist slowly twisted up and down his hard length, his close proximity caused your own knuckles to brush across your clit at every heated pass. Almost unconsciously, you tilted your hips slightly and nudged the bulbous tip of him through your glistening petals, the pleasure of which caused your eyes to roll in your skull. 

But just before he could take the initiative and catch your fleeting invitation to let him inside, you caught him off guard and suddenly rolled him onto his back with your frame plastered atop of him. 

Propping yourself up slightly, you grasped his fat girth before slowly sinking down upon it, “o-oh my god,” couldn’t help but breathlessly tumble out of your lungs as a flat palm came down to brace on his broad chest and your thighs gently quivered at the sudden stretch of him. It was a few times that you had to pause on your slow journey down just in order to catch your breath, as his intimidating size caused you to question yet again how you’d ever been able to take it before. 

“Atta girl,” his grip dug into your hips when you slowly began to move, “just like that…” though you still couldn’t persuade your pelvis to sink all the way down to meet his own. 

As you found a gentle roll, one of Bucky’s palms scooped up past your waist and caught one of your tits. Your back arched slightly as he played with your boobs, his hand travelling back and forth as you rode him, though a shuttering moan rippled through your body as he landed a gentle tap down upon one of them, a shiver swiftly trickling down your spine at the spark.

But just as you thought the bodyguard beneath you was blissfully enjoying the show and letting you do all the work yourself, his hips then abruptly offered you a greedy buck.  

“Bucky!” you nearly screamed as he buried the last few inches that you had so fiercely struggled to conquer on your own, “that’s–, I–, holy fuck!” 

You hadn’t been able to take all of him on your own, so he just gave you the little nudge that you needed, even if that nudge thoroughly punched all of the oxygen out of your lungs, he still made you take every staggering inch.

“Come on, don’t stop now,” a chuckle escaped him at your reaction before his palm came down upon your ass to get you back to work, “make yourself cum on this cock.” 

Shakily, you tried to pick up your rhythm once more, dropping your hips to meet his, though he couldn’t remain still for long before he began to fuck up into your warmth. Heavy taps echoed throughout the room as his balls slapped against your slick skin at his efforts. As he met your movements halfway and drove his cock much deeper than you could muster on your own, your left hand drifted down to strum your buzzing clit. 

Already dangerously close to the edge, your hazy gaze flickered down to watch not only how your pussy magically swallowed his big dick, but your eyes also caught sight of the dull bulge that appeared in your lower abdomen, making your brain feel even more fuzzy than before. As your glance flickered back to try and catch his, you found his own stare to still be fiercely locked on the same spot where yours had just strayed from, watching intently at just how deep he went, nearly rearranging your guts just to mould you perfectly to fit his shape. 

When you finally reached your peak, your cunt nearly choked his cock as your silky walls clambered down on him, a small accompaniment of sinful gush squirted around him and drizzled to soak the sheets below. 

While you were still foggy with your eyes barely open, Bucky rolled you both over, his dick still throbbing deep within you. Welcoming the softness of the bed beneath you with a gentle sigh, he then captured your lips in a kiss and swallowed the whimpers that promptly bubbled up as he began to fuck you once more, offering you long, deep strokes that sank you so far into the mattress that you began to wonder if you might rock through it completely.  

“O-oh, so fucking d-deep,” you blubbered. A rhythmic cry forced its way out of your lungs each and every time the tip of him kissed your cervix, nearly bullying the deepest parts of you in a manner that made you feel like the wobbliest of jellies. 

“You scared I’m gonna break you, baby?” his soft lips ghosted against your cheekbone. 

“I–, maybe,” you admitted, blinking up at the way his frame eclipsed your vision, “but it feels so good, I don’t care if you do,” though your confession ended up not only exclusively being about the purely physical entanglement you currently found yourselves in. 

A deep growl rumbled in his chest as his hands scooped down beneath your bottom, before he let himself manhandle you, repeatedly dragging your hips up to grant him a better angle for him to fuck into. A bit of drool trickled out the corner of your mouth and found the pillow below your head when his cock soon throbbed within you, pumping you full of his hot load. 

When he pulled back out of your warmth, your pussy didn’t get to stay empty for long as his cool metal fingers swiftly took his dick’s place. Plugging you full, his frame shifted slightly to grant him a good view of the leaky mess he’d made of you. As he pushed his cum deeper inside of you, scooping it back in as his fingers forced it out, he increasingly added more and more digits till the amount matched the girth that had just split you apart, before he withdrew them all at once and grinned proudly at the way he made your hole gape slightly for him, before winking back to a closed as if he’d never even tickled you before. 

It didn’t take long with all of his molten motions before your pussy wept for him once more, a display he only drew out as his fingers stayed hooked inside of you while his other palm came down to offer your puffy pearl a few taps. 

A hazy giggle was bubbling out of your shaky frame as his attentive touch finally faded and his kisses fluttered back up your body till your arms wrapped around him and drew him in close. 

As you layed there in the plush bed and stared up at the ceiling, you didn’t know yet that the man sprawled out beside you was awake as well. 

You just couldn’t find rest no matter how hard you tried, for how could you as tonight was your last night in the chateau. 

Carefully, you slipped out from under the covers, grabbed your long robe from the armchair it was draped over, and tip-toed towards the wide French doors that lead out onto a balcony. Pushing the doors open, a mild gust of wind rustled the robe as you fastened the tie around your waist and crossed over the threshold. 

Though you knew that you didn’t have any other choice, the thought of returning home in the morning still broke your heart. The last thing you wanted to do was burst that dreamlike bubble that you and your bodyguard had built together and go back to a world completely desaturated of colour. 

Not only had you made the grave mistake of repeating history, but putting it under such an intense microscope didn’t help matters either, as well as your feelings, those having become terrifyingly clear over the past two weeks. 

“Hey,” you suddenly heard the doors behind you creak and you tore your hazy gaze away from the dark gardens below to spot Bucky gently leaning against the doorframe. 

“Hi,” you breathed, keeping a flat palm on the ivy-covered stone railing as you twisted your frame slightly to glance at him, “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“No, I was already awake,” he shrugged slightly before joining you outside in the pale moonlight, “you okay?”

“Yeah…” you sighed, casting your gaze back upon the woods blooming in the distance. 

“…well, that didn’t sound very convincing,” he chuckled gently as he settled in beside you, leaning both his forearms against the half-wall, “do you wanna talk about it?”

Sucking in a breath, your eyes flickered over to catch his own, “I just–…” you hesitantly began before admitting, “I don’t wanna go back to Paris…” 

“Why not?” though a crinkle found his brow, his expression still softened, “is there something going on with you and your mother?”

“No, it’s nothing like that,” you shook your head, “I just don’t wanna go home yet…” staring at him a moment longer, you then heard yourself confess, “…I–… I don’t want this to end yet…”

Watching closely as his lungs expanded with oxygen, for the first time you witnessed the gruff man look utterly and completely stunned, simply staring down at you with bated breath. 

Parting your lips once more, you nearly whispered, “…I don’t wanna go back to pretending that I’m not in love with you…” 

Bucky didn’t say a word, only continued to stare as he tried to comprehend the truth you’d just professed.

“I love you,” you gathered up the nerve to spit out, “I love you now… I loved you this morning… I loved you after you’d probably only worked at the embassy for a few weeks…” your vision became blurred as tears began to form in your eyes and you continued to babble, “and I don’t think those feelings are planning on changing anytime soon, so it only seemed fair for you to be aware of that for when I ask you in two seconds if you wanna keep this thing between us going, because I do, though probably for different reasons than you–, not that I don’t enjoy that part, you are an incredible lay, I just didn’t think it would be fair for you to be unaware of the feelings I've developed for you, because I don’t know how to ignore them anymore, and–, oh my god, please just say something, I feel like I arrived naked at school or something–”

But before you could ramble any further, Bucky seized your face and fiercely pressed his lips to your own. A shiver ran down your spine and nearly caused your knees to buckle as he kissed you, and when he withdrew, slowly pulling back, he found your stary gaze and uttered, “…I don’t think that’s gonna be a problem,” he then sucked in a breath before confessing, “because I–… Y/n, I love you too…” 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[7183-war]

[UNTITLED #020]: How Our Team Learned to Never (EVER) Use Pneumatics

I guess the first thing we should've asked ourselves was if using pneumatics was necessary.

The year is 2022. A classroom is filled with nothing but a pneumatics kit (of questionable origin) and a dream. And ~45 students. They also had dreams. Also.

I remember when we started our air-pressure-gauge-reading-journey. The world was infused with the acoustic ambiance of a workshop with power. Now, I am an author who speaks (somewhat) for the team, but, if I were an author that spoke for myself, I might say something about how, while I personally didn't have much to do, I was fascinated just watching them work.

The design for the robot, a claw that would be pushed forth with a pneumatic piston, was almost entirely created by a few of the older students, which sucks because upperclassmen are always busy and they didn't have much help (quick parenthetical of appreciation for those that contributed that year). To be frank, no one really knew what they were doing.

A week or two until comp and our robot was but undone. The workshop was emptier in those days. Our main electrical guy had spent a few minutes making an entire table from scratch wood for some reason (to work on or practice driving with or something; my memory eludes me). Suddenly, we had something resembling a bot. I helped with bumpers.

Were we cramming? No, we were living

And to ourselves, we had to be forgiving

We had no choice

But to rely on a few senior boys

And hope they got the bot moving

Anyway, so we're at comp and we're having all sorts of issues. There are leaks and we have trouble getting past inspection, but if I remember correctly the piston might have worked once or twice. A super nice guy from another team spends like the whole day with us trying to get it working, which really showcased coopertition. Everyone in our few feet of pit is stressed and our president ran to best buy to get us a brand new light-up xbox controller. Eventually, we were able to compete. Our mechanism still wasn't great, so we slapped a dumbbell on the robot and played defense.

We didn't win, but we adapted, and the whole experience only made going to playoffs a year later that much sweeter. Also, we at least got to experiment with pneumatics. But pneumatics is hard guys. And also that game kinda sucked.

We learned a lesson that day. Air likes to be as free as a bird. We were not airbenders. We were but FRC lovers.

In all honestly, though, that year was probably an essential step in the progression of our team. What we lacked in time-management we made up for (further hindered) with ambition. Additionally, we really became comfortable stepping outside our comfort zone (you won't have trouble straying from the tried and true if all is tried and nothing is true). We used a somewhat original design, and I think at least a few students were invested in the outcome. And it was a good time.

[howtodolife]

LATE NIGHT SUBTLETIES AND A MILLION MORE CONTROVERSIES

Summary: Reader wakes up at night and doesn't find jungkook beside her but instead in the kitchen, cooking.

Fem!reader × Jungkook

Warnings/Tags: pure fluff, hurt/comfort, insecurity, mentions of stretchmarks, manhandling (A bit?), oc is nervous and restless, she's so in love it makes her jittery and overwhelmed 😭, jk being an absolute sweetheart, REASSURANCE, bit suggestive in the middle but nothing happens, they're so in love it hurts 😭😭💗 (pls tell me if you find any more warnings, I'll add them!)

Writer's note: why is it so hard to write kiss scenes‼️?? it's my second fic, It originally started as a pure fluff imagine but I couldn't help it and made it a bit sad, so now it fits into the hurt/comfort trope more 😭😭 I'm not very happy with how it turned out because it feels kinda personal and I pondered not posting it but here I am. I hope you guys like it! Also it gets better in the end👍😭

"It must be midnight," you thought to yourself as your eyes drifted open, adjusting to the darkness around you. You reached out to the other side of the bed, hoping to find security and warmth, hoping to find Jungkook—the one you sought for love and a sense of belonging. Surprisingly, all you could find was an empty mattress and bedsheets, as well as pillows cold from being unused. Quickly getting up, panic flooded in for a short moment. "Jungkook," you called out, receiving no answer. You walked to the living room, eyes searching for him, and that was when Jungkook caught your sight. He was in the kitchen, cooking god-knows-what with his back turned toward you. The room had a purplish hue due to the dimmed lights, and the atmosphere felt cold with the AC blasting at full temperature. Jungkook turned toward you, hearing your footsteps, giving you a slight smile that had a hint of slyness. You walked closer to him. You felt Jungkook's hand snake around your waist, and then strong tattooed arms lifting you up onto the cold marble countertop. You squirmed due to the sudden movement, gripping onto his shoulders for stability. "Oh my god," you exclaimed, earning Jungkook a chuckle. You rolled your eyes at him. "Hey, c'mon, it's fun!"

"Sure", you retorted. "Besides, why are you making ramen at 2:46 a.m", you mentioned, hitting his head lightly.

"I'm insomniac", stated Jungkook matter of factly. "Also I was bored since it's late and had nothing better to do, so naturally i decided to cook"

I tilted my head at him and hummed in response. He looked beyond beautiful right now. Sharing these little moments together felt so domestic yet special; I'd trade anything for them. Jungkook gave me a quick glance before I felt one of his hands on my thigh, pulling me closer to him so that he could place kisses all over my face and neck. I grinned at that, placing my hands in his hair.

"You're never going to give me a warning, are you?", you asked, raising your eyebrow at him.

He chuckled "And miss out on these reactions? Nah, I'm good".

You wrapped your arms and legs around him, taking his presence in as much as you could. You would never get enough of it, of him. You wanted to stare into his brown bambi eyes forever, and even that wouldn't be enough time. You felt his hand travelling up and down your legs, Jungkook could feel the dents made by the stretchmarks on your legs here and there. You tensed a bit as you felt the warmth of his hand lingering there a bit more longer than the other areas, afraid he might judge you or find them weird but it was evident in his eyes that he couldn't care less. Jungkook's face reflected nothing but the feelings of love, respect and infatuation he felt for you. You felt the cold metal of his rings on your thighs as the grip of his hand strengthened, his head shifting closer to you. You breathed in his scent, shifting slightly closer to him. You gulped nervously, trying to calm your nerves down, heart beating loud in your chest at Jungkook being so close to you, the amount of intimacy you were sharing. You'd experienced it a countless number of times, but it still made you feel all restless and timid. "You can touch me, y'know", he chuckled, and then you lost it. Completely.

"God, I KNOW, its just that the feelings I have for you is so overwhelming and intense plus I don't know what the fuck to do with them. Sometimes I wanna jump off a building because of these and I'm always scared if I say or do something wrong or weird. It just holds me back from doing so much. I have so much love for you and it's unreal and crazy but you'll never get to know it because guess what, I'm too fucking embarrassed to do anything", you rambled and put your hand in your head, feeling upset, guilty and a bit disappointed.

You felt him grab your wrists and pull your hands from your face, holding them. He seemed to be taking in the whole of what you said and understand it in depth instead if coming up with a sudden reply. He scooted his head closer to you, as if trying to emphasize what he was about to say "nothing you do comes off as weird or out of place to me, understand? I love you, I love you, I love YOU, I can't stress this enough. You can never make me tired or upset with you, I love all of your little habits and mannerisms and i'll memorise all of them to take care of you and make you feel safe and wanted. Also, holy shit, that's a lot to carry all at once, Y/N. I don't want you to feel so pressurised and stressed with me, love. I'll do my best to not let these feeling get to you. Besides, I can recognize how much you love me by all your little gestures and the things you say" You felt him grab your chin and turn your attention towards him. "I love you, okay? Don't doubt that". You felt his lips brush against yours, making your heart jump, it was the gentlest of kisses, without the desire for something another. It intensified slowly, his hands grabbing your waist, pulling you even closer, making you his body press against yours. Although it was without the anticipation of anything other than this moment you were sharing, not with his hands under your shirt or tangled up in your bra straps. It was one filled with love and innocence, one that was unwavering. You suddenly felt his lips part from yours, a move unlikely for him to do. But then it dawned on you - the food. He reached for the spatula in a sudden movement, trying to do something to make the food edible, at least, though it didnt look like anything could be done.

"Fuck, no, no no. Not the goddamn ramen. I really don't want to eat it burnt, ah" Jungkook conceded.

He held his head in his hands, sighing in a defeated manner. You felt bad for him, though you couldn't help but burst out laughing. He narrowed his eyes at you.

"What, you asshole. There's nothing funny about this".

You raised you hands as if to signify that you were not at fault. "Hey, it's your fault. You should've been more careful and not shifted your attention elsewhere."

"Okay well, nobody told you to wake up at 3 AM to come here and distract me, it's all your fault" Jungkook accused.

You let out a sigh, jumping down from the counter "Just order in food and we'll clean up the mess together"

"Absolutely not, your "cleaning up" never ends well. I'm just left out here all by my own" he teased, fake crying.

You gasped in a dramatic way, half-joking, half-bickering."That's so mean, you absolute shithead. I would clean it up just to spite you and prove you wrong, but y'know what? I'm too tired. Good 4 me though, I'm saved from work" You shrugged.

"Just admit you can't do it" he retorted, putting the dishes in the sink, smiling the whole time.

"Not in my life, never."

[eightstarr]

i know — van palmer.

summary: you can't remember a life before van, but there was one. there must've been one. it feels ridiculous to think about. you'd rather think about her, rather think about this— two moments then, and two moments now (and so, so many to come).

notes: heyyy i know i said i would post this like a month ago, i fully forgot!! if there was like one person waiting i'm sorry and i love you sm <3 also this ignores the plot entirely and i wanna make that very clear just in case!! it's like a nothing happened and we're all okay au! anyway here's to my loser girl and to whoever also finds themselves staring at the wall in silence thinking about her :)

・。.・゜✧・. ────

THEN.

"You're hogging the blanket," Jackie mutters over a mouthful of popcorn, purple polished nails tugging at the soft fabric.

She's right— you are. "I'm not," you say, and bring your legs close to your chest partly so they can offer some kind of comfort, but mostly so they're not touching the unknown dangers of the floor anymore.

The TV flashes red and Jackie's living room is bathed in it, along with all your faces.

Shauna snorts at a man getting brutally and very unrealistically decapitated on the screen and pulls her own blanket closer to her best friend before she even has to ask. They do that a lot; talk without words. Any other time you would've noticed, thought that's cute and smiled to yourself, but right now you're too terrified.

The movie is bad. Or, that's what you have to keep reminding yourself of. It's lazy in a way that's bordering on comical and needlessly violent in a way that proves that it was written by a man with interesting fantasies. You shouldn't be scared, but you are.

Another death earns you a few minutes of quiet, though you know the build up to the next one will be worse. The characters cry and fret over the dead body of their friend but the killer is nowhere to be seen, disappearing conveniently into the night. You're granted a scene of daylight but the sun comes and goes, and then the screen turns to dark violets and blues again and you're tensing up in your seat.

It's fine, at first— the pretty blonde girl is yielding a kitchen knife and walking around while her muscled boyfriend boards up the windows of the big house. Lottie shifts where she's sitting on the floor next to Laura Lee's legs and whispers about why they would lock themselves in instead of taking their chances outside, which is 'obviously the smartest thing to do'. You don't have time to process what she's saying because suddenly an ax is clawing its way through one of the windows and the characters are screaming and, well, so are you.

"Fuck!" You curse, jumping and landing yourself halfway into Van's lap, the softness of her thighs under your own, your back against her chest.

Van blinks, more startled by your reaction than the scene itself, her hands coming up to steady you and then immediately dropping back down a second after they brush over the cotton of your shirt. She lets out a shaky breath and does not think about how good your weight feels on top of her, because that would be a bad thought, a questionable thought. And it should not have been the first one to pop into her mind. Definitely not. That would be embarrassing. That would be bad.

You cover your eyes with one hand as the sounds of screaming come to a crescendo and hold one of her hands tightly with the other, mumbling sorry, sorry, sorry as if you're doing something wrong. As if you don't know that, even if you were, Van is incapable of being mad at you. Famously so. Everybody knows.

She looks around the room to the rest of the girls. No one is staring, too busy chewing popcorn and wrinkling their noses at the more gruesome special effects. Van turns her head back to you. A million thoughts rush in, overwhelming and unforgiving. Something about the soft tint of chapstick on your lips, the curve of your nose, the shape of your fingers. Things she's noticed before -Van is often greedy of all your details-, but not in this way, never from this close. She can smell your shampoo from here. Somewhere in the back of her mind, over the scent of honey and strawberries, she wonders if she's going insane.

Your body noticeably relaxes as the violence dissipates, your grasp on her hand loosening slightly. When you uncover your eyes, the final girl is clawing her way through the woods. You're unsure of how she got out of the house, but too comforted by the thought of the movie finally coming to an end to care.

Van is scared to say anything, scared to move— if she does, you might push yourself off of her, ignore her for the rest of the night because you're embarrassed. The thought is ridiculous. You'd never ignore her, you're not that kind of person, but it's what she would do. Except she'd probably never be in this position in the first place, because she'd never be brave enough to throw herself on your lap, even if she was as scared as you were. And that's just it anyway, it's not like you chose to do this. You didn't pick her. You would've found the same comfort in anyone's arms. Right? Van feels you shift closer, just slightly, like you're unaware of it. Right?

Her forehead falls on your shoulder as she thinks herself sick.

"It's scary, right?" You whisper, confusing her crisis for fear. Your fingers wrap around her bicep, soft and absentminded when they brush up and down her skin, trying to make her feel better.

Van feels her stomach flip, her hands twitch. In another world, she would wrap her arms around your waist and press her lips to your ear, mumble something stupid like if you say so, baby just to annoy you. Here, though, all she does is nod her head. She whispers back, "Yeah, it is."

She looks up at the screen, tries to be scared, to be invested. You relax further into her, personal and comfortable as if there's no one in the room but the two of you. Van blinks. She can't give you the name of the girl on the screen. A minute passes and your back straightens suddenly, but you don't rush to slide off her lap. You do it carefully, not because you want to but because you're worried about making her uncomfortable. Van wants to pull you back but she's never faced anything as daunting. She comforts herself with the thought that one day she will, a hungry attempt at manifesting or breaking a mental wishbone or something. For now, she follows you with her eyes and feels her anxiety melt away when you notice her staring and give her a smile. The movie's not yet over. She looks back. Who's the bad guy again?

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

NOW.

Van likes to pretend that she's a better cook than she is. Someone else might find it funny, annoying even, but you can't find it anything but cute. You love telling her that you've run out of food and watch her scoff and puff up her chest.

"I'll make you something out of nothing," she'll say. Then she'll open the fridge and bend at the waist, stare at said nothing for a solid two minutes before resurfacing and declaring that she's craving pizza from the place down the street, anyway, so there's no point in cooking.

At the grocery store the next day, you make sure to buy the essentials for the one pasta recipe that she does actually know how to make. Van likes to feel useful. And you like to indulge her every need, maybe a little too much.

You pick the sweetest looking tomatoes for the sauce, no real expertise behind your method— you're not exactly an amazing chef, either, but the two of you do just fine. Someone calls your name in the middle of bagging the last tomato and you turn to meet a face you had almost forgotten about.

"Katie Lopez?" Van asks again, staring at the folded piece of paper with the almost-stranger's number that you'd gotten without asking (a friendly gesture, you're pretty sure) after a slightly lengthy conversation that carried on even after your multiple anyway, I should probably get going's.

You're telling Van about the encounter while washing the tomatoes in the sink, sleeves rolled up. Your cheeks are warm with kisses like they always are when you make it back to her, as if she wants to reward you for it. You've been hers for so long, and she's still amazed at the fact that you come home to her. "Yes," you repeat. "Why is that so shocking?"

"It's not," she says, flicking the paper where it sits on the counter, kinder than her original need to ball it up or light it on fire or something even more dramatic. She moves to open the cabinet and starts putting away the canned goods you've brought. "I just didn't know you guys were close."

"We're not. She was just being polite."

Van hums. For a moment you think she'll let it go, but of course she won't. She doesn't like the thought of someone flirting with you when she's not there and she especially doesn't like the thought of that someone being Katie fucking Lopez, who's most memorable for fingering girls in the bathroom for most of your shared high school experience.

Van clears her throat and the cabinet closes with a thud louder than she intended, definitely not because she was caught up picturing you under Katie's gaze. She means to sound casual, but she's not trying very hard when she asks, "She ever try to get with you?"

You spare her a single glance, as if to check that she's serious. Of course she is. "What, in high school?" You shake your head, chuckling like the idea is funny. "No. She was more into the cheerleader type."

Van knows that you're right. Still, she squints her eyes at you, ginger hair leaning to one side when she tilts her head. "Is that a hint of resentment that I'm hearing?"

You've gotten good at knowing how to handle her jealousy. It's only fair, considering that she's gotten good at handling yours. Neither are ever that serious. "I was making a neutral observation."

You know she's creeping closer before you feel it. You know her too well. "Yeah?" She mutters, her hands on your hips as she presses herself to your back. Her nose is familiarly cold where it brushes against your neck.

You dry your hands and lean back on instinct, and she doesn't flinch at the added feeling of your weight. Van can be a lot like a brick wall, but you don't usually tell her that, unless you're feeling extra sweet and want her to grin like a cocky little shit for the rest of the day. "You were into that type, too."

Van scoffs, a soft gust of air on your neck. "I was into you," she says.

You hum, purely fucking with her. "Maybe."

"May— what the fuck are you talking about?" She pulls away just enough to prove that she's actually offended. And she is, because the idea is ludicrous and yeah, she's taking it personally. You can question Van about anything you want, except for the fact that she's been in love with you for more than half of her life. "When did you ever see me looking at cheerleaders?" She asks.

You and Van work for a lot of reasons. You work because you're different where it matters, enough to balance each other out, and you work because you're the same in everything else. You might've been just teasing her at first, but now the thought does that stupid thing where it starts to linger and -just like she had thought about you and Katie- you can almost picture it in your head, a younger Van standing on the soccer field, her eyes trailing over a girl's short uniform skirt. You roll your eyes, annoyed mostly at yourself. "Oh, don't act like you wouldn't have loved for them to shout your stupid name."

Van chuckles. She can read your train of thought like a book. She knows you too well. "Stupid name, huh? You're cute when you're jealous." And a little mean, too, but in a way that makes her weak in the knees. She won't be telling you that part. You already know, anyway.

You pull the hands that are wrapped around your waist away from you. Van lets you— she wants to see where this is going. "Not jealous," you mutter.

"No?" She teases, half-heartedly disappointed when you don't turn around to let her kiss you.

You look at her over your shoulder and then make eye contact with the piece of paper on the counter, recalling the words of your old classmate. Call me whenever. We should totally hang out. You're too old to be telling people you should 'totally hang out', but Katie Lopez hasn't changed much from the last time you saw her. You hold back the urge to wrinkle your nose at the memory of that same teenager-trying-to-be-cool smirk that she gave you throughout the whole interaction and hum thoughtfully, like you've been tempted. "Maybe I will call her—" you take one step towards the counter in a half assed attempt to reach for the paper but Van is unusually quick as she strides forward and takes it in her hands, tongue poking into the inside of her cheek as she rips it in two. "Van!" You gasp.

"What? Don't tell me you were actually gonna use it," she pouts. "You're breaking my heart, baby."

You try to take the two pieces away from her and all you earn is her breaking it in four, holding it above your head. You're laughing as you slap her shoulder. "God, you're so stupid."

Van raises her eyebrows, mismatched numbers wrinkled in her hand. She drops them on the counter in favor of cupping your face, pressing a contained short peck to your lips. Don't feel bad, she won't hold back for long. "Stupid like my name?"

"I love your name," you shake your head, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I love it. Just as long as it's mine to say."

It is yours, but you know that already.

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

THEN.

Van's room smells like the incense you got her. You wonder if she used it just to appease you because she knew you were coming, but it's a silly thought. Van likes you. You know this now. She takes everything you give her (your time, your smiles, your kisses) like it's a precious gift, so you can't imagine that she would neglect an actual gift.

Your grandmother said you should light the incense before a game, to bring you good luck and calm your nerves, and you're not ashamed to admit that you bought Van her own pack the very next day. Everything makes you think about her lately, especially this kind of thing. You're not even sure that the incense works, but why wouldn't you share it with her? She deserves all of it— good luck, a stomach free of nerves, at the very least a nice lingering scent if your grandma's beliefs turn out to be a myth. But you hope they don't.

Your girlfriend is anxious more often than you are, but never really about a game. Van knows that she's good at soccer. She's nervous about other things. Keeping her side of the house clean, being able to afford Sinéad O'Connor tickets, what her mom's mood will be like tomorrow, English assignments but only because she thinks the professor is the coolest guy alive and she wants to impress him even if she won't admit it. And lately, there's another thing. She worries about whether you'll look at her one day and realize that you're too good for her.

You know about some of her anxieties, but clearly not all of them. She can picture your reaction if she were to share the last one with you, how your face would scrunch up and you'd look at her with eyes so loving and so sad. She can almost hear you ask, soft and patient, why would you think that? And she wouldn't know what to say. There's comfort in the fact that the worry is there, but it's not constant. Van only worries about that when you're gone. When you're in front of her, or sitting next to her in class, or talking to her on the phone, it's hard to imagine that you'll ever stop liking her. She takes in your smile, your laughter, your sparkling eyes and she can't think about anything else. You make all of it go away. If you asked her, she would tell you that she thinks the incense works, but only because it came from you.

She can smell it faintly from where she is now, but there are a hundred other things overwhelming her more— the feeling of your legs on either side of her, the sound of your bracelets clinking together when you move your arms to rest them next to her head and cage her in, the sight of you leaning in to kiss her. It's easy to say, she's only been dating you for three months, but Van is sure that she will never get tired of this.

She hums against your lips, something too close to a moan. Her cheeks are red when you pull away, and you're not sure if it was the sound she made or the regretful, kind of embarrassing thing she has to tell you that gave her that reaction. "My mom will be home in, like, five minutes," she says, raspy and breathy.

Her voice distracts you. Your lips are tingling. "Okay," you say, nodding your head even though it takes you another three seconds to actually process what she said.

This is where you sit up, break apart. Neither of you move.

You smile and lean back down to kiss her again, stomach fluttering from the sound of her giggling as you tilt your head back. How are you supposed to stop when she's so fucking— so cute, so handsome, so in love with you. You've never felt so secure of another person's feelings for you before, but it's impossible to doubt Van. She makes you confident, makes sure that you know at all times. Might as well be saying I love you, I love you, I love you between each kiss that she pulls you back into.

It takes everything in you to break away from her, but you have to. "Fuck, okay. I gotta go," you mutter. You have to. You'll see her tomorrow. It should be embarrassing how greedy she makes you.

She watches as you sit up on her lap, your skirt bunched up over the crotch of her jeans. You must notice her looking, because you're laughing like you can read her mind when she huffs and covers her face with her arms, her lips pursed as she suppresses an even more embarrassing sound than the one she made before.

"I'll see you tomorrow," you insist, like saying it outloud will make leaving easier. You stand up and brush your hands over your hair, flattening the flyaways. Then you grab your backpack from the floor (don't think about the pretty pin she got you a few days ago, because it'll make you want to kiss her again) and walk over to her window.

You could take your chances with the front door, but you don't want to. Van was afraid that her neighbors would see you and innocently mention it to her mom, say something like oh, I saw that Vanessa's friend came by the other day. Van wishes it could be left at that, but her mom is rarely that simple. She looked so worried as she told you about it, so ashamed. You kissed her cheek and promised yourself you'd get good at climbing.

She comes closer as you climb to the other side, getting your footing on the familiar edge of the wall, and she hisses when you let go of the window railing to reach over and cup her face. You don't have to pull for her to bend down and let you kiss her, your thumbs brushing over her cheeks.

"Please don't fall," she's saying as you make your way down.

You look up at her and smile, and Van thinks you're so pretty that she misses the mischievousness behind it. "Have a little faith in me— oh, fuck!"

Van flinches, bumping her head on the window with how quick she moves to look down at you. The sound of your laughter makes her realize your hands never left their safe grip. Her shoulders relax. "Oh my God, fuck you," she scoffs, though she's too relieved for it to have any real bite.

"What were you even gonna do?" You ask, still giggling.

She shrugs, eyebrows furrowed. "I don't know, fucking— grab you or something."

"Your arms are too short to reach me from up there."

"I take offense to that."

"Well, I'm sorry," you sigh, tilting your head. "Doesn't make it any less true."

"I better not hear you asking for my short arms to carry you after practice tomorrow," Van huffs, said arms now crossed over her chest.

You look up at her in disbelief, raising your eyebrows. "I have literally never asked you for that, you always offer."

She shifts slightly where she stands, moves her weight from one leg to the other, caught. "Because I can do it," she mutters.

"Yes, I know. You're very strong, baby."

Van rolls her eyes, choosing to believe that you're teasing her because if she believes that you're being genuine she might die.

Your feet hit the ground with a thud. You do a silly curtsy, as if to say ta-da! and Van thinks you're so cute she's certain that she'll die. You give her one last grin and blow her a kiss before sneaking away from her house into the night.

Van goes to bed with her cheeks aching from smiling, her bed smelling of your perfume, and the faint sound of her brain screaming (terrified, celebrating) you are fucked!

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

NOW.

"I wish I'd asked you to prom," your voice is muffled by her sweatshirt, lips partly pressed against her shoulder.

Van snorts, looking down at you. "What?"

"You never went," you explain, and you have that look on your face, like you've been thinking about this for weeks. Like you could cry. Van presses pause on the (admittedly) shitty action film she'd chosen and lets you try to get your thoughts out. "I really wanted you there. You would've liked it."

She lets out a sigh through her nose, a hand coming to rest against your cheek. "I really don't know if that's true, honey," she says honestly.

You straighten your back a little, a tiny frown on your face like you get when you've been challenged. "You would've liked it. You love to dance and the DJ was, like, surprisingly good. And Ms. Dawson actually said yes to a dance with Peter K., even though that was highly inappropriate now that I think about it. But it was funny at the time— and Natalie snuck in a bottle of vodka."

"Yeah?" She asks, awfully endeared even when she's heard the story a million times before. You'd told her all about it the day after prom, your voice groggy and sleepy over the phone. She had felt lame about having missed it, but a thousand times better as soon as she picked up the phone, giggling in her bed like a fool at every detail you gave her.

You wrap your fingers around the hand on your cheek, press a kiss against her palm. "You would've loved it," you say, sounding somehow more convinced than before. "I should've asked you."

"It's okay."

"No, it's not. I was a dick," you insist. "I was a coward—"

"Hey, no. No," Van sits up from her lazy posture, two thin wrinkles between her eyebrows when she frowns. They look good on her. You remember when they weren't there, and it always makes you a little emotional. "Don't say that. You weren't."

"But I was," you try to reason, stubborn to a fault. "I'm not, like, condemning myself. I'm stating a fact."

Her frown deepens. "Well, I don't like it. And I don't think it's a fact."

You didn't mean for this to turn into an argument, but you're not exactly thinking about that at the moment. It happens— you've let the thought saturate in your brain for too long and now you're stuck thinking that you're right. "Why are you arguing with me right now?" You ask, not being petty but genuinely wanting to know.

Van huffs a frustrated breath. "Because I thought about asking you to prom for years, okay?" She says, crawling with embarrassment. "I told myself I would over and over again and then I fucking didn't. If you were a coward, what does that make me?"

You pause, guilt swirling in your stomach because you realize all at once that you've been poking on a tender bruise you didn't even know existed. "Van," you say softly, "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

She sighs, almost a chuckle. She can be so mean to herself, so condescending about her own feelings. You know she's not laughing at you, or disregarding you in any way— it's just what she does when she feels like she's humiliated herself. Especially when you're there to watch, looking at her so kindly when she's certain she deserves none of it. "Yeah, well. That was intentional," she mutters.

You let her look away from you for a moment before you push yourself onto your knees, placing one on each side of her hips. She welcomes you like she always does when you come to sit on her lap now, her hands on your waist and her face falling forward to press kisses over your collarbone. A thoughtless motion, automatic.

"Sweet girl," you hum, guiding her head up with a careful hand, smiling when you meet her eyes. "We should've gone out dancing alone. Would've been way more fun."

Van breathes out a laugh. She wonders if she'll cry, and feels like she could. "Yeah," she agrees.

"I would've said yes, you know. I'm not blaming you for not asking me, I get why you didn't. I really do. But it's important to me that you know that." You brush a strand of hair behind her ear. It's pretty, and getting long. In no time she'll be asking you to wash it over the sink and trim it with your fancy hair scissors, like you've been doing since you got back together when you were twenty five after a stupid argument that led to a two years long break. It wasn't a good time for either of you, but you don't regret it. You have the rest of your life to live with her. Still, there will always be things like this— arguments about deep buried shame, fears that might never go away, moments you missed that other high school sweethearts didn't because their worries weren't like yours. It's sad, but not inescapable all the time. You and Van don't blame each other for any of it. But sometimes you need to be reminded of that.

"I know," she nods, her voice in that soft, quiet tone that you love but rarely get with how passionate she is. It's not a hardship, you love that just as much. "I think maybe that's why— why I was so freaked out. Like, if you said yes, it would become real."

You nod and chuckle a little, sweet and airy. "And you'd have to actually start to date me? Yeah, I would be scared," you joke.

Van buries her face in your chest with a groan. "That's all I fucking wanted," she says, feeling too honest to play along like she usually would.

You let her stay there for a while, her nose brushing against the rise and fall of your chest. Wanna be here forever, she'd told you once, with cold fingers sneaking under your shirt, more than a little drunk. You have been making fun of her about it for ages, but it tugs at something different today. It makes you pull her softly with a hand on the back of her neck, just enough to press your lips against hers, not wanting to deny her any of your warmth that she might crave.

Van hums against your lips, moving where you want her when your hands guide her own from your waist down to your hips. You press your chest against hers like you know she likes and she moans into your mouth, a hand moving to press against your back and force you closer.

"I'm sorry I didn't ask you," you mumble when she lets you pull apart, speaking close to her ear as you kiss her cheek, lips soft over old acne scars and sunspots.

Van shakes her head. "I don't care," she promises, smiling like she does when she's about to say something corny. "Look at me now," she shrugs, fake humble. "I got the girl in the end."

You laugh against her smirk and kiss her until she's lifting your hips and pushing you down on the couch, your back against the worn pillows, a hand on the back of your head in case you bump it on the arm rest. You like when she moves you around just to show off, reminds you of when you were younger and she'd flex her muscles just because she knew you were looking. She might not be the same type of strong now, but she can still pull out some tricks when she wants to. And with you, Van often wants to.

She tilts her head back when you try to pull her in for another kiss, sighing as she gets comfortable on top of you. She almost gives up the act when you pout at her, blinking your pretty eyes, but instead she leans her weight on one hand next to your head and says, "That is, of course, if she doesn't leave me for Katie Lopez's magic fingers."

Van expects you to roll your eyes, slap her shoulder so she can say ouch! and dramatically rest her hand over the wounded spot. Instead, you slide your hand over hers where it's resting against your hip, intertwining your fingers together and smiling pretty, tilting your head. "Mmh, but I have the best fingers right here."

Van scoffs, playing amused rather than speechless because she's trying not to show you how much your words get to her. It's embarrassing how proud it makes her, how quickly she melts into the palm of your hand when you as much as imply that she's good at something, that you would pick her over everyone else, that you want her like she wants you. Praise from others makes her smile and say thank you, but praise from you reaches her core, makes her dizzy. Her lips feel dry and her tongue pokes out absentmindedly to lick them as you guide her hand up. Van barely registers the movement, too busy watching your face— how beautiful that she gets to see it all the time now, that she knows all the details like you know hers.

Her fingertips come to rest against your lips and her breath stutters as she tries desperately to maintain any sense of coolness or dignity or fucking something while you kiss each one, soft and attentive. She's thinking, is she insane for finding it as thrilling as she does, even after all these years? Do you know what you do to her? You can't possibly know, Van almost decides, but then you part your lips to slide two of her fingers into your mouth and she thinks that you do. You definitely know.

"F—fuck," she breathes out, and tries to remember her original plan to tease you but can't recall your old classmate's name. "You trying to butter me up?" She asks, her chuckle trembling but deep, from the back of her throat.

Her fingers slip from your mouth with a soft pop, and Van groans. You hum, "Is it working?"

You're mean, evil. You're the sweetest thing she's ever seen. Two things can be true at once. You're a dream, and you're not like this for anyone else. The thought echoes through her skull, warm and infectious. Van smirks. "Yeah."

[kookieswan]

Handlebars - Seven Days a Week

Biker!Jungkook x Receptionist!Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Genre: Biker AU, Gang AU, Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Angst. MV inspired.

Warnings: No actual smut but MC and JK have dirty mouths (dirty talk).

Notes: I’m still on hiatus but I wrote this for the release of Seven and wanted to post it so here it is. Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You sigh as the lights continue to flicker, a pen gripped between your teeth as you go over the paperwork. There’s been an obscene amount of people coming into the shop lately, the summer months bringing in more than enough patrons to keep the place busy. With that, it’s brought on even more work for your sorry ass and it’s been keeping you past your designated shift.

The little bell above the doorway jingles suddenly, letting you know that someone decided to brave the horrible storm for their vehicle. Glancing up, there’s no way to prevent the growing retail smile from dropping into a snarled frown, the pen loudly falling from your mouth. Of course he dragged his out of hiding in the middle of a tornado watch.

There stands Jungkook fucking Jeon, your boyfriend and also a complete clown. He smiles at you warily, hair slightly sticking to his forehead as small droplets drip down onto the floor. He pulls his arm out from behind his back, a bouquet of likely once beautiful flowers now drowned in his hand.

“What the fuck Jungkook.” The pout is instantaneous at your accusatory tone, lips pursed as he steps further into the shops waiting room. He shakes his long hair lightly, the water flying from it and making your eye twitch.

“Aw, come on doll. Don’t be like that! I almost got hit by a car for these.” He plops the wet flowers on the counter with wide eyes, his leather jacket squeaking slightly as it runs against the surface. Letting out a huff, you pull your paperwork together and away from your very wet (and annoying) boyfriend, tossing it toward your work laptop before sitting back in the fun spinny seat.

“You never showed up for our date! All of that food I made was wasted; I even cooked stuffed chicken for your ungrateful ass.” Stuffed fucking chicken of all things and he missed it. You barely even cook for yourself, so the fact that you cooked for an ungrateful ass man and he skipped out pisses you off greatly. Jungkook leans over the counter, voice gentle as he draws closer.

“I’m sorry baby, I really am. I had some business to take care of with the boys and I lost track of time. I sent a text but I don’t think I went though…” Ah, so that’s it. He and the crew were off doing some shady shit and he didn’t want you to know about it. You scoff and stand up, deciding that it’s time to pack up your stuff because honestly you don’t want to hear it.

“Oh yeah? And what were you and the boys up to? What had you so busy, huh?” Maybe he’ll tell the truth, maybe he’ll just let you in because that’s all you really want. You know what they get up to, you know how illegal and bad some of is… And you don’t care, not really. You just want the truth, that’s all. You’ll never judge him for it.

Jungkook stares at you until you pause and look back at him. His face is tense, nostrils flared and it’s clear a million thoughts are running through his mind. It finally cracks, and suddenly his eyes can look at everything but you.

“… It’s nothin you need to be concernin your pretty head with.” Wrong fucking answer. Grabbing your bag and coat from the back of the chair, you throw them both on quickly because you’re definitely not here for this bullshit. Walking around the desk, you ignore the booming thunder from outside along with wide doe eyes and start to walk toward the door.

“I apologized! I really feel bad, what more could you want?” He grabs your shoulder gently as you try to walk by, but lets it go as you pull away. Turning to look back at him, it’s hard to keep your voice level as emotions continue to run wild.

“For you to tell the damn truth! You all seem to think I’m so naive and have no clue what’s going on but I’m not fucking dumb.” The lights flicker again, this time turning off for a few moments before turning back on. Jungkook doesn’t really look mad, just… Uncomfortable maybe? You can’t quite place it.

“Oh, come on. I never said you were dumb! I just don’t want your ass getting caught up in our shit, there’s too much at stake. We’ve talked about this.” Clenching your jaw, your turn around without another glance and go for the door. There’s nothing nice to say to him right now, and so you won’t say shit.

“Babe- baby where the hell are you goin?! It’s stormin real bad out there!” And you don’t fucking care. Flinging the door open without a second thought, you step into the downpour with open arms. It’s not long before the enthusiasm dies, but you don’t falter.

“Away from your secretive ass! Leave me alone, I don’t want to talk to you right now.” You yell it back to him, hoping that he wouldn’t be crazy enough to follow you into the shitstorm you just walked into. Of course, the front door doesn’t even get a chance to slam shut before he’s flying out after you like a bat out of hell. Jungkook follows you as you start the ten minute walk toward your apartment, easily catching up as he yells over the white noise.

“God you’re so fuckin stubborn. I promise I’ll make it up to you, give me a chance and the rain won’t be the only thing makin you wet babydoll.” A laugh escapes you, both humored and baffled by his annoying ass. The shit that comes out of his mouth sometimes really shouldn’t surprise you anymore… And it also shouldn’t be quite as oddly endearing as it is. Fucking Jungkook.

“You really think I want to fuck you right now? Really?” Stopping in place, he nearly tramples over you as you push an accusing finger into his hard chest. The first thing you notice is how his muscles are very obviously there beneath the soaked shirt, his skin warm and a biting underneath your hand as you flatten it out.

The second thing you notice is that he’s very clearly changing the subject to something else. Maybe it’s for the better, maybe you should let it go. You’ve had this fight with him a million times over and it always ends the same. He leans in close to you, hair falling into his eyes as he attempts to look you in the face.

“Yeah, I really do. We fuck seven days a week sweet thing; I think make up sex is the obvious answer to our spat.” Rolling your eyes, you slap his boob lightly, the corners of your mouth quirking up as you hear his giggles over the rain. It’s quiet for a moment then as he grabs your hand, gently holding it in his own.

“Seriously, I am super fuckin sorry. We can just go back to my place and cuddle if you want? I can make you some hot chocolate or some shit after we have a hot shower.” Such a romantic. He grips your hand a little tighter, swinging it back and forth a few times before tugging you forward and hopefully toward his dry car. You start to follow because really, how could you possibly stay mad at your idiot of a boyfriend?

“… Fuck, you’re lucky you’re so adorable Jeon. Alright, we’re going back to your place and fucking till you’re a whiny mess.” He just laughs loudly, arm wrapping easily around your shoulder. His voice comes out low and husky, just barely carrying over the rain.

“In your dreams baby.”

[misarem]

umineko ep 1 impressions

i liek never rlly successfully text post on here. but since i keep fan art and vgm on here i thought i might as well track my progress on this million word 100 hour visual novel JOURNEY to look back on later. obv spoilers for the first episode and its tea party and ??? segment.

for the most part, what drew me into umineko was atmosphere and that amazing ost and ive watched little out of context vids on the game just to get a taste cuz im just rlly into it. im so glad i chose Umineko Project over 07th mod for my first pt since just small things like the rain effects and the lip synching add so so much. the Experience of Umineko just has really nice levels to it. Ive listened to goldenslaughterer like a million times just from that one erika furudo clip and it didnt lose a bit of its power when i heard it for the first time in the scene at the garden shed and it made that whole scene just so exciting after literal hours of shifting from light playful scenes with the cousins and tense scenes with the ushiromiya siblings, building upon both heavily only for both sides of the family to just come crashing down in one morning.

speaking of the cousins i feel like theyre by far the most fun characters to hang out with outside of maybe eva and natsuhi reading the fuck out of each other. i have a long history of immediately gravitating to my cousins during family get togethers and its really nice to see they more or less keep their camaraderie through the events of the first episode except for maria but like. lmao. also seeing the cousin's varied reactions to their parents deaths hits kinda close as someone who has a really strained relationship with theirs. how grief manifests differently for each of them based on the trauma and issues they have with their parents is so interesting to see and i feel like a lot of games dont really explore this besides the kids feeling generally sad abt it, and im super excited to see the inner workings of this family laid bare.

that also includes the parents as siblings too cuz even tho theyre all kinda fuckheads in their own way, theres some real truth to how their upbringing kinda ruined all their relationships and potentially their outlooks on life. and even tho krauss is the most outwardly fucked up most of the time, rosa is Super sinister to me just being a character whos at the lower end of a power dynamic but still having responsibilities as a mother. of course we know how she mistreats maria and it would be nice to see rosa like admit that her issues with maria are somewhat her fault, but it would also be nice to see rosa begin the path of redemption and like ive seen clips of her with the rifle in one of the episodes so im sure itll be somewhere hopefully. at the very least i like the inlaws a lot too, hideyoshis nice, kyrie is super cool and the irony of her "flip the chessboard" outlook not being used before krauss could turn the tables on his other siblings earlier, because rudolf wouldnt let her talk, is not lost on me, and i was unsure abt natsuhi at first and she def still has issues but she really grew on me by the end after she had sorta made up with jessica, especially the scene where she accepted the charm from her daughter. again i gravitated toward jessica from the start and her experience feels like the richie rich version of how i was in high school, and her and her mother have a lot to sort out with each other, but the gesture and the fact that they both at least tried starting to make things better was just. so sweet. as for other characters, i rlly like kanon and shannon, the other servants besides like the chef guy are cool and kinzos funny as hell (love that in the UP translation he calls jessica fucking ILLITERATE for being a c student. like damn girl me too). again i cant wait to see how everything pans eventually pans out.

this is just a tentative ranking for the characters ive seen so far. i maybe coulda put george one rank lower idk, even tho ive seen hate for him, i just kinda like him. hes good with kids and the scenes where he lost his loved ones were touching. and like yea his relationship with shannon from a power dynamics perspective isnt great but i feel like it was kinda fraught to being with anyways.

for the plot i admittedly dont have a ton of ideas so far. ive never been one to make crazy predictions on stories as i was experiencing them. and im trying to here which is why im writing everything out. but, with my previous exposure to the game being crazy out of context clips, it makes the main conflict of the first episode being the issue of an 19th person and the reality of magic kinda weird considering. all the shit ive seen. with witches. and is anticipating crazy shit. i rlly didnt know what to think until the tea party and the ??? segment which did elucidate things. guessing that going forward, instead of having to reckon with the presence of magic, battler is gonna keep his strong stance against the "magical/fantastical/etc" and that he and beatrice will be diametrically opposed, considering i also know how they end up in debates later on and stuff like that. bernkastel in the ??? segment also explains how beatrice is more of a metaphor of an abstract concept rather than a person which also makes things kinda simpler in my head. and i know about the metanarrative aspects too (clocking all the detective literature references) so im prob gonna hold off until i see a bit more of it to make any crazy predictions. i mostly just wanna see new perspectives on some of the weirder happenings like the tool shed murders and the chain locked room, why natsuhi shot herself, how the key to the gold was even located so that the first six could be chosen and everything else. super excited to jump back in with episode 2, even tho the previous episode felt like it took eons to get thru, and i cant wait to see how everything changed over the course of this game.

also i swear to god if this girl is who i think she is-

[newstfionline]

Saturday, December 16, 2023

Police body cameras (NYT) In 2017, New York City police officers killed Miguel Richards in his own apartment. They claimed that the killing was justified because Richards was holding a knife and what looked like a gun. The officers’ cameras recorded the incident. But for years, no one outside of the New York Police Department could view the full footage. In 2019, a judge ordered the release of the videos. They showed no sign that Richards was holding a firearm, and revealed that the officers didn’t take basic steps to de-escalate the situation and did not administer immediate aid after shooting him. The N.Y.P.D. has not disciplined the officers for the shooting. The story demonstrates the mixed results of police-worn body cameras: Many people hoped they would help hold police officers accountable for wrongful shootings. But there has been a basic problem, as Eric Umansky found in an investigation for The Times Magazine and ProPublica: Police departments have often prevented the public from seeing the footage and failed to act when it showed wrongdoing.

Older workers are a growing share of the workforce (Washington Post) Americans 65 and over are playing a larger role in the labor force, shifting the composition of U.S. workers and reflecting a new reality where retirement has become a more gradual process for many. The share of older Americans who are working, by choice or necessity, has doubled in the past 35 years, according to a report released Thursday by the Pew Research Center. Workers 65 and over also are working longer hours and making more money than they were in the past. “In some ways, this isn’t surprising: We’re an aging society,” said Richard Fry, a senior researcher at Pew Research Center and lead author of the study. “But it isn’t just that there are more older adults in the workforce, it’s that a larger share of them are working.” In all, the Pew analysis found, 19 percent of Americans 65 and over were employed this year, up from 11 percent in 1987.

U.S. terrorist watchlist grows to 2 million people—nearly doubling in 6 years (CBS News) The U.S. government’s terrorist watchlist has nearly doubled in size in just six years, a CBS Reports investigation has found. An extensive review of court records revealed that the consolidated database of individuals has not only been quietly expanding in number but also in who it targets. When it first launched on Dec. 1, 2003, the consolidated watchlist included approximately 120,000 people. By 2017, the last publicly confirmed numbers, it included nearly 10 times as many: 1,160,000 individuals. Now, at the end of 2023, the Terrorist Screening Dataset contains the names of approximately 2 million people the government considers known or suspected terrorists, including thousands of Americans. “It doesn’t mean they’re a terrorist,” cautioned Russ Travers, a veteran of the U.S. intelligence community for four decades who helped create the watchlist. “It means there’s something that has led a department or agency to say, ‘This person needs a closer look.’”

Guyana and Venezuela agree to refrain from using force, but fail to resolve territorial dispute (AP) The leaders of Guyana and Venezuela promised in a tense meeting Thursday that neither side would use threats or force against the other, but failed to reach agreement on how to address a bitter dispute over a vast border region rich with oil and minerals that has concerned many in the region. Instead, a joint commission composed of the foreign ministers of both countries and other officials will address the problem, with a report expected within three months. They also agreed to “refrain, whether by words or deeds, from escalating any conflict,” a declaration said.

Chile set to vote on rewrite of its Pinochet-era constitution (Reuters) Chileans on Sunday will vote in a referendum on a new constitution that seeks to replace its dictatorship-era text. The push to rewrite the constitution that dates back to the 1973-1990 rule of General Augusto Pinochet was born out of fiery protests four years ago sparked in part by deep inequality that many blamed on that framework. The mandatory plebiscite is the country's second attempt at drafting a new charter. The first attempt was written by a body elected by popular vote and dominated by left-wing voices. It granted far-reaching environmental protections and guaranteed a wide slate of social rights. But for many Chileans it was too radical and it was rejected in September 2022 by voters. Chileans then elected an assembly, this time dominated by the right, to draft another version that will be put to a vote on Dec. 17.

Prince Harry partially wins phone-hacking case against Daily Mirror (Worldcrunch) Prince Harry was awarded £140,600 on Friday after winning a substantial part of his phone-hacking case and damages against the Daily Mirror. The UK High Court ruled that the Duke of Sussex was the subject of “extensive” phone hacking by Mirror Group Newspapers from 2006 to 2011. The prince became the first royal in 130 years to appear in a witness box at a trial.

Finland Closes Border With Russia Again (NYT) When they announced plans to reopen a small portion of Finland’s border with Russia on Tuesday, Finnish authorities said that they would be on the watch: If Moscow resumed funneling migrants, they would shut it again. Two days later, they announced a plan to close it, saying dozens of migrants were arriving. “Illegal entry on the Finnish border has immediately resumed,” Finland’s interior minister, Mari Rantanen, said at a news conference on Thursday. “It is imperative that we close the eastern border.” They said all crossings would close on Friday evening and stay closed until Jan. 14. The friction along the 830-mile border between Finland and Russia has become the flashpoint of the strained relationship that the two countries have had since Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022 and Finland’s joining of NATO earlier this year.

Inside Myanmar's anti-junta offensive (Reuters) Generals from Myanmar's junta held peace talks in June near the border with China with representatives of three powerful ethnic armies. They sat across a wide table covered with blue cloth and decorated with elaborate bouquets. But the rebels were playing a double-game. Secretly, the ethnic armies—collectively called the Three Brotherhood Alliance—had already laid the groundwork for Operation 1027, a major offensive launched in October that has become the most significant threat to the regime since it seized power in a 2021 coup. The operation came amid rising anger in Beijing with the junta over rampant crime on the border, which created conditions that supported the blitzkrieg, according to two analysts. China, a key junta ally that also has close relations with some ethnic Chinese militias in the borderlands, has been riled by Myanmar's inability to shut down online scam centres along the frontier that have become a scourge across Southeast Asia. As of October, more than 20,000 people, mainly Chinese, were being held in over 100 compounds in northern Myanmar, where the workers—many of them trafficked—defraud strangers over the internet, according to a USIP estimate.

Cold wave freezes most of China, shutting highways, roads (Reuters/AP) President Xi Jinping called for "all-out" emergency response efforts as a cold wave extended its grip over China on Friday, with temperatures falling below freezing across most of the country and snowfall affecting transport in many places. Temperatures were expected to drop to below minus 40 degrees Celsius (minus 40 degrees Fahrenheit) in parts of the northeastern province of Heilongjiang and in the region of Xinjiang in the northwest, along with Inner Mongolia and the provinces of Gansu and Qinghai, according to forecasts from China's National Meteorological Centre. In Beijing, two subway trains collided in the heavy snow, sending 515 people to the hospital, including 102 with broken bones, authorities said Friday.

Tokyo’s cabinet reshuffle (Foreign Policy) In an effort to combat Japan’s biggest financial scandal in the ruling party’s history, four Japanese cabinet ministers resigned Thursday, including two senior members. Six senior government officials also quit. This is Prime Minister Fumio Kishida’s third cabinet reshuffle in 16 months as his Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) struggles to bolster record-low public approval ratings ahead of leadership elections next September. LDP members have been accused of failing to report hundreds of millions of yen from fundraising efforts and instead placing the money in slush funds. Allegations also suggest that Kishida and other party members underreported fundraising income. Kishida has promised to tackle the scandal “head-on.”

Israel is using an AI system to find targets in Gaza. Experts say it’s just the start (NPR) Israel’s military says its AI system, named “the Gospel,” helps it rapidly identify enemy combatants and equipment while reducing civilian casualties. But critics warn the system is unproven and could provide technological justification for killing thousands of Palestinian civilians. Since the Oct. 7 Hamas attacks, Israel has struck more than 22,000 targets in Gaza. The Gospel crunches data from a wide variety of sources to rapidly recommend targets to a human analyst, who then relays them to the military. It can do so at least 50 times faster than human intelligence officers. But AI systems are only as good as their training data. Critics question whether the available data is good enough to put human lives on the line. Without proper training, some say it’s close to “indiscriminate targeting.” Israel’s use of AI is likely a taste of things to come. Modern militaries collect more data than they can effectively analyze and are looking to AI to give them an edge. Some experts say fully autonomous AI weapons are only a matter of time.

Nearly one-fifth of Israeli soldiers killed in Gaza died due to friendly fire and other accidents, IDF says (NBC News) About one-fifth of Israeli soldiers killed during Israel’s ground offensive in the Gaza Strip, which began in late October, died from friendly fire and other accidents, the Israel Defense Forces said Tuesday. At least 105 Israeli soldiers have died since the military began ground operations began in Gaza, an IDF spokesperson said. At least 20 of those deaths were caused by “accidents,” they said. Of those 20 deaths, 13 were caused by friendly fire, or internal fire from the military’s own troops.

Fighting will last ‘more than several months,’ Israeli defense minister tells U.S. (Washington Post) White House national security adviser Jake Sullivan is expected to meet leaders of the Palestinian Authority in the West Bank on Friday, after talking with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and Israeli Defense Minister Yoav Gallant. The war will stretch on for “more than several months,” Gallant told Sullivan, who conveyed the Biden administration’s goal of lowering the intensity of Israeli military operations in Gaza so that civilian casualties can be reduced.

Hiker who survived 1,000-foot fall, being stranded for 3 days at Hawaii waterfall: ‘It’s a miracle’ (NBC News) A California man who was stranded for three days at the base of a waterfall after falling 1,000 feet from a Hawaiian hiking trail said on Tuesday that his survival was nothing short of a “miracle.” Ian Snyder, a 34-year-old travel blogger, thanked rescuers for finding him last week and ending his harrowing ordeal below Oahu’s Koolau Summit Trail. “It’s a miracle, first and foremost, of God,” Snyder told reporters and rescuers in Honolulu. “I couldn’t believe it when people were telling me, ‘You fell 1,000 feet down a cliff’ and I’m like, ‘How did I even survive?’” As rescuers were frantically searching, Snyder said he was calm throughout the three days he was stranded, accepting that he might not make it out alive. “I had made my peace and said, ‘If this is my time, I’m ready to go,’” Snyder said. “But if it’s not my time, I know that that patch of sky in front of me, that I’ll be able to wave at a helicopter. I had made my peace with God. I will be OK whether I live or whether I die.”

[happytaffeta]

Neat discussion is being had over in Author tumblr, which I have some windows into because I follow op and some other folks, but am not a participant in because I'm a: shy and b: not a professional book inventor.

I am however a prolific hobby-grade co-op story inventor* and I also sometimes write short fiction bits for said co-op tales without my friends just so I can show them later and be like 'I had this idea but you weren't about so I wrote it for you, did I do your worldbuilding/characters justice? please enjoy my love language of creating fanfic for an audience of one to three close friends'. Since I am writing in settings that are cooperatively built and told round robin style, frequent perspective/focus shift is just the natural order of things to me. I'm in charge of the shit anywhere from one character to roughly half the cast and half the universe are doing, during co-op time, but the rest is for whoever else is involved. I tend to shift perspective when a new character I'm in charge of is interacting with the world, too. And since this is just how I do in co-op mode, it is also how I usually do things in solo mode. It is also what I enjoy most of the time for reading time. Might be why Dracula was relatively easy to get my head around.

What I'm saying is, I'm firmly in the camp of multiple perspectives for almost every fiction application. Please give me windows into the inner lives of all these little imaginary bitches. Show me the world from the angle of as many characters as possible. The chaos of millions of churning thoughts make up any given moment of life, and it feels right to me when that is reflected in stories.

I am also a big fan of 3rd person past-tense it just is nicer for my brain.

*read: play-by-post and tabletop rpg enthusiast

It's so funny getting into heated discussions about reading preference styles with some people. I'm in a Discord group chat, and the topic of different POVs in fiction came up, and it was apparently a popular opinion in the group that multiple POVs in a book is "garbage" and "hot trash."

I kind of laughed it off as a funny quirk, then mentioned I couldn't relate because I find singular POVs to be extremely dull and a major turn-off when it comes to reading. But y'know, to each their own. Brains like what they like.

The temperature of the group chat got noticeably chillier, and I was informed curtly that several people in the group write singular POVs and I should think before I speak.

I said I know, just like they know I write multiple POVs, but they felt fine trashing that.

"Well, that's different."

"Why?"

"Because you're a fluke. No one likes reading multiple POVs."

Oh-kay. Again, I didn't want to get heated over it and again reiterated that not everyone's writing style will vibe for everyone. I then helpfully added, "It's like, y'know. I don't particularly enjoy first-person narratives, either. They feel juvenile to me, probably because they're predominant in a lot of YA lit, and it's jarring to read in adult fic. Doesn't mean it's bad; it just means I don't like it."

Anyway. I'll let you know when they're done burning me at the stake.

[here2bbtstrash]

park and ride (explicit)

genre: smut

pairing: namjoon x reader

summary: your fuckbuddy asks if the two of you can drive around a bit first, but he has a hard time keeping his hands to himself

word count: 4.8k

contains: explicit sexual content bb! idol verse, fuckbuddies, teasing while driving, semi-public sex (aka fuckin in a car), fingering, squirting, a smidge of size kink, also joon really likes your skirt

A/N: inspired by that ~mysterious extra day~ in america and joon posting Fast Car by Syd on his story (which, btw, TASTE) - this is also on AO3 if you'd rather read it over there!

For your own sanity, you try to stay busy. You go for a long run every morning to clear your mind. You delete Twitter from your phone and get two weeks ahead on your grad school assignments. You go out for drinks with friends and pepper them with questions about their own personal dramas.

But all the while that glimmer of hope in your chest remains, impossible to extinguish entirely. You know by now to keep your expectations low, very low. Just because he’s on this side of the world doesn’t mean he’ll have time to see you, and most of the time, he doesn’t. You figure there’s no point in obsessing over something that’s out of your control.

But this time is one of those rare occasions where the stars align and the universe decides to throw you a good turn, and you can’t help the smile that breaks across your face when he calls.

“I got an extra day. Are you free tomorrow night?”

“Hmm… yeah, I should be able to pencil you in,” you joke.

The celebrity part of it is still pretty bizarre, but you’ve done this enough now that it’s become its own weird little routine. Pulling up to a hotel where the nightly rate costs more than your monthly share of rent. Handing the valet the keys to your shitty Honda Civic. Checking in at the front desk and giving the alias the group is booked under, which changes every trip. Showing your ID so they can confirm you’re on the approved list of visitors. Having a special room key made that allows you access to their restricted hotel floor. Just all part of the process.

And that’s not even mentioning the one time you were personally escorted by a bodyguard to his room; you wondered on the elevator ride up how much time their security staff spends ushering fuckbuddies in and out. You’ve decided that maybe you don’t want to know the answer to that one.

So it’s a surprise when he asks on the phone, “Can you pick me up instead this time? We don’t have to go anywhere special, maybe just drive around a bit? I’m so sick of hotel rooms.”

“Is this all a ploy to stop me from raiding your minibar?”

He laughs softly. “Oh don’t get me wrong. I definitely still plan on taking you back to my room and…” He trails off, well aware that he doesn’t need to explicitly finish the sentence. “Well, you know. Just need some fresh air first, I think.”

You decide you’ve given him enough sass for one phone call and bite back the urge to argue that he’s not actually taking you anywhere, as you’re the only one with a license in this situationship.

“Yeah, sure. I can do that.”

~*~

Never in a million years would you have ever thought you’d have Kim Namjoon riding shotgun in your car, the seat pushed back as far as it can go to accommodate his long legs.

He’d slipped out of the front door of the hotel looking as nondescript as possible in a black hoodie and shorts, face hidden almost entirely by a black facemask and a bucket hat pulled down low over his eyes. You pause, hands still on the wheel, wondering if you should expect some kind of greeting. This is so far outside the realm of your normal interactions that you have no established protocol to follow.

“It’s good to see you, let’s get out of here.” He says softly, and you take that as your cue to shift gears and follow the road out of the hotel entrance.

Namjoon seems tense, you think as you pass through an intersection. He keeps switching between checking his phone, looking out the passenger-side window, then turning over his shoulder to look at the traffic behind you.

“Sorry,” he explains, “Not trying to be rude. Just being careful.” That’s when it finally registers in your mind that he’s making sure you’re not being followed, and the thought sends a shiver of fear up your spine. The fact that this is a regular part of life for him is so strange.

The city is fairly deserted tonight, and when you stop at the next red light you can see him visibly relax a little, unlooping his mask from around his ears and tucking it into his pocket along with his phone. He slips his hat off as well and tosses it in the backseat, pulling down the visor to make sure his hair looks good in the tiny mirror. You try to suppress a laugh; surely this man knows that he already rolls out of bed looking fine as hell, no adjustments necessary.

He flips the visor closed and catches you staring at him, and a thrum of desire runs through you. Has he managed to get hotter since the last time you saw him? You didn’t think that was possible.

“Come here,” he murmurs, leaning over to cup your jaw with one hand and bring you in for a kiss.

This is your favorite part of these reunions—remembering all the little things you’d forgotten since the last time. Like how big and warm his hands are, how hungrily he kisses you. It isn’t until an impatient horn blaring snaps you back to reality that you remember you were stopped at a red light, which is now very much green. Judging by the way the driver behind you is laying on the horn, it’s been green for a while.

“Fuck, oops.” You move to pull away but he keeps his hand on your jaw, holding you in place, your lips inches apart. His eyes are dark with pure want as he stares at your mouth.

“One more.” His lips are so soft; this kiss is sweeter than the first, less urgent. You barely notice as the driver behind you swerves into the other lane to pass your stopped car and speeds off through the intersection.

Namjoon brushes his thumb against your cheek and then removes his hand somewhat reluctantly. You can’t hold back your smile as you ease your foot off the brake, trying to focus on the road. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but when you see a green light while driving, it means you’re supposed to go.”

He leans back in the passenger seat, his hands clasped behind his head, dimples fully on display as he laughs. “There it is. I knew you’d get in a license joke eventually.”

“I held it in for as long as I could.”

“I bet you did.”

You realize he didn’t give you any directions on where to go, so you drive aimlessly through the city that you know so well. The lights at night are beautiful, even you can admit that, and though you typically hate the many intersections, it’s not so bad when you have someone to kiss you breathless each time you hit a red light.

During a particularly long stretch of greens, he taps his knuckles on the center console. You glance over to see his eyes roaming across the inside of your car, like he’s just realized where he is. “So this is your whip, huh?”

The fact that this dork is a professional rapper amazes you sometimes. “Top of the line 2008 Honda Civic.”

He touches a finger to a mystery stain on the vinyl of your dashboard that’s been there for at least a decade. “I could get you a better car than this.” He doesn’t say it in a bragging way, though he certainly could. Instead he just sounds sweet, and sincere. Like he wants you to have nice things.

You roll your eyes. “Save your money. There’s nothing wrong with this car.”

With a thoughtful hum, Namjoon rests his left hand just above your knee, and you reflexively spread your legs a little wider, keeping your eyes firmly on the road despite your quickening pulse. His thumb draws lazy circles on the outside of your thigh. “Well, now we know you’re not fucking me for my money.”

The truth escapes with a laugh before you can stop it. “No, I’m fucking you for your big dick.”

“Oh?” His hand climbs a little higher and arousal pools in your belly. You can already feel yourself getting wet. “Is that right?”

“Mm-hmm.” Eyes on the road, you tell yourself. His hand is rubbing your thigh gently now. It takes all of your willpower not to look over at him.

“I like this skirt,” He says softly, and a blush creeps up your neck. You’ve always had a complex about being fashion-challenged, and having a fuckbuddy with personal stylists and access to the nicest clothes money can buy doesn’t help. You changed outfits about twenty times before you finally settled on this one, a black long-sleeve and a yellow plaid miniskirt.

You lose your train of thought entirely when he nudges his hand a little higher, slipping it under the fabric, and hooks his pinky finger around the lace edge of your panties. Your cunt clenches at the thought of his long fingers in you.

“Are you trying to make me crash this car?” You do your best to keep your voice even, though you’re certain he can tell your thighs are quivering.

His fingers trace along the line of your panties where your hip and thigh meet, lighting every last one of your nerve endings on fire. “No, but maybe we should… park somewhere.” The suggestion surprises you, but you’re not opposed. In fact, you’re hard pressed to think of a place where you wouldn’t be willing to fuck Kim Namjoon.

“Are you sure?” “If you want to.” He responds nonchalantly. His hand slides out from under your skirt, moving a few inches back down your thigh. “I’ll behave now. How’s school?”

You laugh incredulously—your panties are soaked and this tease wants to talk about grad school? “Oh no, you started this. Don’t you change the subject.”

You don’t even have to look over to know he’s smiling at your frustration, and you turn right at the next intersection and then immediately left into the parking lot of a shopping center. It’s several hours after closing, so the place is empty, but you still drive around the building to the large commuter lot behind it to ensure you’re properly hidden.

You pull into a space directly in front of the “Park and Ride” sign, and you smirk as you pull up the parking brake. The irony is not lost on you.

The moment where you each have to fumble to unbuckle your seatbelt is just awkward enough that you’re laughing when he pulls you back in for another kiss across the center console. Euphoric is the only way to describe the feeling of having him here. It’s proof that he’s not some dream you made up but somehow, impossibly real.

He leans the passenger seat as far back as it will go, shifting his body to one side as best as he can to offer you the seat. “Will you please come over here?”

It’s certainly not graceful as the two of you fumble to get comfortable in the cramped space of your front seat, but when is it ever with him? You’ve seen him shatter wine glasses, knock over bedside lamps and alarm clocks, and you still haven’t let him live down the time he once fully broke the wooden frame of a hotel bed. You like that he’s multifaceted; he can make you laugh and fuck you senseless.

You take his place lying back in the passenger seat and he crawls over you, kneeling on the edge of the seat and resuming the urgent kisses, his tongue now licking into your mouth. You only break apart to shed clothing, first your shirt, then his, and then your bra. (He looks extra smug for being able to undo it one-handed on the first try.)

He tosses it into the backseat with the rest of your clothes then pauses to take you in, eyes roaming over your body. He licks his lips. “You’re beautiful.”

Your nipples stiffen at his words and the cool night air; being half-exposed like this makes the reality of the situation set in. You’re technically fucking in public, and it’s turning you on a lot more than you anticipated.

You run your hands over his shoulders and across his chest and groan as he moves his lips down the slope of your neck. He’s just so big, especially in your small car—broad shoulders, long legs, and flexing muscles that make your core throb in anticipation. You’re dying for him to touch you, to fuck you, but he’s taking his sweet time.

As if sensing your impatience, he grabs both of your wrists in his hands, pinning them to either side of you while he kisses, bites, and licks along your neck and collarbones. You can’t contain the little noises he pulls out of you when he finds a particularly sensitive spot.

You try straining against his grip just to see what happens, but he’s so much stronger than you that he doesn’t budge. When you whine a little, you feel him smile against your skin.

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want you.” He lets one of your hands free and brings his own to cup your left breast, rubbing the pad of his thumb over your nipple in just the right way that makes you arch up into his touch. Fuck, he’s good at that.

“You have me.” Namjoon says, like it’s obvious. “Be more specific.” He dips his head down to tease a circle around your nipple with his tongue, then just barely grazes the sensitive tip with his teeth and you moan.

Your head is spinning, and you can’t keep your voice from shaking as he gives the same attention to your right breast, his thumb continuing to work the left one.

“I need to f-feel you inside me,” you groan. “Please.” Your pussy aches from lack of attention.

“Whatever you like, baby.” He replies, shifting his position slightly to get a better angle. Your head falls back against the seat as his hand makes contact with your thigh, rubbing it just like he did when he was teasing you while you drove. Your breath catches when he slides both of his hands under your skirt, thumbs hooking your panties, and pulls them down in one swift motion. “Skirt stays on.” He says with a flash of his dimpled smile. “I like it.”

You maneuver to get your underwear all the way off in the limited amount of space and nearly knee him in the groin. The look of concern on his face at the close call makes you laugh out loud, which quickly turns into a moan when he presses two fingers into your dripping cunt. You’re breathless and still smiling, completely dazed from it all, as he pumps them in and out of you at a torturously slow pace.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” His thumb slides between your folds, collecting the wetness there. He gently circles over your clit and you gasp. You’re not gonna make it, you think. You’ll die right here in the passenger seat if he keeps touching you like this.

Instinctively you move to cover your flushed face with your forearm, embarrassed by how overwhelmed with pleasure you are, but he catches your wrist and pins it down again with his left hand, the other still working your pussy.

“Don’t hide,” he murmurs. “I want to watch you fall apart.” And then he picks up the pace.

You’re helpless to his touch, moaning and panting for air as you feel your orgasm already fast approaching and a warmth building in your core. He curls his fingers inside you, pressing hard against your front wall while his thumb rubs your clit in perfect time. Namjoon knows exactly what he’s doing with you, exactly how to work out the strongest orgasms you’ve ever had, and you know you’re headed for one now when your cunt starts to flutter around his hand.

“That’s it, baby.” His voice drips like honey. “Come for me.”

You cry out as your orgasm hits you, your back arching up off the seat. The pressure building in your core reaches its peak and you feel it burst as a wave of arousal rushes out of your cunt and splashes against his hand and your spread thighs. He groans at the sight. His fingers ride you through the aftershocks until you squirm from oversensitivity and he finally relents, releasing his grip on your wrist at the same time.

“Holy shit,” is all you can manage once you’ve come down from your climax, staring dumbly at the ceiling of your car in disbelief, trying to remember how to breathe. Your heart is racing. “That was… oh my god.”

“Still got it.” He says, clearly self-satisfied, and you laugh as he presses a gentle kiss to your collarbone. Namjoon always gets so proud of himself when he makes you squirt. “I think that might be a new record.”

You roll your eyes but you’re still grinning, enjoying the waves of your post-orgasm high. It’s been a long time since you came that hard. “Yeah, yeah, you’re very talented. Shut up and switch with me.”

Shifting positions is made harder by the fact that your legs threaten to give out when you put weight on them, but his hands slide up to your waist to steady you so you don’t fall over. Eventually he resumes his place in the passenger seat, and you kneel down in the small space in front of him, his legs on either side of you.

He lifts his hips up so you can tug his shorts down, and you’re torn between teasing him back as revenge and the overwhelming desire to take him in your mouth immediately. You can already feel your core starting to throb. There’s just something about Namjoon that makes you insatiable. You don’t think you could ever get enough of him.

You trail kisses up the inside of his thigh, biting every so often at the sensitive skin there, delighting in the way his breath hitches each time. Two can play at this game, you think as you press a hand to his stomach, just barely teasing a finger under the band of his boxer-briefs to scratch your nail lightly across his skin. His hips jerk in response and you smile.

You move your hand lower to palm him over his underwear, gripping firmly but keeping your pace slow to torment him. You weren’t just flattering him earlier—his dick is life-ruiningly big, the perfect combination of long and thick, and he’s fully erect under your touch. You want it so bad, your naked cunt is getting slick all over again at the thought.

But first, some retribution.

You still the movement of your hand and place a gentle kiss to the head of his dick through the fabric of his underwear, then gaze up at him innocently. His lips are parted slightly and he’s breathing hard, watching your every move. The way he looks at you like you’re the center of the universe makes your stomach flip.

It feels good to be in control. Keeping eye contact, you lick a slow stripe up the fabric of his boxers and feel the strong muscles in his thighs flex under your hand as he groans a little.

You drop your gaze to take the head of his still-clothed dick in your mouth, resuming the slow pump of one hand over his shaft.

“Fuck, baby,” Namjoon hisses.

You tug his boxers down his legs, too desperate to see him. His cock looks so good you can feel yourself salivating. The tip of it is already shiny, slick with a mixture of pre-cum and moisture from your teasing. You trace up the large vein on his shaft with the pad of your thumb. When you pause to rub small circles at the extra-sensitive spot right under his head, he lets out a strangled whine.

Encouraged by the sound, you wrap your hand firmly around him and he gasps. You can feel his cock pulse in your hand. You pump him ever-so slowly, working a new bead of precum out of the tip, then lightly run your tongue over him to lick it up.

His hips jerk again and he grunts your name, his voice hoarse.

You lean back on your heels, your hand still wrapped around him, and feign surprise. “Hmm? I’m sorry, did you say something?”

He’s clearly trying to keep the smirk of disbelief off his face, but a telltale dimple gives it away. “Oh my god, you’re so evil.”

You smile at the compliment and finally take him into your mouth; his moan of relief makes your pussy throb. You swallow down as much of his dick as you can and wrap your hand around the rest, bobbing and pumping in a steady motion. His hips start rutting against your mouth in time with your movements.

The way Namjoon is groaning unabashedly now makes your face hot. God, you need to fuck him. You look up and take him as far down your throat as you can, gagging slightly, and he must be able to read the desire in your eyes. He runs a hand through your hair, just barely tugging, and you relent, his dick sliding out of your mouth with a wet pop.

“Get up here,” he growls. You climb into his lap and straddle him, and he kisses you so fervently that your head spins.

His hands slide under your skirt to grab your ass and he pulls you closer. As he does, you realize how soaked you really are, your slit slipping easily along his length. You can barely keep from whimpering at how good it feels, and he’s not even inside you yet. His cock twitches and you shudder, unable to stop yourself from rolling your hips and grinding against him. You’re so turned on, you could come from this alone.

“Keep doing that, baby,” he encourages, and your eyes flutter open as he shifts slightly. He reaches for his discarded shorts, his other hand caressing your thigh as if to apologize for the interruption. After a bit of fumbling he produces a condom, reaching both arms around you to rip it open with shaking hands.

Leaning back, you brace yourself on his legs and lift your hips up so he can slide the latex down his length. Your thighs are trembling hard as his hands move back to your ass and help guide you into place.

It’s been so long, and you want this so badly. You’ve spent more than a few nights in bed with your hand between your legs, playing back the memory of how good he feels, how thoroughly he’s fucked you before. Even after all the anticipation, when you finally, finally sink down on his cock, it’s still somehow better than you remembered.

You have to take a moment to press your face into the crook of his neck as you get accustomed to the stretch of him inside you. His thumbs trace gentle circles along the globes of your ass and it’s enough to get your cunt to fully relax. You spread your knees a little wider and sink down another inch, gasping as he bottoms out in you. You feel impossibly, overwhelmingly full.

Namjoon smiles as you lift your head and bring one hand up, running your thumb along his jawline. He looks so good like this; his face is flushed and his eyes are dark with lust.

“I forgot how well you take my cock,” he says, giving your ass an approving squeeze. “Such a perfect fit.” The praise makes your pussy clench and he groans at the feeling.

His hands slide over your thighs and up to your hips. “Ride me, baby. Please.”

You can feel every inch of him as you brace your hands on his legs and start to rock your hips, and the sensation is so good you can barely form a coherent thought. Heat rises in your belly as you lift up and lean back slightly, and when you ease your hips down, the head of his dick grinds against your sweet spot.

“Holy shit,” you gasp, and you hear him grunt beneath you as you rock your hips in just the same way over and over and over. It feels so fucking good, you never want to stop. The filthy sounds of your slick cunt only bring you that much closer to your end.

Namjoon’s fingers dig into your skin and he thrusts up into you, matching your rhythm. The pleasure is so forceful now that your walls squeeze tightly around his length. “Just like that, baby, fuck.” He sounds absolutely wrecked. “You feel amazing.”

His thumb moves to press your clit under your skirt and you’re practically vibrating with overstimulation, already incredibly close to coming. Your legs shake so badly that you start to lose your rhythm and he takes control, fucking up into you with fast and powerful strokes. The way he pounds into your cunt feels so overwhelmingly good that your jaw drops open and you moan loudly. He only has to circle your clit one, two, three more times before it’s all over.

You can’t do anything but whimper and throw your head back as your orgasm overtakes you. Your arms threaten to give out and you collapse into his chest. The release of pressure is so intense that you see stars as wetness floods your pussy.

You pulse around him again and again and then Namjoon is coming too, groaning your name, his cock twitching inside you.

For several minutes, all you can do is lay against him, your body shuddering as you come down from the high. His hands press gently against the small of your back as reality slowly returns around you.

Your panting dissolves into soft gasps of laughter; you can’t believe that just happened. Fucking Kim Namjoon in your shitty Honda Civic, of all places. What a time to be alive. You nuzzle your nose against his neck and he turns his head to press a kiss to your hairline. “Welcome back,” he murmurs against your hair.

“Wow,” is all you can manage. You feel completely spent, blissed out.

“That was… crazy.” Namjoon sounds just as much at a loss for words as you are. “You’re so incredible.” He rubs small circles into your back and you sigh. You wish he could fuck you like this every day, but you don’t say that part out loud. You know it’s just the post-orgasm chemicals talking.

You turn your head to the side and laugh again as you realize the car windows are completely covered over with fog. He follows your gaze. “At least we don’t have to worry about whether anyone saw us.”

Feeling starts to come back to your limbs. Soreness is already blooming along the muscles in your thighs and your bent knees, but it was so worth it, you can't even be mad. “I think my legs are broken,” you say with a wince.

“I’m sorry.” He sounds so sincere at first that it makes you smile. “Guess you can blame it on this big dick, huh?”

You roll your eyes, but he’s thoroughly fucked the sass out of you, for now at least. You don’t even have it in you to tell him to shut up, so you pull his face to yours and kiss him instead. He sucks gently on your bottom lip and you think your heart might burst.

Once you finally break apart, you rest your head on his chest again. “Hotel time?”

Namjoon brings a hand up to stroke your hair. “Baby, I’ve got some bad news.”

You freeze, and your stomach drops, preparing for the worst. He’s always been a gentleman and let you stay the night, but he’s busier than ever these days, you know that. Maybe things are different now. You will yourself not to react to whatever he says next, post-orgasm chemicals be damned.

“The minibar in this hotel… it’s awful.”

“Oh, fuck you!” You laugh, pushing against his chest and sitting up to see his dimpled grin. He stretches, hands behind his head, his biceps flexing. He’s so handsome. You absolutely hate him and like him way too much all at once. “You have,” he reminds you. “And you will again soon. But I need some real food first.”

You are starving, you realize. You run a finger across his chest and put on your most seductive voice. “Hmm… how about I take you to In-N-Out? We’re gonna need some protein before round two.”

“Alright,” he shrugs. “But I’m paying.”

“Of course you are, sugar daddy.”

He laughs against your mouth as he kisses you.

A/N: thanks for reading!!! i ended up fulfilling a request for a short companion piece to this! if you want more quippy fuckbuddies goodness, check out five minutes! 💜

[goldenxbby]

cold cuts in the moonlight

part 2 and part 3

εїз pairing: fezco x f!reader

εїз warnings: not much just blood, slight arousal, and poorly explained art history... BEWARE 

εїз word count:  5669 hehe

εїз summary: fez doesn't know where else to go except outside your window.

εїз a/n: this is like my very first time writing and sharing a fic so pls be nice i don’t know what i’m doing. this is based off everything we’ve seen in the first epi of season two of euphoria about an hour after the big fight (ahhh). i couldn’t decide whether to make the pov lexi or y/n so i just half based it off lexi so it can be used either way. also i plan on making this a series so if literally anybody likes this i shall try and post again.

She had just finished washing her face using the self-care tactic as a form of distraction since absolutely no one was answering their phones. She thought at least there was some normalcy compared to the commotion from this night's party.

returning to her dark room she flopped onto her bed grabbing her phone connected to its charger. She went straight to her messages for the 5th time tonight to look over Fez’s text. At the party when he put his number in her phone he sent himself a “:))”. It made her giggle when she first looked at it, but his time it sent a pang of worry and nostalgia through her heart. 

She missed the warm fuzzy feelings she had felt on that couch with him almost an hour ago. The moment before she saw Fez’s smirk turn to a tense stare. When his eyes had those little twinkles of light swimming in a pool of deep blue she so badly wanted to dive into, and not a complete shield of darkness blocking out the person who made her cheeks blush and whole body warm from head to toe. She worried where he was, what he was doing, what he was thinking, what he was thinking of her- no shit that was stupid why would she even be in his mind right now? She was a speck in the night he had. He must have had a million more important and interesting things running through his head than her boring self. He probably had already forgotten about her. 

Well, shit. Now her heart had shifted past her stomach and all the way outside her body, probably touching bedrock. She needed another distraction or she knew she would start her self-loathing monologue and that would definitely make this night even worse.

Opening twitter was a mistake. Having to look at the car crash that was her drunk and definitely high east highland peers tweeting about the pummeling and sharing videos of Nate Jacobs being unconsciously dragged out who knows house sent fear down her body. Not because what Fez did scared her she was more shocked than anything. No, she felt fear because seeing how everyone reacted to the fight made her realize her reflex after seeing Fez almost murder Nate in front of everyone was to be concerned about him. A man she barely knew and had shared maybe 6 sentences of conversation with. A conversation that left butterfly’s in her stomach and cheeks hot, a conversation that made her feel desired, listened to, comfortable, excited and seeing feelings she’s not sure she’s felt in a long time… or maybe ever. 

God, how was she falling for a guy who will probably never speak to her again? A guy that she barely knows. Why was the thought of falling make her feel thrilled? 

All those ideas took a pause when Rue's name popped up on her phone with a text notification. 

“rue: you talk to fez?”

Getting a text from Rue that wasn’t a reply was surprising, but getting one about Fez was even more. Staring at her phone with the idea that Fez might have also been thinking about her and even went out of his way to text someone he trusted about it made her bite her lips trying to hold in the joy. 

Oh, fuck those thoughts came back. What if she was totally delusional? Why the fuck would Fez talk about her? I thought we registered that he already forgot about her? He clearly wasn’t asking Rue about her. Rue probably saw them on the couch. Duh, they were at the same party and anybody that saw them together would be asking her the same question. The duo was extremely contrasting from the outside and she knew that but she also knew it felt like one of the rarest connections anybody would be lucky to have on this earth. 

Shit, she needs to reply. Rue can see she’s read the text. Trying to think of something that wouldn’t give a tell of her emotions was hard under the time constraints she gave herself. She landed on “wdym?”. Jesus the fuck was that? She never texts like that she knows Rue knows she has to use urban dictionary to talk to anybody their age. One message and she’s already failing at coming off as normal. 

*ding* 

Oh God is Rue gonna bully her now she must know somethings up? With all her anxiety right now she can not take Rue's teasing. Uneasily opening her phone with her eyes closed and holding her breath she finally takes a peak.

“rue: he asked for your addy?”

 Holy. She felt holy at that moment. Like all her dreams were manifestations like she must be God's favourite like an angel would appear out of nowhere and grant all her deepest wishes. And then it actually happened, it actually fucking happened. Unbeknownst to her at the time though. 

A soft tapping from her window barely took her out of her thoughts. Looking up from the phone she was disassociating into, she saw some of the light from the moon above her had been blocked in her window. Getting up and pulling her curtains to the side with a squint she saw him. 

His expression completely different from the hostile glance he gave her leaving the party earlier. The look he was wearing now staring down at her held innocence in it somehow. He quickly changed his questioning pout into a sincere half smile when she whispered “fez?”. That half tug of his lips and her name leaving them made her almost jump to open her window. 

You know when the Roman Empire fell and everyone was in such deep poverty that they became obsessed with the church? And all the paintings at the time were of saints with those golden halos? 

Well, Fez’s halo was white right now under the moonlight and he was swiftly becoming the saint she’d obsess over to divert from the poverty that was being away from his company. That’s all she could think about as the words “What are you doing here?” left her mouth. 

Fez's face dropped down looking at the ground then back at her the questioning unknowing look coming back to his face. “Ima be honest wit you, I’m acting on my gut rn instead of my head.” he chuckled. Making her smile up at him. She gained a confidence she’s only ever felt around Fez “We’ll does your gut wanna come in?”. All the self doubt she had held minutes ago was completely gone and the only thing filling her head was… just Fez. She could only think of him and trying to keep him with her for as long as possible.

 “…yeah.” he clearly took some time to think over his answer. Like his confidence had dissipated now having to actually go through with the wants that brought him to his current spot. Moving to the side to let Fez in she’s confused when he doesn’t enter. But looking back she noticed Fez taking his shoes off and then handing them to her with a “Not tryna get yo floors dirty ma.” which makes her giggle and whisper “Thanks.” while taking them. Bending down and out of his view, she places them next to her dresser and by the time she’s standing up he’s in her room. 

If Fez could have seen where she had been crouched over he wouldn’t have stood so close. Like there was barely fucking millimeters between them. If he had more room then maybe just maybe the wind wouldn’t be knocked out of him. Feeling her body heat radiate off her, her beautiful big eyes looking into his in the darkness, looking at her lips that must hold magnates in them because he had to force himself to stay right where he was and not smash his against hers.

 All that forcing and not breathing left silence in her room with only her breathing being heard. Since it seemed he wasn’t talking anytime soon she tries to think on her feet to not seem as awkward as she truly was. And all that came out of her mouth was a soft “Hi.”. This made Fez’s lost look change to a small smile. He replied “Hey.”. 

Is she really blushing at that? Jesus, how embarrassing is it that a small word like hey from his lips which were painfully too far away for hers could cause her to blush so fucking hard right now? To try and conceal her cheeks she looked down which probably wasn’t the brightest decision. 

It was so blaring she would have been confused why she was only just now looking at his beaten up hand, but Fez’s face existed so she didn’t question herself. Without think she let the sentence slip “Can I?” and looks back up to his doll like eyes. 

His smile was now gone and she could tell he was biting the inside of his lip but before she could feel like she violated his comfort he nodded his head. Finally stripping his gaze from her and looking to the side.

She went back to surveying his fist and let her hand go to caress his knuckles. Hearing him take a breath in she looked back at him worriedly, but he was already looking down at her. “Fez, are you okay?” she questioned sympathetically. Switching his sight again Fez replied “Life’s been worse ya know?” which immediately caused her to respond with almost an eye roll “That’s not answering my question.”. 

At first, she thought fez was taking his regular time to communicate as it was well known to anybody that had a conversation with Fez that he wasn’t necessarily a fast talker. But then the silence grew and he still wasn’t looking at her, so she opened her mouth with nothing prepared to say just hoping it would come to her in the moment like an idiot. 

She didn’t have to worry about what to say though because Fez finally spoke and looked back into her eyes with a new intensity that caused her to gulp saliva that wasn’t even in her mouth. 

“You know it doesn’t matter how high I get… I can never run away from that feelin of stress in the back of my head and let life slip away…” he paused “and I hate going to those stupid party’s, they’re always filled with annoying kids that either say two words to me buying shit off me or say the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard.” he laughed lowly “…but when you sat next to me… I…” his eyebrows contorted “I felt this comfort… like shit was alright, right now, and when you spoke it was like entertaining like every time you left I was waiting for you to come back and tell me another crazy fucking fact.” he finally smiled again but then looked down to his feet “I just cant be at home rn… you know?” taking a breath in he found her eyes “and I felt like if I’d wanna be anywhere else it be wit you”. 

Five hours, five minutes, five seconds ago she would have never thought she would have heard anything so touching, so romantic from anybody… especially Fezco. That confession left her brain completely blank. It was usually running at 200 mph but she always just chose not to share what was going on in there… since no one would listen anyways or maybe they never heard her? That felt better to believe at least. 

Oh, she should replying now, right? Shit- okay what the fuck do you say to that? Fuck fuck fuck. She was really regretting never putting herself out there with guys before (I mean it’s not they were going for her either so it wasn’t fully her fault). If she had an ounce of experience she’d know what to say to Fez but she really couldn’t think of anything like her brain was literally empty. But she can’t leave him hanging or he’ll think she’s disinterested and she was the complete opposite, so she must speak like now.

“You need water.”

Great, that was really romantic. Really communicating her feelings, isn’t she? Fez replied blinking slowly at her “huh?”. Well, the words have already started spilling out her mouth why stop now right? “When’s the last time you drank water tonight?” she questioned. “I don know?” Fez said back clearly confused about where her detour was going. “Exactly, you need to stay hydrated, stay here and I’ll get you some water.” she spits out at an unnatural speed. 

Running past her bed through her door she leaves Fez alone in the darkness of her room. Smiling at her cute and obvious awkwardness, Fez goes to sit on the end of her bed. Shuffling a little he looks down at her comforter. Sliding his hand on it to feel its softness he laughs to himself at the contrast of his roughed up hand touching her frilly and flower covered blanket. It hit him then, the pang in his heart realizing that steering himself into her perfect life with his mess of shit you could try to call a life, (you know based on the technicalities) would be selfish of him. That his danger vs her innocence would ruin her like the blood that had stained the white long sleeve shirt he was still wearing. 

Looking away to shake the realistic thoughts out of his head, Fez searched her room. Not looking for anything in particular just searching for something to take his emotions away. It landed on a polaroid of her from winter formal on the corner of her mirror. 

God, she was so beautiful he wished he could jump into the picture and transport back to that night. He'd grow a pair of balls and ask her for a dance instead of watching her from the sidelines all night. Maybe even get a kiss. His eyes kept moving around her room watching the decorations she chose to place all over. The clutter covering every surface, like her make-up and hair shit and stuffed animals and books of course she had a healthy selection. 

Then his eyes found it. Something he recognized. The deep green knit was perfectly folded on her dresser. He had forgotten about the clothing item. Not out of disinterest but just from everything else going around him at the moment didn’t leave much space for him to think of it. But she did. And she cared enough to take it with her and neatly fold it in her space. 

Her room was like a window into her brain, her otherworldly brain. everything around him made him feel like he wanted it to become a part of his daily routine, being here physically or through reminders like his clothing. He wanted to become a part of this.

A knock makes his head whip towards the door. It's soft and he can tell it’s coming from her. He walks up and before his hand reaches the knob he hears her voice softly whisper his name. Smiling at the call he opens her door fully and sees her with way more than a water. She smiles sheepishly as he gives her a questioning but humorous look “I couldn't open it with my hands full.”. He lets a laugh slip through his lips “I see dat.”. 

She walks past him into her room as he closes the door and dumps all the content onto her bed except a plate that stays in her hand. They both look down at the pile and she explains “I thought if you hadn’t had any water in awhile you probably haven’t eaten either, so I tried to make a sandwich, but I like never make them so I thought it probably won’t taste too good, so then I put chips so you don’t starve because of my terrible sandwich making skills…” Fez laughs switching his gaze to her “and then I thought your hand must hurt really badly, but we don’t have ice so I grabbed peas to work instead, and I realized that I hadn’t had water in a while either so grabbed one for myself.” she breathes out and smiles at her work while her smiles at her. 

Looking up at him she speaks “Well sit down.” and motions to her bedside. “uh sorry.” Fez murmurs and sits, grabbing the water while she hands him the plate of food “thanks.”. Without replying she reaches for the pillows he rests on shifting and fluffing them to properly support his back. Noticing her putting on the caretaker role Fez chuckles “You know I didn’t come here for you to take care of me?” she retorts back taking her hands from the pillows “I know but you deserve to be taken care of.”. Fez doesn’t want to fight her on what he deserves and doesn’t as he knows she definitely believes he’s a better person than he actually is and is strong minded enough to argue with him over the truth he’s known all his life, so he falls silent looking at his lap. 

A dip in the bed forms as she goes to sit next to him. Handing him the plate and grabbing her water bottle and the frozen peas she sits next to him. The cold of the peas reminded her whose hand they should be in. Without thinking she grabs his and places it on her thigh to properly hold and support it, which causes Fez to place the plate on his lap. She lays the peas on his knuckles as softly as possible and he winces. A “sorry.” escapes her mouth as she looks back at Fez’s face. “It's okay just the adrenaline’s startin to wear off.” he jokes. She nods, thinking “Oh I think I have some ibuprofen in here!” Fez goes to say it’s fine but is cut off before he even begins to speak seeing her turn and bend down searching in her bedside table. “I know it’s in here.” she states. His eyes instantly go to her ass that’s basically on full display at this moment. His eyes widen and to catch his breath he looks away while also trying to adjust the plate on his lap as high as humanly possible.

“Got it!” she exclaims and goes back to her original position while pouring two pills into her hand. She then ushers her hand in front of Fez’s face expecting him to take them out off her palm with his fingers. But her whole body tenses as he connects his lips to the side of her hand using it as a funnel and quickly sipping water. Not to help them go down his throat though, as he’s mastered dry swallowing, but to help the cottonmouth that’s formed from looking into her eyes while connecting his lip to the side of her palm, damning himself for ending the interaction too quickly. 

She tried to act as nonchalant as he appears so she goes back to iceing his hand on her lap. Laughing at herself thinking about how what she was doing wouldn’t be called iceing rather peaing, which helped her slip back into the same comfort she felt sitting next to Fez on the couch earlier that night. 

“So do you wanna talk about what happened or for me to entertain you?” she looked up at him smirking. Fez smirked back replying “Entertain.”. Looking up at the ceiling she took a second to think of what she could possibly entertain Fez with. “Hm, well I know you enjoyed the history shit.” Fez laughed at her almost forgetting where his hand rested “Yeah that pee shit was wild.” his remark made her add teeth to her smile. “Well, something almost as wild as the pee shit was like… well you know about medieval art right?” his smile then grew “Do I look like I know anything about art?” he threw back to her with a quirked eyebrow. She laughed “Well arts easy like that though, you don’t really need to know about it or what it means you can just make up what you think it means.” he looked jokingly judgy towards her. 

“Arts like the OG pick your own adventure story, you know? Everyone can believe what they think it means and it’s all valid and different and even the artists original meaning doesn’t matter, and it’s even better than pick your own adventure stories cause the longer the piece of art is on earth the more meanings it can have it’s like infinite.”. Fez whispers almost under his breath “fearless…” she laughs at his comment adding “Even like something like… a leaf, that can have so many meanings in art like nature or life or death or delicate or weak, it’s never ending.” she contently smiles at him. 

“What do you think it means?” Fez asks, his eyes quickly scan her eyes then lips then eyes again. She looks straight on not being able to handle his intense stare “Uhh well the way it’s captured matters like its context, but if you asked me to just picture a leaf and what the picture I created in my head means I’d say…” she closes her eyes and Fez uses that as an opportunity to taste her sandwich just in case it’s actually bad then she wouldn’t have to see his reaction. “I’d say it means to me humankind… the way it has those lines that look like a skeleton and how they are ever changing, but are resilient through difficult circumstances and flourish after the hardest times in their lives… and all inevitably die.” she opens her eyes looking over to Fez who looks almost starstruck, which she first takes as a huge compliment but then realizes that his reaction was definitely towards the sandwich half hanging out his mouth. It made her giggle “You weren’t even listening were you?”.

She could barely speak through her laughter, but Fez swallows as quickly as possible bringing his eyebrows together “Nah nah I was.” replying “Oh really?” she looked doubtful towards him. This caused Fez to sit up straighter and state “Yeah, but I disagree with the skeleton thing I think they look more like our nerves than our bones.”. She turns away not out of embarrassment more out of trying to hide the smile that had formed from seeing that he listened. Someone actually listened to her. 

Placing the peas back on his knuckles as he continues eating her sandwich “Sorry for doubting you it just looked like you were really into the food.” she looked back at him sharing her smile “I mean yeah it’s a good sandwich.” Fez complimented. “Thanks, I tried to make it like I’ve seen my mom do I just don’t make ‘em cause the cold cuts gross me out.” she shared.

“Why would you touch ‘em if they gross you out?” Fez asked genuinely “Cus I’m not trying to starve you out of my own selfishness Fez.” she joked. “You sure know how to make a guy feel special y/n.” he smiled and took another bite which caused her to blush and look down at her lap to hide from him. 

Looking at her reaction caused Fez’s heart to warm like it was in front of a bonfire. This warmth that grew over his body made him reflex his fingers to hold onto her thigh, fully grabbing it. She went blank feeling the electricity from his touch and dampness in her pajama shorts.

“…The medieval art?” he asked, afraid he made her uncomfortable but not wanting to let go of her. “Oh yeah…” she looked up at him “Um, in a lot of medieval paintings like especially family photos women would carry ferrets.” there, she was back and he relaxed probing her to continue “Ferrets?”. She laughed “Yeah they’re like weasels, like longs furry slinky’s.” Fez almost coughed up the bite of food in his mouth from her remark which cause her to laugh “They always had these ferrets with them cause they were like a good luck charm for fertility.” Fez's eyes widened. She nodded “Yeah, wild and they would even have them in their rooms while fucking. Hoping it would help bring them a baby.” with a suggestive glance Fez asked, “You learn all dis from reading?”. 

God she was praying the absence of light in her room could hide her obvious tomato coloured cheeks. “Yeah it seems weird but at least I know to never get a ferret as a pet.” she laughed. “You ont like kids?” he questioned becoming serious all of the sudden. Blinking at him she replied “Hm? no? … I just- I wouldn’t want one anytime soon…” she said worried she offended Fez with her lame joke, but he moved past it quickly. 

“You know the more time you spend with kids you realize they smarter than adults.” taking in his words she answered with a small “hm”. 

“Like life distracts us and complicates shit and maturity is just stupidity adults hide behind.” Fez claimed. “Well if that’s true then everyone that goes to east highland are extremely mature.” she jokes causing Fez to chuckle but quickly reply “Except you.”. taken aback she lets out a breathy “really?”. She quirked her eyebrows at Fez “Yeah ma you one of the smartest women I’ve ever met.”. 

That would have been a minimal compliment from anybody except Fez, who was raised by his grandmother, one of the only people he’s ever loved, he believed she was the smartest woman in the world and claiming y/n wasn’t far behind was like saying his vows for Fez. With a genuine “thanks fez.” she looked down again shyly. 

“When’s the last time you ate?”

“Hm?” Fez’s question caused her to look back up “You went off on me not starving but what about you?”. Fez’s care made her whole body temperature go up at least 50 degrees “I- I already brushed my teeth.” she stated pointing at her lips. Fez scoffed dramatically “So did I.” which made her smile. “I care about my hygiene y/n.” Fez rolled his eyes to make her laugh even more “Sorry Fez.” she joined in on the joke making her movements more comical. “So have a chip to earn my forgiveness.” He angled the plate towards her “But it’ll make my breath stink.” she argued “And the mustard on that sandwich hasn’t made mine?” he pushed. She looked into Fez’s eyes deeper, confessing “Fez you could smell like literal dog shit and I wouldn’t care.”. he wasn’t sure if that statement was supposed to make his dick twitch but the knowledge that her seemingly sarcastic joke was her way of saying she liked being around him, made blood continue to rush to his groin. 

Fez picked up a chip and silently placed it on her lips which she rolled her eyes at, but took in her mouth. “Mhm that’s good.” she moaned as she grabbed more from his plate. Fez was just trying to make it look like the feeling of her lips on his fingers didn’t make him feel like he could hear angels sing and almost completely forget about the bloody things he had done a couple of hours earlier. 

She went on to explain to Fez how one of Amrita Sher-Gil’s portraits was basically the first diss track, as she felt he enjoyed her ramblings on fertility ferrets in medieval paintings enough to talk about one of her favourite painters. 

Fez could tell she was getting tired since her speech almost started to become as slow as his and seeing that she ate all of the contents on his plate a while ago he thought he’d suggest for her to get some rest. “Ma, I don’t wanna keep you up you should get sum sleep.” Fez turned his head towards her resisting the urge to cup her face. She yawned “Fine, but you have to stay.”. 

Fez looked into her eyes contemplating leaving in case she’d do something she’d regret “…fine.”. She smiled jumping up like she had gained all her energy back. Grabbing his plate and now thawed bag of peas she ran on her tiptoes out of the room. 

With the click of the door, Fez was left in silence. He felt his phone vibrate grabbing to unlock it. 

“ash: where tf u @????”

“fez: im out.”

“ash: u think it a good idea bein' out rn?”

“fez: ill be back in the morn.”

“ash: where r u fez”

“fez: ill be back in the morning.”

“ash: fuck FINE”

Fez was so annoyed with Ashtrays interrogation he didn’t hear her door open. "What are you doing?” Fez jumped a little “I was texting Ashtray” she came closer standing in front of the bed. “No I mean what you’re wearing, I thought only psychopaths wear jeans when they sleep?” now fully in bed, swaddled in her comforter she looked up at him waiting. Fez anxiously chuckled. if she asked him to cut off both his legs right now looking at him like that… he’d do it. 

“Aite close your eyes.” he said standing up. She quickly covered her eyes with her palms. "You have boxers on right?” She felt the bed dip and comforter open “Yes I have boxers on.”.

Taking her hand off her face, she looked into his eyes “I ain’t a man whore y/n.” Fez smirked at her which made her smile. “I know that.” she whispered as their faces were now as close as they were when he first came through her window. they smiled and looked into each other's eyes till Fez said softly “come er.”. She happily scooted into him, holding onto his upper waist and laying her head on his chest trying not to be too loud when sniffing in his scent. Fez held onto her waist and shoulder, keeping her as close to his body as possible looking down at her she said “you know for a non-man whore you sure do give it up fast for the first night.”. Fez laughed at her like her jokes could never get old or stop completely surprising him. She continued “if you wanted to cuddle me so badly you could have just said that at the beginning and we’d be here way faster.”. “am I really giving off that vibe?” Fez laughed. “no I’m just teasing you.” she said scrunching her face. 

He looked into her eyes like he wanted to devour her which made what he then said surprising to y/n “You know this ain’t a date right?”. With her confidence now depleted she felt embarrassed and rejected even though she was joking before and had her legs tangled with his. She scoffed trying to play it cool “Yeah Fez, jeez I’m not a kid.” he looked confused saying “Nah nah I know I mean… if I took you on a date, it be like a real date like to the diner or sum romantic shit.” he ended confidently. “oh.” she looked down now blushing then looked back up at him “Well if you asked me to go on a date to some romantic place like the diner… I’d say yes.”. fez smiled with his teeth “Would you go on a date wit me y/n?” he questioned with audible excitement. “I’d love to… but you can't ghost me, can't leave after tonight with no texts and expect me to wait by the phone for you.”. “Pft like I’d do that?” he played but y/n’s face became humourless “Fez.”. “I promise, I promise!” he said almost lifting his hands up to show defeat “good.” y/n smiled rubbing her cheek into his chest. With her eyes closed, she finally allowed herself to lull to bed. 

Fez felt regret at that moment. He wished he would have lied to y/n. He should have convinced her he wasn’t hungry. Maybe if he didn’t down the sandwich she made him he’d be able to grow some balls and kiss her. But he was too insecure about his breath and wanted the first time he kissed her to be perfect. So he just looked down at her in adoration knowing that if he hadn’t of acted on his gut tonight he wouldn’t be falling asleep with a smile on his face and the girl of his dreams in his arms. 

Then it hit him. How innocent she was compared to him, how cruel he was compared to her delicate nature. Scared that by bringing her into his life he would break her like the leaves she once talked to him about. But he never felt the way he does about her for anyone else, in all honesty, he never thought he would. Fezco always imagined having a girlfriend as something that would do more bad than good. Sure he has had casual sex but he never muttered more than five words at them just wanting to get from point a to b not really caring who with. Dealing with a whole girlfriend on top of all of his other extreme stressors seemed pointless. He'd never thought he would want to open up to someone that deeply or have feelings for someone that was even close to love. But with y/n… he wanted it all. To learn everything about her, to share everything about himself with her, to become a part of her life, to spend more moments wrapped in each other’s arms, to listen to her ramble about her random interests, to laugh with her, to make love with her, to love her and to protect her… He knew if he was going to allow himself to try his wants with her he’d have to promise to himself that’d he would protect her in any way possible.

[hollywoodxwhore]

KINKTOBER DAY 12: Period Sex

Colson x Female Reader

Double posting because it's October 30th and I'm on day 12 of Kinktober. Oops. Also, I totally messed up writing this in terms of tenses and points of view. I edited it a million times but there's a good chance I still missed some stuff. 18+, enjoy!

Also - this is meant to be part 2 to the fingering Kinktober fic where reader and Kells are best friends who start hooking up.

After Colson proved to you that fingering was way better than you could’ve ever thought possible, you continued to hook up. You were having fun, so much fun that he invited you on tour with him. You were riding on the bus, curled up in your bunk with a stomach-ache, trying to distract yourself with your phone. A text from Colson popped up on your screen: Come to my bunk?

Okay you replied, carefully getting out of bed. You were sure he wanted to fuck, but god, your stomach hurt. Once you stood up, you quickly realized why. Groaning, you fished in your suitcase for a tampon, clean underwear, and a pair of loose sweats. 

Once you were changed, you flopped into Colson’s bunk and curled around yourself. He rolled towards you, frowning. “You okay?” he asked. 

“No,” you grumbled. “My uterus wants me to die.”

Colson winced. “Oh. I’m sorry,” he said. “What do you need?”

“Cuddles.” You pouted. Colson shifted, pulling you onto his chest. You closed your eyes and tried to breathe through the cramps. You’d always had painful periods so this was nothing new, but it sucked each and every time it happened.

“Hey,” Colson said.

“What’s up?” you replied, pressing your palm to your lower stomach. 

“Don’t kill me for what I’m about to say,” he said, and you pulled your head back to look in his eyes. He smiled sheepishly. “I’ve heard an orgasm helps cramps.”

You rolled your eyes. “If you think I’m having sex with you right now, you’re on crack,” you said, and he chuckled.

“We don’t have to have sex,” he said. “You don’t even need to take your clothes off for me to make you come.”

You studied his face for a long moment, considering. “Fine,” you said finally. “But can you use my vibrator?”

Colson chuckled and nodded. “Whatever you want, princess,” he said teasingly. You rolled your eyes. 

“It’s in my suitcase.” Colson saluted you and climbed out of his bunk.

Minutes later, Colson climbed back into his bunk and lay down beside you, fishing in his pocket to remove the little pink bullet. He smirked, making you blush.

“How often do you use this?” he asked

You covered your face with one hand. “More before you and I started sleeping together,” you admitted.

“How often?” he asked again, tugging your hand away from your face.

“Col,” you complained.

“What?” Colson asked in mock-offense. “Excuse me if the thought of you using this on yourself gets me hard as a fucking rock.” He reached down to grip himself over his shorts for emphasis. 

You bit your lip, distracted by his hand for a moment. You forced yourself to meet his eyes. “Daily,” you answered finally.

Colson smirked. “Don’t be embarrassed,” he said with a smirk.

“You like the thought of me using that, huh?” you asked, scooting closer to him.

Colson grinned. “Hell yeah, I do,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you softly. “I like the idea of me using it on you even more, though.”

You shifted onto your back and looked at him. “Nothing inside, okay?” you said.

Colson nodded. “Trust me, I know,” he said. With that, he sat up and got between your legs, lifting them to settle on top of his thighs. Gently, he tugged your hips closer, spreading your legs further. You watched his face with your lip between your teeth.

A soft buzzing sound filled the bunk area when Colson turned on the vibrator and your breath hitched when he pressed it gently to your thigh, tracing it up closer and closer to where you wanted it. You watched the bullet’s ascent of your body, eyes flicking to Colson’s. He watched you intently and your cheeks flushed, but then your lips parted when he placed the vibrator right where you needed it.  

Colson smirked, lips slightly parted, and flicked his eyes down before gripping the waistband of your sweats and yanking them down below your ass. Satisfied, he finally pressed the vibrator to your clit, through your panties. You groaned softly, closing your eyes as your hips shifted. Colson held the bullet still for a moment before moving it slowly side to side. 

You looked up at him, staring into his dark eyes. “How’s that feel?” he asked huskily. Your response was a soft whimper as he circled the bullet around your clit just right, making your back arch. 

You lifted your hips, grinding up against the vibrator, following the pleasure. You were speechless but sounds were fighting to leave you as the vibrations rippled through you. Colson could obviously tell and he smirked down at you. 

“God, you look so beautiful,” he murmured, “and so sexy when you can’t scream like you want to.” 

A small whimper left you and then Colson leaned over you to kiss you. The kiss was a relief and you moaned into his mouth, clenching your fingers in his hair as his tongue teased yours. You were starting to get close, and you were panting when he broke the kiss.

“You close, baby?” he asked, eyes scanning your face. All you could do was nod and gasp, trying hard not to moan. “Fuck, you look so sexy.”

You were shaking hard, legs trembling against his hips and back arching upwards. Your legs clamped around his hand as the pleasure became all-encompassing. Your heart thudded hard in your chest and you gasped, thrusting upwards as you started to come. Just as you started to moan, Colson’s mouth was on yours again. You whimpered into his mouth, hips jerking as you came hard. 

Just as it became too much, Colson switched off the vibrator but he continued to rub it lightly against your clit, causing your hips to jerk up at the aftershocks. Colson chuckled softly into your mouth as you whined and squirmed, overstimulated. Finally, he sat up and pulled the vibrator back. You stared up at him, chest heaving. 

Colson chuckled again and traced a gentle hand down your side. “You okay?” he asked. 

You swallowed hard and nodded, throwing your arm over your face as you came down. You didn’t trust your own voice not to be shaky and ragged, so you stayed quiet. Instantly, your cramps faded and you blew out a relieved breath. 

Colson smiled and set the vibrator on the bed before curling up beside you. “Better?” he asked.

“Much,” you whispered once you’d finally calmed down a little. “Fuck.”

Colson grinned, nuzzling into your shoulder. His large hand covered your lower stomach and you covered his hand with your own. He hummed happily and kissed your neck softly. You rolled your head over and kissed his forehead. “Hey,” you said.

“Hm?”

“Are you hard?” you asked.

Colson chuckled. “As a fucking rock,” he admitted. 

You sat up then and he looked at you in confusion. “I’m going to go clean up,” you said, “and when I get back, you’re going to be naked.”

Colson’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly but he just nodded. You didn’t think he was used to someone telling him what to do. You smirked and climbed out of the bunk. When you returned a few minutes later, Colson had followed your instructions and he lay on his back, arm behind his head, his other hand wrapped around his dick. 

You climbed in and slid the door shut, eyes raking all over his naked body. You straddled his hips immediately and swatted his hand away so you could curl both of your hands around him, and even with both of your hands wrapped around his cock, it didn’t even all fit in your hands. “Has anyone ever told you you have a huge dick?” you asked. 

Colson laughed breathlessly and smirked. “A few,” he said. “Do you like it?”

You bit your lip. “Never thought I cared,” you admitted, “but something about it with you…it drives me fucking crazy.”

Colson bit his lip and watched you. “Good,” he rasped. 

You smirked down at him and shifted so you were hovering over him, eyes on his as you swiped your tongue flat over the tip. Colson shivered and pushed a hand into your hair. You sat up just a little. “Colson,” you said. “I want you to be rough with me.”

“Fuck,” Colson muttered, and swallowed hard. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. He wetted his lips and nodded, too, and when you sank down on his dick, he guided your head. Once you’d taken him as deep as you could, your throat protested, but he held your head down. Your eyes watered, but it was exactly what you wanted. Your vision started to ebb and he finally released your head. You gasped for air, panting, and Colson looked momentarily worried, but then you took him into your mouth again and bobbed your head, meeting his eyes. 

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, jaw clenching. He looked stunned, and if possible, his dick got even harder in your mouth. You hummed around him and pulled out every trick you knew, working him up. He moaned quietly, brow furrowing. 

You pulled off of him. “Col,” you said.

“Yeah?” he breathed.

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Anything,” he said. 

“I want you to fuck my mouth,” you said. 

Colson actually whimpered at that. “Holy fuck,” he said. “Of course.” You’d never seen him so flustered and you loved it. You smirked and took him in your mouth again. His hand sank into your hair and he started to lift his hips, slow at first, and when you moaned around him, faster. His moans grew louder but either he didn’t care about others hearing him or he couldn't control it. 

Your throat felt raw as he fucked up into your mouth fast and hard until he finally gasped and held your head still as he came. You swallowed him down, nails digging into the meat of his thighs. Colson shuddered hard and settled his hips back down. You pulled off of him and wiped your mouth. Colson stared at you in awe, jaw dropped, and you giggled. 

“Y/N,” he croaked. 

You wiped your eyes and looked down at him, waiting for a response.

“I need you to take that shit out and let me fuck you,” he said.

Your stomach dipped and your lips parted. “Colson-”

“I don’t give a fuck that you’re on your period,” he said. “I need you.”

“O-okay,” you stammered, fumbling to get out of bed and go to the bathroom. You returned with a towel which Colson hastily laid down before tossing you onto my back and nearly ripping your clothes off. He hitched your legs on his hips and got close to you before finally pausing. 

His eyes studied your face. “Sorry. That was fast,” he breathed. “Do you want to?”

You nodded. “Yes,” you said honestly, sliding your arms around his neck. “If you don’t mind.”

“I couldn’t care less,” he said, and kissed you. You whined softly as he pressed inside you, and you clenched around him immediately, still sensitive from the intensity of your orgasm earlier. Colson groaned into your mouth and cursed, and then he started fucking you, hard. 

You couldn’t control the moan that left you, but Colson swallowed it in his kiss, hips moving against yours effortlessly. You couldn’t help but notice that it felt like your bodies were made for one another, the way you fit so perfectly. Colson hoisted your hips higher, angling your body so he could get even deeper, and it felt so good that your eyes rolled back. You gasped when Colson’s soft lips met your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses on the sensitive skin. 

“Y/N,” he murmured, sinking his teeth lightly into your collarbone. You hissed in pleasure and pain, hips jerking against his, and he moaned. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“You too,” you told him, digging your nails lightly into his back. “Fuck, let me get on top.”

Colson flipped you over effortlessly and you pressed your hands to his chest as you started to bounce on him, lips parting in pleasure. You’d never ridden someone with such a huge cock, but it didn’t hurt. It reached everything perfectly, filling you so completely that every movement was pure pleasure. Colson’s fingers dug into the flesh of your ass as you moved together.

After a moment, he sat up, pulling you flush to him, helping to wrap your legs around his waist. He kissed you for a long few moments, and then you leaned back for leverage so you could roll your hips forward. Colson looked between your bodies, watching his cock disappear inside you over and over, and he moaned. 

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped, lifting his eyes to meet yours. You panted as you moved, staring back at him. “God, you’re the best I’ve ever had,” he said, and you swore you could’ve come right there. You never really realized how much you liked being talked to during sex, especially when Colson’s low voice was praising you constantly. 

Colson growled and shoved you backwards so he was on top again, and then he pounded between your legs so hard that you cried out. He covered your mouth with his, biting at your lip as he fucked you so hard that your body moved up the bed slightly. Colson was nearly animalistic in the way he fucked you, one hand clenched so tightly around your hip that you would definitely have finger-shaped bruises tomorrow. But he would have gashes in his back from the way your nails were digging into the soft skin. 

It was like he had completely lost control, forgetting that you were on a bus with his bandmates, but it wasn’t your fault that moans slipped out. It was too good and too hard for you to be quiet, but Colson smirked every time you made a sound, so it was clear he liked it. When someone pounded on the wall and whooped, Colson laughed devilishly. You were a little nervous at the fact that you’d basically been caught, but you barely had time to think about it because your orgasm was coming so fast that your head was spinning.

“Keep those pretty eyes open when you come on my cock,” Colson demanded, curling his hand around your neck. As your orgasm hit, your eyes begged to close, but you forced them open, staring into his blue eyes, hips jerking as you came around his dick, and then Colson stuttered out a gasp, pulling his hips back so he could jerk off onto your stomach. He groaned, brow furrowing as he painted your skin white. 

You were panting hard as you watched him, and he collapsed beside you with a grunt. Neither of you could breathe evenly for a few minutes. Finally, Colson grabbed the towel from beneath you and wiped off your stomach. Your legs were shaking so hard that you didn’t want to move, but you knew you needed to. You were still on your period, after all. 

Colson glanced down at his dick and smirked. You noticed, too, and your cheeks turned red. “Oh god. Sorry,” you said, covering your face when you noticed the blood.

“Is it weird that I don’t mind it?” Colson asked. 

“I mean, you’re weird in general,” you teased tiredly. 

Colson flipped you off, then cleaned himself up. “Here,” he said, handing you his t-shirt. You slid it on, glad it went down to your thighs, and hauled yourself out of the bunk to clean up again. You returned on shaky legs, completely exhausted. Colson was beneath the blankets already, and he lifted up the blanket for you to slide in beside him. You bit back a smile, and after sliding your panties on, you crawled in beside him.  He pressed a kiss to your forehead and held me to his chest. Neither of you said anything as you drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms.

[curls-cat]

11 for geraskier! Who wants to keep it secret and why ...?

ty grey!!! i started this before s2 came out, but it honestly fits really well into a post-s2 world? So here we go! vague season 2 spoilers under the read more.

wc: 3.1k (also on AO3)

~

Jaskier has never had a problem with people thinking he’s the witcher’s whore. People are, for the most part, idiots. And, well, he is Geralt’s, if you’re small minded about things. He always has been. And he’s never charged for sex, but he’s certainly not above seeking a… let’s call it a particular kind of patronage for his art.

Geralt minds, though. He’s always minded. Hasn’t said anything about it, obviously, because he’s allergic to talking about his feelings. But people will insinuate that Jaskier must provide something that makes him worth keeping around and Geralt’s brows will draw together, his jaw will tense up tight, and even though Jaskier laughs it off with quips about how Geralt wouldn’t be able to afford him and such, Geralt carries it with him like it’s an insult.

They’ve finally fallen into bed together, after decades of coaxing on Jaskier’s part, and Jaskier assumes it will stop. Because he thought—

Well, he assumed the problem was that Geralt wanted.

Because he knew. He’s always known, has seen the way Geralt looks at him. Geralt, for all his silence, is about as subtle as a brick to the forehead. But Geralt won’t let himself have, so Jaskier has played the long game. He certainly hasn’t been waiting around for Geralt.

So now they’re… something. Not holding hands under the moonlight or destiny-tied or anything like that. Not even friends again (if they ever were). But fumbled hands under bedrolls and going to their knees in the woods and Geralt telling him to be quiet, damn it Jaskier in overpriced inns and laughing when they rut against each other and their bodies make fart noises (and Jaskier has fallen so in love with that laugh). And Jaskier figures they don’t need to talk about it.

Well. Not exactly. But he thinks if he says anything Geralt will run for the hills because he can’t admit to liking Jaskier most days, let alone having fallen into some kind of relationship with him. He’s coaxed Geralt for this long, he can wait a bit longer.

Anyway. He figures that now that Geralt has him, well? The comments about Jaskier earning the right to tag along with something other than his excellent reputation-rehabilitation campaign and the sheer delight he is to be around? He figures that it won’t bother Geralt anymore.

Except that tonight Jaskier has been singing Geralt’s praises (just singing, along with a local band. His hands are still… well. He doesn’t have a lute yet, does he?) , as he does, and when he goes back to their table for a bit of ale, a backwater rube with no taste whatsoever implies the usual (not even creatively—Jaskier’s heard ‘bet you sing better in his bed’ a million times), so Jaskier rounds on him, says, “I’ll have you know—”

And Geralt stops him. Wraps an arm around his wrist and says, “Jaskier.”

Jaskier stops, because that’s Geralt’s Serious Voice. He looks at the hand on his wrist, which immediately drops away. He looks at Geralt. There’s the tightness again, in Geralt’s jaw.

So it wasn’t the wanting-and-not-having that had Geralt upset after all.

Jaskier lets it go, because contrary to popular belief, he’s got some sense of decorum. But he thinks about it.

~

He keeps thinking about it. And he develops a suspicion. So he tests it. He and Geralt haven’t exactly gotten touchy, but when they’re on the road Jaskier has discovered that if he wraps a hand loosely around Geralt’s ankle, he gets a soft smile in response. If he tangles their legs together in camp, Geralt shifts closer.

So he tries it in town, grabbing at Geralt’s hand, twisting their fingers together, and Geralt tenses. Shifts away.

Oh for fuck’s sake.

Right. All right. Geralt doesn’t want people to know they’re sleeping together (Jaskier doesn’t let himself think about it as anything other than that, doesn’t let his mind near the word relationship). And is that really a surprise? It took him over a decade to even let Jaskier say the word ‘friend’ without getting tetchy.

It still fucking stings.

He doesn’t say anything, because he’s too used to gentling Geralt like a feral cat, coaxing him closer with slow movements and his gaze always focused on something else. Geralt’s not his friend so Jaskier talks in transactions and being owed. Geralt doesn’t like him so Jaskier points out how he’s useful instead of talking about feelings. Geralt doesn’t like conversation so Jaskier does the talking for him and leaves room for Geralt to grunt. Geralt doesn’t want to be soft with Jaskier so Jaskier doesn’t kiss him unless they’re fucking. And Geralt doesn’t want anyone to know that they’re fucking so Jaskier will keep his mouth shut about this one thing.

And it shouldn’t bother him. He’s used to clandestine trysts, used to being a rich woman’s brief escape from a marriage she didn’t want, used to being a man’s dirty secret.

But gods, half his life to Geralt.

He doesn’t get maudlin about it too often. He’s used to wanting things from Geralt he can’t have, and this is… well, it’s better. He can have some of the things he wants, at least.

Then they go back to Kaer Morhen to meet with Yennefer and Cirilla, the way they do every month or two, and Jaskier is quite suddenly not all right with anything anymore.

“Bard,” Yennefer says in greeting, while Geralt and Ciri are hugging.

“Witch.” Jaskier tries to sound delightfully catty, to match Yennefer’s tone. He mostly just sounds bitter.

Yennefer squints at him, and Jaskier can feel her rooting around in his mind. He slaps at the air between them, as if that’ll do anything.

“That’s rude, you know.”

Yennefer frowns. She looks at Geralt. Back at Jaskier.

Jaskier would like to curl up in the ground and die. “We’re not talking about it,” he mutters, slinging his lute higher over his shoulder and going to greet Ciri. Just once, he would like it if Yennefer let him be miserable in silence.

Yennefer, of course, is incapable of leaving Jaskier’s hurts alone, so that night at dinner she says, “When were you going to tell us you two had finally gotten your act together?”

Ciri looks up, looks between the adults in confusion. Notices the way Geralt and Jaskier are gathered together at one corner of the square table, shoulders brushing. Notices the way Geralt’s hands clench on the table, too, probably.

Jaskier tries not to hunch in on himself. Geralt doesn’t even want his child to know.

“It’s nobody’s business,” Geralt says.

Yennefer scoffs. “As if the bard hasn’t been proclaiming his love for you from the mountaintops for decades.”

“There was only the one mountaintop,” Jaskier interjects, because a joke is all right, right? If he jokes, then nobody has to know how much it hurts that even Geralt doesn’t think he’s worth being open about. Geralt, who has said over and over that he doesn’t care what other people think of him. “Mostly it’s been taverns. Town squares.”

Geralt’s hand clenches tighter on his fork.

“Don’t make that face,” Yennefer says. “It’ll stick that way.”

Geralt hums and scowls at his plate.

~

After dinner, Ciri whispers “Congratulations,” and smiles at him, and Jaskier aches because all he wants to do is talk about it. But Cirilla is a teenager and will absolutely start rolling her eyes if he gets anywhere near gushing about how lucky he is to have Geralt.

Then Geralt and Ciri go outside to do… something, and Yennefer asks, “What’s got you so miserable?”

“Fuck off,” Jaskier mutters.

Yennefer stretches out on the couch and says “I’d have thought you’d be ever so smug about it.”

Jaskier doesn’t even answer this time. It’s not worth it, and it’s not like she didn’t read it in his head, after all.

“I didn’t read that deep,” Yennefer says. “Just a peek. You’re very hard to read for someone who talks so much.”

Jaskier flips her off. Yennefer grabs his finger and wrenches it backward. Not hard, just enough to get his attention.

“I am trying,” she says, “to be nice.”

The irony of that sets him laughing, and then she’s laughing too, and by the time they’ve stopped, Jaskier has remembered that, under everything, he likes Yennefer, likes her quick wit and her drive for success and the scared little girl she’s buried in so many layers of armor and prickles and beauty.

“He’s ashamed of me,” he says at last.

Yennefer blinks at him several times, then asks, “Where the hell did you get that idea?”

Jaskier explains, briefly.

Yennefer frowns, once he’s done, and pushes back from the table. “I’ll talk to him.”

“Yennefer, no,” Jaskier hisses, reaching for her wrist.

She bats him off like his grip is nothing, which he know it isn’t, all his strength is in his hands, even now. “Someone’s got to talk sense into him,” she says. “And you’re obviously not going to say anything.”

Yeah, because if Jaskier tries to get Geralt to talk about what they’re doing Geralt will decide that it’s easier to just stop fucking Jaskier at all than to use his damn words. And if Yennefer talks to Geralt, Geralt will probably do worse than that and run from Jaskier straight to Yennefer.

“You don’t need to get yourself involved in my relationship!” Jaskier hisses, scrambling up out of his chair to try to cut her off before she can get outside. “Why do you even care?”

“I don’t,” Yennefer says. “I care about Geralt, though. And I don’t want him to sabotage himself again.”

As if either of them could stop him from doing that. Geralt will let himself be happy when hell freezes over.

“I also,” she says mildly, stepping around Jaskier to walk outside, avoiding his flailing hands with grace, “don’t want him setting that kind of example for Ciri.”

“Please don’t,” Jaskier begs, trotting after her.

“Then you talk to him,” Yennefer says, and she gestures at Geralt, who she’s led Jaskier straight to.

That bitch. She probably never planned to talk to Geralt at all. Probably just wanted his cloud of malaise out of her dining room.

“Talk to him about what?” Ciri asks.

“How Geralt consistently makes Jaskier feel like he’s not good enough,” Yennefer says, and she’s glaring daggers at Geralt, completely ignoring the equally sharp daggers Jaskier is turning on her.

Great. Excellent. Just lay it all out there, won’t she? “I don’t need anyone else’s opinions to make me feel good enough,” he interjects, still garing at Yennefer. “I’m famous, I’m an excellent musician, I saved your sorry arse—or I would have, if you hadn’t gone and left the fucking boat—”

“Sure,” Yennefer says. “And that’s why you stay with Geralt when he treats you like shit. Because it doesn’t matter.”

Geralt is staring at both of them. He looks the way he usually does when Yennefer is somehow on Jaskier’s side—baffled and a little annoyed. Which, fair. He also looks a little worried.

Jaskier doesn’t want to have this conversation. He and Geralt haven’t even properly talked about the mountain fight thing. Oh, Geralt apologized. But Jaskier didn’t want to get into it, so he’s just been sitting on all the hurt he still feels, pretending things are fine. He doesn’t like talking about the ways he hurts. The raw open wounds of him. He’d like to spin a lie around it. Lies are safe, cocooning him, bandaging his hurts.

“Treats him like shit?” Ciri asks. She looks with concern at Jaskier, and fucksake.

“Treats him more like a whore than a lover,” Yennefer says, still glaring at Geralt..

Oh, ow. That one hits a little too close to home.

“Thanks very much, Yennefer,” Jaskier cuts in, pulling at her arm, “but I think maybe unless you and Geralt have started sleeping together again, too, this is really not your business?”

Yennefer snorts. “If you keep moping all over the keep, it’s everyone’s business.”

Jaskier has not been moping. He’s been perfectly composed, his ordinary self, a joy to be around.

Geralt’s truly looking worried now, and also a bit angry. Excellent. If Jaskier gets yelled at again, he’s leaving. Truly. He means it this time.

“Leave,” Jaskier hisses at Yennefer.

“Fine,” Yennefer says, and points at him, then at Geralt. “But you two had better talk.” She leads Ciri away.

“Do I make you—is she right?” Geralt asks.

“She may not… exactly… be wrong?” Jaskier offers. He tries to smile at he says it, to soften things, but it doesn’t come across the way he means it to, he thinks.

Geralt grimaces. He turns away.

Fucking hell. Jaskier should have known better. This is why he didn’t want to talk about it.

“I just—” maybe if he explains? “You don’t want anyone to know. And I know I’m annoying and you hate to admit you even like me as a person most days, let alone a bedmate, and I’m useless and I might be famous but I’m a far cry from a sorceress but I just—you weren’t even going to tell Ciri, Geralt.”

“It’s none of her business,” Geralt bites out. He still isn’t looking at Jaskier.

Jaskier sighs, and slumps against a wall. Kaer Morhen is a little less miserable during the summer, but the stone of the training yard wall is still cold. It grounds him a little. “Just… what are we, Geralt?”

Geralt doesn’t answer.

Great. Excellent. Answers Jaskier’s question just fine. “Dirty little secret, then,” he says. He’d like to push off the wall and dust himself off dramatically, but he’s tired. “Right. I can do that.” Nobody ever wants him for more than that. Instead of getting up, he sinks down, sits on the ground. His trousers are already filthy from the road, what’s a little more dirt?

His hands hurt. He massages them, going through the exercises Triss gave him, ignores when Geralt turns, comes to stand in front of him.

“Whores at least get paid,” Jaskier mutters, when Geralt’s been standing there for a few minutes. It’s bitter and petty, but Jaskier has never claimed to be better than that.

“You’re not— Fuck, Jaskier,” Geralt says. “You’re not my whore. You know you’re worth more than that.”

“Do I?” Jaskier asks, looking up to meet Geralt’s eyes. There it is, that pleading expression that had Jaskier dropping all his anger to follow Geralt like a puppy again. “Because you never touch me where people can see. You were perfectly happy to have me out of your life until you needed my help.”

“I said I was sorry,” Geralt says, still making that heartbroken face.

“I know,” Jaskier says. And he knows Geralt is sorry. But damn it, Jaskier still hurts. And he still doesn’t want to talk about it, but it’s going to bleed into things. “And I know you don’t like… letting people in. But I still feel—you never even hold my hand, Geralt.” He runs a finger over the burn scars. He wouldn’t want to hold his hand, either.

Geralt sighs, squats down in front of Jaskier. “People don’t—” He stops, runs a gloved hand over his face. “People don’t like witcher’s lovers, Jaskier.”

Jaskier should answer, but he’s stuck on the word lover.

“Yen—” Geralt continues, and now Jaskier is staying quiet because Geralt is talking. “Yen could hold her own. She’s powerful. You’re—breakable, Jaskier.”

Jaskier traces over his burn scars again. He knows that just as well as Geralt does. Better, probably. But he knows what Geralt means. Has been in towns where Geralt got stones thrown at him. Jaskier would be an easy target for that kind of rage.

It doesn’t make it hurt less. He understands, but still— “And Ciri? Yen?”

Geralt grimaces. “I don’t—” He stops.

Jaskier’s exhausted his quota of Geralt-words for the day, it would seem. He sighs. “I know,” he offers. As a peace treaty. Getting personal information out of Geralt is as easy as getting water out of a rock. He goes to stand.

Geralt stops him with a hand on his knee.

Jaskier allows himself to be stopped.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt says. “I didn’t realize it would hurt you. I thought you’d say something.”

Jaskier lets out a small laugh, one with more humor to it than he expects. “Geralt. I don’t know if you know this, but it is very hard to talk about feelings with you.”

“When have you ever had a hard time talking?” Geralt asks. He’s smiling, a small smile.

Jaskier doesn’t want to talk about that. He wants to patch this up, this one thing up, and nurse his other, deeper wounds, in private. “I—” he starts, stops, picks his words carefully. “A lot of the time, when I talk, it feels as if you’re not really listening. I didn’t want this to be one of those things. Better to keep it in than tell you and have you brush it off, yeah?”

Geralt’s smile falls. His heartbroken face is back.

Jaskier allows a hand to cup Geralt’s face as he so badly wants it to. “I don’t mind, usually,” he says. “I like that you’re comfortable enough around me to be as much of an ass as you want.

Geralt, gods preserve Jaskier’s fragile mortal life, leans into the touch, just the tiniest bit. He mutters, “Yen’s right. I’ve been taking you for granted.”

Oh, that’s a new one. Jaskier is going to call her on that, is going to gloat.

“Maybe a little bit,” Jaskier admits.

“I shouldn’t.” This is said directly into Jaskier’s palm.

“I shouldn’t let you,” Jaskier concedes.

“I can’t—” Geralt stops. Starts again, “in towns. It’s not safe. People will hurt you.”

“All right,” Jaskier agrees.

“But when we’re in safe places—”Geralt cuts himself off again, looks up into Jaskier’s eyes. “How can I do better?”

Jaskier shrugs. “Kiss me?” he suggests. “Just—touch me? Gently? Sometimes?” He offers Geralt the barest quirk of a smile. “I’m not expecting love poems and grand gestures. Just… don’t act like I’m something to be ashamed of?”

Geralt hums. It’s an affirmative hum.

Jaskier tugs at Geralt’s face, pulls him in. Geralt allows himself to be tugged, and they end up in an awkward embrace, Geralt kneeling between Jaskier’s legs. It’s one of a very few times Jaskier’s gotten to hold Geralt when they weren’t fucking.

It’s not everything. Jaskier is still hurt, still letting Geralt hurt him. But it’s something. And when Geralt pulls Jaskier to his feet and keeps hold of his hand when they go inside, Jaskier thinks it’s enough, for now.

[barnesafterglow]

this is for us

summary: you'll do anything ari asks, even if it means helping him with a home video

pairing: camboy!ari levinson x fem!reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: roommate!ari, plot what plot, smut (MINORS DNI) [m masturbation, dry humping, oral (m and f receiving), size kink, mild degradation, mild dacryphilia, kinda cum play?, ari has a filthy mouth, sexual acts being recorded, clit slapping, squirting, unprotected sex, light choking, breeding kink if you squint], excessive use of the word baby, porn with feels bc it's me

a/n: i said i wanted to get out of my comfort zone and boy did i mean it. this is my first time writing ari, my first time writing in present tense, and only my second time writing real true smut, so. don't judge this. or do idc. also not proofread because it's 5am and i just wanna post this and turn my phone off so i dont have to deal with any repercussions. goodnight!

main masterlist

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” Ari asks, as if you wouldn’t do anything for him. But this was big, bigger than anything he’s asked you to do before.

Ari, your sweet, lovable roommate. Your childhood best friend. Ari, who also happened to be a camboy by night.

You found out by accident - you were a trauma nurse and mostly worked the night shift. But a few weeks ago, you had gone out with a few of your friends on a rare night off. Since Ari thought you were at work, he was doing a live show, and was so absorbed in his work that he didn’t hear you come in.

When you heard his moaning, you assumed he had a girl over, and tried to quickly make your way to your room before they heard you, but when you passed by all you saw was Ari illuminated by his laptop screen.

You never expected to see him - a 6’5 wall of pure muscle - whimpering and moaning like he was, kneeling with his hand wrapped tightly around his cock.

You also never expected for him to look up and make eye contact with you as he spilled all over his hand.

Scared he would say something to you, you quickly shuffled down the hall to your room. Through your shared wall you heard him talking lowly - later you would find out he was signing off of his show. A few minutes later, you heard a soft knock at your door, and it slowly opened to let a sliver of light in.

Not wanting to deal with whatever was about to happen, you rolled over and ignored Ari’s quiet call of your name.

The next morning was less conversation and more of him bending you over the kitchen counter once you confessed you’d always found him attractive - and that the night before was something of a twisted dream come true.

Which is how you ended up hooking up every chance you got, even letting him post small snippets of you jerking him off or giving him head.

But tonight was completely different. He asked you a few days ago if you would be willing to record an entire sex tape, something you never in a million years thought you would do, and after taking some time to deliberate, tonight you crawled into his bed and whispered that you would do anything for him.

“Are you sure?” He repeats, giving you one last chance to back out.

Instead, you place your hand over his, pressing the record button, and pull him down for a kiss before he can ask you again.

Immediately melting into your touch, he lays his whole body over yours, every inch of exposed skin touching, making a shiver crawl down your spine. His hands squeeze your hips before flipping over so you’re sitting in his lap.

You arch your back as his lips make their way down your throat, ghosting across the swell of your breasts as his hands come up to up to unclasp your bra. Once you’re free of the fabric, his mouth instantly latches on your nipple, tongue swirling around the hardened nub.

With the hand that isn’t splayed across your back, he trails down your stomach until it comes to rest just above the waistband of your panties, tracing light patterns on the skin there as he moves his mouth to your other nipple.

Sick of his teasing touches, you grind down into his boxer clad length, pulling a low moan from him. He pulls his head back, staring you in the eyes as one hand comes up to pinch sharply at your nipple, which causes you to let out a pathetic whine.

“You that desperate for it, baby? Can’t even wait for me to make you feel good, you just have to go and do it yourself.” He bites into the junction of your shoulder, making your hips buck again. “If you want it so bad, go ahead and take it.”

The sound of your underwear being ripped by your body should surprise you, but it’s not the first and certainly won’t be the last. Ari lays back on the bed, and you try to follow him down, but he squeezes tightly on your hips, stopping you.

“If you wanna come, you’re gonna have to do it yourself, sweet girl.” With that, he lays back, arms cockily crossed behind his head, and you realize what he’s wanting you to do.

Not wanting to waste a second, you plant your hands firmly on his chest, rocking your hips in a gentle motion over the length of his covered cock. The rough feel of the fabric against your clit has your eyes rolling back into your head and your hips speeding up.

As you continue to grind your hips against his, Ari can’t keep his hands off of you - pinching your nipples, running down your sides and arms, touching you every place but where you need him most.

The burning in your stomach keeps growing until his hand wraps around your throat, giving it a gentle squeeze, and you fall apart, soaking his boxers.

“Aw, dumb baby, you made a mess. You know you gotta clean that up.” The glint in his eyes is wicked as you climb off of him, lowering yourself until your face is level with his straining bulge. He’s about to say something else when you lick a stripe up the length of him, matching his moan as you taste yourself on the fabric. You place another few sloppy kisses across cock, before you pull the band of his boxers down, tucking it underneath his balls, making him stand proudly in your face.

Before he can say a word, your mouth is suckling the tip, teeth grazing the sensitive skin, making him hiss as he wraps his hand in your hair. Pushing your head just the slightest bit, you swallow him down as far as you can, the familiar stretch of your jaw uncomfortable but welcome, and use one hand to pump what your mouth can’t reach, the other squeezing his balls.

It’s not until you come up for air that you realize you’ve been grinding into his thigh, your slick coating the wide expanse of muscle. As if sensing your intent to stop, Ari yanks on your hair lightly, urging you to continue.

As you take him in your mouth again, you rock your hips, pace stuttering as you race towards your peak. Just as you reach the edge, Ari bucks his hips up, causing you to gag on his member as you come. When you finally come down from your high, he pulls you off his cock, tears and spit coating your face.

Before you know what’s happening, Ari is flipping you over, mouth leaving a trail of wet kisses down your body, before he nudges your legs apart, settling between them.

“As much as I wanna come in that pretty mouth, I can’t wait another second without tasting your sweet little pussy.” Despite his words, he teases you a few moments more, biting the inside of each thigh, before he slaps your clit, causing you to jolt.

You sit up on your elbows to see him staring up at you innocently, as if he wasn’t teasing you beyond belief.

“What is it, baby? You want something?”

“Fuck, Ari,” you moan as he slaps your clit again, harder this time.

“If you want something, you gotta use your words.”

“Your mouth, Ari, I want your mouth.” You collapse back on the best as he finally wraps his lips around your clit, giving you reprieve from his teasing.

You arch your back, grinding into his face, as he adds one finger, pumping it in and out slowly, before adding a second. His hands are so big, even two fingers is a stretch, but you know it’s nothing compared to when he’s inside you.

He adds a third, curling them to hit that sweet spot he knows so well, and your entire body shakes in pleasure. As he lets his teeth lightly graze your clit, you come undone for the third time tonight, your release coating Ari’s face in an excessive amount.

“Holy shit, sweetheart. You just squirted all over me.” His smile is near feral and he crawls up towards your face. “You’re a fuckin’ treasure, ya know that?”

Your giggle turns into a moan as he kisses you, tasting yourself on his tongue. You whine when he stands up, instantly missing the warmth of his body against yours, until he finally pulls boxers down his legs, completely bare for the first time.

He’s back on you in an instant, spreading your legs wide as glides the tips of his cock through your folds before nudging your waiting entrance.

“Please fuck me,” you whine, sick of his teasing. “I need you.”

You grip at his shoulders, surely leaving marks with your nails as he sinks into you, the stretch of your walls a welcome burn.

“Shit, you’re so fuckin’ tight. That pussy’s just swallowing me up, baby.” You throw your head back in ecstasy as he hikes one leg over his shoulder, hitting that sweet spot inside you even deeper.

You feel as if you’re about to split in every time he pounds into you, mumbling his name with a mix of expletives each time his hips snap against yours.

“Is my little baby so cockdrunk she can’t say anything but my name?” Ari mocks you, reaching down to rub harsh circles on your clit. You clench around him, feeling yourself about to come again. “Go on, come all over this cock, honey.”

As if his words controlled your actions, you came again, soaking both of you as your thighs squeezed around him, but he doesn't stop even as your body stops shaking, determined to get you there one more time.

“Just one more, pretty girl. One more and I’ll fill this little cunt up. That what you want? Want me to keep you full’a me all night?”

He keeps one hand on your clit, the other gripping your hip so hard you know there’ll be bruises tomorrow, and your high crashes over you one last time. Your orgasm triggers his own, his thrusts faltering as he spills into you, fucking you full.

As he finishes, he releases his grip on you, laying his body over you and bringing his lips to yours for a passionate kiss.

He pulls back to look at you, his hands tenderly cupping your jaw.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, pressing his lips sweetly to yours before nuzzling his face into your neck, knowing you love the way his beard tickles you.

“Aren’t you gonna turn the camera off?” you say as he finally slips his softened member out of you.

“Fuck it, that one’s for us.”

taglist *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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[ynscrazylife]

Can I please please request one where Natasha and Yelena have another younger sister (Y/N) and she gets badly injured and her older sisters are hysterical since they’re afraid to lose one they love the most

A Race Against Time | romanoff fam fic

Summary: Natasha and Yelena do their best to help their hurt younger sister.

Authors Note: Thanks for requesting!

Request to be on a taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

MCU Masterlist #1 | MCU Masterlist #2 |  Main Masterlist

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header c @/twitalents

“Everybody alright?” Natasha asked as Alexei and Melina approached her and Yelena. The redhead herself definitely hadn’t gotten out of the whole ordeal without injuries. In fact, from Dreykov punching her to the fight against the Widows, and the fight against Antonia (not to mention the injuries from the past few days that she hadn’t taken care of), she was in some pain. However she didn’t worry about herself, she knew she’d be fine. She always was.

Natasha glanced over and spotted Y/N making her way over to them, too. From the distance, Natasha couldn’t tell that she was limping and was very hurt.

“I am clearly injured,” Melina deadpanned, causing Natasha to look back over and send her adoptive mother a smile as an apology. With a quick glance, Natasha could tell that she’d be okay, she’d just need a cast on that ankle and-

Thump.

The sound, accompanied by Yelena’s loud gasp and yelp, broke through Natasha’s thoughts and caused her to whip around suddenly. The sight her eyes landed on instantly sent what felt like an ice shard plunging into her chest. No. No.

By the time she snapped out of it, Yelena was already by Y/N’s unconscious figure, which the thump must have been - her plummeting to the ground - and Alexei was helping Melina over as fast as he could. Natasha sped past them and dropped to her knees, her brain wired to already be processing the situation and formulating a plan, while she lightly stopped Yelena’s wrist to prevent her from going to shake Y/N.

“You don’t move someone who is unconscious unless necessary - it could injure them,” she breathed out. Yelena, who could see that her older sister was in autopilot mode, sat back and let her do her thing, opting to look up at her parents, instead.

Both their eyes were glued to Y/N. Alexei’s eyebrows crinkled and, after taking a big breath, muttered (just loud enough for them to hear), “There’s blood on you.”

Natasha’s eyes snapped down and sure enough, her knees were bloodied. She quickly looked up only to see blood beginning to come from Y/N’s stomach where she had fallen on her side. Closing her eyes for a moment to allow herself to think, Natasha carefully and gently pulled up Y/N’s shirt, only to see an open gash in the shape of the Widow hourglass.

“Wha-?” She said, barely forming a word, and Yelena leaned over to see.

She immediately began shaking her head and pushed Y/N onto her back. “I-I know what this is, I think. I remember hearing about a weapon that’d leave that mark,” she rambled out.

Melina peered over Natasha’s shoulder and when she saw it, her face went pale. “That-that weapon, it ejects a blast that makes that mark when it meets the skin. It was made as a precaution in case any of the Widows went rogue - it was made years ago. But only a few were made because they were so confident in themselves. It-it goes along with a process they constructed to re-brainwash the Widows. The blast gets under her skin, in her body, with a chemical that’s in it, and that chemical starts the brainwashing process,” she explained.

A park of hope entered Yelena’s eyes. “So she won’t be fully brainwashed?” She asked.

“Not without the rest of the procedure,” Melina began, but then her eyes widened when she remembered something and horror quickly flashed across her face. “But if the process isn’t completed within a certain time period, the chemical will wear off its brainwashing effects and instead will start hurting her . . . A lot . . . But I have an antidote-” her tone sped up now, “-It’s back at the house. We need to get her there.”

Natasha and Yelena nodded, both having gone through a great wave of emotions throughout Melina’s words. Yelena, while racked with worry, still remained hopeful, and Natasha did her best to be, too, but her tears were drying and she was sniffling.

“The jet is-” Alexei began to say, when the sound of the engines of cars rapidly approaching cut him off.

Natasha looked over. “Shit, Ross,” she said, regretting even tipping him off to their location in the first place.

Melina bit her lip. “You girls go. Take Y/N home. The antidote is labelled ‘Ant-Widow,’,” she told them firmly.

Yelena’s lips parted to protest, not wanting to split up, but catching Natasha picking up Y/N out of the corner of her eye stopped her. She nodded, rising to her feet.

“We’ll distract them. They won’t want anything to do with us when they realize you’re not here,” Melina insisted.

Natasha sent her a look that she could only hope was conveying everything she wanted it to. A million thoughts whizzed about in her mind, none making room for each other. She wondered, would they leave them alone? Or would they be taken into questioning? Shouldn’t she be the one facing Ross - since she called him there? Is Y/N going to be okay? Will they get there in time?

By the way Melina looked back at her, Natasha thought that her message had been received. There was no time to go over the plan any longer, if they stayed even a couple more seconds they’d get caught by Ross, whose army of cars headed to a halt.

Natasha bolted off in the jet’s direction, Yelena quick on her heels. They rushed inside and Natasha took her time to gently put Y/N down before going to the pilot seat. Yelena sat down in the back, wanting to watch over their little sister.

Neither of them said anything until Natasha had gotten them off the ground and away from the field. Yelena could hear the engine whirring and she knew that Natasha was going as fast as this aircraft could probably go.

“Natasha,” she said, her voice small and hesitant, reminding Natasha of her own self when she was younger. The redhead braced herself for her sister’s words. “Do you think we’ll get there in time?”

Natasha let out a slow yet steady breath, fighting back the urge to tell her not to say that. She wondered the same thing, and she hated it. She didn’t answer, though, because she didn’t want to lie. She didn’t know herself, and she also hated that.

Yelena looked down in defeat when she didn’t get an answer and continued watching Y/N. She couldn’t stop herself from worrying and when she spotted the other injuries — bruises, cuts, scrapes — littering her body, she got up and went to the back.

The blonde grabbed the med kit they had stored and went back, quickly opening it up and getting everything she needed. First, bandages. Yelena put pressure on the wound even though she knew it wouldn’t bleed out, and a twinge of guilt hit her when Y/N moved and groaned unconsciously.

She then wrapped up Y/N’s stomach and tended to her other injures, every so often glancing at Natasha, who she could see by the way she was sitting up straight that she was tense. Upset. Worried. Yelena had to admit she was feeling those same things but busied herself by taking care of Y/N.

This carried on and they were about ¾ there when everything shifted. Y/N, who had been mostly quiet throughout the journey, suddenly rolled onto her side, eyes opening with a startled gasp.

Natasha frantically looked up at Yelena and the latter jumped to resolve the situation. Gently, she put her hands on her younger sister’s shoulders and tried to turn her onto her back, but Y/N fought her off and scurried back, against the wall.

“Y/N,” Yelena said, slowly putting her hands up in a “surrender” gesture.

The younger one shook her head as tears began to flow down her cheeks. “It-it hurts,” she got out, wrapping her arms around herself.

Yelena sent Natasha a frightened, desperate look and the glint in Natasha’s eyes held tears in them. “I can’t go any faster!” She cried out in frustration, her anger at her helplessness beginning to grow.

Yelena turned back to Y/N. “Take deep breaths with me, okay?” She said, and took a couple deep breaths to show her. It took Y/N a second, but she followed along. However, the pain didn’t take a break for long, and quickly came crashing back to her, like a magnet.

She let out another cry, but this one filled with that much more anguish, desperation, a pure rage from wanting it to be over, a rage that nearly caused her to vomit. Y/N leaned forward, hoping that there was something - anything - that could relieve this pain for even just a second. The warmth she was soon filled with from her older sister’s arms wrapping around her and pulling her close did nothing to soothe pain, but she found someone to have a steady grip on, someone to hold.

This continued on. In every cry let out, Yelena could’ve sworn each one was louder than the last. She didn’t know what to do so she did the only thing she could and stayed there. After  a particularly loud cry from Y/N, Yelena couldn’t stop a “Natasha!” from escaping.

“I’m trying!” She shouted over the engine and over Y/N, doing her best to blink away the tears and focus, but everytime she was on the brink of it, something tore her away.

After what felt like what could only be described as eons, Natasha managed to touch down in the same spot she had just a day ago. The moment they made contact, she leapt out of her seat, nearly tumbling to the floor, and practically fell against the door.

“Stay with her,” was all she said to Yelena before pushing all her weight against the door and breaking off into a run towards the house.

Natasha had run fast before. To escape Antonia, on countless SHIELD missions, and even to beat Sam in a race, but none amounted to this. The mountains and trees whipped by so fast that she felt like she was in a race car and it made her head spin. Nonetheless (and she thanked her extensive training for that), Natasha’s stamina held out and she ran through the house, tripping over things and knocking others over, until she reached Melina’s office.

At first, everything looked like a normal office space for a normal business woman, but the underlying science and spy secrecy that she knew had to be inside was revealed. Cabinets upon cabinets filled with vials upon vilas and files upon files. She scoured the entire room and nearly dropped the green-filled file when she saw its label. This was it.

A moment of victory passed until Natasha remembered the weight of the situation and she got back on her feet, running like the wind, and leaving behind the office looking like some raccoons had gotten inside.

By the time she reached the top of the hill, Natasha could make out the outline of Yelena carrying Y/N (who was draped over her like a curtain, by the way) toward her.

They met in the middle and Yelena put Y/N down, the older sisters kneeling beside her. Y/N was half-conscious at this point and Natasha moved at the speed of light to get the vial lid off. “She was getting worse, I couldn’t wait!” Yelena yelled.

When she got it open, Natasha pushed it towards Y/N’s lips. “Y/N, honey, c’mon, you gotta drink,” she encouraged, hand trembling as Y/N attempted to fight her off. It was only Yelena running her hands through her hair that calmed her down, and she took a small sip of the vial’s contents at first before gulping it down.

When she stopped squirming and seemed to no longer be in pain, instead falling into a peaceful sleep, that’s when both Natasha and Yelena had calmed down. It had been a rollercoaster, but they did it, and she was okay. The two held each other, relieved.  

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[magniloquent-raven]

that soulmate au where everything you draw on yourself shows up on your soulmate, right. saw a post asking "what if make-up counts" and.

steve always thought his soulmate was a girl.

because when he was nine his nails stained themselves a messy purple in the middle of breakfast. it was exciting, the first time something like this had happened to him. he dropped his spoon into his oatmeal and banged on the tabletop til his nanny agreed to call his mother.

his mother was distracted over the phone, but she sounded happy enough. he went to school with an ear-to-ear grin on his face, staring down at his nails the whole drive there.

by second period the nail polish was gone, but the bubbling feeling in his chest wasn't.

a few months later, late one saturday evening, steve was in tommy's room debating whether the mark they saw on carol's arm really was the dog tommy had drawn on himself in math class, when suddenly tommy stops, stares. and laughs.

and steve is confused until he glances around and catches sight of himself in a mirror. there's a pink smear across his mouth, glossy and shining when he moves his head, but clearly applied with a shaky hand.

steve shoves tommy off his chair, suddenly feeling defensive. it's not funny. make up takes practice. steve's sure he'd be bad at it if he tried.

but thankfully it doesn't stay long. an hour, at most.

it happens again the following saturday. and every saturday for five months. gold eyeshadow and shimmering powder on his cheeks, glittery lip glosses, bright colours all applied inexpertly, and never for more than an hour or two.

then. it stops. one saturday, nothing happens. he stays up all night, unable to stop flicking the lights back on to glance at himself in the mirror just in case, but every time the twisting feeling of disappointment is just worsened.

that morning, exhausted and upset, he grabs a marker, scribbling the first thing that comes to mind across his arm.

i bet you looked pretty

there's no response. he's not sure if this kind of thing is allowed. talking to your soulmate like that. or if it's, like. cheating the system or something. he gets nervous after a few hours. maybe it's the lack of sleep messing with his head, but he scrubs it off in a fit of panic around lunch time.

and years go by. when they're old enough for girls to start wearing makeup regularly he hopes, wonders, glances at himself in the mirror so much, but it's always just his unmarked face staring back at him.

his soulmate doesn't draw on herself. she doesn't wear make up anymore. not even nail polish. steve starts doodling on his hands just to stop feeling so bare. empty. but he also starts carrying a packet of wet wipes in his bag so he can clean them off

and then. he's nearly eighteen, on a date with nancy and her subtle purple eyeshadow. and he's trying not to look too sourly at tommy and carol across the diner, sucking face and smudging the matching hearts drawn on their cheekbones. carol thinks it's cute, when she does her makeup sometimes she'll add hearts or stars by tracing tommy's freckles.

steve resents it. deep down, he does, and always has. he should've just been happy for them, but he's just. lonely.

but nancy gets it, he thinks. she's never gotten marks, she's not even sure she has a soulmate. sometimes steve's not sure he has one anymore either.

except.

except nancy's looking at him funny, and he asks her what the problem is, and--

"are you wearing eyeliner?"

he runs to the bathroom. and. and yes he is. it's smudged, almost artfully messy instead of just clumsy like it used to be. he pokes at his eye, running a finger under his eyelashes, tracing the inky lines.

he's overwhelmed. relieved.

frustrated.

what kind of girl only wears make-up at night? and how the hell is he gonna find her if she doesn't wear it during the day like everyone else. when people can actually see it.

shit, maybe she lives in. like. australia or something. in a different time zone.

steve goes home that night with a whole whirlwind of distracting thoughts. mixed emotions. he tries to cling to the knowledge that at least she's still out there, somewhere, but he can't help but feel even lonelier imagining how much distance might be between them.

six months later billy hargrove blows into town, loud and attention-seeking and annoyingly gorgeous. steve doesn't know what to make of him. not at first.

doesn't know what to do with the way billy's eyes follow him everywhere he goes. or the press of billy's chest against his back during practice. or pretty boy like you. or sparks in his fingertips every time he thinks about the colour blue.

until math class gets extra boring and steve starts to doodle aimlessly, swirling patterns up his wrist and something like waves crashing in the palm of his hand.

the back of his neck starts to itch, like he's being watched, and he looks up, meeting billy's horrified stare from the other side of the room. his arm is held close to his chest like he's injured it, and for one confusing moment steve wonders how the hell billy broke his arm in math class, and why he isn't going to the nurse, but then--

then he sees the corner of a curling line, peeking out from hiding. blue ink staining tanned skin.

steve drops his pen. it clatters to the floor, drawing a couple glares in the silence.

before he can do more than blink and mouth wordlessly, billy bolts. he doesn't even take his text book with him, leaves his notes scattered across his desk. the classroom door slams shut behind him.

steve wants to follow him. wants it so badly he's shaking with it, need and desire and everything in him trying to get him up and moving. but he can't. he's not stupid. he knows how it'll look, and that's the last thing either of them need.

so he waits. waits fifteen agonizing, impossibly long minutes.

and he's out of his seat the second the bell rings, gathering up billy's things before he half-runs out of the room.

it's easier to find billy than he thought it would be. he's in the parking lot, leaning against his car with a cigarette between his lips, staring down at the lines on his arm.

his hand darts into his pocket when he spots steve, and he squints up at the sky with feigned nonchalance.

a smile tugs at steve's lips.

"i brought your stuff," he says softly, quietly, like he's afraid if he's too loud he'll spook billy and scare him off. and. maybe he is.

billy glances at him out of the corner of his eye. "...shouldn't have bothered." he kicks the ground.

steve lays the books on the camaro's hood and shuffles a little closer to billy. the look he gets is wary. a warning. they're still at school. there are people around. there's a million reasons why he shouldn't reach out right now and kiss billy like he's wanted to do since this stupid infuriating asshole rolled into town like he owned the place. so.

he doesn't.

he stands close enough that their shoulders touch, pointedly not looking at him, staring sightlessly out at the parking lot instead.

"i was right, you know."

"hm?"

"about you being pretty."

billy makes a strangled noise. "that...was a long time ago."

"yeah? and?"

"it. it was dumb kid shit. i wasn't. i didn't. i don't do that anymore."

"uhh, few months ago--"

"i made a mistake," billy snaps, shoulders tense, hunching and pulling away from steve's.

steve turns, then, looks at him. sees the fear glinting in his eyes. and it hurts. a visceral pain, right through him. "billy..." his hand twitches at his side and he resists the urge to touch him. "i won't...i won't tell anyone. if you want it to be a secret it will be. i promise, okay? promise." he pauses, with relief, watches billy relax a fraction. "can...can it be our secret though?"

billy raises his eyebrows. "what."

"i wanna see. if. if that's okay. i wanna see you."

for a second steve thinks billy might hit him. shove him away and run again. but the moment stretches on and a flush starts to creep across billy's cheeks. he shifts his weight around. "i...maybe."

it feels like a win. somewhere to start.

and he feels nine years old again, giddy, smiling like a loon, and hopeful for the future.

(edit: pt2 here)

[poptimus-prime]

Can i just say i love your head canons and writing?? They are so precious

I hope you dont mind me asking but uh could i request ratchet and autistic raf?

Rafael stims a lot (hand flappppp) and ratchet is curious about it so raf explains what autism is? And ratchet is v interested by it

Thank you! Sorry, this took a while, I wrote this whole post over a few days.

And bestie you have come to the Right Place because in my house there is always room on my shelf for autistic Raf and Ratchet. I keep the ingredients in my little brain jar. I am an autistic rabbit living in a shoebox so I eat this for breakfast.

Anyways.

Please proceed to under the cut

I did kind of shift and warp the request a bit, I'm sorry. Raf is a very smart boy, but I like the idea of him not fully being able to articulate The Thing because it's not computer sciences.

------------

Ratchet, after millions of years in a war, had become quick to react to movement in his peripheral vision. He had to--sometimes he was the only thing between a wounded mech and certain death. Though, he found himself needing to soften his response, at least in the base. Pointing a blade at a human child for walking on the catwalk was not appropriate or necessary, after all.

Today he sees something flutter in the corner of his optic, and he whips his helm around to look at the source. It's Raf, flapping his hand back and forth as he chews on his shirt collar and stares at his computer screen. The same behavior he displays every time he's working on code. He lets out a sigh of relief he didn't know he was holding in, and the child looks up at him, all other movements stopping when they lock eyes.

The shirt collar pops out of his mouth before he speaks. "Yeah, Ratchet?"

"...What are you doing, if I may ask?"

"I'm sorry, I can stop." The child's entire demeanor had changed from relaxed to tense rapidly, and the medic had to admit that it made him feel guilty.

"No, no. You don't have to stop. I was just curious what it was." Ratchet found his voice oddly softening, as though this were his own child he was attempting to comfort. Which, he did feel like it was that, he supposed.

But that was beside the point.

"It helps me focus." The boy eventually answered.

Ratchet paused for a minute to think about this before simply nodding. He also found himself falling into repetitive actions when he was 'in the zone,' so this wasn't out of the scope of his knowledge entirely.

"It must be a very effective trick for you to do it so frequently." He pointed out, a levity in his voice.

"Well..." Raf shifted in his seat. " I guess. It's kinda related to me being autistic."

"...Autistic?"

"Yeah...It's like. I don't know how to explain it. How I see stuff can be really different from how almost everyone else sees it."

Ratchet nodded, leaning in a bit to show interest. He'd learned this was the body language Raf was most receptive to. "And this is why you do your little focusing tricks?"

"Yeah. It's called stimming, I think? I just get so excited when I'm programming, I have to do it, or else I can't focus."

"I see, I see." The medic hummed a bit.

He wanted to know more, a lot more. Maybe he'd be able to help Raf focus, with different ways to get energy out. He heard about how Bulkhead took Miko to a "trampoline gym"--whatever that was--to allow her to blow off steam before it was time for homework. And that seemed to help her. Perhaps something like that coordinated with Bumblebee would help Raf.

But because the boy seemed to not quite be able to explain it confidently, he'd rather not put him on the spot and potentially embarrass him.