#and the hamper has a pillow on it for when i prop my legs up so it doesnt hurt

[ryssbelle]

Cringe fail cat forget he smell like cheese

Speaking of cringe welcome to the crossover of my superhero blorbo and miraculous ladybug, I tried once before on my own discord and got bullied but ive become stronger now so these scribblos are meeting once again!

i thought of this cuz adrien canonically smells like cheese all the time, and everyones just nose blind to it now, except for ben/solarman

[sixhours]

One Day at a Time - Chapter 5 - Labor

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel Miller x f!OFC, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, SMUT, gratuitous smut, dubious consent (drunk sex), unplanned pregnancy, fluff, references to past miscarriages, angst, hurt/comfort, romance, age gap (~21 years), childbirth, fluffy baby stuff, I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

Charlie and Joel find a new routine, stumbling around each other in the early days–passing each other in the hall with stilted greetings, overly polite glances, two lone wolves sharing a den.

The hardest part of having her around is her insistence on doing things . He finds the laundry hamper in his bathroom empty, the dishes washed and put away in the cupboard, the floor swept and the bookshelves dusted.

“You don’t need to clean up after me,” he grumbles after finding a bunch of his shirts folded and pressed and stacked neatly on the bed in Ellie’s old room. “Didn’t ask you here to be a maid.”

“I have to do something,” she says from her place on the couch. “They have me on reduced hours. All I do is water plants and sort donations, and there are only so many books to read. At this rate, I’ll be halfway through the library by the time the kid is born.”

“That’s the point. You’re s’posed to rest,” he says.

“I haven’t bled in three weeks,” she says. “The kid’s fine. I’m fine. A load of laundry isn’t going to kill us.”

He winces. “Don’t say it like that. And I can do my own damn laundry.”

In a vain attempt to get her to stay put, he brings home stacks of DVDs from the library and makes movies a nightly routine. If nothing else, it keeps her off her feet for a couple of hours, and he already knows they have similar tastes. Sometimes Ellie joins them, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch with a bowl of popcorn in her lap, and their weird little arrangement feels almost familial.

On one such night, Charlie is fast asleep when the movie credits roll. Ellie bowed out halfway through, claiming she couldn’t take the cheesy dialogue for one more second.

Charlie’s head is propped on a pillow next to Joel’s thigh, and he resists the urge to push an errant strand of silver hair out of her eyes. Instead, he draws a fingertip down her cheek until she stirs.

“You missed the best part,” he murmurs. “And you’re droolin’.”

“Mmm.”

She wipes a hand across her mouth and blinks up at him. It’s a long, lingering look that has him brushing the hair from her eyes after all, eager to have an excuse to touch her, if only for a second.

He realizes with a dull sense of shame that he wants to gather her in his arms and carry her to bed. The liquor that put them here may have acted as a lubricant, but at a different time, under different circumstances, he would have tried to get her to bed regardless.

The thought is pushed roughly aside as he stands slowly, stiffly, stretching through the low-level ache in his back, ignoring the creak in his knees.

He puts out a hand to help her up and she takes it, using it as leverage to hoist herself off the too-soft couch, overcoming her unfamiliar extra weight. Her hand lingers in his once she’s up, just a second too long, and he feels that familiar spark of heat low in his spine.

He fakes a cough and takes his hand away, grateful she can’t see the flush creeping up his neck in the low light.

“C’mon…let’s get you to bed.”

He plods up the stairs behind her, purposefully looking at his feet instead of the sway of her hips ahead of him.

“G’night, Joel,” she yawns, lingering in the doorway to his bedroom.

Christ, even her yawn is cute.

“Night,” he grates out, ducking into the spare room and closing the door behind him. He’ll wait until she’s settled, then he’ll go to the bathroom down the hall and take his second shower of the day, because there’s no fucking way he can jerk off in Ellie’s old room.

It’s different from what Joel remembers. There is no attempt to outfit a nursery, no crib or cradle to put together, no paint swatches smoothed onto the walls. There is no discussion of names, of gender, of a future beyond the current day; just a nightly mark in his pocket calendar, one more day in a long countdown. He doesn’t know if it’s a shared fear of losing the pregnancy or of making it too real; probably both.

Instead, they refer to the baby as a fruit, based on the list in the “What to Expect When You’re Expecting” book that someone, probably Maria, dropped on their doorstep.

“How’s…is it Avocado?” he asks, returning home from patrol. Tommy must have pulled some strings with the council because he’s been put on daytime shifts only, no overnights, and nothing longer than six hours.

“I think it’s Pepper now. No…wait,” Charlie frowns, reaching for the book and flipping to a dog-eared page. “We’re up to Sweet Potato.”

He wrinkles his nose. “How is that a fruit?”

“I dunno, but it’s making me want fries.”

He does his best to stifle the urge to follow her around and pester her to eat, to drink, to relax, but tonight the question slips out before he can stop it.

“You hungry? Did you eat?”

“I was joking,” she sighs, and he catches the tail-end of an eye roll. “But no, I haven’t eaten yet.”

“Heard it’s pizza night at the caf. Prob’ly still have the good stuff if we go now. No mushrooms.”

“Sounds like heartburn waiting to happen,” she smiles. “But sure.”

They walk to the cafeteria together, a diversion from routine. Except for their nightly movie dates, they keep separate schedules, more like roommates than future parents.

”So, uh, you didn’t tell me before. How’s ‘Sweet Potato’?”

“Active,” she says, rubbing her stomach. “At least I think it’s the kid. Could be gas.”

He snorts a laugh. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It feels like…bubbles. Like fizzy bubbles, popping,” she says.

He nods. “You’re, uh, what, twenty weeks? Halfway.”

“You’re keeping track,” she says appraisingly.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

Her lips quirk in a smile. “I’m not.”

He’s managed to keep his head down and avoid the rumors, but he feels eyes on them when they enter the cafeteria together; the old man and the reclusive widow. It’s almost enough to make him turn around, but her hand is suddenly warm in his, steadying him.

“Maybe we should give them something to talk about,” she whispers, arching an eyebrow.

“Pretty sure this is ‘something’ enough,” he says, gently poking at her stomach with the edge of his tray.

They find a table in the corner, someplace Joel can keep his back to the wall and glare at anyone who offers more than a sideways glance. Normally the caf’s pizza is good, but tonight it tastes like cheese-covered cardboard. He’s head down, focused on cutting up his food into little squares when a familiar voice pipes up.

“Hey, lovebirds!”

He looks up to find Ellie standing at their table, holding her tray and grinning.

“Not gonna interrupt your date, just wanted to say ‘hi.’ I’m eating with Cat and Dina,” she nods to the other side of the room.

“S’not a–”

“Have fun,” she chirps. Then she’s gone.

“Sorry,” he mutters, pushing his food around on his plate. “She’s…a lot.”

“How’s she dealing with all this?” Charlie asks, gesturing between them.

“Same way she deals with everythin’,” he snorts. “Bein’ a wiseass.”

Charlie looks over her shoulder to where Ellie is now laughing with her friends.

“How’d she end up with you, anyway? You’re a bit of an unlikely pair.”

“Made a promise to a friend,” he says roughly. “Then she…stuck.”

“The unwitting father,” she says, smiling a little, then frowns. “I used to wonder what kind of mother I’d be…before this. Now I just hope we make it out of this pregnancy alive.”

“You will,” he says quickly because he can’t bring himself to imagine the alternative. “And you’ll do fine. The first years, it’s mostly just about keepin’ ‘em alive…stop ‘em from doing stupid shit.”

He’s watching Ellie as he says this.

“Then you love ‘em and hope for the best,” he says softly. “Not much else to it.”

“Sounds like you speak from experience,” Charlie says curiously, and a pit of anxiety burrows deeper into his stomach. Sometimes he forgets she doesn’t know about Sarah.

“I took care of Tommy,” he explains, flushing. “Our folks weren’t, uh, around much. It was just me an’ him for a long time.”

She nods. She’s finished her pizza and he’s still moving his around on his plate. He pushes his tray over to her.

“Here. M’not hungry.”

“You sure?”

He nods, and she takes the tray and picks up one of the tiny pizza squares he’s carved out, popping it in her mouth.

“Well, she seems pretty happy, all things considered,” she says, chewing thoughtfully. “You must be doing something right.”

He winces, thinking of Ellie’s dead weight in his arms and the despair in her eyes when he couldn’t tell her the truth.

“M’not so sure about that.”

The moan drifts across the hall, and Joel is out of bed and at her door in an instant. He’s only half dressed, hasn’t even put a T-shirt on. Ellie hasn’t had one of her nightmares in months, but he’s operating on pure instinct, something drilled into him from the time Sarah was a baby. It’s a honed reflex; he does it without waking, without thinking.

He stops at the threshold, blinking away the sleep before he can knock on the door to his bedroom.

His bedroom. Ellie sleeps in the garage. Charlie is here now, not Ellie.

Another low moan, a gasp…a sigh.

His face gets hot as he realizes what’s happening. He stands frozen in the hall, her breathing carrying through the door. Panting, another moan. Arousal sends a tight knot of heat to his groin.

Fuck.

He turns on his heel, eager to put space between them, to give her some privacy, but his foot lands on the squeakiest floorboard, the one he’s been telling himself he needs to nail down before someone trips on the damn thing, and the sound is unmistakable and deafening.

All sounds from his bedroom cease with a tiny gasp.

Shit shit shit.

He’s fixed in place. There’s the sound of her soft footsteps on the other side of the door, the creak of the knob as it opens.

“Joel?”

He turns around, fists clenching at his sides. “Sorry…I thought you were, uh…sick.”

She’s watching him intently, silver eyes burning into his in a way that takes his voice. She’s dressed in a thin tank top and underwear, the fabric clinging to her skin, dewy with sweat from the heat of the summer, or from…other things.

His brain goes fuzzy.

The lacy edge of the tank top barely covers her, swollen as she is, breasts and belly normally covered by an oversized button-down. His eyes are drawn to the naked swell of her abdomen over the crease of her thigh.

Then she’s reaching toward him, and he catches her wrist before her palm makes contact with his bare chest, but just barely. The heat radiates off her and he feels every single degree of temperature.

“I…should go,” he murmurs, but his throat has gone dry and it comes out as a croak.

“Joel–”

He’s still holding her wrist when she moves toward him and presses her face to the center of his breastbone, her breath like a blessing on his skin. He can’t stop her, can’t turn her away, even as his hand holds her wrist steady and apart, the rest of her slides against him. Her forehead presses at the spot under his chin.

It’s so slow–so painfully, breathtakingly slow, this connection.

“We–” is all he can get out when he feels her lips on his chest, an open-mouthed kiss to his pec, and he shudders. Her tongue peeks out, lapping once at the tender skin, tasting him.

His other hand cups the back of her bare neck, intending to pull her away, but he’s entranced by the softness at her nape, the warmth of the skin, the way the muscles and bones shift under his palm. She has deftly extracted her wrist from his grip and is holding the hand that was meant to keep her at bay, fingers laced together and tucked between their bodies like a secret.

She tips her head back, waiting for the last vestiges of his control to break. It’s her eyes that do it, silver and shining with want…and sadness.

I’m here, I’m here, you can have this.

Oh, he really should turn away.

He kisses her like it’s the first time because he can’t remember the first time; only that it put them here. Maybe it hadn’t been the alcohol after all, because he’s lost himself to the first sip of her mouth. She tastes like chocolate, sweet and rich and deep, and he is so achingly hungry when she licks the taste of herself into him.

She’s pulling him, or maybe he’s pushing her, guiding her to the bed. His bed. Where she’d been touching herself not moments before–

He groans and separates himself from her just as she sinks onto the mattress.

“I need…I need a minute,” he gasps. He feels insane, primal, out of control. He needs this to just slow down and give him half a second to think, but he can’t fucking think because the blood is no longer answering to the part of his body that controls decision-making.

Charlie gets to her knees on the bed, swaying a little as she adjusts to her burgeoning center of gravity. “You asked how you could help. This is how. You can be with me.”

“Is that…really what you want?”

She blinks at him, slow and measured. Her voice shakes. “I want…I want to forget, just for a little bit. I want to…pretend.”

“I’m old enough t’be your father,” he grits out, even as he’s drawn to her, even as his hand finds hers and closes the distance. He watches their fingers entwine as if enchanted, her narrower ones sliding between his thick ones, the clutch of her nails skipping across the ridges of his palm.

“But you’re not my father,” she says evenly.

“The midwife said no–”

“It’s fine,” she soothes, placing his hand on her waist. She’s so fucking close and she smells like sex.

“Please.”

The catch in her voice dissolves what’s left of his restraint and his arm slips around her more fully, pulling her into him, his hand finding the soft skin under her tank top. He holds her close, feeling the thrum of his pulse at his throat when she kisses him there, licking at the scruff of his beard.

Then she’s urging him onto the bed, straddling his hips with her own, draping herself over him, her skin melting against his like warm honey. He feels feverish with want, with need, so lost in the sensations he’s denied himself for months that he might as well be drunk for all the control he has.

He nuzzles at one breast, cups the other, dark-tipped and heavy in his palm. She arches and whimpers when his thumb grazes a nipple, keens when he licks and licks and sucks it into his mouth, feels the pebbled skin tighten under his tongue.

She sits up on her knees, urges his boxers down over him before he fully realizes what she’s doing. He tries to still her with a hand to her hip.

“I don’t wanna hurt–”

“You won’t,” she says, and then she’s pulling her underwear aside and sinking on his length with a gasp and a whimper, fingers gripping his chest to steady herself as she rocks against him, taking him inside with slow, careful thrusts. A groan wrenches itself from his throat and he has to stop himself from thrusting up into her.

“There, there,” she whimpers, finding the right angle, pressing against him, rolling her hips until his cock is stroking and hitting that spot over and over. It doesn’t take long until she’s panting, whimpering, please, please, yes there, please, as she uses his body to climb higher.

He’s murmuring now, soft words of encouragement and praise and nonsense at her throat, her neck, wherever his mouth can reach. He doesn’t stop even when she kisses him, rumbling into her mouth, laying the words against her tongue with his own like an offering, yes, baby, just like that, so good, take it, take it, I got you, take it.

She comes with a final roll of her hips, pressing him inside her as deep as she can and grinding against him with a wail. He feels the pulse and flutter of her contractions around him, her eyes clamped shut, blunt nails digging into his shoulders. Her lip quivers and she lets out what sounds like a sob.

She slides off him with a whimper, tucking into the crook of his arm.

“Just…a sec,” she breathes.

He’s dizzy with her scent, her touch, still not entirely sure how they got here…again. But now her fingers are skating over his stomach and down, taking him in her hand and stroking him, watching his face.

“You don’t…have to,” he grits out, rolling to face her and edging backward to give her space. But she’s shimmying out of her underwear and hooking her leg over his hips, pulling him closer. She reaches between them to stroke his cock through her folds, then urges him inside with a sigh.

Pleasure sinks its hot tendrils into him as she rocks against him, her face pressed to his chest, soft panting at his collarbone. His free hand roams the landscape of her body, the hard swell of her womb pressed into the softness of his stomach, the weight of her breast in his hand.

He feels her fingers at the base of his cock, slicking herself, and his hand follows, covering hers.

“Show me,” he whispers.

She does, and he picks up her rhythm, swirling the pad of his finger around her swollen clit, yes yes, like that, more . He’s surprised when she comes again almost immediately, so sensitive, clamping tight and nipping at his clavicle. She grips his hip and grinds against him, forcing him to fuck her through it until he’s cresting.

“Gonna…soon…” he pants, trying to pull out, but she locks her leg tighter around him.

“Inside,” she whispers, grabbing at his jaw and pulling his mouth to hers.

He groans, pulling back to see her face. “You sure?”

“S’the worst that can happen?”

She looks down at them, at the swell just above where their bodies are joined, and then tilts her chin up and grins, a coy, fucked-out smirk that makes his cock ache and kick and throb inside her.

“Oh…oh fuck ,” he whispers, and then he’s pouring into her.

Her hand is splayed on his cheek when he comes to, her eyes closed, nose pressed to his jaw.

“Y’okay?”

“Mmm,” she sighs, a tiny, breathy little thing. She’s already half asleep.

“Should I—“

“Stay,” she murmurs, leg still locked around him.

He does.

[palbabor-writes]

oh my god! your writing is amazingggg. may i please have a creepy! shiggy, dabi or hawks whichever one is easier for you where they really like the reader so they do yk normal creepy stuff like stealing her underwear and humping her bed and one day they get caught and they thought she’d be disgusted but she’s lowkey into it and she’s just super sweet and praising and a HUGE SERVICE TOP. I think they just need some good pussy 😔 if you decide to do this then THANK YOUUUU

｡ﾟ(TヮT)ﾟ｡ you’re too nice nonnie & tysm. i’m glad you’re here!

warnings: general degeneracy, masterbation, handjobs, SMUT, panty sniffin’   

You make a point to leave your room unlocked.

Oh, you’ll switch it up, every so often, just so he has something to work for, but  you prefer to pressure him with a time crunch instead of a locked door. It’s always so much fun. You make a show of dashing up the steps, feet thudding heavily on the warped wood. Then, right when you’re on the threshold, gosh, how could you be so daft, so thoughtless! You’d left your supplies downstairs, again! You’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached to your shoulders. Silly, silly, silly.

The display does what you need it to, namely, giving him the chance to slink away. He’s always whisper quiet when he creeps into your space, it’s a miracle you’d caught him. But, even super-villains find themselves on the back foot sometimes, and boy, was he clumsy about this. 

It wasn’t like him. That was the slip up. No, his one, original, mistake was a simple one.

He’d left evidence of his arousal, of his lewd, heated, heart thudding, want. It was tacky, sticky, absolutely dripping with the milky residue of him. He’d tried to bury it deep, pressing it down into the bowels of your hamper, likely praying that it would remain hidden and you wouldn’t question it further when you did stumble upon it, hopefully weeks later.

You didn’t like to leave your hamper open and you certainly never, ever, left it beside your bed. It had been another long day and, at first, you’d only given it a swift glance, replaying the events of the night before. Maybe you’d lugged it over, too tired to pace the small distance? You had been in a rush. It was plausible.

Kicking your boots to the floor, you raise a hand to lower the lid of your plastic hamper when you spot the cascade of clothing. Again, it’s a tiny, tiny, fragment, but he should know better. It’s your job to notice the small, the obscure. Retcon is your bread and butter and this is too much, too tempting to ignore. 

Fingers follow the hollowed space his arm has left behind and you hit the panties, seconds later. They’re warm, wet, and you clutch them into your palm and pull.    

Fuck.

The lace is soaking. Fresh lines of cum run in thick rivulets, falling down your upturned hand and along your wrist, dribbling onto your bare feet. For a moment, you can’t seem to process the image that’s before you, your mind whirring through the possibilities, the faces. Who...no...which one of them did this?

The next morning, you’re quiet. It’s not unnatural. After all, it’s freaking 7 am, no one at the bar is talking. As you sip on your chilled, canned, coffee, your eyes carefully size up the men who are lounged around you. 

Shigaraki is perusing a newspaper, the pallid hand of father obscuring his face, but you can still catch sight of the red glint of his eyes. He looks bored. He hadn’t even looked up when you walked in, his back bowed and head down, engrossed in his search.

Dabi is perched on one of the dilapidated couches, his long legs curled under him, flicking a bashed lighter, open and closed, open and closed. Like Shigaraki, he hadn’t lifted his gaze to you at first. He had, however, answered a question. Just the one, when you’d asked him if he had found any newbies, any potential recruits. He’d snarked his reply, his cerulean irises latching onto you with a cruel sharpness. No was his answer and you hadn’t pressed for any further elaboration.

Compress was shuffling a deck of cards. Spinner was ticking through his phone. Twice was chittering with Toga. Nothing was out of the ordinary. You finish your breakfast and tell them that you’re heading out. 

No one replies.

******

Unsurprisingly, it happened again. 

It’s a different pair of panties but the glisten of the cum is the same. So is the lowered placement, the bevel of the clothes, and the position of the hamper. However, it’s a little more calculated this time around. The lid is closed and there are no traces of his entry, no cuts or nicks on the door handle or key hole, no scattering of your things, no dip on your bed. There’s nothing. 

Alright. Two can play at this game. 

The hamper is moved, strategically maneuvered into the bathroom that your room holds. You’re careful to leave the lid propped. It looks haphazard, but it takes a precise click of the plastic to lock it into that position. You’ll be able to tell if it’s been moved. 

You tug your panties out of your dresser and count them, noting the colors, patterns, the imperfections in the lace. If you’re going to do this, you need to know what you’re working with. The inventory must be precise, each variant recognized and tallied. 

Every day, it’s a rinse and repeat process. Yank the flutter of fabrics out, spread them across your sheets and count. It’s tedious, bordering on annoying, but you wanna know. It’s like an itch. It sits right where you can’t reach and it tickles at the back of your mind. Besides, you’ve always liked a good puzzle. Although, this isn’t quite what you had in mind, you’ll take it and you’ll solve it, if it’s the last thing you do. 

Two days after you start this mind-numbing task, four pairs go missing. 

******

It’s late when you stumble back into the hideout, padding past the darkened bar and up the steps. The mission, despite its lower ranking, and pay, you think bitterly, had taken almost three days. Thankfully, the information you’d gleaned was worth it, but you’re exhausted. You’re wiping a sleepy hand across your face when you notice your door.

It’s ajar.

Instinctually, you fall to your haunches, tip toeing toward the crack, eyes narrowed, fingers curled into fists. The room is pitch black but there’s something, no, someone, in there. You can make out their outline. It’s a jagged cut that sits upon your bed and you can hear the tiny hitches and groans that they’re gasping out.

As your eyes adjust, you can see more. Your knees fall to the floor, digging into the wood and you steady yourself against the wall, eyes wide. He’s propped along your pillows and his hand is working over himself, using the friction of another pair of your panties to rub himself to completion. You can’t make out the exact shape of his cock but from the rapid fire tugs of his fist you can tell it’s long. It must be thick too, since he needs to adjust his pulls toward the tip.

He’s quiet, but you can still hear the catches and moans he’s making. Your name slips out too and the utterance makes your mouth go dry. So that’s who it is. Well, wonders never cease. 

In the months that you’d known him, he hasn’t paid you much mind. Even through the haze of this strange obsession, he hasn’t altered his day to day routine, hasn’t broken character, hasn’t spoken to you unless the situation absolutely called for it. 

Damn. It’s too much, it’s way, way...no. No. It’s not that it’s too much, you think, mesmerized by the sight that’s splayed across your sheets. It’s nowhere near enough. 

You want to march in there, yank your soiled panties off his dick and hear what kind of noises he would make for you then. Would he shove you off, or would he welcome your notice? Either way, he’s too close now.

His hips have started to rut upwards, unable to resist the rhythm he’s created. The moans have drifted into hisses and his back arches when he cums, those familiar ropes of white splashing across the pastel of your lace. He’s careful to catch the drops, pinching the end of his cock and shuddering at the overstimulation. As he sits up, you cautiously rise, unsteady on your wobbling legs. 

You’re halfway down the stairs when your door shuts. His footsteps recede down the hallway and you can hear him as he thuds into his own space, the click of his lock reverberating in your ears. 

******

Thus, the game of cat and mouse continues. 

Outwardly, neither of you reveal your hand, keeping your cards close to the chest, out of each others line of sight. Your door locks, unlocks, and you keep losing more panties. You’ve marked the one that will make the difference. It’s your new, favorite, pair. You haven’t worn them yet, but they’re a lush item, expensive, luxuriant, an excess that you don’t usually allow yourself. You’d purchased them the day after you’d finally caught sight of him. You couldn’t help it. 

Most people, you reason, would be horrified by this situation, but not you. Oh no, you’re so turned on you can barely sleep. You start to masterbate in the early evening, when you know the others are moving around, your fingers trailing past your dampened curls, a careful fingernail pricking along your clit. You’ve even left your door open, cracked, welcoming the attention of anyone passing by. Once, you could have sworn you’d heard him. The whisper of that gasp, imagined or not, had bowled you over, your thighs clamping around your wrist, your cunt pulsing around nothing, hungry, slathering, desperate for more. 

You want to just toss those panties on your bed and provoke the interaction. Goddamnit, how much longer is he gonna make you wait?

****** 

Not even 24 hours later, they’re gone. 

He’s getting reckless, too. Your hamper is knocked over, the dresser drawer that holds your underwear is a crumpled mess, and he’s deliberately left a vacant hole where the panties used to lay. It’s screaming for your attention and you can feel your heartbeat thrumming against your breast. 

Finally.  

The next mission you’re assigned is easy, too easy. It’s mid-afternoon and there’s no reason for you to be back this early. Well, that’s an oversimplification. There is a perfectly excellent reason for you to be back, you’re just hoping the sliver of intel that was dropped for you will pay off. 

Apparently, while the rest of you were out pounding the pavement, he’s elected to stay behind. He had something he needed to take care of. 

“It sounded important,” Toga informed you, her voice lilting, rising with that sharp toothed smile of hers. 

“Why are you telling me this,” you’d asked her, biting your lip and crossing your legs, soothing the throb that’s pricking in your core. 

“He just told me to tell you, didn’t ask him anything more. You know how he is. He can be, prickly,” Toga winks, popping her head to the side, bouncing her golden locks. 

“Alright,” you reply, adding a mask of disdain and disinterest to your performance. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” 

Lies, lies. 

So many fucking lies, but he must know that you realize, that you know. Why else enlist Toga? He hated having to lay things out. No, he must know, he has to.    

The bar is empty and the upper floors are deathly still.

Your door is sensibly shut but you can make out his jerks, his gasps, and those choked whimpers that echo past the flimsy wood. Your hand catches against the knob and you take one, last, steadying breath. 

Here we go.       

When you swing the door open he startles upward, his white hair curtaining the flush of his cheeks. Those vermillion irises land on you and he vaults away, nearly tumbling off the side of your bed. His pants are still bunched around his thighs, so that hinders him from making a true getaway. As he’s fumbling with the dark material, you don’t miss the shake of his hands and the spread of that lovely blush.

Oh, this is too perfect.

Before he can finish tucking himself back in his pants, you’re dashing across the top of your bed, ignoring the discarded panties, ignoring the dark glare that he gives you, ignoring everything but that heated bulge that’s giving him so much trouble. 

Impatient, your fingers curl around his wrists and you use the millisecond of surprise that your swift action has gifted you. With a low gasp, he falls forward, his knees sinking into the softness of your mattress. One hand lowers to brace himself, but he’s careful to keep a finger arched away, preserving the permanence of your bed. Before he can get his bearings, you’re pressing him onto his back, straddling his lean hips and lowering those dark pants back down. 

His cock, badly concealed by the upper line of his boxers, springs out, curving proudly toward his muscled stomach. For his part, Shigaraki squirms under you, his scarred lip set in a forbidding scowl. His deadly hands lower to yours, but you ignore his unspoken threat, knocking his trembling digits away. Your  fingers lace around his cock, squeezing at the heft of him, stroking up the spidery veins and grooves until he’s dropping his defiant head back against your sheets. 

“Wh-what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growls, his raspy voice halting over the question. 

“Who? Me?” you laugh, tugging a few more gasps from his shaking lips. There’s a pale strand of precum that’s leaking from his tip and you brush your thumb over it, gathering it against the pad and using it to ease your motions. His hips buck up and he shoves himself into your fist, a long string of curses slipping through his clenched teeth. 

“I don’t think you get to ask that, dear leader,” you tease, leaning over his prone form. You’re glad he’s forgone wearing that creepy hand. It hadn’t even come into your calculations of how all of this would go. “No, not with the way you’ve been behaving.”

“I-I didn’t...fuck–” 

“What? Didn’t think I’d find out?”

“You’re not supposed to be here. I sent you on that– ah– that mission for a reason,” Shigaraki bites out, shifting away from your close inspection. You smile at his discomfort and cup your free hand around his chin, yanking him back to you, forcing him to look up. 

“That’s too bad, cus’ I finished early. Looks like I’m just that good, huh?” 

He’s seething up at you, his eyes gleaming in the low light of your room, but he’s not making any attempts to leave. He may want to, but it seems his body has other plans. His cock is swelling as you pick up your tempo, your fingers clenching and releasing as you go, edging him along. 

“You ever fucked a girl?” you ask, leaning back to admire the tense enjoyment of the man under you. The muscles of his stomach, coil and writhe, flexing each time you hit his tip and relaxing as you make the swift pass back down. 

“N-no,” he moans, jerking his hips up, silently demanding that you pick up the pace. 

“Did you want to?” you whisper, lowering to his face again, letting your soft lips trace along his temple. His skin is rough, but you like the contrast. Shigaraki seems to enjoy it too, his eyes slipping behind his eyelids as he turns toward you. When he doesn’t answer, you slow the hand that’s passing over the strain of his length. Shigaraki hisses at the shift and his eyes pop open again. They burn as they blaze up at you, clearly echoing his displeasure. 

“Asked you a question,” you scold. He’s quiet for a long breath, but, after a few tense seconds, he lowers his eyes and nods, his jaw tight. “Should I take that as a yes?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Shigaraki grumbles, flashing a quick glare your way. “Was that clear enough for you?”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, one delicate eyebrow arching at his disgruntled expression.

“Don’t fucking call me that,” he huffs, grimacing as you lift your hand from him, freeing yourself to yank your shirt off. 

“What do you want me to call you?” you ask, unbuttoning your jeans and easing them down the curve of your hips. 

“My fucking name.”

“Shigaraki?”

“No. Tomura,” he replies, his voice falling into that deep rasp again. He’s watching you closely and you grin down at his frank assessment. 

“Alright, Tomura,” you begin, testing out the unfamiliar acknowledgement. “Let’s make this good for you, hmm? What are you wanting to try first?”

He’s silent and you can hear the grinding of his teeth. “What’s better for you?”

Oh. Well, that’s not a question you were expecting. “For me? Uh, I guess I prefer to be on top. Let’s me control things and–”

“So do that,” he shrugs, finally peeling those dark pants off his long legs. He leaves his shirt on, but it doesn’t matter, if you’re riding him it’s not like you can’t tuck your hands under the tattered fabric.

“After acting like such a creep, you’re being pretty nonchalant about all of this,” your fingers wander along his sides and he shudders again, his neck bowing off the bedding. 

“You’re one to fucking talk. Think I didn’t know what you were doing?”

“Ha! Well, well. No wonder you took my bait so easily. When did you figure me out?”

“That night you sat outside your door and watched me,” his hands raise to your hips and he urges you to hurry up, grunting when your dripping cunt traces over his tip. “Then you left your fucking door open. Not just once, either, no, you did it for days. It was a whole fucking week of that shit. Didn’t even need to steal a pair of your slutty little panties to smell you then. You reeked. I could smell you from my room.” 

You laugh, helping him to press up and he glides into you, stretching you, radiating a satisfying ache along the slippery heat of your walls. His legs lift and his hands fall from your hips. Once you’re fully seated, your pelvis flush with his, you give him a few gulping breaths. 

“Ahh, fuck, oh– fucking damn it. Ohh, this feels nice. God, you feel so fucking good,” he mumbles, his voice falling into a hysterical edge. You bite your lip and raise up on your knees, making sure you grip him tightly as you go. Another mantra of obscenities drop from his lips and his feet brace against the bed, his hips rutting blindly as you begin that slow lift and lower.

“How’s that?” you query, moaning when he returns those broad hands to your hips. His reply is a sharp thrust and you’re tipped forward, forced to sprawl over him, fingers digging for purchase in his dark shirt. He grunts at the weight of you but he keeps his pace up, using the bed as leverage. 

You’re so close to him and you can’t help but reach for his face, suddenly desperate to feel his lips against yours. He doesn’t fight your hold, but he does let out a long groan when you tentatively kiss him. It’s slow at first and you’re very conscious of those dangerous hands of his. They’re still braced against your hips, but the four digits are starting to dig into your skin, sinking into the vulnerable dips until you’re whining. 

He’s unsure, so you help him along. 

You suck and nip at him, teasing him until he’s raising his head for more. Finally, one of those powerful hands detaches from your waist and he snatches at the back of your neck, insisting that you let him explore you further. After a time, you need air more than you need his lips, so you shake yourself free, pulling away and grinding your hips down as he ruts into you again. 

“Not bad,” you tell him, grinning when he swipes his tongue over his swollen lips, his eyes lifting to peer up at you curiously. “Want me to take it up a notch?”

“No,” he replies sharply. “I like this.”

You snort at his blunt response and give him what he’s asked for. You keep the drags of your lifts slow, enjoying how he throbs and swells inside you. Each time you rise, you roll your hips and he sighs at every minor clench that your pussy does. After a time, you can’t ignore the pulsations of your impatient clit, so your fingers trail downward, delicately rolling and grinding against the bud. 

Tomura tilts his head at this and his hazy vermillion snags your attention. “Does...does that feel good?” 

For a second, you’re unsure what he means, but when his hand ghosts over yours, you realize. “Mmhm,” you gasp, giving yourself a quicker tweak, delighting in the widening of his eyes when your cunt flushes another wave of arousal around him. It slicks between your thighs and pools around his pelvis, gleaming against the dark curls that rest there. 

“Lemme try,” he demands, batting your hand away and replacing your fingers with his own. He’s clumsy and he’s not expecting it to be that slippery, but he’s a quick study and he watches your face expectantly each time he tries something different. 

“Y-you’re doing so good, Tomura,” you praise, lingering on his name, pleased that he reacts so positively to it. “Just a little bit...oh fuck...yeah, right there is perfect.”

You’re not being facetious either, he’s honestly killing you with those earnest looks and careful prods. Each time you gasp, he presses just a fraction more, testing out his new skills and expanding on them. As a reward, you keep the positive reinforcement coming, calling out his name as you fuck him into you, loving how he keeps pulsating and groaning each time you sink down. 

A thin misting of sweat is beading over both of you, but you ignore the heat, too close to care that you’re starting to falter a bit in your rhythm. Tomura is panting also, losing some of that focus as he races toward his own release.

“Harder, ride me fucking harder, (Y/N),” he commands. The sight of him gasping and groaning out your name gives you an idea. You acquiesce to his demand but as you start those quick pumps your fingers reach behind you, searching for something that you think he’ll like even more. 

Ah-ha!

It’s an older pair, not as frilly as the one’s you’d saved for him, but you’ve been wearing them all day, so that scent he was complaining about should be nice and ripe. His eyes have winced shut, so the flop of your lace panties startles him. He tenses for a second, but once he notices what you’ve given him a wicked smirk curls his lips. Instantly, his hand leaves your clit and he presses the fabric to his face, huffing heavily against the crotch. 

“You fucking tease,” he groans, his tongue tracing along the seams, lapping at the thin residue that you’ve undoubtedly left behind. “Ahhh, yes. I think I would have rather had you sit on my face, but this will work, for now.” 

The threat in his voice makes you shiver and you rock forward as you lower, snagging the sharp edge of his pelvis against your clit. Tomura takes in another deep breath at the sensation, his hand still holding your saliva filled panties to his lips. Just a little bit more. Your fingers tweak and pull, rolling the way you need. The heavy sting of Tomura’s cock is helping too and your pussy greedily begins to tighten around him, earning you a sputtered groan from the man beneath you.

“D-do that again,” he sighs, shifting your panties down his face so he can watch you. Obediently, you flick at your clit again and that stimulation, plus the heady knowledge that Tomura is watching, memorizing every move you make, hurtles you over the edge and you can’t help but slump forward as your orgasm crashes over you. Tomura lets out a guttural moan, flinging your panties away and yanking you to his parted lips. His kiss is frantic, nonsensical, more bites and slurps than any kind of caress, but you fall into his arms, overwrought and too turned on to think. 

Once he’s had his fill of your lips, he resumes that steady pounding, his powerful hips canting into you, peppering you with jagged thrusts that leave you gasping. 

“What’s the matter?” he taunts, his voice a wild rasp in your ear. “Can’t take anymore? Am I too much for you?” 

You don’t trust yourself to reply, already seconds away from another shuddering release. All it takes is the feeling of him swelling and the heat of his cum to reduce you to a gasping mess again. This time, a thin line of drool escapes your lips. Delighted, Tomura snags his hand in your hair, tugging until you’re hovering over him. Gluttonously, he laps at your lips, sucking until you’re not sure who’s making the bigger slob of themselves. 

When he’s finished, he rolls you off of him, splaying you out on the bed. As the world falls back into focus, you catch sight of him, leering over you, his white hair cascading around the two of you. 

“I don’t think I’m done yet,” he grins, one hand cupping under your jaw. “Besides, you could have given me this weeks ago. I think you owe me a few back payments. Don’t cha’ think?”

notes: ahaha. this is basically a full fledged fic. whoops. 

did i have anyone wondering if i was gonna pick Tomura or Dabi?                                        

[muchadoaboutbucky]

Make Some Noise | oneshot

PAIRING: Bucky Barnes x Reader

WORD COUNT: 1,800

WARNINGS: cute-goofy-rough smut

NOTE: Written for Amanda A for their $10 membership on my Patreon. The prompt is in bold. Do not save/repost my work without my consent. This work is 18+ only.

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> Babe? [11:26 PM]

> You still up? I can’t sleep. [12:06 AM]

> I’m coming over. [1:28 AM]

***

The steady rap-rap-rap of metal on glass echoes through the small, quiet space of your bedroom. You jerk awake, reaching under your pillow for the knife you keep there. A shaft of moonlight pierces through your curtains, and through bleary eyes, you manage to make out the tall, hulking figure semi-crouched on your fire escape just three feet away.

Bucky?

You set the knife on the nightstand and push the covers back, crawling across the mattress to reach up and pull back the little latch on the back of your window. A chilly breeze washes through the room, and you shiver, peering up through the darkness into the face of a grinning, windswept-looking Bucky Barnes.

“Bucky?” You blink several times as he leans down. “It’s two in the morning, what are you doing here?”

He shifts his weight, hands tucked in his pockets. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured I’d pay my girl a little visit.”

“How did you—?”

“A lot of roof-hopping.” He smirks proudly. “Faster than using the streets and I’m pretty sure the police would be all over a hooded figure doing forty in the middle of the street, jumping over cars…”

You giggle. “You didn’t hurt yourself?”

“Well, not really. Almost took a satellite off the corner of an apartment complex two blocks away.” He rests his elbows on the windowsill. “Are you gonna invite me in or leave me to literally chill out here? It’s cold.”

You shift back, and he heaves himself through the open window, nimbly sliding through to land effortlessly on your bed. “Can’t sleep?” you ask, closing your window and turning the latch.

“Nope.” He sighs heavily and drops his small backpack to the floor. “Couldn’t get you out of my head.”

“And sending a text was off the table, apparently?”

“I sent you three, you didn’t answer.” He gestures to your phone on the nightstand and shrugs his light jacket off. “It’s just been a while since we saw each other.”

You sigh when he pulls you close and presses a kiss to your cheek. “I thought we were taking this slow. We’re not at the move-in-together stage.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t stop me missin’ you.” He buries his face in the crook of your neck and tugs you into his lap. “I really wish you’d come live at the tower.”

“What’s wrong you coming to live here?”

“It’s small.”

“But it’s cute. And we wouldn’t have to put up with sneaking around other people.” You let your knees slide on either side of his hips, and when he starts a line of kisses down the side of your neck and wraps an arm around his waist to pull you even closer, you feel the hard press of his barely-concealed erection.

“Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you come all the way from Park Avenue to have sex at two in the morning?”

He chuckles. “Well, I wanted to see you more than anything. Can’t help what happens after that.”

You smile when his kisses find the corner of your mouth. “It’s been a few weeks, hasn’t it?”

He hums eagerly. “Yeah…”

You giggle when his hands squeeze your sides and squirm away. “I’m gonna use mouthwash, get your clothes off.”

Bucky grins, eagerly wrenching his belt open as you slide off the bed and beeline for the small bathroom down the hall. You quickly rinse with blue spearmint and splash cold water on your face before stripping your nightshirt over your head and tossing your panties into the small hamper by the door. By the time you get back to the bedroom, Bucky’s waiting for you, gripping himself tightly in one hand.

“Hey there.” You giggle when he pulls you onto the bed and rolls to lie on top of you. His cock presses against your inner thigh, and you spread your legs to accommodate him as he presses his lips to yours.

“Hi.” He kisses you deep, moaning against your mouth as he rocks his hips. “So, how’re we doin’ this?”

“You’re really asking that?”

He chuckles and nips under your jaw. “Thought I’d find out if you’re up to getting another noise complaint from the neighbors tomorrow.”

You sigh, letting him kiss down the column of your throat, between your breasts. “I won’t hear them complain if I’m having lunch at Rubirosa’s…”

Bucky grins, nuzzling the soft swell of your breast. “Is this your way of asking for a lunch date?”

“Is crawling up your girlfriend’s fire escape and crawling through her window a way of asking for sex?”

He grumbles and props himself over you. “You talk so much.”

Before you can reply, he reaches down and lines himself up with your entrance. You give to him easily, stretching and opening until he’s seated deep with his hips pressed snugly against your ass. He’s heavy on top of you, and you relish in the hard press of his hipbones on your inner thighs—he always leaves a couple of bruises behind.

“There,” he breathes, gently rocking his hips from side to side. “Now, less talking, more sex, huh?”

You hum, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close. He draws back, the long, thick slide of his cock causing ripples of heat to flow through your belly, and you let out a soft huff when he thrusts back in.

“Fuck,” you whisper, “you’re strong, baby.”

He hums, tonge swiping along your lower lip as he grinds in and holds himself deep. “Too much?”

You moan when he lowers his head to suck a nipple into his mouth. “Not enough, baby, keep going.”

Bucky plants both forearms on either side of your body, cages you in underneath him, and shoves forward with a growl that makes your pussy squeeze receptively around him. When your heels press against the backs of his thighs, he speeds up, panting loudly against the side of your neck.

“You're so tight,” he grunts, “goddamn, baby…”

You whimper when he changes the beat of his thrusts, using the bounce of your mattress to drop his hips against yours. The frame of your bed squeaks, the muffled thuds of your bodies hitting the mattress building a steady rhythm that has you whimpering and moaning in Bucky’s ear.

Suddenly, you burst out laughing, and Bucky stops, lifting his head to stare at you in confusion.

“What?” He gives a small smile, like he doesn’t know whether to be amused or offended at your reaction. “Baby—?”

“You just—” you stop to take a breath and gaze up at him. “The bed, it… it sounds like the Pixar opening.”

Bucky furrows his brow in confusion. “The what opening?”

“I’ll show you later.” You pull him into a deep, warm kiss. “Come on, I promise I’ll shut up.”

Bucky lets out a long, deep sigh and plants his hands firmly on the mattress. Your giggle trails off into a moan as he picks up his pace, roughly shoving his hips into yours over until the bed frame rattles back and forth. He matches the sound with his own, a rough growl that echoes through the room as his hips slap against your ass over and over. 

“Shit—” you gasp when he finds your sweet spot and ruts against it hard enough for you to grow wetter and tighter on his cock, “there, Bucky, harder—”

Bucky doesn’t hesitate. He spreads his knees for balance and closes his eyes, lips parting as he focuses every ounce of his being on getting you as worked up as possible. Your nails scrape down his sides, over his hips, and he lets out a desperate groan when your palms slap down on his ass, nails digging in to urge him on.

When you let out a loud, dry-sounding cry of pleasure, he stops, catching his breath as he looks down at you. 

“Why’d you stop?” you ask, reaching up to push his hair out of his face. 

“You were holding your breath.” He leans down to kiss you. “And I’d love it if you kept breathing instead of getting lightheaded.”

You hum against his lips and run your hands over his chest. “If I breathe will you keep doin’ what you were just doin’?”

He grins and flicks his hair out of his face, clenching metal fingers in the pillow beside your head. “You close?”

“I will be if you just—”

Bucky slams into you with a thrust so deep and intense that you lose your breath again. He waits for you to suck in another lungful of oxygen before continuing, plowing into you over and over again until you’re practically crying. Your hands claw and grip at the sheets, holding on for what feels like dear life as Bucky fucks you both closer and closer to the edge.

You cum together, shuddering and pulsing and writhing as Bucky spills into you so hard and deep that you can feel the heat of it in your belly. He works you through the waves of your own climax with firm, determined grinds that make your toes curl.

“Fuck me,” you sigh when he falls away, slumping over to lie beside you. “My downstairs neighbor’s gonna be pissed.”

“I don’t care.” Bucky watches you turn onto your side, thighs pressed tightly together. 

“You’re not the one who has to deal with an angry conspiracy theorist on a weekly basis.”

He chuckles. “Again, one more reason for you to move into the tower. No conspiracy theorists there.”

“I like my little apartment.” You press a soft kiss to his lips and let him pull your weary, tender body close. “I’d like it more if you could scare the crazy neighbors off too.”

Bucky chuckles. “We’ll talk about movin’ in tomorrow, over pizza. How’s that sound?”

You grin and nuzzle into his cheek. “I think that sounds amazing.”

BOIINNGG!

The sudden sound emanating from the backpack on the floor makes you jump, and you furrow your brow.

“Is that your text tone?”

Bucky grumbles, crawling over you to rummage in the front pocket and pull his phone out—you can’t help but notice the crack in the almost-new screen. “It’s just Steve, he wants to know where I went. Thought I turned it on silent.”

“Well, it could have gone off while we were having sex,” you reply, sitting up and watching him type a quick reply. “I need a shower, and you do too if I’m gonna let you sleep in my bed.”

Bucky grins, eagerly standing to follow you. “Right behind you, doll. Lead the way.”

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[ubemango]

one time, in your room (m)

note: I wrote this after receiving such an enthusiastic response to my virgin!jk drabbles. I really can’t thank you guys enough for expressing interest in this story, it really helped jumpstart lunyua lol 😭😭🥰🥰!!!!!!! I’m happy she’s back:) I would be absolutely nowhere without it heheh. My thank yous are also due to Violet and my crème de la crème for helping me write this back in March--I love you both very, very much!!!!!! Enjoy :D

DISCLAIMER. there’s one scene based off a tweet that I can’t find the link to lol... it’s about getting fingered till u cry. You’ll know when you get there 😭

PAIRING. jeongguk/reader GENRE. romance, college au RATED. M WORD COUNT. 17.3k WARNINGS. alcohol, oral (f receiving), cum shot, fingering, sexting, phone sex/masturbation, face sitting, riding, talks about Babies, jk loving oc A Lot SUMMARY. There are papers to write, and virgins to daydream about. (You can think about Jeongguk’s dick later.)

                                          part 1: emergency tactics

It started five months in.

Jimin probably didn’t mean anything by it. There’s talk and then there’s inebriation, and Jimin slurred roughly between the two like the drunkard he is. But Jeongguk was still hurt and you didn’t know what to do.

“He called me a pussy then told me to fuck one instead,” Jeongguk said under the strobe lights, the plastic ones you buy at the dollar store and you know it’s Hoseok who got them because he’s frugal, not cheap. The couch was itchy under your skirt. “Am I—is it really that bad? Like am I doing this wrong? Am I taking too long, or—”

“No, oh my god. Babe,” you said, and the cooler in your hand found the floor before you cupped his face. He was pouting. “Doing things—like that—it’s—it shouldn’t be something you stress over, okay? Don’t listen to other people. I like you. And Jimin is a whore.”

Jeongguk snorted. You could still see the doubt in his eyes, though. Shiny because he’s tipsy, but that downward droop still there. “You’re the best,” he said as sincere as he could sound.

And he’d left it at that. He got way more drunk though, definitely influenced by his post-teen-pre-adult angst but what’s a 21-year-old supposed to do with ample service of alcohol and an aching heart? You’d left him to it and cleaned the vomit on his shirt after. It was an okay party.

It stayed okay for a bit, too. Jeongguk isn’t an insecure person, but his bouts of uncertainty were getting more and more frequent. Especially when all his friends were naturally horny and really fucking stupid.

“So you’ve been dating for almost eight months and you—still haven’t defiled him,” Jimin says, now absolutely sober and still absolutely dumb.

You can feel Jeongguk’s ears heat up. “Dude.”

Jimin ignores him and turns to you. “Aren’t you like—bored?”

“When will you stop talking,” Jeongguk murmurs through a bite of his burrito bowl.

“I’m not,” you answer Jimin, flipping through another page of a study on birth control. A convoluted piece of shit, as Taehyung put so eloquently, but he left a couple minutes ago for a study group. “And stop bullying him.”

“I’m just shocked,” Jimin continues. “How does someone so hot end up with someone even hotter and like—not immediately participate in procreation. This is a crime!”

“Look.” Your textbook flips closed. “I don’t know what your obsession is with this guy’s dick over here, but it’s mine to worry about.”

“I think you upset her,” Jeongguk says.

“I know what it’s like to be pressured into sex,” you say. You feel Jimin lock up. “Look—sorry, that was baggage and I’m stressed.” Jimin nods. “But seriously? It’s—he’s—Jeongguk’s fine the way he is, alright?”

You taper off. It’s silent save for the milling of other students in the quad, but the air is thick. Sliced through with your anger but you’d rather have this conversation in private, without Jimin and his probing. Unnerving Jeongguk was like lighting the fuse in you, and maybe it was the instinct to preserve whatever purity Jimin keeps insisting on but you’ve never seen your boyfriend so upset about something. It kind of hurt to see him like this.

You get back to taking notes when Jimin talks again. “I’ll go,” he says. “Jeongguk I—”

“It’s fine.” Doesn’t sound like it though because he’s tight-lipped. 

Jimin salutes and sidles away. A bubble of unfinished conversations swells around you.

“Thanks for—that, I guess,” he says.

Your highlighter squeaks against the paper. “Jeongguk.”

“M’yeah?”

“Do you want to have sex with me?”

Maybe that was a bad start because Jeongguk sputters. You think he squawks, too—and he’s definitely fidgeting, lots of cut-off noises in his throat as he tries to say anything coherent. You look at him and he finally takes a breath in. “I—”

“You’re worried.”

His face contorts in confusion. “About what?”

“I don’t know. But I can feel it.”

“Same wavelength,” he laughs. Empty but he knows you’re just trying to help.

“Look.” He doesn’t but that’s because you’ve turned back to your books. “We have sex when we have sex. And if someone tries to—bother you about it, you can tell them they can suck on my fat cock.”

You hear him chortle. “I’ll do that.”

The conversation ends. You study. You still feel Jeongguk fidgeting.

Now there’s three weeks left till the term is over.  

“My—brain. It’s exploding. There’s too much going on.”

Jeongguk’s desk is a cramped space—the only place you can prop your textbook up against is his sweatshirt wrapped into a wrinkly ball. Graciously taken from his hamper because he still hasn’t done his laundry. The chair creaks when you spin to look at him: a dejected blob of comfy clothes surrounded by looseleaf paper and sticky notes. “Break time?”

He slumps against his pillows, arms out like a sad toddler. “Break time.”

This probably means you’ll cuddle for the next three hours but there’s little to complain about when Jeongguk purrs into your hair once you settle into his chest. There’s a warmth to him you can’t get anywhere else. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he huffs. “Just working too hard.”

“Okay,” you murmur. Jeongguk’s breath evens out the way it does when he wants to stop thinking. You can hear the hum of the fridge outside. 

“Want this to be over.”

You trace your nail over his collarbone. “I know.” 

“When’s your awards ceremony?”

“In two weeks,” you say.

“Same time as our final game.”

You lean your head up when he sighs, watching his eyes flutter in the afternoon shade of his curtains. A calmer period right after a hectic schedule of school, because you have Professor Kwon to thank for her excessive meetings about tutorials and assignments. It never occurred to you that you might’ve been imposing when you showed up to Jeongguk’s dorm with your homework, but he’d been studying too. Same wavelength, he’d say.

“Jimin been bothering you lately?”

“No, thank god. Don’t think I could take anymore prodding.”

This is the first time you’ve asked since that afternoon in the quad, though now Jimin’s been less annoying whenever you see him with Jeongguk. You know he’s just itching for your boyfriend to finally get his dick wet. 

And you can’t blame him—that was his intention when he finally got Jeongguk to ask you out. Friendship with Jeongguk was a weird stretch of time, especially when he’d spent the entirety of it silently pining for you: involuntarily single, but so preoccupied with the care and keeping of your GPA you’d been blind to any advance. Not that he tried anything, though. 

He’d been in his second year, still getting used to the enormity of campus grounds as a scholarship-bound athlete. And on top of all his schoolwork he had to balance the fragility of having a crush on an upperclassman well on her way to PhD candidacy. It was a good thing he was cute, though, and Jimin had no qualms about embarrassing Jeongguk any chance he got when you were around. The blush when Jimin had pushed him to your desserts table at one of the indoor Farmers’ Markets still burns in the furthest love-lit corner in your mind.

“You remember when you asked me out?”

“God.” A too-late night in the library that prompted the chivalrous part in Jeongguk because he’d brought you to the bus stop too close for campus police to escort you. You’d been good friends for a while already, the hurdle of skirting around each other knocked down when Jeongguk finally got the guts to insert himself in the your friend circle. In that wet shelter, a quivering lip. The sure that now has you seven-and-a-half months down the line with arguably the best thing that’s happened to you since you started your college career, but you won’t tell him that. “Why are you bringing that up?”

“I don’t know. Just—feels like forever ago.”

“Sappy.”

“Maybe the stars are aligning,” you say.

“Is that a good thing?”

“I don’t know, just. Sometimes when I lie down with you I feel like I have to—lay myself bare.”

“Then bare yourself.”

You pause. “I’d like to suck your dick.”

“I’m gonna—I’m gonna need you to elaborate,” Jeongguk says like he’s winded.

“Two weeks of me finishing assignments and you at hockey practice. You know. Take advantage of the time we have with each other.”

“Good point. But I have a counter offer.”

Jeongguk is always a giver. “Which is?”

“I eat you out instead.”

“You’re too good to me,” and this is the only response you can come up with without sounding too shocked. Or horny. Not that you’d ever shy away but Jeongguk had a way of burning you up from the inside. “You’re down for that?”

“Always,” he says, then rolls you over. All that muscle from his workouts barring you from even thinking about fighting him back so you let him push you till you’re comfortable. But this isn’t about you. Not at the moment, anyway. 

“Take your shirt off.” Jeongguk does this so quickly his face almost crashes into yours when he comes back down, gasping a laugh that he breathes into you when his mouth meets yours. A quick tangle of your legs around his waist has him lying over you with ease, caught in his cage of pressed-down elbows and intimacy. 

“Wanna—take care of you.” He trails his mouth down your neck, bed squeaking when his knees pad down. Lips tasting lower and now he lifts your shirt up to your chest, pressing wetness to your stomach and you’re quick to discard your clothing if only to see Jeongguk pause at the zipper of your jeans. “Can I—?”

You nod. 

His fingers don’t shake but he’s blinking fast, pulling on the waistline of the rough denim and shucking it past your feet, sighing when your panties come into view. A short-lived reverence when he leans down to mouth at your sex above the thin cotton and your legs spread wide for his arms to cling onto.

“Tell me—tell me what you like,” he says. A shy demand.

“Take my underwear off then I’ll tell you.”

There’s warmth lost when Jeongguk slides your panties down to one ankle but he’s over you in the second it takes for you to flick it off. No pause in his eagerness but now he lies in wait for your instructions. The way he pauses for you is so agonizingly hot you might combust.

“It’s—I like it when… I feel you lick at my…” God you sound fucked. But Jeongguk’s a wild card and takes it in stride, hands once again finding purchase around your thighs and you feel his hard tongue on you, a wet slide that has your stomach caving. It’s the natural twitch in your fingers that prompt you to keep a loose grip in his hair, other hand tight in the bed like your proxy anchor. “Oh. Yeah. Yeah…”

Jeongguk laves your core, pressing harder the higher he goes. Contingency he takes advantage of because you get louder. It’s the lick on your clit that has you sighing. “Oooh, you—use the… tip of your tongue. And lick right—there.”

He’s so pliant you feel like you’re throttling him. There’s a forward insistence of his head until you feel the flat of his tongue pressed fully against you, his neck rolling with every shift of your hips. In control of your pleasure and he makes it feel like this is what he was made to do. His fingers get tight. “You taste good,” he exhales right onto your sex and you nearly crush his head with your thighs.

“Oh my god.” Your breaths are lost. You might hide your face but that would mean losing sight of Jeongguk providing a service only he can spell out with his tongue. “Ah—”

There’s a little squeak further down the bed and you notice the small flutter of his groin caught in the warmth of him and the sheets. His lips close around your nub before you can say anything, slurping that has your gut wrangled, your fingers gripping his hair as you get lost in his love. Your eyes roll back. “Oh fuck, that—agh—”

He’s made you come before. And the familiar tone of your incoming bliss is something he can memorize—he probably already has judging by the train wreck of your throat and the sounds he pulls from you. A swindler of your orgasms but you’d gladly hand yourself over if it meant deceiving your pussy into its own demise.

“Fuck you’re—so sexy like this,” Jeongguk mumbles. You whine at his attention but now you’re running even hotter than ever.

You’re not even telling him what to do anymore but you know he knows it’s good, a message sent with every twitch of your sex into his mouth and now his fingers are splayed along your pelvis to keep you from bucking up. He doesn’t even need his fingers. It’s the hardened tongue, the little slashes on your clit as his head swings back and forth that have you squealing: “Yes, like that. Oh I’m cumming—fuck—!”

Jeongguk hums when you jerk your hips up, convulsions in all your sweetest parts and your throat is dry from all your moaning, the swell of your lungs so hard to keep up with but he always has you losing your breath. Spit collects in its warmth down your ass but it’s a lost thought when Jeongguk lathers you into your come-down, legs like jelly and he helps your knees together when you finally stop trembling. You don’t realize your eyes are closed until you feel his lips on your mouth, complaint of catching a break right behind your teeth when you kiss with what little strength remains in you. 

“That was. Really good,” you whisper. Jeongguk laughs. And he doesn’t say anything, just looks at you with his wet mouth and red cheeks. “Do you wanna cum?”

He looks like he’ll say no. A bitten lip instead of confirmation. “I—”

“Please, I want you to.” Like a switch turned on he lights up, head bobbing and now he’s shoving his jeans past his ass, underwear down too. “You wanna—come on my face?”

His eyes look like they’re leaking out of his face. A strangled noise escapes his throat. He probably thinks you’re on crack but it’s just in his nature for him to assume a dazed auto-pilot whenever you say shit so outlandish. “You—I—I-I—Can—?”

“You can cum—god you can cum anywhere. I’m yours. Remember?” Reaching behind, you feel for the clasp of your bra, flinging it off before you pull on Jeongguk by the dip of his back until his knees straddle your ribs. “Is this good?”

“Can—could you—spit… on it.” His voice dwindles like he’s caught between the threshold of dirty and pushing it. You don’t answer because your neck straining for the tip of his dick and down the rest of his shaft is all he needs for one. Jeongguk bucks into you. “Oh fuck—ngh—ah!”

If his grinding on the mattress was a ticking bomb, your tongue on his cock is the thirty seconds till detonation. And by the sounds of Jeongguk groaning into the mid-afternoon sun slipping through his curtains you know he’s almost there. “Lie down, lie down,” he instructs, hand replacing your mouth in a stroke so quick you’re scared he might get cum in your hair.

“Agh—fuck yeah I’m—”

A spurt of his cum stains your lip, then your cheek. You feel some on the tip of your nose too but Jeongguk points his dick down to your tits, spilling all his hot frustration on your even hotter skin and you might cum again from the visual of him looking so spent. “Wow.”

“Yeah, that—” Jeongguk swallows twice— “I… wow.”

His dick is getting soft. There’s sweat pooling where your body meets the sheets. “Wanna pass me tissues?”

“Oh fuck. Yeah, yeah—here, sorry.” Jeongguk makes soft passes with a wad of cotton over your chest, handing one to you for your face. “Do you—do you like it? When I… cum on you?”

“Yeah.” You think about making a weird comment about sipping on his juice but you’ll save it for later. You focus on not letting his spunk flake on your cheek. “It’s hot. Really.”

“Good,” he says. Flopping down after shooting the soiled tissue into the basket and now he seems exhausted. “Do you feel gross or is it just me.”

“Gross how?”

“Gross like I need a shower.”

You can’t deny him. “Wanna shower?”

“Yep,” he says with no hesitation, and he doesn’t let you say anything else when he grabs you by your wrists. Somehow, everything feels lighter.

Sometimes Jeongguk invites you out to practice. It’s boring and you don’t know a single rule about gameplay, but the presence of him despite being a ways away on the ice is still a comfort on its own. 

The arena is frigidly cold, and while you aren’t without distraction (re: Assignments) it’s still one you can barely get yourself to really focus on. You rub your face in frustration. You hear the sound of the hockey puck passed around in harsh slaps.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

“Jimin,” you acknowledge. He drops down next to you. “Here to spy on hockey ass too, huh.”

“That and Hoseok promised to get me dinner later.” You raise your eyebrow. “Did one of his assignments.”

“Forgot you were a chemistry genius.” Clicking your tongue, you watch the big 97 of Jeongguk’s jersey as he glides around behind the glass. He waves when he sees you looking. You’d greet him back but your hands are too perfect where they are in the heat of your sweater pockets so you wave your head in what you hope looks like excitement. 

“Been holding up okay?” You turn. Jimin’s eyes are a blaze of concern. “The other week, in the quad. You were pretty stressed.”

“Final paper.”

“Dissertation?”

“Working up to that,” you say.

“So you’re a scholar scholar.”

“Mm.” Your laptop screen blinks to black. “Something like that.” You hear Jimin snicker. He’s coiled up, stomach caved in a tiny laugh, eyes crinkled. Too amused. “What?”

“I’m just—” Jimin takes a breath in to stem his impending laughing fit— “so confused. Like, there’s Jeongguk who can eat eight cups of spicy ramen and literally bomb the bathroom with his shit—and then right next to him is Jane Goodall but with human babies.”

“He loves spicy ramen,” you comment.

“Yeah but do we like his stank? Nope. And you really just compared pronatalism to liking ramen. You know you’re out of his league.”

Jeongguk, completely oblivious to Jimin’s really weird anecdote, brings a fist up in cheers when he shoots the puck into the net. “Well. At the very least he’s cute.”

Jimin heeds with a hum to watch the play on ice. Seeing the team skate around with their broad-shoulders and thick helmets is an odd kind of relaxation. A team of huge men cutting the ice with knives on their feet but the sound is a swish satisfying enough for those kinds of videos that put you to sleep. Rough and gentle, just like Jeongguk. “I’m glad Jeongguk met you,” Jimin starts again.

“Mm. I think he has you to thank.” You boot up your laptop once more in the hopes you get inspired to type, but now Jimin has you distracted even more. 

“He just… used to be so quiet. And I’m gonna brag here but he’s got good friends. But meeting you was a game-changer.”

“Hm.”

“He was so passive.” You think to Jimin almost two years ago, pushing a slightly-smaller Jeongguk towards your table at the market. One look in your eye; pointing to the donut closest to him. Your finger touched his palm when you dropped the chocolate-glazed on it and he looked lost. “But now he’s just. Happy. All the time. It’s nice to see.”

There’s 97 again. Then Jeongguk turns and glides closer to the rail. He holds up ten fingers. Ten till over. You give a thumbs up. You feel yourself shivering but you’re not cold anymore. “Then I’m glad, too.”

“Good kid.” Jimin waves too, and Jeongguk skates off without looking at him. “Bitch! Anyway.” He leans back on his hands, feet perched on the row in front. “You guys… good now?”

And your screen fades to black again. “Oh god.”

“Sorry, fuck. Sometimes I think—no sometimes I don’t think. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, whatever.” You turn to Jimin looking very apologetic, keeping mum with his lips folded in. “It’s—he’s. A lot more eager, I have to say.”

“And are you okay with that?”

You hesitate. “I mean if we’re getting vulgar here—”

“Absolutely not, you are not telling me what he did with his dick.”

You raise your hands in surrender. You wouldn’t have told him anyway. It’s just nice to see a flustered Jimin, especially after what he’s subjected you and Jeongguk to. Good-natured but overtly so, and now you’re both blushing. “It’s been good.” 

Great. Now you’re thinking about Jeongguk and his cock again. Obviously it’s not unwelcome but riling you up is getting too easy.

“Then that’s good,” Jimin says. You hear the blow of the whistle. A congregation of fist bumps forms at the exit of the rink, and Jeongguk lets everyone pass him to get off. “Well I’m gonna go get ready for some free food. See you, yeah?”

He offers a high-five you hit hard. “Bye.”

“Oh. And good luck on your paper. You coming to the game by the way?” Jimin asks. He jumps off the bleachers, leaving you to stare at your honest attempt at getting work done. You close your laptop with a sad click. 

“I have an awards ceremony that day,” you explain. “I’ll try and catch it.”

“Don’t work too hard.” Just then, Jeongguk runs up behind Jimin not at all silently—his gym bag is ginormous—to catch him in a headlock. “Wha—”

“Why are you talking to my girlfriend,” Jeongguk interrogates. He’s probably wet with heat because Jimin scrunches his nose and shoves him off.

“You’re a pig, did you even shower.”

“Smell my armpits and you’ll get your answer.”

“Anyway,” Jimin groans. “I’m off.” He walks to the changing room in a swagger so calculated you’d yell at him for showing off his ass. But Jeongguk drags your attention away when he steps in front of the bleachers, leaning over until you greet him with a kiss.

“Hi,” Jeongguk says against your mouth.

You plug your nose for effect. “So you didn’t shower.”

“I rinsed! Don’t be mean.” He watches as you shove all your things into your bag, his hand poised for you to give it to him, and inside you falter at his generosity but you shoulder the strap and use his outstretched palm to help you up instead. “I wanted your bag, miss.”

“No, you already have a heavy one.”

“Let me carry it for you—” But you shut him up with a tiptoe and a peck to his open mouth. “Don’t distract me!”

You ignore him, grabbing his wrist and dragging him toward the exit. “Let’s go, I might miss my bus.”

Eight p.m. is a dead hour on campus grounds. You see only a handful of straggling students going back to res, even more going into the library building. The lamps guide your every step. Jeongguk’s fingers tangle in yours. “So you aren’t free at all the rest of the week right?”

“Yeah.” You try not to look at him because you know he’s pouting. “I didn’t get any work done thanks to your shouting.”

“That was Yoongi,” Jeongguk defends. “And sorry.”

You reach the bus shelter. “I’m kidding.” The neon sign overhead says your bus is due in three minutes. “I’m—I like going to your practice.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I like seeing my star hockey player tear it up on the ice,” you joke. Jeongguk laughs into your lips when he bends down lock them with his own. 

“Was it sexy enough for you?”

“Oh yeah. Got my pussy rumbling.”

He balks. “You’re so annoying.”

Two minutes. “It’s starting again.”

“What is?” In the dark light of the evening moon rising, you are reminded of this bus shelter seven months ago. A tower of nerves over you. If you think hard enough, you can still hear the shaky question he’d let dangle from his tongue, the one that has you here with him now. But now Jeongguk is nervous for different reasons. “Oh, like when you disappear on me for like five years.”

You see the light of the bus coming. You wrap Jeongguk in your arms. “Yeah. I’m only free next week.”

“Take it easy,” he says. Only one person gets off at the stop. “Just text me. Don’t need a repeat of last time.”

Last time—a month into your relationship. When you texted him every four days because of your midterms and he’d gotten so worried he genuinely wept when you showed up to his doorstep. It was a good thing you’d brought food too; not that you were expecting a cry fest but he’d felt better once he was filled with fried noodles and your affection. You concede to his request with a nod.

He lets you leave with one last kiss to your forehead. “See you,” you say. The air is alive with what you have to leave behind for the time being.

The week is rough. Professor Kwon asks you to submit marks sooner than you anticipate, so the need to get your paper done becomes a lot more urgent. One student hasn’t even handed in her assignment, which—fine. You don’t have any qualms about the zero you input. But the angry email with the threat to report you to an academic advisor the next day has you so on edge Namjoon agrees to grade half your assignments next time.

Jeongguk, somehow, eludes you too. Graduate school demands more tears than sweat and blood and while he tries his best to comfort you during your work-filled days, he’s been getting busier with hockey practice too. The added thought of starting to study for your exams is just another cake-topper. And it isn’t as if you’re going days without talking to Jeongguk, but it’s still a sting to the romantic part in you that misses him.

A week and a half before your big paper is due is a Tuesday. The girl who dissed you in your email doesn’t show up to tutorial. Everyone is dismissed for the evening. It’s good. 

Nothing beats the giddy jump in your step when you find a cubby in the library close enough to an outlet, though.

Then you get a text from Jeongguk.

[8:07 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I’m free the rest of the night!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Let me love u bich u really deprived me of touch for an entire week  [8:07 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Wya

He meets you at the library with sweaty bangs and indents on his cheek from his helmet. You briefly contemplate jumping him. The feeling is quelled with the reminder that the library doesn’t tolerate loud noises and Excessive Romantic Gestures, so you opt for:

“Sexy.” You’re up on your feet to give him a quick hug and he makes a disgruntled face before dropping a kiss to your mouth.

“You wet yet?”

You glare to hide the need to balk. You plop back down. “You ate pussy once, don’t think this gives you free points to get so cocky.”

He pauses. “Sorry?”

“Sit. And don’t—ask me that again.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jeongguk cowers into the seat next to you. “What’s my scholar up to tonight?”

“Researching about Western Europe and their refugee policies.”

He doesn’t look like he’s interested but he makes a contemplative noise. “Very… educated. But anyhow. I’ve been thinking.” Uh oh. “And I have something. It was a week-long thought process but I have it.”

Your pens roll along the wood of the desk. “Have what?”

“A plan.”

“For?”

“For how I’m gonna fuck you. Eventually, I mean.”

“I leave you for a week and this happens,” you answer, but he’s not fazed. You feel yourself melting. Something you learned about Jeongguk during the preliminary stages of your relationship was that he liked getting things right. And if that meant practicing until he was ready—well. There’s a part in you that fears for the livelihood of your vagina. “Babe. That’s—you know we don’t need some sort of… five-steps-to-success thing.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” He pouts like you have it all wrong. Maybe you do, but it doesn’t sound so convincing to your—to be frank—non-virgin ears. “Good practice.” 

You knew he would say that. “You have something in your noggin already, boy?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna elaborate?”

Jeongguk shrugs. “What do people normally establish before they start having sex?”

“Well I don’t have lice in my pubic hair if that’s what you wanna know,” you offer.

He scrunches his face. “Don’t—joke about that.”

“Sorry.” Jeongguk gives you an incredulous look because you both know you don’t mean it. “But you really wanna do this here?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, lay it on me.”

“Wait—really?” 

You’re starting to think you won’t get any work done for the night. Like all the nights you spend with Jeongguk and you realize the pattern now, so you might as well indulge in him. “Yeah, go pull on all your pornographic roots.”

“Ha ha.”

“I’m not into getting tied up, first of all.” You flip a page in your textbook to feign nonchalance as Jeongguk wheezes.

“Stop that!” But he just takes a piece of paper and readies a fist to write. “You’re so crude.”

Now you really can’t focus. “Are you seriously going to write about my sexual preferences?”

“No, I’m writing a detailed observation about how to go about. You know.” He purses a lip in thought. “Navigating the ocean of your pussy and its desires.”

You didn’t think the library would be home to both of your sexual awakenings, but Jeongguk makes it hard to be shy when he’s this motivated. “Weird way of asking me if I’m into watersports.”

“Okay you have to take back asking me about my pornographic roots because it sounds like you’re the freakier one.”

“You like me being freaky?” 

He reddens. “Anyway!” (Silently, you revel in your power to tease.) “I was thinking. Since we can’t hang out too much the next week-ish, that we save all the good stuff for later.”

Good point. “Define good stuff.”

Jeongguk gets smaller. Eyes drilled into yours, he whispers, “Putting my penis inside you.”

“Okay now it’s getting weird.”

He drops his pencil in disbelief. “Only now? Tell me how any of this wasn’t weird in the first place.”

“You’re literally the one who took out a pencil to jot down my sexual preferences, don’t act like you’re innocent.” Now he has the decency to look sheepish. He doesn’t say anything. “Jeongguk. It’s fine to be nervous. But I don’t want you to feel like you need to do this.”

You might as well be talking to the wall but he nods anyway. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“No! Just… you don’t owe anyone anything.” Something in you longs for him to understand that. You hate to make him nervous but Jeongguk is so adamant you almost want to wrap him in your arms from the sexually-inclined horde that came in the form of Park Jimin. “Remember that.”

He deflates with a sigh. “Then… can you come over tomorrow?” He’s squirming. “I’m done practice at seven.”

“If my advisor’s nice enough she’ll let me off at six,” you confirm.

Jeongguk takes a notebook out but makes no effort to open it. “And. I missed you. Just. Wanted to get that out there.”

There’s only so much texting can do, you get it. The pit of your stomach simmers with affection for the dumb boy sitting next to you, legs jumping the way they do when he’s nervous. “Love you.” And he smiles. Fuel for your listlessness. There are papers to write, and virgins to daydream about. Especially about the one who just propositioned you with absurdities. But now his pencil is out, and the moment is lost. 

You can think about Jeongguk’s dick later. For now, you settle in the quietude of his presence with yours.

It’s a colder day today.

“Hi!” Taehyung opens the door, bouncing in his pyjamas from the rush of freezing air. “Come, come. Please don’t ask me how I’ve been, I’m so tired of school and that’ll be my answer and I don’t want to talk about it.”

You swallow your pleasantries down. He’s a stressed Neuroscience major. “Fair,” you greet instead, toeing your boots off.

“Coming from somewhere?”

“Tutorial evaluation,” you say. Taehyung lets out a low whistle, closes the door behind you. He knows your shoulders are stiff because of Professor Kwon’s watchful gaze. Sitting at the back, ramrod straight with that black clipboard, taking down notes on your performance as a first-time TA. 

She’d let you go after with a smile, though. Let you know you did fine. You’d practically glided to residence when she’d given you the go to leave for the day. 

“I have a question for you,” Taehyung says. He sits on the couch, watches as you take off your snow-soiled scarf and jacket. “Has Jeongguk been more… fidgety lately?”

So he’s noticed too. “Yeah, I’ve—seen it. Why?”

“I don’t know, he sort of just—” Taehyung scoots over when you plop down next to him— “he came out of the room yesterday squealing, then ran around the living room for a bit then just. Went back into his room.”

Oh. So that’s what he was off to do when said he needed to get something after you linked him to your favourite porn accounts on Twitter.

“Maybe it’s just. I don’t know, pre-game jitters,” you lie. Taehyung’s giving you the look. Like he’s not satisfied with your answer and the only way to sate him is if you let him do one thing. “You can ask.”

“Did you fuck him yet?”

No reservations. As expected, because he’s just as nosy as Jimin and the rest of their friends annoyingly concerned with Jeongguk’s hesitation in the bedroom. “Nope.”

“Okay but like—can you fuck him already? I’m gonna be rolling in my grave by the time his penis passes the two-inch border of your personal space.”

You can’t keep in your snort. “Oh my god.”

“Just. We really don’t mean to be so standoffish but he just likes you so much it’s insane. Like I’ll see his phone light up and he will too. He’ll literally—he just glows. It’s kind of creepy actually but like. Cute creepy.”

The rush of praise runs through you. You don’t like to brag, but you really did snag the campus boy crush. You were popular enough with academia, but after the first time Jeongguk posted a picture of you two at the Christmas market, though—the entire student body went ballistic. It was the nascence of a fairy tale; movie romance budding in the grey concrete of campus grounds. 

No one saw it coming. And knowing that the one everyone has their eye on has its eyes on you—it’s a good kind of blow.

“He’s my baby,” you say, and Taehyung coos. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of him.”

There’s a rattling of the door knob. The sight of a ragged Jeongguk stumbles in, gym bag dropped on the floor and he disappears down the hall with the call for a shower and a brief smile your way. “I’ll be five minutes, babe.”

That’s Taehyung’s cue. “Well—I’m off to study group. Take care of him, yeah?”

“You know it.” You offer a fist bump. Taehyung’s knuckles are bony on yours. 

The trek to Jeongguk’s room isn’t unfamiliar. You bounce back on his bed, willing yourself not to close your eyes because you know you’ll just crash. A headache prepares right behind your temple, as imminent as rumbling thunder. Something in you calls for Jeongguk to hurry the fuck up before you succumb to Stress and those horrible, horrible thoughts of due dates.

It doesn’t take that long. There’s the squeak of the shower handle turning off and the black of your closed eyes, the scurrying of an unseen body; the lifting of your shirt for a very heavy weight of a hockey player blowing raspberries into the skin of your stomach. Jeongguk chortles when you nearly break your back trying to dislodge him. “You’re—oh my god—hey stop!”

“Hi,” he says, laugh caught in his breath, “I’m clean.”

“I see that.” He’s in his pyjamas. You let him settle on your side. The lingering heat from his shower makes you clammy but you let him hold you tight. “How was practice?”

“It was nice.” This is code for: I wasn’t yelled at by Yoongi. “I’m excited for our game, I’m feelin’ good. Did you find out if you could make it?”

You were blessed by the gods, because not only were your days coinciding, they were also starting an hour within each other. You’d be at the podium with a flowery speech while Jeongguk tears the ice rink with his pretty skates. And if every award recipient’s was longer than a minute then you might miss the entire game. Two hours past Jeongguk most likely scoring the winning goal; an infinity lost to see your star in action. 

(And seeing Jeongguk play is really attractive.)

You settle with: “I’ll try my best.”

“Okay,” he says. The crown of his head digs into your neck. You feel his lips when he speaks. “How are you holding up?”

“Barely.”

“Did you get your paper done?”

“Barely.”

“So it’s done.”

“Let’s not talk about school,” you dismiss. He leaves the conversation to wither with a suction to your skin. Wet where he lines your neck with quick kisses and you soften into the sheets. “Is this your way of—executing your plan.”

“Hm?”

“You know—your—guide to putting your penis inside me.”

He leans up on his elbow. Unimpressed because his eyebrows are scrunched. “Funny.”

“You love me.”

“And what about it?” His eyes shine the way they do before he tells you he loves you too. “It isn’t even a plan it’s just—a buildup. To when my penis goes inside you. Like a countdown but with orgasms instead.” You snicker. He drags a light hand down your front, settling his palm right over your pussy. “Let me touch you.”

You forget how to breathe for a second. “Yeah—I’m—yeah. Please.”

“Sit up.” Jeongguk plants himself near the wall, not unlike the position he was in when you sucked his dick for the first time. Instead of the afternoon heat, you’re caught under the dying evening rays of sunset: not as hot but still you feel the spark in your belly when Jeongguk lifts your bum to settle you between his legs. His nails play with the button of your pants. “I wanna try something.”

“Sure.” And he helps you wiggle off your clothes, bottom bare to his graces. Doesn’t say anything, just lets his mouth meet yours slowly, tasting the day off your tongue, your worries behind his teeth. 

“Anyone ever fingered you so hard you cried?”

“You wanna make me cry?”

“Don’t say it like that.” Jeongguk nips at your lip. “But yeah, I guess.”

You’re wet. This is a fact you come to realize when you feel him spread your legs, feet planting in the mattress in an attempt to ground yourself.  “Okay,” you agree.

His mouth’s busy with yours, lips unyielding like he could do this all day. It’s almost picturesque, the way he has you: head turned over to meet him in his love, arms wrapped around your own. Yours for him to savour and he always tastes good.

He doesn’t wait anymore. Your clit throbs with the passes of his fingers, head falling back to rest on Jeongguk’s shoulder when he dips in the pool of your heat and drags it back up. Groaning when he spins tight circles like you taught him and your hands find his thighs. “Feels—good,” you utter. Already you’re gone but Jeongguk feeds into your pleasure with no qualms for your embarrassment.

“Can I—put in a finger?” He asks shyly, but playing with your slick like he’s known how to make you putty in his hands this whole time.

“Yeah. Please.” You welcome the insistence in your sex with the buck of your hips. Jeongguk curls his middle finger up, the heel of his hand smooth on your clit and you sigh, “Ooh, fuck yeah.”

He kisses your cheek. “Another one?”

“I can take it,” you say, and he has another finger in you, hooking into your nerves. You might moan but Jeongguk turns your head and molds his mouth into yours, stealing your breath with his tongue. He curves in a little too hard and you squeal. “Oh my god, too—much.”

“Sorry.” He adjusts, fingers straight again. “M’gonna go faster, if that’s okay.” You nod, restless, and then he adds: “And you can’t look away from me.”

“Yes please—”

You couldn’t look away even if you tried, because the hand not fucking you into oblivion catches your cheeks, locking you to Jeongguk’s gaze. It’s a fucked out one too, and now you notice his hard dick pressed up against your back. 

It’s a storm of thrusting: wet and more wet and now he abruptly pulls out, smears your slick on your clit in a rub so fast you would squeal louder if it weren’t for his lips swallowing your sounds. 

“Oh-h—!”

You burn. Jeongguk enters you again and your cunt feels swollen. Fucking all the deepest and dirtiest parts of you and you take it, yielding to the draw on your tight walls. The squelch gets louder. So do you. 

“Oh yeah—” And you don’t cry but the feeling of him inside is so overwhelming and all that you need and it’s there— “Fuck, y-eah. Gonna cum soon—”

“Give it to me.” Punctuated with a twist in your sex so rough you would have twitched him off but his legs cage you. Jeongguk smiles. “Come on babe—”

“Nnn—ha J-Jeongguk—” You grab his wrist, the one knocking his fingers so good though he doesn’t stop under the tight hold— “B-Baby—”

“I want it, I want it,” he chants into your mouth, like he’s eager for a release conducive to your early death just so he can say he did that. Awful cocky but you can’t dwell on it. “Just cum for me.”

“Fuck—” He makes you look at him when you do, eyes wide to his imploring ones. He has it in his fingers, a climax that wrangles the most obscene noises from your throat. Your hips grind up uncontrollably, clit a pulsing pain but his thumb rubs it all the same. Jeongguk doesn’t stop till you whine, “God, please—I can’t."

“You’re crying.”

“Am not.” But you feel the sting of heat in your eyes. Jeongguk rubs his nose with yours, wrapped in his arms and affection.

“Was it good though?”

“Was it good, he says.” You kiss him with no bite. “Loved it. Best ever.”

Jeongguk lights up, corners of his mouth lifted into a sated grin. “Woo,” he says. You’re about to ask if he wants one rubbed out but he continues speaking. “So plan’s going well if you wanted to know.”

“Shut up. Shut up!” You make a point of getting up with as much force as possible, disturbing the coils the mattress as Jeongguk laughs. “You’re so gross.”

“You love me.”

Your panties are sticky against you. You turn to see him staring at you already. “I love you.”

The room glows in the last few minutes of red, coated darker and darker. But the look Jeongguk gives you—maybe astonishment, maybe longing—casts a glow that blazes within. Like all he wants is for you to be here and you do too. He breaks the silence with a smile. “You’re the best, you know that?”

You climb back over him, unable to resist anymore. “So I’ve been told.”

“I mean it though.” He shifts so you’re lying down again, head on his chest. Warm again. “Sorry if I’m—pushing the agenda. And I know I say Jimin’s not getting to me and it’s true but it—makes me want you. All the time.”

You settle for the truth with a kiss to his sternum. “I have no free time after today though.” 

“That’s okay,” Jeongguk whispers. “Just love me now and you can always love me later.”

“I can do that,” you say. 

He lets you dig into his side even further. “Are you sure you don’t wanna talk about school?”

“Mm.” You know it’ll help to air your dirty laundry. But knowing Jeongguk has his own shit to deal with is enough for you to hesitate. “Nothing I—haven’t said before. Just stressed.”

“About your last assignment?”

“Mhm.”

“You’re smart. And for whatever reason, really into baby-making in foreign countries.” Jeongguk groans when you pinch him. “But I know you. And you’ll do well. Also it’s official that you’ll do well because you’re dating someone really good at what they do, and I was just inside your body so technically my energy transferred to you.”

“Very solid process.” 

His breathes warmth into your skin. “Believe me. You’re gonna be fine.”

And it’s not the end of the world, not being able to see him for a bit. You both know this. You hug him tighter to you regardless, like making his skin stick to yours was an actuality. You know he feels it too when his arm locks just a tiny bit harder. An unspoken longing for the mold of your body.

You’ll get there.

It’s been four days since you’ve seen Jeongguk, so Namjoon takes the responsibility of keeping you sane. He books a study room for three hours and meets you with a two cups of coffee and three extra pens just in case they run out while you mark your assignments together. He takes the stack of papers from you with a frown, and you work.

The paper is coming along well. You think you have a good five pages to go, but the amount of hounding Professor Kwon has done is scaring you into another late night-in. More and more marks are due, and Namjoon has his own work to deal with. You hate to burden him with your own but now you’re really feeling the Stress from school.

[6:01 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Hey what are you doing [6:02 PM] You: i’m doing work :(( [6:02 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Poo poo [6:02 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I’m bored [6:03 PM] You: 💩💩 [6:03 PM] You: sorry bout it !!!!!!! [6:04 PM] You: wait how can u be bored ur @ practice ?? if ur just��. doin practice [6:05 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: On break [6:05 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: And I miss you [6:06 PM] You: omg!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [6:06 PM] You: my heart

Namjoon’s eyebrows are scrunched. “I can’t tell what this student is saying.”

“Read it out loud.” 

“I will argue that the legalization of crack cocaine will act as a beneficial potential towards the bettering of society. With the advent of legal marijuana usage in Canada—yeah.”

“That’s… an abuse of thesaurus privileges,” you comment.

He hums. “They’re young, let them live.”

Again, Jeongguk texts you.

[6:09 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: When are you free [6:10 PM] You: tonight [6:10 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I’m not 😩😩 What about Wednesday? [6:11 PM] You: i’m only free rn baby :( might have to wait till after friday [6:12 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 [6:12 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Damn [6:12 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I need to go now text me when you’re done k?????? Love you [6:13 PM] You: okay ! 💜

You hear Namjoon snapping at you. “You’re getting distracted.”

“Sorry.” Your pen twitches in your grip. This is your third cup of coffee. “Just—need a goddamn break.

You can sense Namjoon’s nerves grating too. “I get it.” He looks at his watch. “Well. We need to leave in five minutes.”

You graded almost all of your half of assignments. You let yourself breathe a sigh of accomplishment, clearing your work into your bag. “Thanks for helping me out.”

“Buy me lunch someday and we’ll call it even,” Namjoon says. He swipes the papers your way to collect. “And by the way—” he takes one last sip of his coffee— “I caught wind that one of the Commissioner-Generals is coming to the ceremony.”

You stare. “From which agency?” 

“No clue. But I just thought you should know.”

Of course he would. The one time you don’t clear your search history and now Namjoon is up your ass helping you find any potential global PhD programs. And it wasn’t unimaginable either, some higher-up coming to see the semester-end awards the department heads organized, and the student chair had a lot of say in it, current one being Kim Namjoon: a lobbyist, a smart guy, and Twitter-sort-of-famous for being really damn loud about inequality.

But they’re probably not recruiting me, you think. Best not to get your hopes up lest it go to a well-deserved head who apparently doesn’t get distracted by the potential of finally squeezing their boyfriend’s dick. 

Namjoon sighs. “Hey, isn’t the ceremony the same day as the game?”

“Yep,” you confirm. For a split second, an image of Jeongguk giggling pops up into your head.

“Do you think you’ll make it?”

You sling your bag over your shoulder, standing outside the door until Namjoon turns off all the lights. “I’m gonna try.”

The hallway to the main entrance of the Humanities wing is quiet. “Speaking of the game. Any intel about your current… predicament?”

“Jimin?”

“Jimin.”

“About Jeongguk?”

“About Jeongguk.”

“Fuck,” you murmur. And you thought he’d be kind enough to keep your secret, but Namjoon is to Jimin like a big is to a little except they’re both too posh to be in a frat. “Not really. And stay out of it.”

“I will,” he says. He opens the door, winter wind as brutal as ever. You think about Jeongguk walking you to the bus stop but he’s probably already back at his dorm. You shiver. “But if I catch you distracted on your phone again I might have to ask.”

You cower into embarrassment.“Sorry.” 

Namjoon waves you off. “Just get home safe, yeah?”

Getting home isn’t that bad; late enough for the absence of the rush hour crowd and you get to sit on the bus the rest of the ride. You all but book it to your place to escape the frost nipping at your cheeks and into the nest of your textbooks. Plans to demolish at least a tiny bit of your not-so-tiny pile of work come to a stand-still when you hear your phone vibrate.

[7:46 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Hey did u finish yet [7:46 PM] You: fuck sorry forgot to text [7:46 PM] You: yeah i did, i just got home [7:47 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: That’s good [7:47 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Do you have a lot of work to do tonight?? [7:48 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Please say no [7:48 PM] You: ….. [7:48 PM] You: why [7:48 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: The plan [7:50 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Still building [7:50 PM] You: should i be scared [7:51 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: No!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [7:51 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: But [7:51 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I know you wouldn’t like it if I didn’t ask, and I’m a good boy, so [7:52 PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Can I send you a picture of my dick?

A boot hangs limply from your toes from when you were trying to tug it off. Dumbly, you’re gaping. Gaping at this transition from shy Jeongguk to… whatever the fuck this was. The pulsing of your sex betrays your shock.

It’s not like things were changing fast, either. That moment in his bed—after he fucked you with his fingers—was the last time you’d been together. A solid evening of knotted arms and Jeongguk’s breath down your neck. He’d only let you go because your complaints to do homework got too loud for him to sleep properly, and you left him in his room like that: heavy-eyed and full of low murmurs for you to come back.

“You’ll miss me, right?” He’d asked. It sounded so innocent. Looked like it too when he stood next to you as you slipped on your shoes. The answer was easy.

“Duh.”

And it wasn’t like you weren’t affectionate. Sure, gaining the impulse to hug and squeeze him was one you had to work up to, but this came with new relationships, that novelty of being someone else’s: one that Jeongguk had no problems getting used to. Took you a little longer to warm up to his kisses in public but you’re here now. Here, slack-jawed at this distant intimacy. Feet mired in your shock, on the carpet of your front door.

You don’t remember feeling this desperate for Jeongguk before. 

[7:54 PM] You: i [7:54 PM] You: definitely wouldn’t be opposed

You lock your screen fast. Fling your shoes off, slap your jacket onto a hanger. You nearly bust your bedroom down in your hurry to get the fuck on the bed, like the rush of a late night with a stranger but Jeongguk is wholly familiar and isn’t even here to touch you. The ding of your phone is enough to keep you on your toes. You don’t swipe yet because already you’re sweating.

Aa…Jeongguk❣️: 1 Photo and 2 Messages

Should you take your clothes off? Or is he supposed to ask you to do that? Should you ask? What the fuck. This was too much.

You open it. It takes one second to download.

That’s his dick. Jeongguk’s dick, flash on, held up by the tips of his fingers at the base like he knows his angles. The tip is flushed with a wetness you’d lick right up if you were there just to feel the way he shivers under you.

[7:55PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Baby I’m so hard [7:55PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Wanna kiss you all over

You squeal. 

This was your boyfriend, mister-campus-hotboy, the one literally everyone got hard over and now he’s sending you his own personal dick pics. Maybe you do need to thank the high heavens one day because

What

The

Fuck is going on.

No matter. 

[7:57PM] You: i want u to [7:57PM] You: want u on top of me [7:57PM] You: with ur lips on my neck [7:58PM] You: getting me wet. u always make me. wet

You can’t wait anymore. Your shirt is off, bra tossed, back bare on your sheets. You shimmy out of your pants just as Jeongguk texts back.

[7:58PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Fcurck baby [7:59PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Can’t stop thinnking abt u [8:00PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: The way u sounded [8:00PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: When I was e ating u out [8:01PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: u tasted so good on m y tonguel fucckkkk [8:01PM] You: are u jacking off rn ??? [8:02PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Yess [8:02PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Touch urself [8:02PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Please?

Panties come off. It’s not a surprise when your finger is soaked in your arousal, teasing your clit and you sigh.

[8:02PM] You: fuck im so wet [8:03PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Yeah??? [8:03PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: What r u thinkgnin about [8:03PM] You: your mouth [8:04PM] You: on my tits [8:04PM] You: my cunt [8:04PM] You: u got me off sooo good [8:05PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Fuucckckk baby [8:05PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: You’re so hot ho ly shit [8:05PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Want u so bad [8:06PM] You: how??? [8:06PM] You: u already treat me so good [8:06PM] You: maybe i’’ll take care of u now hm? ?? [8:07PM] You: mymouth on ur dick [8:07PM] You: taste so good [8:08PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Shit

Everything was jumping out of your head so quick your one hand couldn’t keep up. The two fingers on your pussy dipped again, jolts of sweetness straight through your nerves when you rub yourself faster. Focusing on his texts was as easy as trying to stave your orgasm off, which… really wasn’t going too well, pelvis meeting the palm of your hand in a desperate kick.

[8:08PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Take your clothes off [8:09PM] You: past that

It takes him a minute.

[8:10PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Could you send a pic [8:10PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Pleas e

Oh. Okay.

You lean up on your elbow, push your chest against your bicep in the hopes that your cleavage could somewhat be evocative enough in the weak light of your phone. (You notice you forgot to turn the lights on.) The picture cuts off right above your nipples, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t do that just for the possibility of a desperate plea. You lie back down.

Sent.

[8:13PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: urruhguhgkehrdhfg [8:13PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Baby pleease I want more [8:14PM] You: of what ??? [8:14PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: FUck [8:15PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I want you [8:15PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: On top of me [8:15PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Grnding yuor pretty pussy on my dick [8:16PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: You’re wet ik ur wet

Of course he would. He knows your body better than ever before, and you might tease him but the throbbing you’re attending to is too much of a distraction.

[8:17PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Can you imagine that [8:17PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Teasig my cock into you [8:17PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: But I won’t putnit in yet [8:17PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Bc I want u squirming o n top of me [8:18PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Ik u don’t beg [8:19PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: But I would ask u anyway if u want me to sink u down on my cock

Oh my god. The soft sucking sound of your fingers inside your cunt isn’t enough to drag you out of this reverie. It just sinks you deeper into this bliss Jeongguk spells out for you so well. He has you like putty. Your knuckles curve you into a hopeless whimper.

[8:20PM] You: i want that [8:20PM] You: iwa nt that so bad pleas [8:21PM] You: let me feel your dick inside [8:21PM] You: u want that so bad baby [8:21PM] You: to feel me squeezing around u [8:21PM] You: im so tight and wwt [8:22PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Wanna hear u  [8:22PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Ft [8:22PM] You: just call

You don’t think you could handle seeing his dick now. Especially when the build in your pussy is this close to tipping you into a climax he probably wants to hear.

Your phone blares in the quiet. “Baby—”

“I’m so close,” Jeongguk says. He sounds like he’s panting. “Tell me you are too. Please—!” He cuts himself off with a gasp.

“Y-Yeah.” You burn in his desperation, curling into your cunt in the spot you know would have you keeling over. “Ngh—!”

“I wanna hear you. Wanna—hear you when I fuck you. So—good.”

“Oh fuck—”

“You want that too baby?”

You heave. “Yes!”

“Let me hear you cum. Please. I’m so fucking close—”

“Jeongguk!” You sputter, moaning loud, crying in the extremity. It zips through your core, has you reeling, legs shaking as you rub it out so hard you arch from your bed. You barely register Jeongguk’s own completion.

“Fuck I’m cumming—shit!” He groans, long, noisy on the line but the image of his cum onto his hands has your stomach clenching. Clobbered by his own doing and it’s almost endearing how fucked out he sounds. There’s a moment where you hear fumbling, a distant breath; shifts in the mattress probably. “Baby…”

Your phone lights up again. 

Aa…Jeongguk❣️: 1 Photo

You don’t hesitate this time. 

His dick is wet, probably with his spit, but now his entire first is closed around it, dregs of his cum pooling in the suction of his palm against the pink skin. The urge to put your mouth on him is so over-whelming you groan in frustration.

“Want it in my mouth,” you say.

“You’ll make me hard again,” Jeongguk murmurs with a laugh.

It’s just past 8:30. “So. What got you so hard that had you begging for me over the phone?”

“Hm.” You move until you’re under the covers. A makeshift warmth because you don’t have Jeongguk to cuddle you for post-sex softness. “I don’t know. Just missed you. Again. Sorry if you had work to do.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yeah I’m not.” You think you hear him in the washroom. The vent is loud. “Made a mess.”

“Not my fault.”

“Uh, it kinda was. Hoping for more nipple next time.”

“Now you’re asking for too much,” you sigh. There’s a sleepy pull in your head, dragging you through the waves of feelings that currently bombard your heart. “I miss you too. Hope you’re not working too hard.”

“I have a bruise on my ass! Oh my god I forgot to tell you. But Hoseok checked me so hard for no fucking reason and—boom. Landed right on my booty.”

You coo. “Aw. Want me to kiss it better?”

“Yes please, it’s on my fatter butt-cheek I think.”

It dies down again. “So what stage are we at for your build-up?”

“Close to the finale.”

You can’t stop yourself from smiling. There’s only three days left till your prospective hells come to a head. Then it’s back to loving Jeongguk but closer to him this time, not through the cracked screen of your phone. “Can’t wait.”

“Me too,” Jeongguk says. “Guess—I should leave you to your work?”

As much as you want to say no, the pile of essays on your desk is calling for your ass to get moving. It sends a quick ripple of nervous tension down your spine but the sooner you get it done the sooner it is to texting Jeongguk again. You know he’s impatient too. “Yeah. Might stay up.”

“Not too late, okay? You’re almost there. And make that tea I bought you, it’s supposed to help with your headaches.”

You’ll cry. “I love you.”

“Love you too. Text me when you’re gonna sleep.”

You’re probably ovulating because a tear really does slip over your cheek. The stickiness between your thighs rubs your skin when you finally get up, avoiding the offensive stack of work in your periphery when the hints of a new headache start to come up. 

Jeongguk probably knew you were heading straight into another painful night of working. There’s a tin of loose leaf tea sitting patiently for you in your cupboard. And maybe taking on the teaching position wasn’t such a good idea, but then again, dates where everything loomed over you were inevitable. School’s a bitch. But you have an attractive boy waiting for you to finish, and that’s what prompts you to face the music. One more time.

Three more nights. 

The first night is actually okay. You get a page and half done, and Namjoon checks in with a text in the evening to make sure you aren’t pulling your teeth out. Jeongguk has practice the whole day. 

During the second night, you forget to save one of the articles you cited, and you spend a frantic hour searching through all your sources to trace it back. It’s a painful process and you almost cry, but you text Jeongguk and he sends you a selfie of him sending you a thumbs up. Your phone lags trying to scroll through the gigantic box of of hearts he texts you. You find the article. It’s good.

Third night and you’re about ready to give up. Jeongguk and Namjoon are both out of commission because apparently the universe hates all of you and you’re all busy with your respective work. But you have a page to conquer, and the onus is on you to show up with nice skin tomorrow because the department likes to take pictures to post online. The tea Jeongguk got you steams as you type diligently.

One

More

Word

Andit’sdone.

“Oh god,” you whisper to yourself. You scroll through your paper, making sure all your citations are right. Page numbers there. No excessive use of the first-person, your professor’s name spelt correctly. Formatted correctly.

It’s done.

You bask in the harsh light of your desk lamp, weight lifted off your shoulders the instant you save your document to submit online.

The assignment page loads, and you hit the button.

The line of your phone rings twice.

“Hello?” Jeongguk groans. It’s three in the morning. “Babe? Are you okay?”

“I FINISHED I SUBMITTED IT IT’S IN!” You yell. A genuine rise in your throat that has Jeongguk whooping with as much energy as his sleep-ridden voice can allow on the other side of the line.

“How do you feel?”

“Like I wanna hop on your dick right now.”

Jeongguk just snickers. Your eyebrows raise, because for sure he would’ve been choking. But maybe it’s because he’s tired. “Don’t tempt me into a boner, it’s too early for this.”

“Fuck—sorry. You have your game. Okay I’ll hang up. I’m gonna—sleep. Try to. Okay I love you! Sorry bye!”

“Sleep well. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You knock out the second your light is off and your head hits the pillow.

You asked Namjoon earlier in the day to call you awake because your ringtone is more annoying than your alarm. And even though the ceremony is later in the evening, you’re scared that you’ll sleep the entire day away. 

Jeongguk texts you before you’re up. A congratulatory message, and another saying that he’ll be at practice the whole day so he’ll try to text you at lunch. But the afternoon sun sees no text from him and you know it’s because he’s sweating his balls off on the hockey rink. Stubborn like you know he is but now you miss him again. 

One thing that sticks in your head the rest of the day: the thought of it being over. Because once you get your awards and hopefully get to see the end of the game, you get Jeongguk to yourself again. Two weeks of agonizing to get to this point all but crashes into your loins to spark a frighteningly hot fire, and now, once again, you’re left to fantasize about Jeongguk’s dick. You force yourself not to dwell on it too much, makeup a risk to your fidgeting and if the reason why you have an ugly picture up online is because you were longing for dick then—well. 

It’s Namjoon who greets you when you get to the conference hall downtown.

“You look good,” is all he says. 

You stick your tongue out at him. You had to redo your lipstick twice. “Shut up.”

He leads you to where he was sitting: the massive table stuck in the middle with the microphones sticking up along the perimeter. Maplewood and entirely unfitting for the green carpet, though Namjoon beats you before you can say anything mean. “If you look up front, that’s the Commissioner-General I was talking about.”

You look. She’s a petite woman, scarily thin, wearing a bright scarf. “Yoon Soomin,” you recognize.

“Correct.”

“Namjoon!” You hit his shoulder, and he winces with a grin. “Why didn’t you tell me!”

“Because I knew you’d get stressed!”

Well he’s goddamn right you’re stressed now. Yoon Soomin, Commissioner-General of one of the programs you had your eyes on for the past year now. Applications are open next week. You’ve had yours done for a solid six months, and now the head of the program is right here. In the flesh. Watching you about to get your award.

The chatter of all the other students is drowned out when the program head gets up for the commencement speech. “Good evening everyone. My name is Bae Joohyun. Thank you—”

Ding.

Namjoon kicks your shin. You silence your phone. It’s Jeongguk.

[7:39PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Hi babe hope u had a good day!!! Sorry I got distracted [7:40PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: But I know ur gna win like fifty awards so advanced congrats!!!!!!! Proud of ur big brain [7:40PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Love you [7:41PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I hope you make it later pls try ur hardest but if u can’t it’s okay but like I would really appreciate if you. Came [7:41PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: OJO [7:42PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Heh Taehyung said that looks like me 

There’s clapping. You don’t know why everyone’s clapping but you do it too.

[7:42PM] You: pls don’t break any limbs while i am here i won’t be fast enough [7:42PM] You: love u. play smart not hard. i’ll be there for ur final goal 🤪 [7:43PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: Anything for my scholar [7:43PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: You r so cute please come soon [7:44PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: I have to go now I LOVE You

“I will now invite the Student Chair Kim Namjoon forward to deliver a speech,” Professor Bae says.

No last text to Jeongguk because now you join the applause once more. Namjoon gets up with practiced ease, staggered steps of confidence because if anyone is going to get a PhD first, it’s him. And you know he applied for the program too.

It starts simple: “Thank you for coming today.” A celebratory gathering, gratitude for everyone’s hard work and commitment. A call for everyone to continue being ambassadors for the Humanities. Nothing you haven’t heard before. 

“I would also like to announce that the department has decided to award a special recipient tonight for their academic work and contribution to graduate research,” Namjoon continues. “The award will be presented by Yoon Soomin, Commissioner-General of the Anthropology for the Humanities Global Network. Please give your warmest applause to Doctor Yoon.”

Oh god. Your literal idol because she was just as interested in babies as you were and Jeongguk would for sure be goading you into a frenzy because of your shaking. But you clap as normally as normal clapping goes, and Doctor Yoon takes the mic.

“I’ll just head straight into it,” she says with a pretty smile. You catch Namjoon looking at you. He raises an amused eyebrow, and now you’re suspicious. “It is an honour to call upon ___, for their recent submission of pronatalist work based in Europe for the research study funded by the Global Network.” That’s—you. That’s you, and these are your legs moving on their own accord to the beat of the eager applause. You don’t look at Namjoon but you can hear him, because he’s clapping the loudest. “___ has been recognized before: for an outstanding submission in undergraduate research on cultural genocide, as well as active participation in the Anthropological department.”

Yoon Soomin extends a hand to you, as well as a pretty certificate gilded with bold letters in the form of your name. Again: all offered by Yoon Soomin. Again, you are shaking. 

“T—hank you,” you stammer, and her hand is soft in yours and you really just might cry but it’s probably because you’re exhausted. You’d slept for a solid ten hours but no amount of rest would have ever prepared you for her pretty voice congratulating you again. “I—It’s an honour.”

“Picture time,” Namjoon interrupts. He’s got his phone up. “Smile!”

“Congratulations again,” Doctor Yoon says. She grins like she knows something too, and the rest of the ceremony is static in your ears.

Like always, it’s repetition. A name called, award presented. Your name is exhausted three more times, and you’d cower under the attention but you worked too goddamn hard not get to this point. You think of Jeongguk, probably three to none even though it’s only been half an hour into the game. You and Namjoon are practically trembling when Professor Bae dismisses everyone.

Your jacket is on, purse about to swing over your shoulder when someone comes up to you.

“Hello.” Doctor Yoon again. “Oh—are you in a hurry?”

“Not at all,” you rush out. You can feel Namjoon vibrating too. “I—Thank you so much for presenting the award.”

“It was my pleasure. The overseas program application opens next week,” she advises, and you really might scream but you will yourself to stillness. “We don’t know where it’s based yet, but I hope that doesn’t discourage you from submitting your application.”

“Oh she’s been interested for years,” Namjoon offers. You elbow him. Doctor Yoon laughs. 

“I’m glad to hear that. Keep up the good work!”

You all but skirt around her with a quick thank you again! and make a mad dash out the building and to the underground train because Namjoon sucks and can’t drive on highways yet. “Good thing you didn’t wear heels because you’re so fucking slow.”

“Shut up,” you growl. The people on the sidewalk offer no space for you to slither through, and you grind you teeth with impatience. “And don’t give me shit when I beat you four to one.”

“Not everyone’s into babies like you are, genius.” You reach the closest subway entrance, a seedy staircase down into the dirty cement and your fare is paid with a drop of a coin; running for the departing train and you make it by the wisp of your hair. You sigh into an empty seat, Namjoon right next to you. “Time.”

It’s nearing 9:00. “Oh my god it’s almost done.”

“You’ll make it,” Namjoon says. The jostling ride is another twenty minutes, and you know it’s cutting it short but you promised Jeongguk. He’s so close. You’re out of breath. “So you’re free now, huh.”

“Yeah.”

“You worked hard.”

You scrunch your face in embarrassment. “Thanks Joonie.”

“I mean it,” he says. “No one deserves this more than you. Yeah? Cut yourself some slack.”

“I know—it’s just—I couldn’t be there for Jeongguk as much as I could have—” And it’s all coming out now. There’s only one other person on this cart other than Namjoon so you let yourself have the moment, the breakdown. The awfulness of preoccupation and missing your boyfriend and too much work. You don’t want to cry but the screech of the metal tracks makes it easier to hide. “‘M so fucking tired.”

Namjoon pats your back when you heave. “Two more stops. Then you can curse the gods all you want.”

Good incentive, because once the doors slide open on your stop you book it up the escalator as fast as your fatigue can allow. Luckily campus is right around the corner, cars taking up all the space on the road. Probably all here for the final match of the year, your university against the one a city over, and the cheers are so loud you hear it from the two sidewalks over. “Let’s go let’s go!”

And you and Namjoon run again, down to the set of doors of the arena nestled into the corner of your school. The doors are heavyset but you yank them like you’ll die if you aren’t inside within the next twenty seconds, and it’s only now that you feel the buzz of your phone from a text.

[8:58 PM] Jimin Bimin: I’m on the east side with taehyung, third from the bottom bleacher, mostly in the middle. hurry!!!!!!

Namjoon’s no doubt just following the beeline you make because even you can’t feel where your legs are taking you. All you know is the rush of school pride and the deafening yells of the crowd, lost bits of popcorn on the floor scrunching against your shoes as you search for Jimin. You see Taehyung first: warpaint on his face and he waves you over quickly, scooting over with a pull on Jimin to make room for Namjoon too.

“You made it!” Jimin screams and it still sounds like a squeak with the roar of the people everywhere.

But you ignore this, laser-beaming the rink for that familiar 97. You catch Jeongguk closely following the puck, stick clenched tightly in his fists, legs quick in their glide as the offence. You feel everyone’s bated breath, hands grabbing Jimin’s arm—the other team’s members flying past Jeongguk, the raise of the wood, a slap to the puck—

The red blares. The crowd goes wild. 

“HE WON!” Jimin screams and so do you, the wave of excitement passing over you like fairy dust and now everyone’s cheering. You have no idea what went on. But now all the boys off the rink jump over the barrier to grab Jeongguk in a hard throttle, arms tangled around each other, chant lost on your ears but they look so happy. 

Somehow, a body breaks away from the huddle, and now they’re skating in your direction. 

Jeongguk waves. You smile. A wave back, and now you have each other again.

You wait outside the building, watching as the throngs disperse. Namjoon, Taehyung, and Jimin already said their goodbyes, last felicitations from them both and a promise for lunch from you somehow gets squeezed from the conversation too. The brick is hard against your back.

[9:30PM] Aa…Jeongguk❣️: WHERE ARE YOU [9:30PM] You: i’m outside already!!

A door bursts open. There’s an inhale, then you turn your head. Jeongguk drops his bag the second you charge for him, arms ready for your attack as you jump and wrap your legs around his waist, arms caught on his neck. You think you hear someone gasp but it’s all lost on you now. “Oh my god I love you,” he breathes, and you cry. “Babe—”

“I watched you,” you sniffle, and you frown when he laughs. “Watched you win.”

“I’m glad.”

You kiss him. “Missed you.”

Jeongguk looks like he might cry too. “Mine again?”

“Yours again.” And you mean it. 

“I would—I would invite you over to the after-party but I’m sleepy,” he says in between presses of his mouth, “and I ran out of contact solution the other day so I can’t invite you over and also Taehyung’s probably sleeping right now.”

“Then you come over.” You melt into his tongue, his feet staggering in your grind and he bites your lip.

“R-Really?” 

“Yeah, actually get some shut-eye.” He lets you off when you wriggle your ass against his hands, dragging him to the bus stop before he can put them back against your jeans or else you might really fuck him this time. “Because Taehyung snores too loud anyway.”

The ride to your apartment totals eight minutes because it’s late, and living on the edge of the suburbs means no one’s up this late anyhow. Jeongguk hadn’t even let you find a seat, balancing through red lights on his feet just to fly out the door when you’d reached your stop. You’ve already done too much running today but Jeongguk still rushes you up to your floor, and before you can get the key to your door he has you pressed up on it instead.

“Want you,” he says. Hard against your throat like he means it.

“God—let me—open my door and you have me,” you say through your teeth, gritted because the hallways echo and now Jeongguk has his thigh pressed up against you. “Babe let go—”

He does, but only with a lingering kiss promised by your burning attraction. You don’t fumble with the lock but you do stumble in from how quick you open the door, slamming shut in your haste and you hear his duffel bag meet the ground and now your back meets the hard metal again. “You have to stop shoving me into this thing oh my god.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Jeongguk whispers. He’s kissing you again. Lifts you up with no warning and you yelp into his curious mouth, dick grinding into the rough of your pants. “Fuck I—”

“Did—you want to—”

“No—wait yes, yes—I just—” He doesn’t let up. You can feel his cock straining against his sweats, flimsy layers you could just shove down but his hips are glued to your own. “I can’t—cum. Right now. Too much. Wind—wound up.”

Your tailbone is starting to dig into the door. “Then let me down and let’s just—sleep.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. One last kiss, nose meeting yours. “Still on my hockey grind.”

“Ew,” you snort. “Also don’t wear your pants to bed.”

“Oh.” He shoves his shoes off when you do. 

“I don’t like it when people wear their outside clothes on my sheets.”

“Oh.”

“But it’d be nice to wake up to your dick on my ass,” you add. Jeongguk makes a strangled noise, then carries you to bed.

“I’ll brush my teeth tomorrow,” is the last thing you remember him saying. 

The morning rushes in too soon. Your curtains aren’t closed and Jeongguk hogs the blanket, sprawled on your side of the bed no less. You weren’t kidding when you said you wanted to spoon but at least his cock is warm with something just as soft as your ass.

You settle in the calm. Jeongguk isn’t one to snore but his soft breaths are just as jarring, disbelief apparent when you realize this is the first time he’s ever slept-over at your place. As convenient as it is to live somewhere that only needed one bus ride, you’re on campus all the time; making sense meant taking up space in his res instead. But now the lump he occupies in your bed is something you think you could get used to.

(Even if he hogs the blanket.)

You’re still in your clothes from last night, but at least you had the decency to shuck off your jeans. And you’d gotten up well past Jeongguk-sleeping-hours to take off your makeup because it took you forever to pry his ridiculously strong arm off around you. You get up with a kiss to his mane of bedhead and a silent reminder to grab an extra toothbrush.

The next plan to execute on your list after washing the tired off: breakfast. And you know you don’t have eggs but you open the fridge like you’ll see the carton sitting there anyway.

You’re standing, coming to a blank for what feels like forever. You think briefly about ordering in, then remember the guilt of just grabbing groceries instead. The internal battle is cut short when you hear the creak of your bed, a long groan. Then, footsteps.

“You look sad,” Jeongguk croaks two seconds later.

You frown for effect. “I want eggs. And why are you up.”

“Come here, egghead.” Jeongguk is groggy. The sexy kind too, because his voice is a tenor that scratches the needier part in you, the one telling you to bury your face in his chest and you do just that. “I felt you move. Sorry I couldn’t wake you up with my dick against your butt.”

“S’ok. And go shower because you’re stinky.”

He lets you go. “Good morning,” he says for the first time. A domesticity you feel lightheaded from. “You should shower with me.”

“Unless you’re scared of detachable shower heads I think you’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be cocky,” he whines. “And you’re dirty too, you sweat a lot just like I do.”

That’s true. “But it’s not even a hair washing day.”

“Why are you resisting me, woman.” He brings two hands up, wiggling his fingers. “I’ll tickle you.”

“You will not—”

“I will tickle you and if you don’t shower with me I will cry.”

You huff. “Fine.” He leads you down the hall to the bathroom, satisfied in his quick win, back flexing when he takes his shirt off. “And I’m the cocky one.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says. You know he’s baiting but you don’t want to resist him anymore. “You need to turn the shower on because I don’t know how to.”

Getting naked is a different kind of intimate when you’re not in the bedroom. You know this because Jeongguk can’t even look your way when you’ve stripped, but you’re shivering like he’s staring.  You step into the tub before he can back out. He doesn’t come in till the water’s running.

You like it hot. Jeongguk—not so much by the looks of his hesitation, so you compromise with a slight shift of the knob and a switch in place so he’s under the pelt of water. He’s all hard muscle under your hands. “Hope you like cherry blossom.”

He doesn’t say anything. Grabbing the loofah you spurt your pink soap, lathering it on his chest first. Jeongguk just stares. “I really missed you,” he says.

You nod. Nodding fast to keep yourself from thinking too hard because then you might start getting soft. “Me too,” you croak out. “Want me to wash your hair?”

Jeongguk just brushes his lips against yours in answer. You’ve just reached over his shoulders to get the back of his neck but he forces you back into the tiles, back inundated with cold hardness and there’s no room for complaint when your tits press against Jeongguk’s skin like this. He groans a desperate sound into your pliant mouth. “I—I don’t wanna wait anymore.”

You pause. “For what?”

“I don’t—know—I—just having you here again. Makes me want to do everything.”

You are enveloped in mist and so much longing. “Let me finish then we’ll—go back.” You don’t know if you want to focus southward because one look at his dick and you’ll fall to your knees. “Turn around.”

He does. The glass of the divider fogs up in your intimacy. You give a half-hearted scrub along his skin, focusing on the grime you can’t see. Can’t think.

“Okay you know—I think we’re good,” you say, voice tight.

“Come here.” Jeongguk spins to find you again, a hard kiss into you and you feel his dick press up against your stomach. “Towels.”

“Turn off the shower.” You push open the door, shaking legs dripping onto the floor as you scramble to wrap yourself in warmth other than Jeongguk. He grabs the other one, quick passes over his skin before he drops it to the floor and nearly bowls you over to get you out into the bed room.

It’s bright. Jeongguk reads your mind. “Can I—shut the blinds?”

“Please.”

He goes to twist the plastic while you dry off the last remnants of water clinging to your skin, and before you know it Jeongguk has you lain flat across the tangled blankets, legs dangling from the side of the bed. “God I tried really hard to have a normal morning with you but I—just can’t anymore.” He kneels over you. “Please tell me you feel the same.”

You could go on about how quick the one-eighty was. From your thoughts about breakfast to this absolutely insatiable need for your boyfriend to insert whatever valid body part he could use into your pussy. But you and Jeongguk are never conventional, and going too fast is an illusion now. 

You have each other again, and no one’s counting the seconds anymore.

“Will you fuck me?” You ask.

“Yes,” he decides, and he unwraps the towel you’d clung onto before pressing downwards and caving into your lips. “I—have never wanted you so goddamn bad in my life, oh my god.”

“Good,” you choke on your breath because Jeongguk slips down your throat with his tongue and a pucker of his lips. “Ah—!”

A bloom of your slick runs through your cunt when he sucks hard on your skin, thumbs a shy presence on your breasts but they peak under the pressure. “You have the cutest tits,” he says. 

“Shut up.” You flare with embarrassment. “You can—be more rough.”

Jeongguk twists your nipples and you pant. “Like that?”

“Suck on them too. Make it—hurt.” His eyes flutter, determined in your command. Mouth a hot suction, laving you with his spit. His teeth graze in a bite and you moan. “Fuck—yeah. That’s so good…”

He stays like this: feeding into your sounds with sloppy grips of his tongue, suckling till your tits pop out his mouth and your hands find the nape of his neck in desperation. “Ugh—please—”

Jeongguk slurps on a nipple. “Get up there.”

You scramble up the bed, comfortably nestled in the centre and Jeongguk’s fingers go to spread your pussy,   cheeks heating in the sound of wet. He sighs.

“Do you want to cum now?”

You dip your head. “Please.”

He settles on his stomach, diving in to latch onto your clit, sucking that has your head thrown back further with every inch he covers with the jerk of his tongue. Honed in on the dangerous tip that could have you teetering over in a second and your hips pull back, but his hands take your bucking and locks you down to his attention. Too much so and now you wail. “Oh my g—od.”

Curses caught in the grit of your teeth because now he licks the stretch of your cunt like he’s thirsty. Jeongguk’s good at making you want more when you don’t know what means. “Gonna—use a finger.”

“Fuck, yeah. Yeah.” He curls in and up, a sweet crevice touched. Eyes rolling back as you puff. “Holy fu-uck yeah, finger it.”

“Wanna beg?” He suggests. Challenging.

“You’re asking me to?”

“I’m begging you to,” Jeongguk snickers.

“Then—” you settle up on your elbows, watching the minute thrusts into your cunt like a lazy cartoon— “please use another finger. And—make me cry this time.”

His eyes bulge in your confidence. Pulls out; now there’s two hard intrusions and it digs into a sweeter part inside, a touch that has you keening right into the pillow, drool smearing on the sheet. Clit sitting pretty on his wet tongue and you’d let him have it all day if he asked. Then Jeongguk thrusts in a drill so hard you vibrate. “O-O-Oh my fuuuuuuck—”

He curves into your loudness. “So fucking sexy,” he praises, rushing right through you and onto his fingers. “So wet—”

“Ugh—!” Your sobbing isn’t a tearful one but the scratch in your throat is smarting. Jeongguk swipes right over your nub. Leans up, fingers still a consistent presence and now his tongue is teasing yours, a muscle spasm more than anything and you can’t fucking breathe.

“Sit on my face,” he says.

“You—really?”

“I might cum.” Oh. He looks at you, eyes a wonder of pleasured agony. Probably because he’d been grinding into the sheets like last time but now you’re even more gone.

“Okay,” you gulp, and Jeongguk rolls over. Knees above his shoulders, using his elbows to slide along the mattress till you’re settled comfortably over his eager mouth. “You okay?”

“Fuck yeah.” He pulls on your thighs until his neck doesn’t strain up anymore, a stretch you can ignore if only to feel the traction of his rough love on your sensitivity. “This is—so hot.”

“Are you—pulling on pornographic roots right now?”

He hums into a suction. “Yeah.”

“What else have you thought about?” You can’t see his entire face from your view, but his forehead is scrunched. Thinking hard for you.

“Nothing—crazy,” he says. He kisses your leaking cunt. “Always wanna make you feel good. But it’d be hot if I choked you, yeah.”

“Oh—”

“Whatever you like,” Jeongguk decides. “I like whatever you like.”

“I would like it if you made me cry,” you contend.

He doesn’t say anything else. Jeongguk squeezes your ass, neck straining to get you dribbling on the tip of his tongue, pleasure pulled from the bottom of your stomach into moaning so loud you’re worried for the thinness of your walls. “Oh my god I’m close—don’t stop—”

Your pussy grinds right into it. His fingers are lax on your skin like he’s given up if it means you feed into your own demise. And you do: grating all your nerves from Jeongguk’s insistence into your sex and your hands tangle into his hair. “Oh fuck I’m—Jeongguk—!”

The feeling settles heavy in your pussy. Taken with a vehemence you’d praise forever and Jeongguk is nothing but passionate, a power translated through all his work and one he insists on when he paints your cunt like it’s his favourite thing to do. His hands tighten their grip on your ass, nearly falling over when his tongue slides like that—

“I’m cumming—oh my god I’m—fuck!”

Your eyes sting. It bursts—starting on Jeongguk’s tongue and spreading so fast you can’t tell up from down.  Moans wrenched from your chest and you can’t catch your breath, even when you push yourself off from Jeongguk because you can’t stop riding into it. “Ah—oh fuck.” You’re sniffling.

“Babe wait did I actually make you cry?”

“Yes you idiot, come here.” And Jeongguk crawls over you, kiss-ready, lips wet on yours. “Do you—is it—are you okay? Do you wanna try now?”

“Sure,” he says. “I just—might not last too long.”

“We take it slow,” you say. He nods. “Got condoms?”

Jeongguk looks sheepish but he nods again. “Please don’t ask me why I have them on me.”

“I’m asking why you have them on you.”

He groans. “Let me just—get them from my bag.” And he runs, hard penis and all, outside to the bag he’d left outside in your haste to the bed. He’s not even gone for two seconds before he has the string of foil in his hand. “Remember there was a party last night? Taehyung gave them to me just in case—you know. Something happened.”

“Good friend. Do you—have lube too?” 

Jeongguk pales. “No.”

“Come here,” you order instead, because you’re ridiculously wet anyhow. He gets closer, lying down when you push his chest down. “Don’t worry ‘bout it. Just wanna kiss you.”

He lets you. You stay in this moment, a precursor to a new era if you were being dramatic about it. But having him so soft and yielding under you like this makes you want to enjoy it, bit by bit. “I love you,” he says.

You mold into him. “I love you too.” Reaching over for one of the foils, you tear it as Jeongguk stares with a still chest. The condom rolls easily. “Okay?”

“Yep.”

Then you sit on top of him, your own breath caught in the butterflies jumbled in your stomach, a flit when his hands come to rest on your thighs. Nerves tangling with his and you feel the low tremors in his body. Your pussy glides along his dick lying pretty on his stomach. You tangle your hands with his. “Don’t be nervous,” you whisper.

Jeongguk gulps. “Just—kiss me again.”

You lean back down, his hands tightening yours when you meet him again. “Are you okay?”

His eyes are closed. “Yes—yes. You can put it in. Please.”

“Just—say the word and I’ll stop.”

He nods.

There’s a lump in your throat. You want it to be good for him. The griping all his friends did had done a great deal for your sex life, yeah. But the point of his comfort was crossed so many times you feared he’d back out by this time. And now he waits: waits for your go, on your own time, because the last thing he wanted to do was pressure you too. You know it in his attention, his quiet insistence on making you cum first. His patience for you to come back to him. Waiting so that you could get comfortable before he did, because he’s only ever comfortable when you are. 

You hold the base of his dick, tip straight below your core, positioned at the height of both your breaths.

You sink down.

It’s a scarcity, to feel this good from the get-go. A prodding that pinches a little stretches you right, Jeongguk’s length gloved in your heat, so much heat because he groans. “Oh my god.”

“Is that—okay?”

“Yes—”

His hands find your hips when your knees drop down even further. Slow, slow, slow; so wet because he makes you feel it—until you bottom out. Jeongguk shivers. “Tell me—when I can move.”

You watch his eyebrows scrunch up, teeth gritting when you shift to ease the weight on your legs. “I’m good. I’m good, please move, fuck.”

You do. You pick up to an easy pace, not straining yourself but enough for the tip of his dick to hit a spot in your gut that has you cooing. Your hands find his chest. “Ooh—fuck yeah.”

“Is it good—for you?” Jeongguk pants, bucking his hips when he watches your tits bounce. 

“Yeah. Feels so good…” You trail off, getting used to the feel of something so much thicker than his fingers. A burn you can’t say you haven’t missed, teasing your insides and you squeeze.

“Baby—that—fuck—” He’s sweating. His forehead shines, hair caught on his skin. His chest is a flushed, wet where your palms meet him because you’re getting a little winded now. But the little grunts he lets out every time you bounce is enough to keep you going. 

“Do you think—you can cum like this?”

His grin is sheepish. “N-No.”

You opt for a closer grind then. “How do you want me?”

“Your back,” he says, hesitant. “Let me—fuck you from the edge of the bed.”

You can do that. You lift up till his dick lies wet on his belly, sheets a mess under your bum when you let Jeongguk get up to move you the way he wants. He stands, one knee on the mattress as he spreads your legs, pussy served like it’s his to take. Makes a grab for his dick; jostles around a bit on your clit to see your hole tighten, stomach clenched. 

He presses in slow just to see you shiver. In control of your pleasure again, and you sigh into the sheets. 

“Oh my god.” You grasp the blankets, elbows strong to watch what you now know is the visual of Jeongguk fucking you. A little stilted in his rhythm, but only because he’s getting used to the feel of your pussy like this. 

You don’t care for the semantics of proper fucking. As long as his hips meet your ass in the beat you can only call nasty. The squelch of your arousal is loud. “Fuck—baby…”

“Yeah—feels so good.” Buried deep in your walls and maybe you could learn the ridges of his dick like this: lain here for him to use, cunt fit only for his pleasure. A position you’d gladly take everyday from now on because fuck if this isn’t heavenly. 

You know he feels it too when his chest picks up in his panting, dick a piston now and you mewl. 

“Yeah—faster, baby—like that—!”

“Shit—” Smearing your walls with your own slick, made for him to dirty. A push so vigorous you would be sliding if it weren’t for Jeongguk’s tight hands on you, and all you can do is take it. “Babe I’m close—”

And he bends down, kissing you with a pant into your mouth because he’s getting spent, efforts all going into your pleasure. He still thrusts. “Cum. Cum when you can, fuck.”

“What about—”

You shut him up with another press of your lips. “I’m fine.”

He leaves it at that. Jeongguk leans up again, adjusting one more time till he’s got both knees on the bed, cock a heady presence inside your sex and he gives it hard now. You’re trying not to squeeze so hard around him but it’s getting difficult; seeing him so focused, his eyes wild, sweat dripping on his shoulders. Sweltering in your heat and love and novelties—defiling him but in the best way possible. “I love you,” he chokes. “Oh my god I might—”

“Give it to me,” you whisper.

He does. Your pussy is still in Jeongguk’s indulgence, his whines escalating until he groans out: “I’m cumming—”

Jeongguk slams into you, a final push for your core and he croons into your neck. Streams of his pleasure in the form of a long sigh, his pulses inside. And maybe you’re dumb but you’re laughing and crying again, arms wrapping around his neck, swaying him back and forth as he calms down. 

“How was that?” You ask.

He’s crying, too. You wipe his under-eye when he takes one more kiss. “Best ever,” he says. “I’ll make you cum.”

“You don’t need to—” But his thumb is already on your clit, still wet from his doing and you force your hips to stillness— “Jeongguk no—”

“I wanna feel you cum around my dick,” he says, and the plea is enough for you to tighten and cry even more. It hurts, a nudge of pain but it’s already beginning to spread into pleasure—

“Jeongguk—”

You cum into his kiss, walls clenching into an orgasm so sweet your toes tingle. A ripple of pleasure running through all of you and he moans like he feels it too. 

Out of breath. It’s hot under his skin.

“So. Who do we tell first?”

Jeongguk laughs. “Maybe we can decide over breakfast.”

And you feel something, better than orgasmic bliss, the pleasure of a tryst: the simplicity of being in love. Jeongguk makes you feel like you can do anything.

“Eggs?” You ask.

His tongue is sweet. “Eggs.”

[fruitcoops]

Hey!! So if u want to, could u write a short fic or smth for number 25, because I am LIVING for a scenario where sirius just playfully bites remus and then he gets like super horny or the other way around.

The biting isn’t the central part of this fic, but all three parts of this series involve a solid amount of playful spicy bites. Here’s the third and final part of the night of Remus’ first goal! This has been a wild ride and honestly gave me great practice for smut writing, so thanks to everyone who supported the miniseries!

Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW for restraint (holding, mentioned once), a teeny-tiny moment of injury angst, and sickening domesticity. Oh, and the smut of course.

Whoever figures out the song this series was inspired by first gets a shoutout in my next fic! Hint: look at the titles...

They wasted no time in getting up to the bedroom again. Sirius tripped over his own shirt in the rush and grabbed it off the stair as Remus laughed his ass off a few steps ahead, despite the fact that his own long sleeve was still abandoned by the front door.

Their sheets were a mess from the night’s previous activities, but Sirius was too busy falling even more deeply in love to really care as they laid down on their sides, tangling their legs together and smiling into each kiss. “Are you sure you’ve got one more in you?” he asked, half-teasing.

“Do you?” Remus hooked his ankle around Sirius’ calf and rolled on top of him, cradling his face in his hands as Sirius lovingly felt along every bump of his spine. He was still a little foggy from the mind-melting blowjob, to be honest—nonetheless, he felt a familiar pool of heat gathering low in his abdomen as Remus shifted.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Sirius murmured, slipping his fingers through soft caramel waves. “What do you want?”

“You.”

“You have me.”

“I want you,” Remus said again with more emphasis as he skimmed his hands under Sirius’ waistband. “My second goal only happened because of your perfect assist.”

“Yeah, but you’re the one who got it in—hmmm.” He rolled his hips and Remus’ warm palms squeezed his ass gently. Lips moved down his neck, pausing to nip a hickey on the hinge of his jaw. A shiver ran through him, and he felt Remus grin. “I love it when you do that.”

“I can tell.” Sirius moved his hands further down, but Remus reached up and pinned them to the bed by his wrists. “Nope.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. You asked me what I want, and I want you.” Remus loosened his hold and leaned back to scan his face. “Is that okay?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Consent is sexy.” Remus snapped the edge of his waistband lightly, looking around. “Do you know where the lube is?”

“What?” Sirius sat up on his elbows. “Wasn’t it on the bed?”

“I thought so, but I don’t see it anywhere.” After a moment of deliberation, Remus slid off his lap and began to straighten the sheets out, muttering under his breath. “It was here, right? I’m not going crazy?”

“Non, it definitely was.” Sirius got to his feet and joined the search, but he didn’t see the blue-tinted bottle anywhere. “Okay, you took it out of the dresser and hit your hand, then I put it here—” He tapped the right side of the bed. “—and I don’t think it moved much until after the thigh incident when we used it again.”

“Have we become those old people already?” Remus asked as he got to his knees and reached under the bed. “I’m 25, I can’t lose track of the lube yet. That’s got to be some sort of warning sign.”

“The only warning sign is that we’re both going to go to bed horny if we don’t find it,” Sirius grumbled, picking a dust bunny off his hand and shuddering.

“…not necessarily.”

He paused. “Fair point. Oh! Found it!” They must have moved more than Sirius remembered, because the lube had ended up wedged between the nightstand and the bedframe. “If I find any spiders down here, I’m going to scream.”

“Oh, you’ll be screaming alright,” Remus said as he flopped down on the bed and winked down at him.

“See, I know you love me when you still make sex jokes while I’m elbow-deep in dust because both of us are too lazy to move these and vacuum.” He groped around for a second longer before his fingers closed around a familiar tube and he drew his arm out. Unfortunately, something brushed against the back of his hand mere inches from the light and he shouted in alarm, scrambling away from the nightstand like it burned him.

“Are you okay?” Remus asked, looking mildly alarmed.

Sirius scooted forward slowly, all his senses on high alert as he retrieved the lube. “Oh my fucking god, Remus.”

“What?”

“A sock? Really?” He reached back in and grabbed the stray sock, shaking it out as evidence. “I thought this was a spider!”

Remus was clearly biting back a smile as Sirius threw the sock in the laundry hamper that was literally three feet from the bed. “I love you?”

“I love you, too.”

“Now that you’ve successfully completed your rescue mission, can I make it up to you?” He sat up on his knees and drew Sirius back in with two arms around his waist, leaning up for a kiss.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Sirius said as he obliged, allowing himself to be pushed into the mattress as Remus returned to his earlier position. The slight break had definitely had a negative effect on his general horniness, but it came back quickly enough under the heated touch of his fiancé. By the time Remus got around to sliding his pants down his legs, he was a puddle of bliss.

“Are you ready?” Remus asked, kissing the dip of his hipbones. “For real this time.”

“Hell yes.” Sirius handed him the lube and settled back into the pillows with a sigh, closing his eyes as the cap clicked and one of Remus’ hands pushed his thighs apart.

He took his time, mapping Sirius’ torso with kisses and love bites while his long fingers pulled and pressed in all the right places. It wasn’t until Sirius was keening on every breath that he finally slicked himself, distracting him from the initial pressure with a bruising kiss that seemed more fitting with the energy they had come to the house with all those few hours ago. “You’re so loud.” Remus grinned against his cheek when a particularly excellent thrust made Sirius moan.

“Says you,” he managed, nipping at his earlobe. “Fuck, that’s good.”

“How should we celebrate that beautiful assist?” Remus asked. Sirius was rather glad he sounded like he wasn’t expecting an answer, because at that moment his shaft slid against his prostate and the world went staticky for a second. “This seems to be working well enough.”

“You’re too coherent,” Sirius panted, gripping his waist tightly. “Merde, sweetheart, there—this night was supposed to be about getting you off.”

Remus’ quiet laugh was a little too tense around the edges to be as casual as he clearly wanted to make it and a sense of satisfaction joined the bubbling arousal in Sirius’ abdomen. “Believe me, baby, this is doing it well enough.”

“I can do better than ‘well enough’,” Sirius muttered, hitching his leg up and flipping them over to slide onto his lap slowly, relishing in the steady drag. He let his head fall back slightly and adjusted his knees into a better position. “Huh. This is actually kind of difficult after a game.”

“Told you so.” Beneath his hands, Remus’ chest was heaving, and he looked back down to see his eyes were wide.

Take it slow, he reminded himself. “At first I thought you were just being a baby about it, but apparently not,” he teased, pushing himself up a few inches before dropping down.

Thankfully, Remus didn’t immediately kick him out of the bed for bringing up the thigh incident. Instead, he cocked one eyebrow and started pushing his hips up to meet Sirius’ movements. “When have I ever been a baby about anything?”

Sirius pretended to think for a moment, then dissolved into laughter when Remus smacked him on the thigh. “Never, mon coeur.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Remus pushed him down with slightly more force and Sirius’ knees jerked inward reflexively. “Oooo, okay then.”

He did it again and Sirius’ back bowed, forcing him to prop his elbows on Remus’ chest. The sparkles faded from his vision after an indeterminate amount of time and he tried in vain to catch his breath, twisting a handful of sheets in his hand. “Close.”

“Close to what?” Remus’ voice was low and a little raspy, sending tingles down his spine.

“Close.”

“Not yet, you’re not. Can you sit up?” Sirius’ forearms nearly gave out, but he succeeded. Remus stopped moving beneath him. “Can you—can you loosen your grip a bit?”

“Huh?” Sirius blinked away some of the muddled dizziness; the snarky, dominant angles of Remus’ face had faded, replaced by discomfort. He frowned and let go of his shoulders, which he had been gripping for leverage and emotional support and—“Oh. Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, just a little tight,” Remus assured him, running his hands along Sirius’ waist and ribs. The marks on his skin where Sirius’ fingertips had dug in were light, all things considered, but guilt trickled in when he saw the placement. “Hey. I’m fine, baby, really.”

“I’m so sorry, Re. I should’ve been paying more attention—”

“Stop. Look at me.”

“I am looking at you.”

Remus squeezed his hips lightly. “Look at me, Sirius. I’m okay. It was not your fault. Honestly, I’m a little flattered that I could make you stop thinking.” He reached up and pressed his thumb between Sirius’ eyebrows to smooth out the worry crease.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Consent is sexy,” he reminded him. Remus smiled up at him, bright and brilliant and so beautiful, then closed his eyes as Sirius circled his hips. This closeness with Remus never failed to set him alight from the inside, no matter how they did it. He was exhausted from the game and from coming twice already, but he was afraid he’d simply burn up if he stopped moving now.

“Oh, fuck,” Remus choked out; one of his knees drew up against Sirius’ lower back, which tilted him at just the right angle to brush his sweet spot with every thrust. “Fuck, baby, yes.”

The last shred of awareness left in his mind registered a string of desperate sounds rushing from his lungs, half-syllables of Remus’ name between wobbling whimpers and pleas for more, more, more.

“Come on, come for me.” He knew that voice. That voice featured in all of his best dreams, starred in his favorite memories, and highlighted everything he needed. That voice brought him home when he was lost in the dark. “Sirius, come for me.”

A wave of pleasure ripple down his back and he came, gasping and writhing, distantly acknowledging Remus’ moan when he followed suit with a final push. His thighs were completely numb when he laid down on his back, turning to drink in the sight of Remus’ flushed profile in the low light. He could barely see the places his fingers had been before around the pink of his post-orgasm skin. “Can we skip the shower?” he asked after a moment of astonished silence.

Remus nodded, laughing lightly as he looked over. “Yes, we definitely can.”

“I hate going to bed all sticky, but I don’t think my legs are functioning anymore.”

Remus kissed the tip of his nose and rolled onto his side so their knees touched. “I would love to agree with whatever you just said, but your accent is so thick right now and my brain is gone, which is not the ideal combination.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sirius murmured, kissing him chastely on the lips and wrapping an arm around his shoulders to pull him close. “C’est bon.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Remus yawned, snuggling closer and tangling their calves together.

“Hey.”

“Hmmm?”

“You played your first NHL game. And you scored two goals.”

“Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“I played next to you in my first NHL game.”

A slow, sleepy smile spread across Sirius’ face. “Yeah, you did.”

[slippinmickeys]

Five Seconds (5/8)

If you’d like to read on AO3, you may do so here.

October 15, 2018

The leaves were beginning to change outside the window; the maples turning russet, the birch yellow. Scully felt pendulous and gravid, the child in her belly more active than her previous two combined. Sleep was becoming difficult, but by day they’d fallen into a comfortable routine, safe and unmolested from the dangers that were beginning to feel as though they had never existed at all.

She stretched and left Mulder, half his face obscured by his pillow, his lips soft and pliant in sleep. A fresh pot of decaf awaited her in the kitchen, its automatic timer set by Mulder late last night.

The kids were still asleep, as far as she could tell -- she'd heard Lily come home well after midnight. She'd been up reading anyway when her daughter had popped her head into their bedroom door and whispered "I'm home." The girl had been wearing a small smile and Scully recognized the look. Lily was falling in love.

Will shuffled into the kitchen sleepily, a palm rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He approached Scully where she stood at the counter and put an arm around her shoulder, leaning on her. He still smelled like the sleepy little boy who liked to cuddle into her side to watch nature shows when he was six.

"Morning Mom," he said, taking a snuffly breath. He leaned down and rested his cheek against her head (he was almost as tall as Mulder, though still as skinny as a maypole). Scully wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled him in closer. Affection from her kids was getting fewer and farther between now that they were active teenagers. She was determined to enjoy whatever she got.

"Morning," she said, giving his back a little rub, "you're up early."

"Yeah," he said on a yawn. "There's an open rink this morning and a couple of buddies are going. Is it okay if I join them?"

Scully nodded. "Just make sure you tell your dad, too. Know the exits before you go and keep an eye on the crowd."

Will squeezed her once and then let go, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl on the counter and holding up like James Bond. "Call me Double O Billy," he said and sidled back to his room off of Scully's bemused chuckle.

She spent an hour catching up on email that had been routed through the Gunmen and Darlene -- coded messages that they interpreted and sent to her mother, sister and brothers. Melissa was giving her a hard time about not letting her fly to Europe (where she thought they were) to be her doula when the time came to give birth. She was tempted to send Byers to her sister's house to explain exactly what was happening, but rejected the impulse. Their mother -- the only person other than the Gunmen and the X-Files triumvirate at the FBI who knew their situation (though not their location for her own protection) -- would talk her down eventually.

Mulder came padding up behind her as she closed the laptop and she felt a soft, drawn-out kiss on the side of her neck.

"Morning," he mumbled into her skin.

She reached up and threaded her fingers through his hair, then turned to receive his kiss.

"Morning," she said.

"I’ll be back shortly. I'm going to drop Billy off at the ice complex and then take Lil to campus -- she suddenly started liking football."

"I think it's the company rather than the sport," Scully said, turning in her chair to face him.

"...I'm going to choose to believe my version," he said.

Scully reached out and linked their fingers briefly. "Tell her to be careful," she said, "she's spending a lot of time out of the house."

Mulder nodded and squeezed her fingers. "I will," he said, "and when I get back, I have a few ideas for how we can spend our child-free afternoon." He waggled his eyebrows at her and let go, backing out of the room like the charmer he was.

XxXxXxXxXxX

“So why UVA?” Travis asked her. He had his head propped up on an elbow and his other hand was wrapped loosely around her foot, his thumb rubbing circles into her arch. She was on the couch in his dorm room and he was on the floor -- she’d been helping him study for mid-terms. They had been officially dating for five weeks and had seen each other at least every other day in that time. He’d introduced her to a couple of friends as his girlfriend.

“What?” she asked. It was hard enough to concentrate while getting a foot massage, and she’d been staring at the index cards in front of her, trying to find a question that would stump him.

“Why are you going to UVA? Brain like yours, you could have gone anywhere. I don’t think I’ve ever asked you why there.”

“Other than the in-state tuition?” She had told him that they’d moved from Virginia, but hadn’t elaborated.

“Other than that,” he smiled.

“I’ve always wanted to. When I was a kid, my dad would occasionally get called in to consult there and he would take me with him. I kinda fell in love with it.”

“What did your dad consult on?” he asked, “You don’t talk about your parents much.”

Travis tapped her other leg, and she switched feet, silencing a groan when his knuckle hit a particularly sensitive spot.

She had purposely avoided mentioning her family much and debated how much was safe to share.

“UVA has a Department of Perceptual Studies,” she said, and she saw him tilt his head in question.

“A department of what?”

“Perceptual studies,” she said, smiling, “it’s a research group devoted to the investigation of phenomena that challenge mainstream scientific paradigms regarding the nature of the mind/brain relationship.” Travis stopped rubbing her foot and looked at her. She went on, further quoting her dad’s friend Dr. Stevenson: “Their mission is the scientific empirical investigation of phenomena that suggest that currently accepted scientific assumptions and theories about the nature of mind or consciousness, and its relation to matter, may be incomplete.”

“You’re shitting me,” he said.

“I shit you not.”

“What kind of phenomena?” He narrowed his eyes at her.

She tried not to smile, “ESP, poltergeists, near-death experiences, out-of-body experiences, claimed memories of past lives.”

“And what did they want with your father?” he asked, sitting up.

She shrugged. “He’s a shrink,” she said, being deliberately vague.

“This is an accredited university?” He teased her. She kicked at him, and he ducked out of the way and laughed, then looked at her thoughtfully. “You know, I myself had an out-of-body experience with Trudy Carmichael under the bleachers when I was sixteen. Pretty sure I saw through time.”

Lily chuckled, then playfully challenged: “Do I need to worry about this Trudy Carmichael?”

“I doubt it,” he said, hanging his head, “I lost my virginity, and she lost my number. Not my finest hour.”

“A whole hour?,” Lily said wryly.

“One way to find out.”

He looked at her then and she looked back. The moment was charged and sat in between them. The truth was, Lily was still a virgin. She and Travis had messed around, but fairly innocently, and she’d demurred on action below the waist/under the clothes. “I’m not waiting for marriage,” she’d told him a few weeks back, but she did want to wait for love. If only she knew what that felt like.

“Hey, Frisbee,” Travis said when she didn’t say anything, “please don’t take this as a negotiation tactic -- you’ve been clear on your limits and I totally respect that -- and with the full understanding that you don’t need a reason, and you do you and all that -- but… do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what exactly?” she asked, clarifying.

“When I say ‘no pressure,’ I mean it,” he said, reaching out to squeeze her foot.

Lily looked around his sloppy dorm room. There were clothes strewn about, though mostly out of the way— socks balled up near the laundry hamper, a sweatshirt hanging on the back of a chair. The wooden loft that held his bed was posted around the couch, made of flimsy-looking two-by-fours, and did not look like it could hold his weight, much less hers in addition, and remained untried (though Travis swore it had passed inspection). His desk was more fastidiously kept, a reflection of his mind, a structured order in the midst of chaos. He was kind and smart. His smile could make her insides go liquid.

“Honestly?” she finally said, “it’s my parents.”

“Super religious?” he asked.

She had to stop herself from laughing. “No, it’s… My parents love each other. More than anyone I’ve ever known. Their love is like… romance film love. It’s practically written in the stars.”

He looked at her contemplatively. “That’s a lot to live up to,” he said. “Is that what it is?”

“Yes,” she said, then, “no.” It was and it wasn’t. She didn’t know if there was a love out there that could compare, she suspected there wasn’t. Her real hang-up, and she hadn’t been able to get it out of her head since she found her father’s first wedding picture in their attic -- was that her father had obviously made a mistake. What if she did too?

She laughed, annoyed at herself. This wasn’t Regency England. Sex didn’t mean marriage. It didn’t even necessarily mean love. Still...

“Come on,” she said, sitting up and grabbing for his class notes, “this bio exam isn’t going to take itself.”

XxXxXxXxXxX

A sound woke her. Her hips were in agony and sleeping was difficult, so initially she was more annoyed than anything; she could rarely line up more than 90 minutes straight of deep slumber. And then she heard it again.

She reached over, squeezed Mulder's bicep until she heard him sniff sharply awake and silently, pulled out the sidearm she kept inside her bedside table. Mulder, slipping out of bed without a word, pulled out his own gun and went to the door. He held up a hand, trying to tell Scully to stay back, but she shook her head angrily -- she would have his back whether he liked it or not.

When he moved into the hallway, she stepped on the back of his heel and he ended up ramming his shoulder into the doorframe. He swore low under his breath. They were out of sync.

She watched as he put his head into the kids rooms as he made his way down the hallway, nodding at her that they were both accounted for. One more thunk from the living room.

He sidled up to the wall that led to the room and backed up against it. He mouthed one-two-three and they went in, but where she usually went low and he went high, this time they rammed shoulders and stumbled into the room. Mulder flicked on the light when she finally had her weapon aimed true.

There, sitting on a high bookshelf sat Apgar, her black tail swishing merrily. Maintaining eye contact, she swiped one more of the professor's knick-knacks off the shelf and onto the floor.

Mulder dropped his weapon and heaved a sigh, tipping his head back in frustration. "Fucking cat," he hissed.

Mission completed, Apgar jumped down with a thump and weaved a figure eight between Mulder's legs.

"She must be hungry," Scully said.

"Hangry was invented by cats," Mulder mumbled, reaching down to pet the cat with his free hand.

"Our tactical coordination was atrocious," Scully said, flicking the light back off and holding her gun at her hip.

"Yes," Mulder agreed.

"When was the last time you went to the range?" she asked.

"It's been months," he said tiredly.

"We're going tomorrow," Scully said. Mulder knew better than to argue.

XxX

There were more than a few Molon Labe bumper stickers in the parking lot. Scully had to remind herself that they were in Michigan Militia territory. "Michitucky," she'd heard it called by a few guys at the Bureau. Nevertheless, she pulled up to the firing range with fire in her blood. She might not share their politics, but she would share their space, and show most of them up to boot.

They signed in and bought ammunition. She got a few extra looks for being a visibly pregnant woman, but most of the men (and they were all men) who were at the range gave her begrudging looks of approval. Mulder stood, standing straighter and closer than normal, practically growling at anyone who got too close. She had to admit that his fierce protective nature was more than a turn-on.

The range was outdoors -- different than what they were used to at Quantico. And where there were metal tables and dividers and state of the art equipment at the government facility, here it was all beat-to-shit plywood tables and sunburnt grass littered with shell casings and old ear plugs. They took the lane at the end.

They both loaded and checked their weapons, snugged earmuffs over their heads.

"You want to go first?" Mulder asked, double checking the safety on his pistol and setting it on the table behind their station.

"I can do that," Scully said, looking down at her Sig.

"Care for a little wager?" her husband asked.

"You can't afford me, Dr. Mulder," she said, admiring the still-lanky line of his physique.

He raised his eyebrows, and leaned back against the tall wobbly table. "Oh-ho," he said, "I suppose that depends on the currency." He had a smug look about him that she wanted to wipe off his face. She was a better marksman and more competitive than anyone gave her credit for.

"What are you offering?" she asked.

"Dishes?" he offered, "Laundry?"

"We had children for the menial labor," she challenged, "I can win this with one hand tied behind my back. Make it interesting for me."

He licked his lips. She had him.

"I liked the part about 'hands behind the back,'" he said, "Winner decides who wears the handcuffs."

"You're not exactly incentivizing this, Mulder."

He had a flushed look about him; his nostrils flared.

"Prove it," he said, and she felt a flush. Second trimester hormones could be a beautiful thing, she mused.

It took her several rounds before she got back into the groove. It actually had been too long since she'd practiced and she was rusty. Considering their current situation, she ought not to let it happen again. Her last few rounds were dead center. Once her clip was empty, she cleared her weapon and stepped back.

Mulder's turn.

He wasn't quite as out of practice as she was initially, which irritated her to no end. However, his fourth and fifth shots were a bit wide, and he ended around the edges.

When he was clear, she stepped back up and took a bracing breath. She raised her weapon and fired rapidly; all her shots were center mass except the last two, which she swung up and finished with perfect shots to the head of the paper dummy.

When Mulder stepped forward for his turn, she nudged him.

"How big would you say the back of the Yukon is?'" she asked casually.

His first three shots went wide.

XxXxXxXxXxX

October 17, 2018

“Mom?” Lily asked. There was a hesitancy in her voice that made Scully look up from where she was chopping vegetables for dinner. “How did you know you loved Dad?”

Scully set the knife down and turned toward her daughter. “That’s a big question, Lil.”

“What’s a big question?” Mulder came breezing into the kitchen, shooting Scully an intrigued look.

Scully suspected something was up, but didn’t want to embarrass their daughter. Lily had always had an inquisitive streak and would occasionally come to Scully with problems or questions, but she was apt to clam up when pressed.

“Lily was asking me about how I fell in love with you,” Scully said, trying to catch Mulder’s eye.

“It was the day she met me, no doubt,” Mulder said. He grabbed an apple out of the bowl on the counter and shined it on his sleeve before taking a snappy bite. “I’m catnip to the ladies,” he said around the mouthful. Lily smiled. Scully rolled her eyes.  

“Suddenly, I’m struggling to remember,” Scully said with mock derision. Mulder gave her a cheeky grin.

“Did you know right away?” Lily asked.

Scully paused. “Not… Not right away,” she said thoughtfully.

Lily looked back and forth between her parents. “I guess it was a long time ago, huh.”

“Love in a time of sarsaparilla,” Mulder said dreamily. Scully shook her head and he caught her eye. “It wasn’t that long ago, Lil,“ he went on, and Scully felt the low bloom of feeling that always accompanied a look from her husband. For as long as she lived, she would always remember the first time she felt it; on the Tooms case, when he’d hooked his finger in her necklace and pulled.

“No, what I mean is… it was complicated,” Scully clarified.

Lily nodded and turned to her father. “You were married. Before Mom.”

“Yes,” Mulder said.

“Did you love her? Your ex wife?”

“I thought I did.”

“When did you figure out that you didn’t?” Lily asked.

“When I met your Mom,” Mulder said.

“So what you felt with Mom…”

“... was so much bigger than I was, that I couldn’t contain it.”

Scully felt her eyes well up. Mulder still sometimes had the ability to make her feel things all the way down to her toes.

Lily smiled, but looked pensive.

"But you thought you loved this other woman? I mean, enough to marry her?" she asked.

Mulder narrowed his eyes at his daughter. "What are you asking, Lil?"

Lily shook her head, her cheeks pink. She grabbed a soda from the fridge and walked out of the room.

“Oh boy,” said Scully.

“What?” Mulder asked.

“Travis,” said Scully. “She’s trying to figure it all out.”

“Jesus, he didn’t propose, did he?” Mulder asked. The look on his face was enough to make her laugh, but she held it in.

Scully turned fully to Mulder and leaned back against the countertop, crossing her arms in front of her.

“You want to know what I think?” she asked. Mulder nodded. “She’s trying to decide whether or when to...” She made a vague gesture with her hands.

Mulder looked at her, still not understanding. Scully gave him the stare of the dotard husband.

“Mulder…” she said, glaring hard.

Realization dawned and Mulder swallowed. “I should have had that boy killed,” he said.

Scully turned back to the vegetables she’d been chopping. “Let’s refrain from wetwork while we’re on the lam.”

“I make no promises,” he said, and slid up behind her, stepping in close and putting his hands on her waist.  

“I had the guys check him out by way of Darlene,” Scully said. “He is who he says he is. And he seems like a decent kid. Let’s let her navigate this on her own, huh?” She felt his fingers squeeze and then they drifted down to rest on her hips.

“I don’t like it,” he mumbled, and leaned down to rest his chin on her shoulder.

“You’re not supposed to,” she said. “But you do have to accept it, and trust that we raised her to make these decisions for herself.”  She remembered being nineteen and in college and in love for the first time. “You want to hear about Kevin McAvoy, my freshman year boyfriend?”

Mulder squeezed his fingers again and then started to turn her slowly toward him. She set down the knife on the counter and let him. His head was bent toward her and she felt his breath fan her face.

“No,” he said, leaning even more into her personal space.

“I was his Little Red Corvette,” she said playfully, tipping her head back in challenge. He smiled, but she saw something rough pass through his eyes. “He’d put on Prince and --”

Mulder leaned down and silenced her with a kiss.

XxXxXxXxXxX

In her room, Lily sat on the bed, the can of soda from the fridge sitting unopened on her bedside table. Condensation beaded on the side of it, sliding down silently to pool at the base, unnoticed.

Crusher liked to sleep on her pillow, and had left a black felted indent in the feathers, which Lily brushed away and fluffed. She looked about the room. Not much about it spoke of the young woman who slept there and had for months; no posters on the walls, no pennants hanging or pictures of friends. It was a sterile guest room decorated with the mute tones of an unmarried 60-something and lately it had been making her feel like she wasn't even herself.

She stood and walked to the desk, the one place she deposited her things. Her wallet, the phone Darlene had given her that she rarely used and usually kept switched off. Her purse was half hanging off -- likely knocked into such a position by a passing cat -- and when she righted it, she noticed the picture that sat under it. The photo of her father and an unfamiliar brunette, who's face conveyed confidence -- almost a smugness -- and a certain charm.

She stared at the picture. And she wondered.

XxX

October 20, 2018

Lily glanced over her shoulder when she sat, feeling as though she were doing something illegal, something fraught.

No one really used the computer labs anymore -- if you needed to, you could write an entire paper on your phone, though Lily found the practice ridiculous and immature. Nevertheless, there were one or two students sitting at the various desktops around the small library lab, and she checked to make sure no one was paying attention to what she was doing.

She tried to be careful. She had told Travis that she was hoping to log into the university's network to prep for some of the classes she’d be taking at UVA next semester and so she was using his password and login information. She'd checked to make sure there were no cameras on the area where she sat, and that her back was to the one aimed at the larger area.

With a bracing breath, she logged on.

It was surprising what you could find with a simple Google search, and the commonwealth of Virginia's vital records office would send you a copy of any marriage certificate for a fee of $45. Knowing better than to use a credit card, she'd opted for a more in depth search, and found what she was looking for in the Daily Press -- the local newspaper of record in Newport News, Virginia.

It was a wedding announcement, complete with two pictures -- one, the same picture she'd found in her parent's attic and the other of a similar style -- of Fox William Mulder and Lauren Edith Williams, married on August 17th, 1988. According to the article, Lauren had been a recent graduate of Georgetown University and had been employed at Schuster and McClure, a PR firm in the District of Columbia.

Lily looked at the new photograph on the screen before her. Her father looked so young. Only a few years older than herself. Lauren was pretty, had perfect posture, and was staring into the camera like a dare; her dress was all frills and white froth, the material of the dress ruched in large poofs at the shoulders, a crown of satin flowers around the lush brunette curls on her head. She looked like someone Lily wouldn't have dared talk to back in high school. She looked nothing like Lily's mother.

Lauren Edith Williams, she wrote down, and stared at the paper in front of her.

XxXxXxXxXxX

October 21, 2018

Lily was on the bus when she noticed him. It was his age that first drew her attention. Most everyone that rode this route (it went right into campus) was either a student or a professor, and something about him seemed the antithesis of scholarly. He had a sharp face, was dressed in loose clothing, a plain, black ball cap pulled low over his head. His knee bounced where he sat. She thought she could make out a tattoo curling onto the skin under the sleeve of his jacket. He could have been custodial staff for all she knew, but her parents had raised her to trust her instincts, and something inside of her pinged.

He hadn’t so much as looked in her direction, but she reached up and pulled the cord that requested a stop anyway, keeping him in her periphery when the bus rolled to the next stop. She was five blocks further away than she would have liked -- she was supposed to meet Travis just off campus for lunch. The man didn't move or rise from his seat. Nevertheless, she ducked out of the back door and onto the sidewalk, shouldering her purse and pretending to look at her phone. Only when the bus left with the man still on it would she exhale. The bus had just started to roll forward when it chirped to a stop and the front doors opened. The man in the cap trotted down the steps and onto the sidewalk, glancing briefly at her before turning and walking slowly west. Adrenaline awash in her bloodstream, she turned east.

The man had had a nondescript face. He was of average height and build, not someone you'd notice. She wracked her brain trying to remember when or if she'd seen him before, and had a hazy recollection of someone who might have been him: waiting outside of Travis's dorm when she'd come to visit him a couple days prior, or maybe even standing behind her in line at a coffee shop the day before. She should have been paying closer attention. Her parents had taught her to pay closer attention. Up until she'd done a search on her father and his ex-wife, she had. Lily silently cursed at herself.

She looked at her reflection in the shop windows along Grand River Avenue, trying to catch a glimpse behind her. She caught movement, but there were plenty of other people walking up and down the sidewalk. She needed a better look.

She swung up the stairs of the Student Union when she came to it a moment later, remembering walking in with her brother and dad only the month before, and felt the sharp pang of guilt.

When she reached the top of the staircase, she stopped to retie her shoe, glancing back behind her as she did so. The man in the cap was there, and had paused a ways away, looking down at his phone. Lily finished fiddling with her shoe and casually walked to the door, holding it open for a girl who was coming out, her heart hammering in her chest as she did so. Through the large doorway was a wide set of stairs going both up and down. When the door closed behind her, she bolted down the stairs to her right. There were a number of study spaces and she could pass through each one fairly quickly -- the day was busy and there were students everywhere; if she was lucky she could get lost in the crowd.

She ducked through the main lounge and past the small coffee shop on the lower level, looking behind her. She saw nothing, but that didn't mean he still wasn't coming. Seeing the full racks of clothing in the Spirit Shop across the hallway, she went inside, bending down to pretend to look at a few items on the bottom shelf.

Peering through underneath the hanging shirts, she watched as the man in the black cap came down the hallway outside of the shop and paused, turning toward it. Her heart leapt to her throat. He did a slow turn and then turned to keep walking. She kept her head down.

From the corner of her eye she caught her own reflection in the mirror outside the tiny dressing room -- she was wearing a bright blue shirt and her hair -- as bright and reflective as a stop sign, and always a part of herself she was fond of -- would give her away.

She stood, scanning the hallway outside the shop, and then she hastily pulled a green knit cap off a nearby shelf and pulled the tag off, shoving it over her head and tucking her hair up under it as quickly as she could. She grabbed a large tee shirt off the rack nearest her and took it plus the hat's tag to the counter, pulling some cash that her parents always had her carry out and plunking it on the counter.

"I don't need a receipt, thanks," she told the young woman helping her, and turned away.

"But what about your change?" the girl called after her.

"Tip jar," she said, turning back and keeping her voice low.

Once outside the store, she pulled the tee shirt over her head and made her way for the lower level exit that emptied onto campus. Seeing no one behind her, she took the steps out as fast as they would carry her and ran.

XxX

Darlene narrowed her eyes at Lily, and opened the door. “Quickly,” she said.

“Thanks,” Lily said, as Darlene let her into the house, peering around the block. “I didn’t want to use the phone.”

“I get it,” Darlene replied as she ushered Lily into her kitchen, where Lily sank onto one of the stools that sat before the peninsula of the counter.

"You want a lemonade or something, kiddo?" Darlene asked, leaning forward against the counter herself and giving Lily an expectant look -- there was more to it than just polite hospitality.

"No, thanks," Lily said, feeling the weight of Darlene's gaze and her own guilt in equal measure.

"Did you do something stupid?" Darlene asked outright and Lily, taken aback, sat up straighter, but didn't answer, thus confirming Darlene's clear suspicion. "How bad?"

"I think they found us."

Darlene huffed a breath. "Elaborate," she said.

"I... I ran a search. A couple days ago, in the university library. I was careful, but maybe not careful enough."

"What did you search?"

"My dad's ex-wife."

Darlene gave a low whistle. "Kiddo," she said, a statement.

"I know."

"Have you considered just asking him about her?"

Lily hugged herself.

"I have. I did. But… I wanted to know. For me. I don't want his version of this woman. I wanted to see for myself who she was. Is."

Darlene moved to the window and peered out, lowering the blinds as she did so. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

Lily once again felt a pang of guilt. She looked down. "Not really."

Darlene moved around the counter to a sideboard table on the dining room side of the counter and began shuffling through a drawer.

"What makes you think they found you?" she asked.

"I think there's someone following me," Lily said, "I think maybe I’ve seen him a couple of times on campus, but I don’t know. I lost him and came here."

"Just one someone?"

Lily began to second guess herself.

"I think so?"

When Darlene straightened from the sideboard she was holding a pistol.

"Call your father right now, and tell him to get over here. Armed." Darlene's words were cold and calm. Lily's stomach dropped in her gut.

She reached for Darlene's phone, a relic from another time which hung on the wall, its cord coiled like a snake.

Darlene walked to the sliding glass door as she dialed the numbers, each tone sounding long and drawn out, Darlene pulled the long curtains closed with a snap.

"Dad?" Lily said, when Mulder answered.

"Hey Lil!" he sounded so relaxed, excited just to talk to her though he'd seen her that morning.

"Dad, I'm at Darlene's. She says to get over here. She said to bring your gun."

She heard his sharp inhale. “I’m coming,” he said, and then she heard a dial tone.

"Lily," said Darlene, walking over to her computer, which was booted up and sitting on her dining room table, cords snaking out of it and across the floor. She quickly typed hunt-and-peck with her right hand, the gun still clutched in her left. "I want you to go into the top right drawer in my dresser. In a small lockbox, code 9-10-9-3, you'll find an old Nokia phone. It should be fully charged. It’s untraceable. Do not turn it on. Take it. Put it somewhere safe -- your bra or your sock or underwear. Then get under my bed."

Lily walked to the hallway, her body on autopilot, her heart hammering and her blood roaring in her veins.

Darlene finished typing, clicked a few things with her mouse and then peeked an eye out the closed curtain toward the backyard, tapping the gun against the side of her thigh.

Pausing in the hallway, Lily turned back to Darlene.

"Is someone coming?" Lily asked.

"Kid," Darlene said, shooting her a look, "they're already here."

[smol-and-grumpy]

Light My Fire - CH10

Pairing: CEO!Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: She always thought her boss was an ill-tempered man, but when he presents her with a proposition she can’t quite deny, she gets to know him better. It’s not bad, right? Because all she has to do is being fake married to him for six months, sounds do-able, right? Right.

Warnings: Fluff, NSFW

WC: 2828

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons​​​​​​​​ <3

SERIES MATSTERLIST

BECOME A PATRON ~ BUY ME A COFFEE

A very loud, very piercing sound catapults her wide awake and Y/N almost stands up straight in bed upon hearing the unfamiliar noise.

There’s a shuffling sound of a hand taping on a night stand. It needs too many misses to finally stop that horrible, horrible noise. When silence returns, she closes her eyes again.

It takes her a little while to remember where she is and when she does, her eyes fly back open with horror.

Blinking, she sees that she’s still in Dean’s room, still horizontal in his bed and she feels him, feels his legs, his arms, his body. They’re connected and tangled together in more places than they’re not.

She knows that she should maybe get up, should maybe hop into the showers and get dressed for work but she just can’t seem to move because he’s half draped over her, and strangely, she’s very okay with that. It’s too cozy in bed to want to move at all. So she does what every sane person would do after the ringing of an alarm — she closes her eyes again.

Another shrill noise snaps her out of her cozy cocoon after a while.

Oh my god, that fucking alarm again!

Dean stirs next to her, his hand flies to where his alarm is, picks it up and throws it against the wall, the ringing dies down. He slips his hand underneath the covers, arm weaving around her waist. 

“No wonder you’re always so grumpy,” She mumbles into the pillow, catches his scent off of it.

Y/N feels Dean lifting his head to look at her.

“What?” His voice is deep and raspy, still full of sleep, the bass of it vibrates onto her back.

“Your alarm. It literally makes me angry hearing it.”

He chuckles at that, “I have to buy a new one now anyway.”

She turns onto her back and tries to blink the sleep out of her eyes and then she looks into Dean’s eyes who is propped onto his elbow looking down at her.

Oh my god, how can he look so good so early in the morning? It’s not fucking fair! His hair is ruffled up but it makes him even more cute.

“What time is it?” She squints her eyes, looking at him feels like looking into the fucking sun. Her eyes can’t take it so early in the morning.

“6.15am,”

“What? Oh my god, Dean!”

He chuckles as she buries her face back deep into the pillow, she takes another breath of his intoxicating scent.

Dean kisses her temple, “Come on! Rise and shine, Y/N!” 

“No,” She mumbles.

His hands find her under the covers to tickle her and she’s squirming in his grip, “Oh my god, okay, okay! I’m up!”

Dean gets out of bed to walk to the bathroom and she follows grumpily. She avoids looking in the mirror because she would then see what she knows. That she looks like she’s been run over by trucks — repeatedly. 

He’s already brushing his teeth and she picks up her toothbrush while he helps her squirt toothpaste on it. With a glare, she places the brush into her mouth and walks out of the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” Dean calls after her.

“I’m taking a shower.” She answers, and proceeds to walk into her own room. 

There, she gets out the shirt, tosses it on her bed that’s still made since yesterday morning. Getting out of her panties, she balls them up and throws them into the hamper. She continues to brush her teeth as she walks to the bathroom and sits down to pee. After flushing, she spits out the toothpaste and rinses out her brush before she gets into the shower. 

She’s in the middle of soaping up when Dean walks in naked like a fucking greek god. He clearly has no shame whatsoever. But again, she probably would have none either if she  looked like that.

Dean leans against the sink, she can’t really see him in detail because the shower glass begins to fog up. She can see his outline, can see that he crosses his arms over his chest and there’s a chuckle, “You’re not a morning person, are you?”

“Ya think?” She grimaces and rinses the shampoo out of her hair.

He ignores her snarky remark and steps into the shower. From up close she can see that his body’s still damp, little droplets of water resting on his shoulders. He already took a shower. And then her eyes wander down to his boner. Yep, definitely hard and it definitely looks inviting. It makes her knees weak and he grins cockily because he knows. Damn him.

She rinses the foam from her face and when she opens her eyes again, Dean’s right up in her space as he cradles her head between his big palms and tilts her face up to look him in the eye.

“How are you feeling?”

“Good,” She replies, “Just angry about your alarm clock,” She’s pouting a litte.

Dean chuckles, “You can order me a new one. See it as one of your tasks for the day. Order something that has a less penetrating sound.”

“Oh, I will. Maybe then you’ll be less grumpy in the mornings,”

“Hey, I’m not the grumpy one around here right now.” He grins and leans down to kiss her. 

It’s soft at first, he’s gentle, as if he’s testing the water. It only grows heavier when she kisses him back. She sucks on his tongue like he normally does to her and Dean groans against her mouth. 

“Fuck,” He breathes out, “What are you doing to me?”

What is she doing to him? More like what is he fucking doing to her?

He picks her up, and the next thing she knows he has her pinned against the tiled wall. The impact makes her bite down on his bottom lip that’s still attached to her, and he groans some more at that. 

It’s all rough and need and want, and her mind is fogged as much as the shower, her pussy clenches and releases around nothing.

Dean nibbles down her throat, “You want this? Tell me you want this,”

How is she supposed to answer him when he sucks down her throat and thrusts his hips so his dick grinds so good against her aching cunt?

She tries nonetheless, “Y— oh go—, ye— ss,” 

There goes her coherent thoughts.

He kisses around her lips, plants little pecks on her nose, her cheeks, “Next time, I promise, I’ll take my time,” His breathing is ragged, “I just— fuck— just want to feel you around my cock now, can I?”

“Please,” She stammers, doesn’t even care that it came out whiny.

He smiles, kisses her and lines himself up with one hand while the other one still holds her pinned against the shower wall. 

Dean takes his time now, threads the head of his cock along her folds, slicks it up with her juice before she feels him at her entrance. He goes in slow, and she feels the stretch and burn and he moans into her mouth upon feeling the warmth of her pussy.

“Goddamn it,” He lowers his face to the crook of her neck, sucks at her skin and her hand fists in his hair, one is on his back, nails digging into his flesh.

“Dean,” She whines out, because he’s still moving awfully slow. He pauses and his body shudders when he bottoms out.

His thrusts stay slow, as if he doesn’t dare to hurt her.

“Harder, please,” She needs it. Fucking wants him to have his way with her.

He chuckles, his mouth leaves her skin, and there’s skin between his teeth that he releases before he kisses it to sooth it, “Harder, yeah?”

“Uh-huh,” 

“Christ,” Dean curses, picking up speed and she wedges an arm between them to rub at herself, “Dammit, you’re already tight as it is but you rubbing yourself? It just got wetter and tighter. Keep doing it, baby,”

Baby.

Okay, she really loves it when he calls her that, not going to lie. The endearment goes straight to her core and Dean curses some more as her pussy pulses around him. She can feel it too.

“You’re killing me,” He kisses her deep and with the same roughness he fucks up into her.

She wants to tell him that he’s the one who’s killing her— but she can’t, because her toes are curling and there’s a growing sensation in the depths of her core. It gets stronger and stronger. 

“Fuck, yes, yes, yes, don’t stop don’t—”

The explosion hits her whole body, she’s shaking above him and Dean has to hold her tighter so as not to let her slip out of his grip. Her hands fly around him, scrambles at his back for purchase. She’s sure that she’ll leave a mark on him, hoping that he doesn’t mind. He groans too, his voice deep and loud as he buries his face deep into her neck and he shudders all over. 

When he comes down from his high, he chuckles, kisses up her shoulder, her neck, her cheek until he meets her lips, “You’re fucking amazing, you know that?”

She blushes at that, but fortunately her cheeks are already flared up from the fucking, “You too,” She smiles and Dean kisses her again before he sets her down. She squirms at the loss when he pulls his still half hard cock out of her with another peck on her nose. 

Her legs are wobbly and Dean helps her standing up straight while he places her back under the spray and begins to soap her up. He groans out when his hand goes down there and his fingers slips along her folds. It’s still slick and full of his cum.

Y/N does the same to him, squeezes body wash into her palms and begins to soap up Dean’s chest. She can feel every bump, every muscle twitching, he’s so firm but soft at the same time, it’s ridiculously sexy, and she can’t believe that she’s married to him! Well, fake married— potatoes, potatoes...

Her hands go further down, and she feels his stomach clench when she’s soaping him up underneath his navel. Dean groans out when she grabs his dick, working both hands around his length that’s already increased in size.

Dean groans out, his lips capturing hers for a kiss before he parts, pulling his lower body away from her. His mouth ghosts over hers, their minty breath mixes with the scent of her body wash, “Baby, you gotta stop that or else I have to fuck you again.”

She raises her eyebrows with a cocky grin because she really doesn’t know if it’s a threat or a promise.

Dean rolls his eyes playfully, groans out a little, and he makes her let go of his cock causing her to pout, “Jesus,” He surges forward, teeth sinking down onto her bottom lip as she yelps up with a giggle.

Of course he’s right. They don’t have that kind of time, so she rinses herself out and Dean follows her under the spray. The smell of her body wash fills the room, the scent hangs heavy and humid in the air and she has to grin at him.

“What?” He asks her with one eyebrow raised as she walks over to her towel and starts to dry herself off. 

She starts to chuckle, “You’ll smell like my body wash now.”

Dean just shrugs like he really doesn’t care and continues to wash away the foam from his body.

*

She has to hurry, she knows, because Dean’s already finished and he told her that he’s waiting for her, but she really doesn’t know what she should wear today. 

In all honesty, she doesn’t really have many choices but her head’s still hurting and it seems like she has a hard time getting her makeup right. 

She opts for a dress. It seems like the best choice because there aren’t any buttons she has to deal with and as for the makeup? Powder and mascara it is. And instead of lipstick, she just uses gloss. She really doesn’t want to waste energy on how she dresses when she knows that the day ahead will be stressful as it is. Sure, it’s Friday, but they always have a lot to do on every freaking day of the week. And— oh shit! She’s going away tomorrow, so she will have even more to do and to arrange for her and Dean’s absent.

“‘M sorry, I’m making you late again.” She groans when she walks into the living space and comes to stand next to him and Dean hands her a cup of coffee. She stares at it.

“Don’t worry, it’s already cooled down a little,” 

She has to grin at that, “Thanks,”

“Take your time,” Dean says and turns a page of the newspaper that’s spread in front of him.

She takes a seat on the stool at the kitchen island and lays her cheek on the cold surface, still feeling so hungover, “I think we have to go, my boss will kill me if I’m late,”

Dean chuckles but doesn’t look up from the paper, “I think we’ve established that your boss is a dick.”

“Yeah, and now,” She drinks half her coffee, “I’m definitely going to be late,”

He looks up from the papers, “You want breakfast? I think I still have toast somewhere,” 

“Dean, are you listening to what I’m saying? We’re late! My boss will definitely call me into his office. And no, ugh, I don’t think I can keep solid food down,”

Dean raises an eyebrow. He’s already in his suit jacket, the tie neat and he even wears cufflinks. He presses his lips together into a smile as he watches her down her coffee, his dimples of content are showing. A rare sight.

He abandons the newspaper and comes to stand behind her. His arms on either side of her body as he braces his hands on the surface of the kitchen island crowding her in. She feels him lowering himself behind her to whisper into her ear. She feels hot all of a sudden, “I think he’ll be okay with it,” He noses behind her ear, making all the hair on her back stand up, “And if he calls you into his office, it’s not because you’re late.”

*

They arrive and Ruby’s already there, although not really, because she’s slumped over her desk.

Dean squeezes at Y/N’s hand that’s still in his and they stand next to Ruby’s desk, which is the opposite of Y/N’s own desk. He tries to keep a straight face as he clears his throat loudly next to Ruby.

“Huh? Shit! Yeah, I’m here,” Ruby sits upright, is startled by the noise and she looks up at the source to see Dean and Y/N grinning. Her friend’s face falls, “Sorry, sir— I’m—”

“Ruby,” Dean says, and he let go of Y/N’s hand to let her sit down at her desk, “If you could work? That’d be great. And if you need to sleep, go take a nap in the break room like everyone else does.”

Y/N’s jaw drops. How does he know? He’s never in there! 

“I need to see you,” He tells her, “You got my email, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Ruby scrambles to gather the papers together and stands up.

“Is my brother in?” He asks. Sam’s office is situated a floor below them. 

“Yes, sir.”

Dean raises his eyebrow, “You had a good night?”

Y/N tries to hide her grin.

“Yes, sir.” Ruby’s cheeks turn red.

“You can go wait in my office, I’ll be right there,” Dean says and Ruby nods, walks towards his office.

Dean smiles at Y/N and then he takes a step closer, cages her in with one hand on the back of her chair and one braced on the desk. He lowers himself enough to whisper into her ear, “Did you notice too that Ruby’s still wearing the clothes from last night?”

She snorts out a laugh, “Yeah,”

He laughs with her, places a kiss on the top of her hair, “Okay, let’s work, shall we?” Dean turns around and walks to his office.

“Dean?”

Y/N watches him turn around, “Please don’t tease her about it?”

He shrugs, leaves his hands in the air, “Of course, I won’t. What my employees do in their own time is none of my business.”

“What am I doing as well?” She raises an eyebrow.

He replicates the rise of the eyebrow, his hands disappear into his pants pockets and he grins cockily, “You’re doing me, so yeah, that is my business. Now order that damn alarm clock or I’ll need to see you in my office next.”

CH11

[finn-ray-nal-beads]

BITCH YOU’RE BASICALLY AT 300 FOLLOWERS! SO GIMME PART 2 TO THAT PHILLIP ALTMAN BLURB YOU WROTE FOR ME YOU BEAUTIFUL BITCH!💖💖💖💖💖

A/N: BITCH I AM SO SORRY IT HAS TAKEN ME THIS LONG TO PUT THIS OUT. I HOPE YOUR WHORE ASS LOVES IT @historyandfandoms50

Warnings: obscene amounts of marital bliss and fluff, pussy eating, mentions of a blow job, domestic love, appliance fucking (if that’s even a thing), large amounts of smut, slight degrading language (only once or twice), nipple play, slight pain play

(Present time)

“Holy fuuu-cccc-kkiinggg shittttt, honey!” Crying out on top of the brand new washer and dryer combo you and Phillip just had delivered not even an hour ago. 

“Yeah babe?” he thrust his twitching cock into your squelching pussy, “you like it when I fuck you on our new shit?” 

You let out a sinful moan as the warmth from the heated dry cycle added to your already overstimulated senses, “God yes Phil, honey, I love it when you fuck me on things!” 

(A few hours earlier)

It was a lazy Sunday morning, you both had woken up the average way, Phillip nose deep in your wet pussy, licking kitten stripes to disturb your dreams. It was his favorite meal of the day, as he called it, tasting your wetness built up from the almost eight hours since he’d fucked you the night before. His cock weeping at its head from the no contact for that long as well. He got his fill as you unraveled around him within minutes of his assault on your throbbing hole, looking up at your blissed-out face. His goatee and mustache glazed like a donut, licking your sweet juices from it like a salve. 

After a well-placed blowjob to rid him of his morning wood, you both had fully gotten out of bed and went along with your day. He made a pot of coffee downstairs, while you showered and did your Sunday self-care routine. Slipping on your favorite leggings and t-shirt combo, you gathered all the dirty clothes from the week, placing them in the hamper after they had been sorted. You both were excited to finally have a washer and dryer in your house instead of dragging your clothes to the dry cleaners. The delivery would be here any minute and you wanted your laundry to be ready the second it was hooked up. You made the bed, fluffed the pillows, and headed downstairs with the hampers to drop them off in the mudroom before heading to the kitchen. 

Upon descending the flight, the smell of fresh brewed coffee and omelets filled the air, causing your eyes to roll back into your head. Your husband despite all of the behaviors he exhibited outside your shared home, had the best domestic side to him. He cooked, cleaned, and took care of you every second he could do so. He doted on you every chance he got to, bringing home your favorite flowers, bottles of expensive wines, exquisite lingerie, and sweets when he found your favorite vices. You were spoiled rotten by him, and of course, you treated him the same way. The love you both had for each other exceeded any kind of love you had been familiar with in the past. He was by all accounts the perfect match for you and you, to him, were his whole world and nothing more. Friends and family even saw the affections when you were around him, and they made every single point to be supportive and sometimes jealous at the sappy love you two had shared. 

You and he didn’t want to have it any other way though. He was your best friend by all accounts, and you would be satisfied if he was the only person you interacted with for the rest of your life. 

You walked into the kitchen after dropping loads of laundry off by the space for the new appliances and grabbed a cup out of the cabinet. 

“Hey babe,” he turned around, shirtless and in joggers, sipping some coffee himself, and turning an omelet over in a pan on the cooktop. 

You walked over after filling your cup and ran a hand up his enormous back, caressing the moles and freckles spotted all over the expanse of it, “hi honey,” you sang while lifting yourself on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He moved his face upon feeling your soft touch and wrapped his arm around to kiss you properly, only breaking when the eggs started to bubble. 

“Breakfast is ready, and I got a text that the truck will be here any second with the set,” he smiled into your puckered lips again, causing you to moan out in excitement. 

“Can’t wait,” you whispered, moving your hands to wrap around his thick middle, gripping the skin a little tighter than previous. 

“Oh babe,” he cooed, “is my little wife still not over what happened this morning?” he teased putting the spatula down and flipping the stovetop off bringing his large hands to grip your ass cheeks. 

“I just love you, so much honey,” you smiled running your hands up to his chest, leaving light nail marks on his tits. 

“I. Love. You. Too. Babe.” he punctuated on every kiss he left around your lips, cupping your heat in his palm. Just as things were about to get steamy, the doorbell chimed. 

(Just before the MAGIC)

“Thanks, guys!” Phillip waved off the installers while you immediately filled your new machine with the dirty darks you’d been saving. 

Flipping the unit on, you watched the majesty of your very own washer working to clean your garments, almost bawling at the thought of never seeing a coin-op machine again. 

“You like it, babe?” Phillip stood in the doorway of the laundry room, leaning to one side of it, admiring your curves as you bent down to grab the other hamper with the whites in it, easing up and setting it on the bench next to the dryer. 

Turning around glassy-eyed, you jumped into your handsome husband’s arms, “h-holy shit, Y/N!” 

“I love them, honey,” you almost sobbed into his naked neck, as he tightened his grip on your waist, causing your legs to choke his middle. 

“I’m so glad babe,” he pet your damp hair, moving it out of the way so he could pepper your perfect neck with kisses. 

His soft lips sent a shiver down your spine, causing a whimper to spill out of your mouth. He took that as a sign and began sucking perfect welts along the length of it, the colors growing darker and darker the more he trailed downward. 

“God I love it when you whine like that,” he growled into your ear, biting the delicate flesh, causing you to look up from your hiding spot. You enveloped his swollen lips in a searing kiss, his hands gripping your ass once again as your arms fell behind his head, tangling your digits in his hair. 

He moved to set you on top of the new dryer, letting go of your cheeks and moving up to your perky tits hidden behind your t-shirt. You had forgone a bra for the day, so the access was simple. He snuck his large hands around each tit, twisting your nipples in his rough fingers, causing you to cry out again. 

“Fuck, Phil,” you gasped as he pinched your hardening buds, “I need you, honey.” 

“Oh ya?” he smirked, kissing your clothed tits, taking in your scent, “you need me to do what baby?” 

He twisted them again, this time with a little more fervor, “O-oh fuck-k!” you wailed out. 

“Use your words honey, or I’ll leave you alone,” he taunted at your pained face pleading for him. 

“I-I need y-you to fuck m-me,” you said with tears streaming down your face. 

He hushed you, rubbing the wetness away, coming in between your legs to rub his hardened cock on your clothed pussy. 

“Take your pants off love, or I’ll rip them off,” as he turned the dial on the dryer, to a cycle. 

You squirmed your leggings off, baring your nude and throbbing cunt to his eager eyes, “so wet for me, baby,” licking his lips as he turned the machine on. 

The vibrations from the dryer sending shockwaves through your aching clit, you set yourself back on your elbows, exposing more of your mound to your husband’s eyes. He pulled his pants down, palming his angry cock and lining it up with your entrance. 

He grabbed both sides of your hips, sinking his dick into your wetness, the both of you collectively moaning in complete pleasure. He held himself still, admiring your writhing around from his dick pulsing inside you and the vibration from the dryer underneath. You looked utterly delicious, and his hunger to make you come spurred him into a frenzied series of animalistic thrusts. 

(Back to present time)

Balls slapping up against your little asshole, your elbows propped burning from the sensation of rubbing against the top of the dryer, you scooted yourself forward removing your top as he adjusted his angle to fit your needs. Your bouncing tits at his eye level, he took one in his mouth sucking as hard as he could. Your hands weaving into his head in a death grip as he mercilessly fucked you for all he had. 

“G-god baby,” he stammered, “I’m s-so f-fucking c-close.” 

“Fuck-k b-babe,” you moaned out over the many noises, “s-so am I.” 

His hand moved from your tit to your aching clit, rubbing his thumb in tight circles over it. Your pussy tightening around his cock as he sent you into a blissful orgasm. 

“Jesus fuckin’ C-Christ honey,” you cried out, milking your sweet nectar on his pulsing cock. He thrust in and out a few more times, the overstimulation from your hole throbbing around his member sending him into his release too. 

“God, babe,” he growled out coating your insides with his seed, “You are so fuckin’... beautiful,” he whined out on the final release of his remaining spend. 

Just then, the dryer alarm rang, signaling the end of the cycle he’d set. You both looked up connected still and looking utterly fucked, and laughed out loud. 

“Well,” you patted his back, “at least now we know how long we have until the dry cycle is over!” 

He chuckled, helping you down from the machine, and handing you your leggings, “indeed we do honey.” 

He swatted your bare ass bent over looping your feet through the legholes, to which you stood at attention and smacked his bare chest. He put his hands in the air if he hadn’t touched you ever, and you rushed into his body in a bear hug, or a ‘baby bear hug’ as he liked to call it. 

“I love you,” you kissed into his little tuft of hair on his sternum. 

“I love you most,” he snaked his arms around you, kissing your head and rubbing your back. You both left the mudroom, changing the laundry as the day went by. 

Now, the new tradition you had both agreed on was every new big thing bought for the house had to be ‘christened’, making buying things a little more fun in the future. 

You fell asleep that night curled up in Phillip’s embrace, stroking his every feature on his sweet face as he was lulled off by your presence. All you could do was smile and think about which shiny new thing you all were desperate for next. You’d ponder it more when you didn’t feel so tired from gazing at your sleeping husband. The last thing you saw was his precious freckles fade into your memories as you drifted off. 

_____________

PHILLIP FUCKING US ON ANYTHING IS HOT AS FUCK LIKE NO CAP. I REALLY HOPE THIS TICKLED YOUR PICKLE BABE. 

🖤,

ray-nal-beads 

[knoepfchen]

not sleepy enough to give it up

Written for @herbeloved82 as part of the @theoldguardevents Gift Exchange 2020

You wanted Joe and Nicky, and you wanted NSFT, and so this... yeah, this is PWP. But it’s also the season for soft things, and so this has become altogether rather soft, which I hope is fine by you.

Title is from Mary Oliver’s I Don’t Want to Lose, which I thought was very fitting for them and this fic. Enjoy!

When Nicky comes back from the kitchen with his glass of water, Joe is still fast asleep, sprawled out on their bed. It’s dark in these early hours of the morning, but his body is washed in the warm glow of the lights Nile strung up on their window the day before.

I don’t want to lose a single thread

from the intricate brocade of this happiness.

I want to remember everything.

Which is why I’m lying awake, sleepy

but not sleepy enough to give it up.

Just now, a moment from years ago:

the early morning light, the deft, sweet

gesture of your hand

                         reaching for me.

At the time, Nicky frowned a little, but even Andy let her room undergo the 'Christmas treatment' and so he'd let her be. It’s not that they never celebrate Christmas, and he certainly wasn’t going to hamper Nile’s enthusiasm while she adjusted to living with them, but he didn’t quite see what constant illumination of their room was going to do to help them ‘get in the spirit.’

Now, though. Now the light splays over the muscles of Joe’s back, smooths into a shadow at the dip of his hip bone, directing Nicky’s gaze ever so gently to the curve of his ass, the little happy trail leading into his boxers. Oh, yes. Now, Nicky sees.

He leans against the doorframe and takes a sip of his water, thinking not for the first time how unbearably lucky he got all those years ago. Didn’t feel like it at the time, of course. But it’s rung true every time since, and not just because Joe is, what’s that expression Nile uses? Very easy on the eyes.

Joe makes a little snuffling sound and buries his head deeper into the pillow, the hand splayed out in front of him patting the bed in jerky little movements. And it shouldn’t be this endearing, is the thing, that Joe reaches for Nicky even in his sleep, takes less than five minutes to notice he’s gone. It’s not even new information to Nicky at this point, but he can’t help it. Even if Joe wasn’t the most beautiful man in the universe to him, Nicky would still feel that hopeless pull in moments like this, that warmth and longing coursing through his body that he knows will only go away once he’s snuggled up against Joe again.

He’s been standing in the doorway for too long. Nicky pads over to their bed, careful not to make too much noise, and sets his half-empty glass of water down on the nightstand. Slides back under the covers facing Joe, angling his cold feet away from Joe’s thighs where they’re still tucked up to fit against Nicky’s like they were made for it. The thought still makes him giddy sometimes.  

He should turn around, pull the blanket back up to shield them from the cold, but he can’t quite bring himself to look away from the warm swathes of light on Joe’s body yet. He’s beautiful in everything he wears, but never more so than wearing just this. As if sensing that Nicky is back, Joe reaches for his waist, still clumsy in his sleep. Tries to pull Nicky close once he gets his hand on him, nearly making Nicky topple from where he’s propped his head on his arm.

Nicky stifles a chuckle but it’s too late, Joe’s eyelids are already fluttering open. His hand tightens on Nicky’s hip and he’s blinking up at him with wide eyes.

“Babe, why are you staring at me?” His voice is scratchy with sleep and he looks so disoriented Nicky doesn’t know what to do with all the fondness welling in his chest.

“Babe?”

Joe shrugs with sluggish limbs. “It’s modern.”

“Just right for us, I see,” Nicky says, but he can’t help smiling, couldn’t stop if he wanted to. He wonders sometimes if he’d be half in love already, just at the sight of Joe’s curls if they met in an ordinary life, or if it would take until Joe smiled up at him. It can’t be much more than that, if the way the combination of both makes his throat constrict now.

Joe makes a little keening sound, tilts his head in the way that Nicky knows means he’s angling for a kiss. And who is Nicky to deny this man, well—anything, really.

He leans down to press his lips against Joe’s, the hand that’s not holding him up coming to slide over Joe’s torso, cupping his neck, his jaw. It’s a soft kiss, unhurried in the way kisses can only be when they’re traded early in the morning, without direction, to keep warm. There’s no intent behind it either, or at least there isn’t until Joe’s hand slides under Nicky’s t-shirt, holding him close as he turns onto his back, pulling Nicky on top of him. Doesn’t take much from there for the kiss to deepen, grow sloppy with spit and slack jaws as their lips slide against each other. Nicky pushes his tongue into Joe’s mouth once, twice, just to hear the sound Joe makes low in his throat. Feels his hot fingers dig into his back again, hips pushing against Nicky’s in a needy little roll.

Joe seems definitely interested in something more than kissing happening, but when Nicky pulls back to look at his face, his eyes are closed again, his breaths coming slow for all that they hitch when Nicky grinds down on him. Joe makes a growling sound at the loss of contact, his free hand sliding into Nicky’s hair and trying to pull him back down for more kisses. The warm light from the window has rendered Joe’s features both soft and steeped in shadow, and Nicky is smiling despite himself, he can’t help it.

“What do you want, my love?” He noses Joe’s jaw, and Joe’s hold on him grows firm for a moment, then melts back into a tight embrace.

“Just you,” Joe sighs, but his hips have begun rolling, the hard line of his dick pressing against Nicky’s hipbone over and over. It’s slow, and probably really ineffective, angle-wise, but it’s also seriously doing it for Nicky, is the thing. He presses his mouth to the side of Joe’s neck, just under his ear and presses an open-mouthed kiss there.

“Sorry, I should have specified. How do you want me?”

Joe’s sighs under Nicky’s mouth but only turns his head to nuzzle Nicky’s neck, which is nice but unhelpful.

Nicky kisses his neck again. “I’d ride you but I’m worried you’d fall back asleep while I open myself up for you.”

The sound Joe makes at that is more of a whine, the hand on Nicky’s lower back pulling him closer as he rocks up into his hip. “Nicky,” he growls, his voice deep with both sleep and arousal now, and Nicky can feel something hot pool low in his belly, “you can’t just say that and then not follow through.”

Nicky chuckles, but it sounds more like a breathless huff, even to him. “I’d also let you fuck my thighs, but the rhythm you’re setting is more that of a lullaby.”

“Hayati,” Joe complains, flicking his eyes open to glare at Nicky, but it’s ineffective, because then they’re kissing again, and this time they’re not even close to holding back.

“Much better,” Nicky gasps in between kisses, and he’s not sure if he means the term of endearment or the pick-up in pace, Joe’s tongue meeting his own now, Joe’s hands slowly roaming up and down Nicky’s back, sending shivers all over his body. God, but he loves this man.

“I don’t care how I’ll have you,” Joe pants when they’re both catching their breath, “I just want you. Need you.” He punctuates the last sentence with another roll of his hips, but while they were making out the angle changed, and his dick now slides against Nicky’s, separated only by their pyjama bottoms. Nicky hisses at the contact, the sensation travelling straight up his spine until he can feel it tingling at the bottom of his scalp. “Just want to be close to you. Feel your skin on mine.”

“I think we can do that,” Nicky says, and pushes himself up a little to help Joe where he’s pawing at the hem of his t-shirt. Pulls it over his head and drops it over the side of the bed, then dives back in to kiss Joe, slow and lingering, grinding their hips against each other. It’s a languid rhythm that has him almost mad with want in no time at all, Joe reaching down to push his hands into Nicky’s pants, cup his ass, pull him impossibly closer.  

“Touch me,” Nicky gasps, teeth catching on Joe’s lower lip. Joe does.

It’s a miracle, Nicky thinks, that it can still feel like this, after all these years, like it did the first time. All the words they've spoken, all the blows they’ve come to, all the times they’ve fucked each other senseless since. And every time anew, Nicky yearns for Joe’s touch, craves it, feels like he’ll combust if Joe doesn’t get his hands on him right then, right there.

They both wrestle with their pants, struggling them down their legs before kicking them off at the bottom of the bed, which takes longer than it should, but they can’t stop kissing, can’t stop touching each other now.

Joe has his hand around Nicky’s dick, stroking him with the same languid pace Nicky used to kiss him earlier. Makes a sound low in his throat when Nicky wraps his fingers around Joe's own length, and Nicky wants to drink him in, devour him.

“Sure you don’t want to fuck me?” he asks against Joe’s lips, both of them too uncoordinated by now to kiss properly.

“I would,” Joe says, and his eyes are a sight to behold, blown wide and glistening in the light, “but I don’t think I’d last.” He brings the hand he isn’t using to get Nicky off up to his neck and holds Nicky in place to press their foreheads together. “And you’d be a fool to think I’d let you get up now to get the lube when I’ve got you here, like this. So warm, so close. A feast for my eyes, and hands. Mine to touch and mine alone.”

He twists his wrist on the next upstroke and Nicky moans into his mouth. “Always so—hnngg—verbose. Even half asleep.”

“You love it,” Joe whispers, twisting his wrist again as he picks up the pace, and it’s all Nicky can do to hold on to his shoulder, his own strokes getting frantic.

“I do,” Nicky says, so low he’s surprised Joe even hears it, “love it. Love you. Very much.”

“I love you,” Joe says against his skin, “I love you even when you wake me in the middle of the night, I love you even when you’re being deliberately difficult, but I love you the most like this, making those sounds, and your hands, your h—” He cuts himself off, sucking air through his teeth, and Nicky knows he’s close, grips him a little tighter, speeds up. “Nicky, your hands,” Joe half-whispers, half-shouts and then he’s surging forward, kissing Nicky like he wants to drown himself in him, and comes all over Nicky’s hand.

Nicky hums in the back of his throat, stroking Joe through his come-down. His hand is sticky and slippery now, but he doesn’t care. All he feels is warm, and keyed-up, a coil in him strung so tightly he feels like he might be driven out of his body when Joe nips at his lip one final time. Picks up the pace with his hand and says: “That was so good, hayati, I’m going to fuck you so good later, hard and fast, just how you like it.” Nicky closes his eyes, and Joe kisses both of his cheeks. “Maybe in the shower so the others don’t hear you scream when you come,” and Nicky very nearly does just that when Joe twist his wrist around the head of his dick one final time. Has to muffle himself against Joe’s shoulder as his orgasm rolls over and out of him, riding it out against Joe’s body, his hand, his beautiful mouth on Nicky’s temple.

They lie like that for a while afterwards, just breathing against each other. Nicky can feel Joe’s heartbeat all over, and whenever he blinks his eyes open, he just sees their bodies entwined, awash in the golden glow from the lights in their window. Only when he hears Joe’s breathing even out again, on the verge of sleep himself, can he rouse himself to dig around for a tissue on his nightstand.

Joe makes an unhappy sound immediately, reaching for him, and Nicky rolls his eyes, chuckles, as he gives them both a perfunctory wipe down. Drops the tissues somewhere and lets Joe drape himself across his back, snake his arm around Nicky and hold him tight. Nicky sighs as Joe nuzzles into his neck, threads their fingers together and closes his eyes. He can just about press a kiss to Joe’s knuckles before sleep is already tugging at his eyelids.

He is warm. He is content. He is with the love of his long, long life.

And everywhere there is light.

[cdrmiller]

Hey, you okay? I know I'm supposed to be sending you reports but honestly there's not much to report other than the fact I'm worried about you. Call me, Ree. – MSK 

Marie closed her eyes to the message and to her tears, curling around a pillow in a bed that now felt much too big, until exhaustion tore her from the thoughts ripping her apart. 

- 

Remember how we used to skip class and hide away in the prop room and make out? We had such big plans, didn't we?

I'm glad you followed your fire, Ree. XO of a starship... I wish I could go back in time and tell younger Marie that's where you will end up.

Don't mind me, just feeling nostalgic suddenly. Nico and Ethan are drinking and Nico... I can see how he misses you.

Shit, I'm not sure what I'm trying to say but I miss you, Ree. I hope that asshole is railing you so hard you don't have time to miss him too.

Love ya xo

-MSK 

Marie woke to the ping and sighed at the message before dropping the data pad onto the bed, her legs and arms already stretched out into a pointed star. Nico used to call her his little starfish whenever he woke up to the sight, before rolling over to pull her to him. The goal last night had been to get so lost that her thoughts wouldn’t be able to find their way to her head, much less her heart. It worked, for a night, but now she slid the pillow out from under her head and onto her face as they all came rushing back. 

It had been three days since Mason’s first message to the most recent one and Marie knew she couldn’t avoid him any longer. She rolled out of bed, rubbing at the ache residing in her temple as she headed for the shower. The last piece of clothing from last night that she had stripped off as she walked fell from her fingers when she stopped abruptly, slowly turning on a toe to stare at the trail of discarded fabric behind her. Her bare feet padded softly over the cold floor as she backtracked, her chest growing heavier with every piece she picked up before carefully unloading them into the hamper, where they belonged.   

- 

Marie wanted to cry at just the sight of him on the vid screen, so she dropped her eyes and busied herself adjusting the towel on top of her head wrapped around her wet hair in an effort not to as he spoke. 

“I almost called the Captain just to make sure you were still alive.” 

“I’m alive, Mase. Barely.” 

“Are you sick?” 

“No, promotion party last night for Luca. I uh. Went a little overboard.” 

He chuckled, and she realized she had missed that sound just as much as the face that always made her think of her home from long ago. “You always were a lightweight.” 

“Hey. I can handle my booze. It’s just the recovery part that I have a little difficulty with.” 

“That much alcohol huh?” 

“Not just alcohol.” Marie arched an eyebrow at his disapproving look and drained her water bottle.   

“The Alliance doesn’t do random drug testing?” 

“Oh they do.” She smiled sweetly. 

“Marie-.” 

“Stop dadding me, Mase. You know it’s not the first time and it won’t be the last. I’m not circling the drain, I just wanted one night where I didn’t have to deal. That’s all.” 

Mason leaned in towards the screen. “I can’t promise I will ever understand. But I just want to make sure you’re making the right decision.” 

"I’m not sure there was ever a decision, rather than a forced path.”

“So there’s nothing that can change your mind about Nico.”

“That’s up to him.”

“Rie.”

“Mason. Why are you acting like this is all me? I left the door open, he shut it. If Nic wants to talk to me, he has my number. I haven’t cut him off. He knows that. But he won’t. And that right there should answer your question.”

“Alright, okay. I was just checking.” Mason threw his hands up in defense before crossing them over his chest. “I received the clearance, but I can’t give a definite date on our arrival. There are no updates on the amp situation. Though that may change soon. Has there been any change on your end?”

“I don’t know. He won’t talk to me about it, so I’ve given up asking him.”

“Is he...being good to you? I’ll kill him if he hurts you, you know.”

“Mason I love you but I’m not going to talk to you about Maddox. Because you’d find fault with the way he breathes, and I’m really not wanting to yell at you with this headache. But to answer your question, yes.”

“You used to tell me everything.” 

“And I still do. I will. But right now the wound is too fresh and I have a hangover. Bring Ethan’s whiskey when you come back and I promise we will find a dark closet and I’ll spill every gruesome detail.” Mason nodded, satisfied, and she studied his green eyes, taking comfort in the affection found there. “I miss you, you know. I miss you more than I can express because crying would only make a pounding head worse.” 

“We will be back soon. All of us.” 

She swallowed down the burn. She felt like a terrible person saying it, but one of the things she loved most about the man on the screen was that he never turned his back on her, no matter what words came out of her mouth or what actions accompanied them. 

“I kind of don’t want him to come back.” 

“I know the feel.” Mason’s gaze grew distant. “I knew the feel.” 

Marie blew out a breath as she leaned back in her chair, propping her legs onto the desk in front of her. “Maybe I should just quit. You guys are fine, the Alliance has seen what you can do, and I doubt you even need a liaison anymore. I could go back home.” 

“Open that bakery you always wanted?” 

Marie turned back to the screen, her smile meeting his. “You remember that?” 

“That or a teacher.” 

“What kind of teacher?” Marie questioned, testing him. 

“Kindergarten” Mason looked surprised that he knew the answer, never sure which of his memories had survived. “Because you always said that’s the only way you’d be able to have 20 kids.” 

Marie’s smile faded. She hadn’t let herself think about the dreams that were dying, and the ones that were already dead. 

Mason seemed to sense it and hastily changed the subject. “Look, Rie, it’s fun to joke about, but we still need you.” 

“Who’s we.” 

“All of us.” 

She huffed out a laugh before leaning her head against the back of the chair. “Doubtful. But I appreciate the sentiment, Masey.” 

A ping had her tapping at her terminal beside her. 

Miller

Starboard observation at your leisure. We need to discuss some things.

-Rose 

“Fuck.” Marie drug the towel from her hair. “I have to go. An unscheduled…meeting.” 

“You don’t look too happy about it.” 

Marie sighed. “You remember that time in high school we got called into the principal’s office?” 

“Which time.” 

“The final time.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

- 

Marie wondered how a room could be so empty, yet so full of one person’s presence at the same time. 

His back was to her but Marie knew he would know she was there. Always having been easier with touch more than anything, she slid her hand onto his shoulder briefly as she walked past him before flopping down onto the opposite couch, ponytail swinging with the bounce. She slid her cold hands under her thighs to keep them warm, and the fact that she really was glad to see him won over any nerves hidden in her smile. 

“Hi Archer.”

[drawlfoy]

Mirror, Mirror P.5

masterlist (<- to read parts 1-4) request guidelines want to be tagged? 

pairing: draco x ravenclaw!reader

request: nope!

summary: y/n has admired draco from afar for a hot minute. what will happen when they’re finally paired up to do rounds together and run into the mirror of erised?

warnings: language, mentions of being very very ill, my terrible editing skills, way too much dialogue

a/n: here it is :) it’s been a bit. the finale will hopefully be posted this tues! i hope all of you guys have been continuing to social distance and i hope everyone reading this is healthy! also, important update: the first part of just a call away has been postponed until this monday (i originally expected it to be posted tomorrow but i’ve hardly been able to work on it at all). enjoy!

word count: 2.3k ;)

music recs:

permanent tags:  @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn

tags for mirror, mirror:  @theres-a-dog-outside-omg​ @mey-rapp @kaibie @blackpinkdolan @sugarbby99

“Rena, I am going to kill you!” 

Y/N’s roommate looked up, the fear of Merlin struck into her eyes. The Transfiguration study guide in front of her lay entirely forgotten as she watched her friend slam the door and flop on the bed. “Oh?”

Y/N flung off her robe and tossed it on the floor. “When were you gonna tell me that you talked to Malfoy about me?” 

Her roommate narrowed her eyes, leaning forward in her chair and propping her chin up on her hand. “What are you talking about? He approached me and asked if you knew what the mirror was. I said you did. That was it.”

The venom seeped out of Y/N’s expression as the realization crept in.

“Oh. Oh, Rena, I’m sorry. I had no idea. He told me that you told him ‘everything’.”

“And you took a Slytherin’s word? Malfoy’s word? Honestly, Y/N, you give me a headache.” Rena sent a gentle smile her way. “What happened? Did you tell him?”

A sour feeling crept into Y/N’s chest as the memory she had suppressed on the walk to her dorm surfaced like bile in her throat. The rest of their shift was tense at best and downright agonizing at worst. Malfoy was uncharacteristically quiet, wringing his hands over and over again and scratching the back of his neck when he exhausted his wrists. Y/N knew that she was bright red by the time that they said their goodbyes--which really wasn’t much of a goodbye, just an uncomfortable nod before they parted ways to their respective dormitories--and cursed the fact that their ending spot was right under a torch. 

She would much rather prefer him to just straight up tell her he wasn’t into her; however, she supposed he technically did, that week or so ago in the Great Hall when he had told her he wasn’t into Ravenclaws.

Maybe I’m the one that needs to pull back. Maybe I’m actually the git in this situation and I’m making Malfoy feel uncomfortable.

“Yeah. I did.”

“And?”

“That’s it. He doesn’t feel the same way.” The words left her mouth feeling like heavy lead, weighing her breath down.

Rena stood up from her chair, her face softening. “He said that?”

“He didn’t say anything, really.”

“Well that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel the same way,” said her roommate. Her voice was painfully cheerful for Y/N. “Maybe he’s just nervous.”

Y/N offered a weak smile as she pulled her hair out of her ponytail and got up to rifle through her drawers to find something to sleep in. “It’s over, Rena. I don’t know why I’ve entertained this for so long. It wasn’t even a thing to begin with. I just want to go to bed.”

“All I’m saying is that he’s Malfoy, Y/N. I’ve literally never seen him flirt before in his life. I don’t think he knows how. Maybe he’s just being mean because he doesn’t know any other way?”

“I think I just want to stop thinking about it.” Y/N began changing into her nightclothes quickly with her back to Rena. “I want to go to bed and forgot about it and get my O on the Transfiguration exam tomorrow and just never think about rich daddy’s boys again. No matter how cute they look!”

Y/N tossed her old robes in her hamper, turning to Rena one more time with a blazing expression on her face that said I dare you to disagree.

“All I’m saying,” Rena said slowly, “Is that Malfoy didn’t seem like a total rat when he came up and asked me about you. It just seems strange that he would do that if he had no interest in you.”

“The only interest he has is in antagonizing me,” Y/N snapped. “He’s a class A git and I hate him.”

Rena raised an eyebrow, her expression slightly amused. “Whatever you say, Y/N. We can talk tomorrow morning. I think you need some sleep.”

oOo

Y/N’s dreams were torturous--just a loop, replaying over and over again, of her interactions with a certain Slytherin. She was dragged through her memories against her will, feeling the initial admiration of seeing him read in the courtyard for the first time, crumbling under the anxiety of their shift assignments, suffocating through the tension of their final meeting, reeling at the way his hair looked under the torch lights…

It was too much. She awoke with a pounding headache and a throat so sore that she may as well have swallowed a healthy spoonful of fire over the night. Her eyes hurt to open, like the edges of her eyelids had been lined with Dittany. 

“Merlin, Y/N, you look like shit.” A voice that sounded suspiciously like her roommate wafted from her right side, but she couldn’t be sure. “I’ve gotta get you to Madame Pomfrey.”

“Rena?” 

“Y/N?” 

If she hadn’t felt like she was toeing the line between the dead and the living she would’ve been sure that the tone in her roommate’s voice was tinged with amusement. She tried to croak something more out.

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” Rena cut in before she could try any harder. “I’ll be back in just a minute. Don’t try and get up, alright? You need your strength.”

Y/N nodded--or at least, she tried--and turned back into her pillow to sleep. A part of her mind registered that she had a Transfiguration exam today and then rounds that night with Malfoy, but as a cold bead of sweat ran down her spine, the thoughts were pushed to the back of her mind. He could wait. He’d already taken up her entire night by filling her dreams and she was not eager to see him again any time soon.

“Y/N?” The door creaked open and her roommate’s voice dragged her back to lucidity. “Hi girly. Can you walk?”

Y/N forced her eyes open and winced at the light filtering through the curtains. It was hardly light out, but the weak morning light sent pangs through her head. The heavy quilt that she had been burrowed under was lifted up off of her...and the shivers started.

Her entire body began shaking, her teeth clattering together so hard that she was afraid she would break them. She wondered if anyone had ever chipped their teeth from fever chills.

“Just swing your legs around the edge...yes, just like that…”

Rena’s hands held her shoulders with a firm grip as she shakily made her way to her feet, swaying slightly. 

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re absolutely shaking…”

“Mmmhmmm” was all Y/N had the sense to use as a reply.

“All you need to do is make it down the stairs. I can put you in a wheelchair and push you the rest of the way.”

“Love you,” Y/N mumbled as her friend guided her down the stairs. Even though she’d been walking up the stairs to her dorm for years, everything felt oddly foreign to her through her feverish haze.

“Love you t--whoa! Easy.” Rena caught Y/N from near demise as she almost missed a stair. “You’re almost there, doll. Just hold on a bit more.”

“I need you to....” find someone to cover my rounds tonight she tried to say, but the words caught on what felt like daggers in her throat as she felt the wall. 

“Focus on getting down the stairs,” Rena interrupted. “You can tell me once we’re on the way to Pomfrey’s.”

Finally, she made it down onto the last step and allowed herself to be guided into a seat. Exhausted from her trip, she slumped back in the chair and forgot about her request as she drifted back off into her feverish dreams.

This time, they were different. Instead of interactions that had actually happened, her brain took her through a different whirlwind of events. A flurry of sensations met her--a thumb dragging across her slightly parted lips, a chaste kiss placed on her neck, a hand softly squeezing hers, a warm breath fanning across her cheek, a pair of just barely blue eyes staring down at her with so much affection that her heart skipped, a rough hand shaking her shoulder, the sting of something pressing into her wrist (a wand, she thought absently), voices around her calling her name…

Her eyes shot open as she recoiled from a burst of unbearable cold across her chest. The ceiling of the infirmary wing greeted her. Her torso was wet, and once she cast her eyes down to the end of her bed, she could see why.

Madame Pomfrey stood next to Professor Trelawny and Headmaster Dumbledore, brandishing an empty bucket in her hand. 

“Thank goodness! She’s awake!”

Pomfrey sent Trelawny an irritated look as she rushed forth, muttering incantations and running diagnostic tests on Y/N’s body. 

“What...what happened?” she managed, trying to sit up.

“Stay down,” Pomfry commanded, turning to her nightstand to mix a concoction of various potion ingredients. 

“I just had the flu.”

Trelawny moved to the side of the bed to clasp her hand firmly in hers, a kind look in her loony eyes. “Miss Y/L/N, I’m afraid that wasn’t the case. You had an acute case of Dream Sickness. We’re lucky that you were able to wake up when you did. You’re even luckier that your roommate noticed and brought you down here.”

Y/N knitted her eyebrows together. “I’m sorry. Dream...what?”

“Dream Sickness,” the headmaster finished. “A very rare affliction that primarily affects the overthinkers in the wizarding community. Naturally, you Ravenclaws are at a higher risk than other students.”

“So who gave it to me?”

“No, dear,” said Trelawny. “It’s not contagious. It can happen to anyone, but it’s more common if you spent time around powerful magical artifacts. Have you?”

Y/N cringed at the thought. 

“Er...yes, I guess I have. I ran into the Mirror of Erised on one of my prefect rounds. I never lingered, though.”

“That would do it,” Dumbledore mused. “The mirror has a tendency of...inflaming emotions. I ought to locate it and put it in a safer place.”

“So I’m okay? I can go back to classes? I have a Transfiguration exam today, and I’d really like it if I could make it.”

“McGonagall’s Transfiguration exam, I presume?” he asked. 

“Yes. It’s later in the afternoon. I promise I’ll be careful!”

The adults beside her shared uncomfortable glances.

“Dear,” Trelawny began, “You’ve been here for two days.” 

The air was sucked out of her lungs as the realization kicked in. “But that’s impossible! I was only sleeping for a little bit. And I had rounds! How did I miss my rounds?”

Pomfrey seemed mildly sympathetic as she emptied the mixture she had been stirring into a crystal goblet and offered it to her. “It’s normal to be disoriented after a bout of Dream Sickness. Professor Flitwick is sure to understand the situation, and if he does not, I am willing to vouch for you. Now drink. You have some recovering to do.”

oOo

Rena Severjyn was always the confrontational type. It had been a shock to her as well as her family when she’d been sorted into Ravenclaw (with all the bookworms and the teachers’ pets, as her older brothers said to her) instead of Gryffindor, but she’d grown to love her house. Studying came more naturally than cliff-jumping, or whatever it was that Gryffindors did, but when it came down to it, she had no problem with telling someone off.

So when she ran across a deliciously alone Draco Malfoy reading in the courtyard, she had no trouble walking right up to him.

“Hey, arsehat.” She plopped down next to him as he started, nearly dropping the book on the gravel walkway. “We need to talk.”

“Severjyn,” he greeted, his tone even but his eyes flickering nervously. “Do you know where your roommate is? I had to do my rounds alone last night.”

“She’s in the hospital wing. But no matter. I want to know why you’re being such an intolerable prat to her.”

His mouth opened and closed a few times, clearly trying to cope with the fact that he was at a loss for words.

“Spit it out, Malfoy. I don’t have all day.”

“Is she okay? Did something happen to her?”

Rena rolled her eyes. “No, she just decided to spend more of her time around Pomfrey. Yes, something happened to her. She’ll be fine. You’re not answering my question.”

“I don’t understand.” The crease between his brow deepened with worry.

“She said she told you how she felt and you didn’t say anything about it!”

“I’m sorry. I just got nervous.”

“Are you dense?” Rena’s voice became shriller. “You told me yourself you fancied her, and you can’t even manage a measly ‘me too’? Even though you had the whole of fucking two hours to do it?”

A blush spread across his fair cheeks as he slammed his book closed and stood up. “It’s not that easy. You know it isn’t.”

“It’s never that easy. But she was able to do it, and you even told her that you weren’t into her! Honestly, I cannot believe you.”

“Please just…” Draco evaded eye contact, dropping his eyes to the floor and grinding his toes into the gravel. “Just leave me be. I promise I’ll talk to her once she’s better. Just don’t tell her, okay? I want to do this myself.”

Rena rolled her eyes. “You better.”

final a/n: finale is coming out soon! let me know what you thought :)

[notbang]

rethaniel appreciation week day 3 → friction

nothing but the raw deal

It takes her a minute to register her surroundings when she stirs, unfamiliar as she is with them, even if the person currently sharing their sheets with her is someone she knows almost as intimately as herself, at this point.

“Mmm, good morning,” Rebecca hums, stretching and curling into him.

She’s just in the middle of craning her neck to get at his mouth to steal a kiss—morning breath be damned—when Nathaniel wraps a giant palm around her shoulder, holding her at arm’s length.

“What the hell happened to your face?”

“Well, rude,” she says, frowning, and then she starts to get an inkling of what he’s talking about because the pull of the grimace makes her skin feel tight and hot and sore. “Ugh. Dude. You. You happened to my face.” She shifts experimentally and immediately winces, dropping back down and burying her head with a sleepy, disgruntled groan. “And apparently also to places that are not my face.”

Re-emerging from beneath her pillow, she flips back the blankets, exposing the entirety of the unmistakable path of irritated skin rising into welts between her breasts and grazing a trail across her belly and below. Her left inner thigh got the brunt of it, she notes with only some mild contortion, where the general blotchiness is already breaking out into angry little red spots.

Nathaniel, to his credit, looks vaguely horrified.

She waves him off. “It’s fine, it was self inflicted. Kinda.” He raises a disbelieving eyebrow at her. “Fine—it was definitely mostly self inflicted, based on the indisputable fact that I was the one enthusiastically sitting on your face. Not that you needed much encouragement, for the record. And not to mention that you’re, like, the one with the face of a thousand spiky deaths that inspired the enthusiastic riding to begin with.”

“You said you liked the beard!” he says, an edge of panic dislodging some of the quintessential haughty defensiveness from his voice.

“I did like the beard,” she assures him. “Guatemala looks good on you. I’m just having some second thoughts about it now, in the cold light of day, where my entire body is on fire.” She swears she sees him pale in response, so she can’t resist grabbing for her foot and teasing, “Oh, nope—see, you missed a spot.”

Expression pinched, he continues to bristle about it as he gets up and sets about collecting their scattered clothing from where it’s been strewn across his hardwood floor, and it doesn’t entirely make sense, the way this prickly back and forth with him in the immediate aftermath of their long-awaited reunion fills her with such overwhelming fondness.

Nathaniel’s new apartment is bigger than his old one, but the interior design is currently a lot less magazine spread, a lot more living out of the miscellaneous boxes he’s only recently pulled from storage. One of the pitfalls to his bed actually being enclosed in, well, a bedroom this time around is that when he disappears to the bathroom, he’s both completely out of sight and earshot.

When he comes back, his jaw is entirely clean-shaven.

“Wow. You work quick.” When he shoots her a pointed look—something distinctly in the vein of you of all people should know why!—she can’t help but grin. “Aww. You’re so cute when you think you’ve somehow ruined your chances with me by giving me the ol’ stubble trouble.”

He still isn’t sharing in her amusement—she supposes she should know, by now, that making fun of him is always going to elicit a mixed bag—so she switches her expression to reassuring instead. “Nathaniel, honestly, it’s no big deal. I’ll slap some moisturiser on it and buy some concealer for my chin. Worst case scenario, I walk with an unfortunate waddle for a day or two. Which, you know what? Is just as easily blamed on… other parts of you than your facial hair. Also, how has this never happened to you before? When I first met you the razor-sharp scruff was basically your whole look.”

“Huh,” he says, some of the tension going out of him as he considers this, last night’s shirt still hanging limply in his hand. “Guess I never stuck around long enough—or paid enough attention—to find out.”

She pouts out her lower lip and places a hand to her heart. “See? That just makes it all the more romantic that you’re here, experiencing this ordeal with me now.”

He huffs, making a beeline for his hamper.

Having lost interest in his ongoing need to channel his persistent unease into creating some kind of order from their collective chaos, she collapses back on the bed, sticking her legs up in the air and splitting them, making a pathetic noise in accompaniment but on the whole completely unconcerned with her own—admittedly unseemly—display.

“Is that really necessary?” Nathaniel asks, pulling a face. “Does that actually help?”

“Unless you plan on getting in there with some WD-40, yeah, this is what we’re doing right now. Why, you expecting guests, or something?”

He balls up her light blue underwear and throws them at her. “Would you put on pants if I were?”

“I mean, I would probably be forced to consider it, yeah.”

“Glad to hear you still have a shred of dignity intact.”

“It is hanging by an admittedly small thread.”

After a long moment of staring at her, during which she makes no attempt to decrease the degree of her exposure, a strangled kind of cough works its way out of him that she thinks might finally be a laugh.

She drops her legs even wider and props herself up on her elbows to get a better look at him. “Are you having a stroke?”

“No,” he says, turning away briefly to compose himself. “I just—You’re so—I don’t know.” His eyes slink slowly back to hers. “I don’t… know… anyone like you.”

It could just be coincidence—that she’s merely reaching the upper limits of her own admittedly measly muscular endurance—but her knees start to cave in on her a little. She sits up properly, a toothy smile blossoming across her face of its own accord. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Nathaniel affirms, and comes to sit beside her on the bed.

After a few seconds of contented silence, she asks, “Nathaniel?”

“Mmm?”

“Did you just fall a little bit in love with me while I was bearing my beard-burned vagina at you?”

He makes a show of sighing loudly and rolling his eyes away from her, so she knows without a glimmer of doubt that the answer is yes. Heart bright and full, she grabs his hand in hers and squeezes, re-commanding his attention.

“Hey. I l…ike your new rug,” she says with mock sincerity, waggling her eyebrows at him when he registers the bait and switch. “Wonder what shade of red it’ll bring out in my knees.”

Nathaniel growls, making sure to push her back against the mattress by her relatively unscathed shoulders.

“You’re an asshole,” he tells her lightly, skin smooth against hers, and his voice is laced with nothing but the utmost affection.

[occasionally-writing]

Stay The Night

A/N: Another MorkSun fanfic done! I have another waiting for me in my askbox. I really miss these two and I wish we would get another series with these two being the main couple <3 Thanks for requesting a fanfic for them anon! I’m also going to tag @whyamistillwatchingtheseshows​ since it’s MorkSun XD I hope you guys like it <3

Summary: Staying the night at Sun’s condo due to having a late night at the cafe, Mork has to deal with the siblings bickering along with how clingy Sun is with him. Not that he minds that last part.

Word Count: 1229

When Mork agreed to stay the night after he finished a late shift at the cafe, he seriously didn’t expect to deal with the brothers, who were arguing about something Mork could not understand for the life of him. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Mork rolled his eyes as the bickering finally stopped and Rain disappeared upstairs, obviously going to his room so he could get away from his older brother. Letting out a huff, Sun grumbled something before his attention was on Mork, who was staring up at him with a deadpan look, not amused by what he had to witness. Offering him an apologetic grin, Sun strolled up to him and gently took his hand in his, squeezing it. Pushing himself off the counter he was leaning on, Mork allowed Sun to wrap his arms around his waist as his chest was pressed firmly against his back. Staying still as Sun propped his chin on his shoulder, Mork glanced down at the hands that were resting comfortably on his stomach and sighed, lacing their fingers together as he bumped their heads lightly. 

“Did you two really have to argue about...what did you bicker about?” Mork questioned softly, rubbing his thumbs over Sun’s hands before he circled in his hold, coming face to face with his tired looking boyfriend. Letting out a groan, Sun buried his face in Mork’s shoulder and shuffled closer to him, squeezing him as he explained that Rain hadn’t been taking his shifts he was offered because he wanted to hang with Manaow and when Sun tried to explain to him that he and Mork couldn’t keep taking all the shifts, it started the argument that Mork was forced to listen to. Letting out a huff when Sun was done talking, Mork placed his hands on Sun’s waist and shook his head. “That’s all? Sun...I understand that it’s frustrating but did you guys really have to argue about this now?”

“I’m sorry...you’re right. It’s late and I should’ve just talked to him calmly…” Sun sighed, his voice muffled since his face was still buried in Mork’s shoulder, his grip around his boyfriend’s waist tightening when he felt a slight chuckle come out of Mork’s mouth. Squeezing Sun’s hips, Mork gently pushed Sun away from him and crossed his arms, leveling his boyfriend with a stern look as he muttered something about apologizing to Rain in the morning. Nodding softly with a small frown resting on his lip, Sun pouted and leaned into Mork again, pressing their foreheads together as they stared into each other’s eyes. Pulling Mork closer by his waist, Sun grinned and pressed their lips together in a soft kiss. Letting his eyes flutter shut, Mork placed his hands on Sun’s shoulders and when they pulled away to breathe, Mork cleared his throat and evaded Sun’s beaming grin. “So, are you going to stay the night?”

Narrowing his eyes at the tone Sun used, Mork rolled his eyes and squeezed his boyfriend’s cheeks, stepping away with a smirk as he headed towards the stairs, making his way up them as Sun rubbed the places Mork squeezed on his face. Noticing that Mork disappeared, Sun grinned and darted after him, keeping his steps light as he could since it was technically night time and the last thing he wanted to do was disturb Rain when he was already sort of irritated with him. Kicking off his shoes next to Mork and Rain’s, straightening them as he was at it before he made his way towards his room, hoping that Mork was in there and not in Rain’s room. Pushing it open, Sun glanced inside and couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face as he noticed Mork getting ready for bed, removing his jeans and shirt so he could replace them with one of Sun’s shirts. Keeping his boxers on, however, Mork went still as he felt eyes on him, rolling his eyes when he knew it was Sun watching him. Turning around as he tossed his dirty clothes in Sun’s hamper, Mork raised an eyebrow at the ecstatic look Sun had on his face.

“Since you’re in my room and not Rain’s, I’m guessing that means we can sleep in the same bed?” Sun questioned, wiggling his eyebrows in a way that made a snort come out of Mork as a small flush filled his cheeks. Rolling his eyes, Mork knew that his boyfriend was always trying to get him in bed and normally he would allow Sun the honor of doing it, however, tonight Mork was just too tired from work so all he wanted to do was sleep. Noticing the lack of response he got from Mork, Sun frowned slightly in worry before he stepped closer to him, intertwining their hands as he pressed a kiss to one of his knuckles. Observing the understanding smile Sun was giving him, Mork let out a breath and squeezed their combined hands, letting go so he could slip into Sun’s bed, sliding into his spot on the right side. “It’s okay if you don’t want anything to happen tonight. We can just cuddle and sleep.”

“O-okay...that sounds okay…” Mork muttered, burying his blushing face into the pillow, not wanting Sun to see how flustered he truly was. Smiling softly at how cute his boyfriend was being, Sun removed his own dirty clothes and tossed them on top of Mork’s in the hamper, digging a plain tank top out of his dresser and slipped it on, leaving the boxers he was wearing for most of the day on. Climbing into the bed, Sun clicked off the bedside lamp and settled in, pulling the blanket up on the both of them. Turning on his side, Mork let his eyes adjust to the darkness as he stared at Sun, who was watching him as well. Reaching out, Sun cupped Mork’s cheek lightly, rubbing his thumb softly against the warm cheek. Leaning into his touch slightly, Mork let out a shaky sigh before he scooted closer, wrapping his arms around Sun’s waist as he buried his face in his boyfriend’s chest, pressing his ear against his chest right where his heart was. “Can...Can I sleep like this tonight?”

Not saying a word, Sun nodded and held Mork closer to him, not caring how tight he was holding him, grinning when he got no complaints from his boyfriend, who just snuggled closer to his warmth. Tangling their legs together, Sun rubbed his hands up and down Mork’s back as he pressed a soft kiss to his hair, nuzzling his face into it as Mork let out a soft contented sigh. Moving one of his hands further up Mork’s back, Sun threaded his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair and grinned when he felt Mork grow even heavier on him, obviously falling asleep to the soft touch he was giving him. Letting out a soft hum, Mork stopped fighting the wave of sleep that was trying to pull him under as he yawned and fell asleep to the soft thumps of Sun’s beating heart. Letting his eyes close as well, Sun muttered a soft, ‘I love you,’ as he too fell into a peaceful slumber, the moon being the only light in the dark room, illuminating the matching smiles resting on their lips. 

[corvo-bianco-lilacs]

So, this is my like... Fifth time trying to post this ficlet. @gay-sorceress I apologize for my day-to-day BS getting in the way of this beautiful fic idea that you sent me, and I feel horrible about putting it off for so long, so I do hope that this ends up being worth the wait!!

Fic below the cut for reasons.

Sheala sighed, eyes closed, as she removed her fingers from her aching clit, orgasm having already shrouded her mind in a haze of euphoria as she collapsed against the pillows. The waistband of her panties snapped against her pelvis as she pulled her hand out from beneath it, savoring the sensation of release as she slowly came back to reality.

Philippa Eilhart had fogged her thoughts for the past few months, and since she was now stuck in her apartment with a knee injury, sustained while daydreaming about Philippa during practice, she had nothing better to do during her break from classes other than let her thoughts consume her.

She had imagined feasting on all of Philippa, from her supple, ruby lips, down over her breasts, before finally coming to claim her sweet core with her insatiable appetite. She had dreamed of fucking the other woman while Philippa screamed her name with the rush of ecstasy, her toes curling as her thighs tightened around Sheala’s head, keeping her pressed to the sweet taste of Philippa’s folds.

The thought sent a shiver through her, her nipples stiffening with the new rush of lust that coursed through her body, while her folds became slick with need once more. With a soft sigh, she grabbed hold of the dildo on her bed, turning it to mid-speed, then shoved it between her folds, fucking herself as the thought of Philippa sitting on her face drove her wild with need. She was practically forcing herself to cum at this point, her body covered with a thin sheen of sweat as orgasm was followed by orgasm, thighs twitching with each release as she kept forcing the vibrator between her folds. She was caught off guard when a knock came to her front door. Startled, she nearly threw the vibrator across the room as she pulled it from between her thighs.

“Who is it?”

“Sheala? It’s Philippa...” The voice replied, sending a shiver through Sheala as she hastily pulled her panties back on before throwing on a pair of shorts and a tank top. “Do you have a few minutes?”

“Uhh... Yeah. I’ll be right there to let you in.” Sheala replied, washing her hands before quickly carding her fingers through her tangled locks. Once she felt she looked appropriate, she made her way to the door and opened it, gazing wide-eyed at the woman standing before her.

Philippa stood in a black tank top and a pair of skinny jeans, both of which were practically soaked through, perfectly outlining the bra and panties she wore underneath. Her hair was matted with rain, sticking to her forehead and cheeks, while her braid clung to her bare shoulder. Her shoes were drenched from the assumed run she took to seek shelter from the storm outside.

“Could I come in?”

Sheala couldn’t verbally respond, but did nod her head in agreement. She moved aside so that Philippa could walk in, watching her as she gazed about the small living room that adorned a section of Sheala’s apartment. Philippa made her way over to the couch and sat on it with a soft thump, her arms coming up to wrap around herself as the chill began to get to her.

“I’m sorry, would you like a towel? Or to take a shower?”

“If it isn’t weird that I take a shower here, I would love to do so.”

“Not at all! I’ll go set up the shower for you.”

Sheala disappeared into the bathroom, pulling out a towel for the beautiful woman she was just masturbating to thoughts about, and started the shower, letting the water warm up a bit before stepping out to offer Philippa her privacy.

“Would you mind running my clothes through the dryer for a few minutes while I’m showering? I didn’t bring any spare clothes with me when I left my place.”

“Sure, no problem... Let me know when I can come in.”

“We’re both women, Sheala.” Philippa laughed, stepping into the bathroom and pulling Sheala behind her. “You wouldn’t be the first woman who’s seen me naked.”

Sheala couldn’t help the flush of her cheeks as Philippa stripped in front of her, dropping her jeans and panties into a pool on the floor beneath her, then stripping the tank top off, unclasping her bra, and sliding the straps down her shoulders. She bent over to gather her pile of clothes, giving Sheala a full view of that supple ass she had only imagined, but now it was bare and propped up in front of her. She glanced away as Philippa stood back upright, turning to face Sheala as she gathered the soaked clothes in her arms. Philippa melted her heart with a smile before disappearing behind the shower curtain, giving Sheala a moment to flush a brighter shade of red from the full frontal she was gifted with just a moment ago. She quickly stepped out of the bathroom and over to the small laundry room, discarding the clothes into the dryer and starting the machine before walking back into the kitchen to start some coffee for the two of them. Before long, Philippa’s voice called out for her, drawing her back into the bathroom where Philippa stood with her back to the door, Sheala’s body wash held in one hand and a washcloth in the other.

“Could you wash my back?” A pause. “And... Maybe, if you’re willing of course... You’d maybe massage my shoulders?”

“Uhh, sure..” Sheala replied, her voice giving away her confusion, but she gathered the items from Philippa as the other woman pulled her hair down over her shoulder, leaving her full back exposed.

Sheala slowly lathered Phil’s back up, massaging the smooth skin and kneading out the tense muscles as she went. Philippa moaned with content, her head rolling from one side to the other as Sheala continued to work out the knots and ease the sore muscles. She gazed at the tattoos on Philippa’s skin: a Snowy Owl on her right shoulder, a tribal band on her right wrist, a butterfly on her left hip, and a small dragon on her left shoulder blade. On her right thigh she had a dreamcatcher, complete with intricate beads and delicate feathers, leaving Sheala breathless at the design. She didn’t want to let Philippa know that she was ogling her body as she massaged her back. Without so much as a warning, Sheala felt Philippa’s hand on her thigh, slowly working its way up towards her hip. She froze, drawing a moan of protest from Philippa as she turned to gaze at her over her shoulder, those piercing amber eyes gazing back into the dark pools of her eyes.

“Why’d you stop?” Philippa pouted. “Your hands work wonders.”

“Sorry, you startled me a bit when you grabbed my thigh.” Sheala chuckled, scratching her cheek. “I’ll start again.”

“I have a better idea...” Philippa hummed, turning to face Sheala and giving her a full frontal shot once more. “Why don’t you just join me?”

“W-what? Join you?”

“Yeah! I wasn’t quite ready for the massage to be over, and... I’d really like to see what else those fingers of yours are capable of.” Philippa purred, biting her bottom lip as she gazed into Sheala’s eyes, drawing back the primal urge of lust that had fogged her thoughts just an hour prior to this moment.

Without a reply, Sheala quickly stripped of her clothes and tossed them into the hamper in the corner before stepping into the warm shower that greeted her. Philippa had once more turned her back to Sheala, but pressed her ass right up against Sheala’s thighs, bringing a sigh of relief from the jock as she sharply took hold of Philippa’s hips in her hands, bringing a harsh moan from the other woman.

Sheala ran her hands over Philippa’s back as the woman stood bent over in front of her, hands on her knees as Sheala’s fingers pressed into her back, sending a shiver through the woman. Sheala couldn’t resist the urge to wrap her right hand around Philippa’s throat, gently pressing against the outside of her throat as she pulled her upright, taking her lips in a harsh, hot kiss that left Philippa moaning into her mouth as she released her throat, releasing a gasp of pleasure as Philippa’s fingers disappeared between her supple thighs, playing with her clit as Sheala brought her hands down to cup Philippa’s breasts, massaging the pale peaks as she gently pinched those pert nipples between her thumb and forefingers, drawing gasps of pleasure from Philippa as the pumping of her fingers sped up with each passing moment, her thighs shaking moments later as orgasm ripped through her, leaving her gasping with the release as it flooded her thoughts.

“My turn.” Sheala growled, pushing Philippa’s hand away before plunging her fingers between the other woman’s soaking folds, thrusting against her aching, twitching walls, sending her closer and closer to climax once more until she couldn’t take the fingering of her folds any longer. Her knees gave out with the scream of pleasure, but Sheala held her upright, her arm wrapped tightly around her waist as she continued to pump her fingers into Philippa’s clenching folds, fingering her until her arm gave out from the action. She pulled her hand from between Philippa’s thighs, gently running her fingers over the other woman’s skin as she came back into her senses.

“Ugh... No one’s ever continued to finger me through one orgasm straight into a second one.” Philippa huffed, leaning against Sheala’s chest as she gained confidence on her feet once more. “Perhaps we should finish this shower and go right to your room... A woman this good with her fingers most likely has some other toys sitting around for a moment like this.”

“I do have a strap that I could use...” Sheala growled, nipping Philippa’s shoulder before reaching over her shoulder to detach the showerhead from the hook it sat on. “But... I’m gonna make you cum with this first.”

Sheala brought the showerhead down between Phil’s thighs, spreading her legs and pulling her folds open to expose her tender clit to the stream of the massage setting hit her tender nub, sending her into a fit of convulsions as the wave of the previous orgasm intensified the quickly approaching second orgasm that followed soon after, bringing another scream of pleasure from her lips as Sheala pulled the showerhead away from her, keeping her upright as she placed the showerhead back onto the hook before gently pulling Philippa against her chest once more, kissing her shoulder as she waited for her to return to her senses.

Philippa shut the water off, pulled Sheala out of the shower, then demanded that the jock grab the strap-on that she had mentioned having. Sheala left the bathroom and returned a few minutes later, the previously mentioned mold strapped securely to her hips, her hungry gaze lingering over Philippa as she approached, closing the short distance between them, and hoisted Philippa up onto the edge of the sink, their lips crashing together in a sea of pleasure that drowned them both beneath the waves of lust. Sheala thrust the strap between Philippa’s folds, earning a moan against her lips that steadily turned into rapid gasps of pleasure, Philippa’s nails digging into her skin as she clawed at her back, pulling a groan of pleasure from Sheala as Philippa wrapped her legs tightly around Sheala’s waist, pulling the strap deeper inside of her with each thrust of Sheala’s hips.

“F-fuck... I-I’m gonna c-cum again.” Philippa gasped, her fingers immediately coming up to tangle in Sheala’s hair as those ragged gasps turned to moans and yelps before finally erupting into a howl of release as the orgasm ripped through her once more.

Sheala came as well, her thighs dampening with cum as she continued to thrust into Philippa for a few more minutes before finally pulling the shaft from between her folds and releasing her grip on the other woman’s thighs. Philippa fingered herself for a moment, massaging her tender clit as Sheala gazed down at her. Philippa gazed up at Sheala with the biggest smile she had ever seen, bringing a mirroring smile to her own lips as she gazed back at the woman of her dreams. The ding of the dryer reminding both women of Philippa’s once soaking wet clothes, bringing a fit of laughter from the pair as they walked out into the hall and down to the laundry room, where Philippa gathered her warm, dry clothes into her arms.

“You know, you can stay the night if you’d like.” Sheala offered, brushing her thumb across Philippa’s plump, post-kiss lips. “If you wanted to of course.”

“Hmm...” Philippa began, her eyes twinkling in the light of the room. “Tempting offer...”

“No need to agree to it.”

“Well, would you be willing to fuck me again?”

“Huh?”

“You heard me, de Tancarville... I’ll only stay if you fuck me again... And once more in the morning. I like to start my day with an orgasm.”

Sheala was shocked for a moment before a feral grin came to her lips, her eyes glittering with hunger as she gazed down into Philippa’s eyes.

“It would be my pleasure to fuck you.”

“The answer I had hoped for...” Philippa purred, shutting the bedroom door behind them.

[semperama]

Verbs: 4, Pinto!

I apologize, this got a little too long, and I probably should have posted it to AO3 instead, but I’m too lazy to think of a title and all that jazz right now. So hopefully it isn’t too much of a pain to read here!

pinto, convalesce

"So how many 'break a leg' jokes have you heard in the past few days?" Zach asks as he follows Chris into the house, close on his heels in case he trips. He wanted to rent a wheelchair to bring Chris home in, but of course Chris wouldn't hear of it. He always seems to think he has something to prove, even when sporting a cast that extends from foot to thigh and a bulky boot to go with it.

"I lost count," Chris says, leaning for a moment against the wall in the foyer and looking over his shoulder at Zach. "But you know what? I didn't mind it."

"You do love a corny joke." Zach drops Chris's duffel on the floor, then goes to his side, hands hovering in the air as he tries to decide how best to help. "Not sure what that says about your sense of humor. Alright. Too bed now, right?"

"The couch?" Chris says, turning wide, pleading eyes Zach's direction. "I've been laying in bed for days. I don't want to shut myself away in the bedroom until I have to."

Zach purses his lips, but he can't think of a good reason to refuse him. "Fine," he says, "but you aren't going to go hobbling around the house every time you want something. Once you're on the couch, your ass is staying on the couch."

Chris doesn't argue now, but Zach guesses there will be arguments later. And really, it's not like Zach blames him. He can imagine how frustrating it must be to have your mobility limited, to need someone else to take care of you. Chris has always been independent. He doesn't like relying on others--not for anything. Even as Zach leads him to the couch and helps him prop up his leg on a stack of pillows, he wonders how much Chris is bristling at him, how much he wishes Zach would just go away.

Still, Zach has to ask, "What can I get you?"

Chris sighs. "Water, I guess. And hand me the remotes? They're over there next to the TV."

Zach knows where the remotes are. He knows where everything in this house is, and he knew it long before he moved in two months ago. But Chris is still adjusting--they both are--and this whole mess with his leg has only thrown a wrench in things, so Zach lets this one slide and goes to retrieve the remotes.

On the way back from the kitchen with Chris's water, he digs two prescription bottles out of the duffel. Painkillers and antibiotics, both of which need to be taken on a regular schedule. One more thing for Zach to keep track of, and one more thing for Chris to potentially resent him for. Maybe it would be easier if he set alarms on Chris's phone, so he isn't bugging Chris himself, but even that feels like it might be too invasive.

"Here," he says as he sets the water down close enough for Chris to reach it. "And here are your meds. You're about due for more oxy now, if you want."

Chris waves him away absently, his eyes fixed on the TV screen as he flips through the channels. "That stuff makes me feel awful. The doctor said I could switch to ibuprofen whenever."

Zach sighs. Chris has three pins in his leg, but trust him to try to play the tough guy now. Who doesn't want to take the good shit when they have it? But he bites his tongue. "Do you want ibuprofen now then?"

"Nah, I'm good. I'll wait until dinner."

Nodding, Zach looks from Chris to the TV to Chris again. What is he supposed to do now? How is he supposed to help? "I guess I'll go start a load of laundry then. Mind if I get your clothes out of the bag?"

Chris looks at him then, eyebrows pinching together. "You don't have to do that. I can wash them later."

"Chris." Zach throws up his hands. "How are you going to do that, huh?"

"Right." The troughs in his forehead deepen. "Okay. Sorry."

Sorry? Zach frowns, but he finds he isn't in the mood to unpack all that baggage in that one word now, so he goes to unpack the physical baggage instead. It's a relief, in some ways, to go through the motions of sorting the clothes in the hamper and tossing them into the washer. He feels far more useful now than he did hovering over Chris in the living room, or back at the hospital, where friends and family came and went and all Zach could do was sit and watch Chris's pale face for signs of fatigue. He thought he was going to cry when Chris's dad offered to have him come stay with them while he was recovering, but luckily Chris shut that one down quickly. But was it because he trusted Zach to take care of him, or because he didn't want to put his family out? Is he only putting up with Zach now because he has to?

Zach realizes he's spiraling and takes a deep breath to rein himself in. This is all too new. He moved in with Chris just a couple weeks before filming on the new Star Trek started, and though it seemed like a good idea at the time, it's been a big adjustment. Going from a long-distance relationship to a live-in one--plus filming twelve-plus hours a day--hasn't been easy on either of them, and Chris's injury has made things that much more awkward. Now he knows Chris feels guilty for delaying production and guilty that Zach almost took the poor stunt coordinator's head off after the fact and guilty that he screwed up the stunt in the first place. And what's Zach supposed to do with all that? He can't fix Chris's leg and he can't fix all the emotional shit surrounding it either, so all he's good for now is fetching Chris water and making him feel uncomfortable in his own damn house.

Back in the living room, Chris is still scrolling through the channels, though his eyes look unfocused, like he might not really be paying attention to what he's seeing. Zach wishes they hadn't taken the dogs over to Mark's. Maybe if they were here, they would cheer Chris up better than Zach can. 

"Hey," Zach says, leaning against the door frame and offering a tentative smile. They used to be able to communicate so much to each other with just smiles, and Zach has no idea what he may be communicating now, but he hopes it's something. He hopes Chris can still read him like this.

Chris clicks the TV off again and tosses the remote on the coffee table, and only then does he look up at Zach's face. "Hey," he says wearily. Then, after a double-take, he stretches out his hand. "Hey," he says again, softer. "Come here."

Zach goes to him and slips his fingers into Chris's, a hopeful nervousness unfurling in his chest. Before he can protest, Chris tugs at him and sends him sprawling into his lap. He only barely manages to catch himself and avoid falling against Chris's injured leg.

"Careful!" Zach digs his fingers into Chris's shoulders. "They'll have us both killed if you reinjure that leg, you moron."

"Relax," Chris says, offering up the first real smile Zach has seen in days, then hiding it in Zach's neck. "I mean it. You need to relax. You're acting like I'm on my deathbed."

"I'm not--" Zach huffs and tries to rearrange himself, get some of his weight off Chris's stomach. "It's not that. I know you're going to be fine."

"Then what is it?" Chris reaches up and brushes a few strands of hair off Zach's forehead. And God, Zach loves it when he does that. He used to be so neurotic about his hair, would duck instinctively out of the way whenever anyone reached for it, but something about Chris doing it, the intimacy of it--it makes his stomach flip over every time.

"This isn't exactly how I thought living together would go," Zach says, and then it's his turn to hide his face, pressing his mouth against Chris's temple. He still smells like hospital, but he doubts either of them want to think about the work it'll take to get him in the shower right now. "Doesn't this feel like...I don't know, some kind of bad omen?"

"Bad omen? Jesus." Chris chuckles and snatches up one of Zach's hands, brings it up to his mouth and kisses the edge of his palm. "Look, I know I've been really fucking cranky. We were both sleep-deprived even before all of this, and now I feel like I've let everybody down, and I hate being..." He gestures down the length of his body. "Helpless."

"Yeah, I know," Zach says, because he does. Of course he does.

"But none of that has anything to do with you and me," Chris says. "There are no bad omens, Zach. Only bad luck."

He turns his head to the side and captures Zach's mouth--a quick peck first, then a harder one, the kind that has them both drawing an anticipatory breath. Not that they have anything to anticipate at the moment. Chris is out of commission in every possible way.

"I just don't want you to regret this," Zach says when they break apart. He is painfully aware of how it sounds--almost childishly needy, not at all like a man who's spent most of his adult life in therapy for his abandonment issues.

Luckily for him, Chris only grin at him and shakes his head. "The only thing I regret right now is not asking you to move in with me sooner." He rubs his thumb across Zach's bottom lip. "We shouldn't have had to spend the first months of our relationship to tired or too--injured to fuck."

Zach barks out a laugh at that and swats Chris on the stomach. "One-track mind," he admonishes. 

Chris's eyes sparkle, even as the smile fades from his lips. "But seriously, do you think I don't worry about the same thing? Don't you know all I can think about is how unfair it is that you'll have to wait on me hand and foot for the next few weeks?"

"But I'm happy to do it, Chris," Zach says, brushing his fingers across Chris's cheekbone. "I'd do it even if you weren't bedridden, if you wanted me to."

Chris crinkles his nose. "Yeah, no. That sounds like a nightmare."

"Why's that?" Zach tries not to sound too hurt.

"Because I want a partner, Zach." Before Zach can argue, Chris puts a finger to his lips. "And yes, I'm aware that partners sometimes have to take care of each other, which is why I'm going to try to get over myself and let you take care of me and not be grumpy about it." He presses a loud, smacking kiss to Zach's cheek. "But in return you have to stop acting like you have to earn your right to be here, okay?"

That sentence has another ten years of therapy packed into it, but Zach pushes it away for now and focuses on the important part: that Chris wants him here, and not just for what Zach can do for him. 

"Deal," Zach says, and presses his mouth Chris's temple again. He'll do his best, anyway--which is all either of them can do. It helps, at least, that their issues are complementary. 

"Good." Chris kisses him on the mouth. "Now get me my phone, so I can order us burritos, because you are not cooking. And then you are going to sit here with me and watch a dumb action movie. And then--and then we can figure out how I'm going to shower with this thing on."

His mouth twists on that last part, and Zach can't help but smile. He scratches his fingers along Chris's scalp and then gives the back of his neck a gentle squeeze. "Maybe I can make the shower part worth your while," he says, brushing his mouth against Chris's jaw. "Provided it's safe enough, that is."

"Hmm," Chris hums, clutching the back of Zach's head to keep him there. "In that case, maybe we'll do the shower first."