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quietblueriver · 1 year ago

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Right on Time (Ch. 4)

Ava’s sitting on an exam table in a hospital gown, kicking her legs back and forth, when Beatrice knocks on the door. She’d unfrosted the windows when she finished changing, because that’s a thing you can do in Jillian’s fancy home lab thing, so Beatrice can see her, can see that she’s dressed, but of course she’s still knocking anyway. She gives Bea two thumbs up and pats the spot beside her on the table as she walks through the door.

“Hi, hi. Like my new look?”

Beatrice smiles and when she reaches Ava, lets her hand rest on the bare skin of her calf as it swings forward, catching it. Her fingers spread and then trace down to her ankle, which she grasps for a moment before turning around and bracing herself so that she can press up into the space beside Ava. It’s graceful and effortless. Ava had clambered up onto the table like a fucking toddler, all elbows and knees, but whatever, same result. Bea settles and turns to Ava, taking the short sleeve of the gown between her thumb and forefinger and rubbing. It’s a familiar motion; the first time Bea had tested a t-shirt in Ava’s favorite thrift shop this way, Ava had barely managed to hold back a laugh. Just like she was then, Ava knows Beatrice is about to be very disappointed. Sure enough, she’s frowning immediately, like she’s somehow surprised it’s not silk. And it’s not, probably because Jillian gets these gowns from the same place everyone else does, but it’s sort of soft, at least, and it wraps all the way around her instead gaping open at the back, so Ava’s not complaining.

She grabs Beatrice’s hand and brings it from her sleeve to her lap, holding it between both of her own and leaning over to bump their shoulders together. “You didn’t answer. Is hospital chic not doing it for you?” Beatrice says, leaning into the pressure of Ava’s shoulder and letting her own feet sway back and forth the tiniest amount, “You look unfairly attractive in a hospital gown, but I do prefer you in my clothes.”

“You think I look good in your clothes?” She eyes the pile of items in a chair in the corner, folded just neat enough that they won’t make Bea twitch or feel the need to get up and fix them. “That’s fair, actually. Your sweater looks fucking great on me.” She’s never above fishing for compliments but she’s going somewhere with this. They’re playing footsie now, eyes down, but Ava doesn’t have to see Beatrice’s face to know she understands what Ava’s doing. It’s right there. To her delight, Beatrice plays along.

“Yes, Ava.” The next words from her mouth are resigned, almost pained, but she says them anyway. “My sweater looks fucking great on you.”

Ava bites her tongue, holds the line. Her silence is surprising enough that Beatrice pulls away slightly so that she can look at Ava, brows raised expectantly. Ava bats her eyelashes, exaggerated, and adopts the most innocent expression she can. She sees the moment Beatrice realizes what Ava wants and when Beatrice looks to the ceiling and blows a breath out between her closed lips, Ava knows she’s going to get it. She says, indulgent, “But it’d look even better on my floor.” Ava lets go of Beatrice’s hands to wrap her arms around her, planting a sloppy kiss on her cheek and resting her chin on Bea’s shoulder. “Fuck yeah it would. Wow, I love you.”

Three weeks into their gig at Bar La Vasseur, the often absent but always good-humored owner of the bar, Lars, stopped in and pulled each of them aside to talk about the bar’s performance. He hadn’t had much to say to Ava; she wasn’t a great mixologist or whatever, and they both knew it, but she brought in customers and a fuck ton of tips and that was good enough. After a very brief check-in about Ava’s hours and happiness in her position (solid on both fronts), they spent their time gossiping about a few of the regulars and discussing her progress in the cocktail book he’d pulled from the back for her to experiment and practice. Ava asked after his husband, Marcus, and their Bernese Mountain Dog mix, Alfie, who had very sadly had to stay home today because Lars had several additional errands to run.

She knew, when Hans came back downstairs frowning and stepped onto the back patio to smoke a cigarette, something he did only very rarely, that they had not had the same kind of chat. Beatrice, last to speak with Lars, had returned without comment, smiling at Ava briefly before sitting back down at her regular table with the books. It was only later, when Hans responded to Beatrice’s request for more glasses with a very loaded, “Ya, Chefin,” and Beatrice’s expression flickered, for just a second, that Ava pieced together what happened.

She wasn’t surprised that Beatrice got promoted. Hans was wonderful—funny and handsome and great with the customers—but he was not the most organized. He was worse than Ava, actually, when it came to things like inventory and tracking tabs, which was really saying something because Ava barely had it in her to give a shit. God only knows what he’d been doing with the ledgers before Bea got there. It only made sense that Lars would notice the sudden increase in organization and profit and on-time restock requests.

She wasn’t surprised, either, that Beatrice didn’t make a big deal of it. She didn’t like bringing attention to herself, and, even if she would deny it, Ava knew she didn’t want to hurts Hans’s feelings by bringing any more attention to their change in status. Ava, though, loved giving Beatrice attention. She loved watching her cheeks turn red and listening to her generally measured speech stutter, loved the pleased little smile that appeared when she realized Ava meant what she was saying, like she was surprised every time that Ava had found something about her to compliment at all. Ava loved Beatrice, she was coming to understand, in a big fucking way. And she wanted to celebrate her, and her promotion, like they would if they weren’t undercover preparing for war with the world’s oldest incel.

The bar was closed on Tuesdays, so Ava made a plan. On Tuesday morning, they did training as usual. Ava finished the run at pace and sparred without complaint and with form good enough that Beatrice let them call it half an hour early. Ava could tell she was suspicious, and Ava wasn’t good at keeping secrets, so on the walk home, she said, channeling the authority that seemed to come so naturally to Beatrice, “I’m taking you to the thrift store and then to the bookstore and then to dinner to celebrate your promotion. Don’t argue. Just get excited.” At the hesitation on Beatrice’s face, she stopped, grabbing both of her hands. She softened her tone and didn’t bother to hide her affection as she said, “You’re very impressive, okay? And as your best friend, it’s my job to make sure you know it. Please, Bea. Let me do this for you.” Beatrice, skin back to the red it had been after they’d finished their run, looked at her shoes and then back at Ava and said, very quietly, “Okay. Okay. Thank you.”

“Why the thrift store?” They were walking toward the bridge, showered and changed, Ava nearly skipping in excitement. She looked over at Beatrice and grinned. “Celebration outfit. I’ve got mine already. Gotta find one for you.” Beatrice’s brow furrowed and she shoved her hands into her pockets the way she did when she was nervous, but she did not protest.

Ava already had a dress. She’d seen it in the window last week, bought it immediately and impulsively with no idea when she’d actually have a reason to wear it. She didn’t believe in luck or fate or whatever, but she was very happy about the timing; she couldn’t think of a better reason to break it out.

So now, she was focused on Beatrice, pulling things she thought Bea might like. As they browsed the store, she watched Beatrice eye the men’s section. There weren’t words for how fucking hot Beatrice would look in menswear. Ava honestly couldn’t let herself think too hard about it. More than that, though, Ava thought Beatrice deserved to wear clothes that made her feel good, and wondered, a lot now that they were wearing civilian clothes, what it would look like for Beatrice to let herself be exactly who she wanted to be. Ava resented the Church for so fucking many reasons, but these days what it did to queer people, what it had done to Beatrice, stayed near the front of her mind. Ava forced herself to exhale and focus on the hangers in front of her. That was a conversation for another time. For now, Beatrice didn’t wander and Ava didn’t push.

When Bea came out of the dressing room in a black jumpsuit with long sleeves, more form-fitting than most of her clothes, her face was uncertain. Ava very intentionally let her eyes wander before holding Beatrice’s gaze. “Hot, Bea.” It was a gamble, could just as easily have pushed her in another direction, but happily, Beatrice simply blushed and went back into the dressing room to change, emerging with a simple, “I’m ready when you are.” Ava mock glared at her when she tried to pay, Beatrice caving as much to avoid a scene in front of the cashier as anything. She held the door open for Ava and as they walked toward the bookstore, she let their arms brush and said, “Thank you.”

Ava felt as good in the dress in their bathroom as she had in the dressing room of the thrift store. It was a muted orange, cut just above her knee with flowing short sleeves. The back was high, of course, but the front was low, a v that stopped just high enough to hide the clasp of her bra. Buttons ran the length of the dress, and she left the last several undone, which created a slit that reached mid-thigh. It was maybe, probably, too nice for this dinner, but she wasn’t going to have another reason to wear it, and she really wanted to see Beatrice’s reaction.

And wow was it worth it. Ava had been flirting shamelessly with Beatrice for most of their time here, and she was pretty sure, had a lot of evidence actually, that Beatrice liked it, liked Ava, more than liked Ava. Still, it was hard not to have doubts because, y’know, Beatrice was a nun assigned to protect her and she was very kind on top of that. Sometimes, at night, Ava laid awake scared that she was falling in love with someone who thought of her the same way Sister Frances had. Gentler, of course, but someone who felt Ava as an obligation. And then there were moments of reassurance, moments like this, when Beatrice was looking at her like she wanted to take the dress right off of her, that made Ava’s doubts fade to almost nothing.

“Ava.” She said it on an exhale, her eyes wide and wandering and her cheeks pink.

“Yeah?” She knew Beatrice liked it. The look on her face right now made Ava feel more powerful than the halo, honestly, but she couldn’t help herself. She pulled at the fabric lightly, totally unnecessarily, and let one of her legs press forward so that the slit became obvious. Beatrice’s eyes followed the action with obvious interest and then lingered on the newly exposed skin. She seemed to catch herself after a moment because she cleared her throat and met Ava’s eyes, cheeks a shade darker.

“You look,” she hesitated, fingers flexing nervously at her sides, “You’re beautiful.” It was soft and genuine and unassuming and it reached well beyond the dress. Ava imagined, for a moment, that she could say thank you with a kiss, that they were going on a real date to celebrate Beatrice, that she could tell Beatrice that she thought of her when she picked this dress, that she could whisper, as they walked home, that she wanted Beatrice to take it off of her, if she’d like. That wasn’t their world, of course. The brightest parts of Ava held onto the hope that maybe one day it would be.

The moment had become heavy and as much as she wanted to let it grow, she knew she couldn’t, not right now, so she steered them back to more comfortable and ridiculous ground. “I know the dress looks great on me.” She twirled and struck a pose, one hand on her hip, and waggled her eyebrows. “But don’t you think it would look better on the floor?” It was light and teasing and Beatrice groaned, but she was smiling, an easy smile, as she followed Ava toward the door.

“Where’s Jillian, anyway? I want to get this over with. I’m actually getting tired.” She says, a preemptive response to the question she knows she just prompted, “I’m good for a few more hours, at least. Don’t worry. I just want to spend as much of that time as possible curled up with you and not,” she waves a hand around the room, “doing this bullshit.” She cranes her head to see if Jillian’s in the hallway. “Should I go get her?”

“Actually, it’s my fault. I asked her if we could have a moment.”

Ava’s not totally sure what’s going on, but her face, on the Beatrice scale of concern, is only just past “can’t get the door to the bathroom to stop squeaking despite oil and several YouTube tutorials,” so she’s not really worried. (The high end of the scale includes classics such as: “my faith is being destroyed by a sleazy Backstreet Boys reject” and “the person I love is literally dying in my arms.” They’ve been through some shit.)

“Everything okay?”

“Yes. Yes. I just wanted to talk to you for a minute. And I’m sorry.” Ava raises an eyebrow in question and she continues, “I know today has been a lot. I imagine you aren’t eager for another emotionally involved conversation.” Ava’s not eager for another emotionally involved conversation; she’s eager for Beatrice’s sweatshirt and Beatrice wrapped around her in a bed and definitely at least a little bit more of what they were doing in the hallway. But she knows Beatrice wouldn’t bring it up if it weren’t important, so. “Tell me.” She does that thing with her face that she does when she’s getting her words together, and Ava knows from the purse of her lips that she doesn’t get quite where she wants to go, but she starts to speak anyway. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to include me in this.”

Ava’s a little confused, and it must be obvious, because Beatrice shakes her head at herself and tries again. “I want you to feel like you can have all of the privacy you want and need as you deal with this, with the…transition back. I want to be there for you and with you as much as you want me to be, but I also…I can be supportive in whatever way you need, Ava, including giving you space to have conversations with Dr. Salvius or whomever else about what happened.”

It’s a kindness Ava hadn’t been given for the majority of her life—the ability to draw her own boundaries and have them respected. She takes a minute to consider. It’s an easy answer, in the end. Well, at least part of it is. “I want you with me. I promise I’ll tell you if I need space, or if I want to have a private conversation with someone, or whatever. Cross my heart.” Ava should be finished. That’s enough. But she hesitates, and Beatrice sees it.

“It’s okay, Ava. Whatever you need is okay.”

The thing is, Ava’s not sure how to say what she wants to say but she knows she needs to try anyway.

“Okay, so. Bear with me here, because I’m still trying to work this out in my head, and, yeah, today has been a lot already but I feel like we should...I feel like I should say this, maybe? If I can figure it out?” Bea takes one of her hands and cups Ava’s jaw, kisses her. It’s brief and warm and what she needs. She takes a deep breath and tries. “I want you to know what’s happening with me. I really do. But I don’t know what Jillian’s going to say about what’s happening with my body or the halo or what I might need to do now that I’m back here, even if I do feel fucking great. And I just…You’re really good at taking care of me, Bea; you spent so much time putting me first.” She squeezes Beatrice’s hands. She can almost hear her protest already. “Don’t try to deny it. Taking care of me was your job. We both know it.” She grins, raises her eyebrows. “Even if it was your pleasure, too.” She knows she’s won for a minute when Beatrice’s eyes roll and her shoulders relax slightly. “I just…I don’t want that to be the way we work. I don’t want you to feel like I’m someone to take care of, you know? I want to be more than that. Not that I think you were treating me like an obligation, or something, but now that we’re…doing this,I don’t want it to be…” She sighs loudly and runs a hand through her hair. “Fuck, I don’t know. Sorry.”  Beatrice’s eyes are locked with Ava’s, thoughtful, and after a moment she says, “Can I try?”

“Yes.” She smiles, something wobbly, which is a little embarrassing but whatever, long day and way too many big conversations. “Help, please.”

“Stop me, if I’m misunderstanding.” She pauses and Ava nods. “Things are different now, and you don’t want me to see you the way that I did when I was still...when I still had my vows. Even though you’re right, you were never an obligation; you’re also right that protecting you was my job, and it was my duty to keep you safe.” She stops to check in, and Ava nods. “Now, though, now we’re just Beatrice and Ava, and I can sit with you in the room with Dr. Salvius and listen as your…” Ava watches her hesitate and sees the moment when she decides to push forward anyway. It’s no small thing, Ava knows, for her to love Ava like this, much less to talk about loving Ava like this. “Girlfriend. Partner. As the person who loves you.”   At her pause, Ava kisses her, because Beatrice is brave in a million different ways, and Ava is so, so grateful. “All of those things, yeah. Lucky me, my god.” The freckles on her cheeks are even more visible with her blush and Ava admires them happily. Beatrice says, voice strong and pitch low, “No. Lucky me.” Ava tries to keep it together because they’re having an important conversation but she still swoons, like, a medium amount because my god. Beatrice’s voice is back to normal as she asks, “Am I doing okay so far?”

“Yes, yeah. Thank you.”

“Good. Good. So then, whatever Dr. Salvius says, we’ll deal with it together.” She bites her lower lip, which is both incredibly attractive and a clear sign that she’s thinking something through. (In Switzerland, Ava really enjoyed watching Beatrice do the crossword, cute little socked feet tucked under her on the futon and tea warm and waiting nearby.) “I still…I still want to take care of you, you know. You can always tell me if it’s too much, and I never want to make you feel like I think you’re an obligation or that you can’t handle yourself. It’s just that I love you very much, and part of that means always wanting to keep you safe and make you feel cared for.”

That’s the thing. Ava wants that, too. She likes taking care of Beatrice, and she’s pretty sure she’ll like being taken care of, too, if she can deal with some of her shit. She thinks of JC trying to show her how to use a shower and fights a grimace. Poor guy. She’s gotta ask Bea about that therapist. “Maybe we can try taking care of each other? In like a normal couple way? As normal as we can be, anyway.”

She pushes herself off the table and steps between Beatrice’s knees. In this position, when she wraps her arms around Bea, her head rests against her sternum. Bea’s hands land near her shoulder blades as she holds Ava close and Ava lets the halo hum and warm the skin along her back. Beatrice presses her hands into the warmth, sighs, something happy, Ava thinks, and says, “Yes. I’d like that.” Ava moves back and wiggles her shoulders and torso a little, a little more when an affectionate smile eases its way onto Beatrice’s face. “Great, yay, love this for us. Now, you be still for a minute, and I’m gonna go get Jillian and see what weird shit she wants to do to me.” She stops in the hallway, realizing that she has literally no idea where Jillian is, but before she can ask, Beatrice is saying, laughter in her voice, “She’s in the kitchen, my love.” Ava’s cheeks and the halo burn bright the whole way there.

Jillian’s sitting at a rolling stool parked in front of a portable computer station. She’s turned outward to face Beatrice and Ava, one of her black pumps resting on the lower rung of the stool as she balances a tablet on her leg and taps around doing something. Ava takes a second to stare. She looks great, honestly, in wide-legged navy slacks and a white blouse. She looks expensive and put together and Ava knows she has to be real fucked up but it’s not obvious, not right now, not compared to the way she was when they first got back with Michael. When she looks up from the tablet, Ava sees the dark circles under her eyes, covered by makeup that probably costs a fucking fortune and does its job super well. It’s just, Ava’s looking closely. Probably too closely. She’d been with Reya for way too long and her manners weren’t exactly stellar before that, but she knows enough not to gape at someone openly, so she shakes out of it and looks down at her feet for a second. When she looks back up and meets Jillian’s eyes, they’re soft and her lips turn up at the corners in something that might be a smile if there weren’t so much concern in it.

“I’m sorry to make you do this so soon. I couldn’t be happier that you’re back and that you appear to be doing very well. I just want to make certain that everything is alright.”

“No worries, Jillian. Really. I appreciate it. What’s first?”

“Well, before we begin, is there anything I should know?”

Ava gives a brief rundown: Reya said her body would be fine. She told Ava that she’d done some work to “bond” her with the halo (“Oooooh, a bond. Best buds, like, officially. Can I name it? Hal? Is that too obvious?” Reya had not been appropriately appreciative of her stellar sense of humor.) and some work to repair Ava’s spine independent of the halo, so it didn’t have to spend so much energy on her. Also, she’d taught Ava a bunch of neat tricks with halo energy. Ava stands up and does a light trick, eyes bright and a little aura around herself, and waggles her eyebrows. “Cool, yeah? And this is just kind of showy, although I can use the aura thing as a shield if I adjust it just a little.” She does, and the light becomes something stronger, hums into the room. “Plus a bunch of other really useful shit.”

She frowns, because she can’t help but think of every single warrior nun who didn’t know what she knows, who was left trying to figure out this deadly thing with no user’s manual. She thinks of her own terror when the halo kept giving out, her fall from the sky, the loss of sensation in her body. Beatrice reaches out, a concerned hand on her shoulder. She breaks through the barrier with no effort. The halo has always understood her priorities when it comes to Bea. Ava covers Bea’s hand with her own and shakes out of it. “Anyway, I’m like a Jedi master now but the lightsaber is built in.” She hops back up on the table and leans her body into Bea’s.

Jillian can’t hide her curiosity, but Beatrice says, in her most no-nonsense, I-am-a-nun-who-will-kick-your-ass voice, “Dr. Salvius, I know that tonight you’re focused on information related to Ava’s immediate health and safety. I’m sure we can return at some point for further conversation.” Jillian responds affectionately, “Yes, of course. Ava, thank you for telling me all of that. The tests will just confirm that everything is working as it should be. If it’s alright with you, we’ll get started. I’ll have you out of here as quickly as possible.”

Of course, the first thing she does is pull out a metal box that, when she opens it, lets loose a familiar blue glow. “Oh, good. Been a while since someone has stabbed me with Divinium.” Both Bea and Jillian look horrified and, whoops, yeah, she’s had way more time for that to become funny. She does damage control, rubbing a soothing hand over Bea’s back and smiling at Jillian. “Sorry, sorry. I’m fine. Really. Humor. It’s a default.”

Beatrice smiles the smallest smile, and Ava knows she hears the callback. Jillian offers, as she puts on her gloves, “Is that what we would call humor?”

Beatrice huffs in amusement and Ava swats her lightly. “Ouch. Clearly you’ve been spending too much time with Mother Superion.” Jillian applies a tourniquet and wipes Ava’s arm down with antiseptic before pulling a needle free. “Suzanne has a wonderful sense of humor.” It’s said almost absently and she immediately finds Bea’s eyes, tilting her chin down and raising her eyebrows. “Oh, does she?” Jillian hums something that sounds affirmative, yeah, definitely absentmindedly, which Ava appreciates given that she’s about to poke her with her equivalent of Kryptonite. Beatrice is shaking her head at Ava, expression long-suffering.

Before Ava can continue down this fun path, Jillian raises her eyes and says, “Ready?”

Ava risks a cheery, “Stab away!”

Jillian, the bitch, takes it to heart. Being pricked with Divinium-tipped needles is exactly as not-fun as she’d imagined, which she lets Bea and Jillian know as soon as Jillian pierces her skin. “Motherfucker. These things suck balls.” It gets a laugh from Jillian and, score, Beatrice can’t suppress a smile as she teases, “Language, Ava.”

They move through test after test and Beatrice stands sentry the entire time, touching Ava whenever possible—a hand on her knee, on her shoulder, fingers twined. During some weird nerve test that requires her to lay flat with everything but her head in a tube, Beatrice stands for a solid five minutes running a hand through Ava’s hair and brushing a thumb over her eyebrow, chatting with Ava as casually as she can manage, which, turns out, isn’t very casually at all because Beatrice does not like any of what’s happening and she’s not super great at hiding that. When Ava has to be isolated for scans or for the brain shit (at one point Jillian has her in, like, a dark closet because something something sensory something), the last thing she sees, invariably, is Beatrice standing beside Jillian, vibrating with concern.

Ava, for her part, is fine. She doesn’t love any of it, because who the fuck would, but there’s nothing too terrible, and it’ll be good to know more about what’s happening in her body. She makes it through more than two hours of scans and Divinium-tipped needles and weird cognitive tests.

Then there’s the energy test. She’s strapped to one of those fucking vacuum hose things and put in an isolation chamber while Jillian stands behind a glass wall and says, through an intercom, “Ava, we want to take a scan while the halo is expending energy elsewhere and then when it’s at max output. The goal is to see what’s happening in the rest of your body when the halo isn’t fully focused on you. That way, we’ll know what, if anything, we need to develop for you in terms of a reserve. This should give us an idea of what Reya’s adjustments have done.”

Ava gives a thumbs up and Jillian says, Beatrice frowning deeply beside her, “There’s a little light bulb in front of you. When it flashes red, blast the halo. We’ll do this several times, with increasingly heightened energy expenditures, and then I’ll ask you to hold the output at different levels for longer periods. I’ll check in before each scan. Does that makes sense?”

“Copy that, Doc. Shine bright like a diamond.”

Beatrice’s lips twitch slightly and Ava winks at her and then Jillian says, “Okay, Ava, when the light flashes, give a short, low-energy blast, please.”

She does. And then she does it again. And again. And again.

“Slightly more energy this time.” “Hold it for ten seconds.” “Slightly higher output this time.” “Go ahead with more. It looks like the cable will hold.” “Can you do two consecutively?” “Two minutes now, Ava, if you can.”

She does it all, and it’s…fun. It’s fun. She gets to show off a bit, and her audience is obviously impressed. Ava’s got a view into the little room where Jillian and Beatrice are waiting, so she can track the evolution of Jillian’s expression. She starts very serious and doctor-y but by the time she asks Ava for a full two minutes at mid-power, she’s outright smiling at whatever she sees on the screen. It’s Beatrice, though (it’s always Beatrice), who holds most of Ava’s attention. When Ava starts, her arms are crossed and she’s wearing her most serious frown of concern, broken out for things like updates on demon cult leaders, dangerous situations involving Ava, and handsy customers at the bar. As the test continues, though, Beatrice uncrosses her arms and moves closer to the window, ends up nearly pressing her nose against it. Her frown lifts and then shifts, a parade of relief, fascination, and awe making their way across her face.

Jillian says, “Okay, Ava. Wonderful. Last one. Can you go for a minute at full energy?” If Beatrice were any closer to the glass, she’d leave an imprint. Ava thinks of the afternoons she spent wiping evidence of Alfie’s over-excited cat patrol from the window of Bar La Vasseur. It’s a kind of eager expression that Ava has rarely seen on Beatrice’s face. She likes it. She likes it a lot, actually, and she can’t help herself; she wants more. When she catches Beatrice’s eye, she smirks and says, “No problem,” and then, when the little red light blinks, she turns her own lights on.

She’s going all out, like Jillian asked, but she’s also showing off because why the fuck not. Reya told her that a long time ago, before Adriel, demi-gods and others from her realm would sometimes pass through this one. It wasn’t uncommon for them to have implants like the halo, and they would cover themselves in light when they jumped realms, a protective measure. “They thought we were angels,” Reya had explained, “and there was no reason for us to correct them.”

She had taught Ava how to create the shield of light, and Ava does it now, turning up her earlier demonstration by about a thousand. She wears the light like armor, lets it break out through the pores of her skin and shine through her eyes. It covers her feet and lifts her just slightly from the ground. She feels strong and in control and at home, now, with the light that lives inside of her.

Jillian has stopped paying any attention to the computer and is focused on Ava, her mouth slightly open and her eyes wide. Beatrice looks, well, Ava’s already got an ego and this isn’t going to help at all—she looks worshipful. Ava basks in it. When the red light flashes again, Ava powers down and drops the armor and waits as Jillian, who appears shocked by the passage of time, fumbles momentarily with the computer screen.

“Great, yes, Ava, thank you. Thank you. I’ll take a closer look at everything but from what I can see, you’re doing exceptionally well on all fronts. Certainly no reason to keep you here any longer.”

Beatrice is through the door before she has even finished the sentence, walking with purpose toward Ava. When she reaches her, though, she blinks and seems confused at her own location, looking down at her hands and then at Ava, who raises her eyebrows.

“All good there, Bea?”

The red that rushes into Beatrice’s cheeks tells Ava all she needs to know. Bea really liked her light show. Excellent information to have.

“Yes. Yes. Sorry. Are you ready to go?”

“Yes. Please get me out of here.” She speaks to the glass wall. “No offense, Jillian.”

Jillian responds, easily, through the intercom, “None taken.” As they pass back through the door, she smiles at them and says, “It is so good to see you, Ava. Now, please go do something fun. Or restful. Or both. I look forward to seeing you two tomorrow.” She breaks from the screen to give them brief hugs and then makes a motion with her hand that Ava’s pretty sure is a motherly shoo. She doesn’t need to be told twice, snagging Bea’s hand and heading back to the exam room to get the fuck out of the hospital gown.

While she was gone, Ava spent a lot of time thinking about what life could be when she got back. She relied on memories and an imagination that was pretty fucking well-developed from more than a decade of being almost totally isolated by sadistic nuns. It was a lifeline, when she was surrounded by beings that she did not like or understand. It was important. And now, watching Beatrice pull and tear an exact measure of floss, face freshly washed and hair in her slightly looser sleep-bun, Ava’s a little bit terrified that she’s trapped in one of her daydreams.

And then she’s a lot terrified. She’s holding a brush and watching Beatrice floss but what if she’s not. Her breathing gets shallow and she tries to find something to ground herself. This isn’t a dream. She’s back. She’s back. And Beatrice is here and everything is going to be fine. She puts down the brush and tries to put toothpaste on her toothbrush but her hands are shaking and she makes a mess. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She tries to count her breaths but it’s like there isn’t space enough in her chest for the air that she needs. She closes her eyes.

“Ava.” Beatrice is next to her, voice gentle, gentle, gentle in her ear. “Is it okay if I put my hand on your back?”

She nods, keeping her eyes closed, and feels the warmth of Beatrice’s palm low on her back.

“Can you tell me five things that you feel, Ava?”

She nods again.

“Your hand on my back. The counter. It’s..it’s cold under my hands.” She takes a breath, still not deep enough, but less frantic at least. “There’s, um, there’s a string loose on these shorts that keeps brushing my thigh. The socks Cam knit are really cozy. And,” she keeps breathing, opens her eyes, finds Beatrice’s in the mirror waiting for her, “there’s a little bit of toothpaste on the back of my hand.”

“Good. So good, darling. Okay, tell me four things that you see.”

Beatrice walks her through the rest of her senses and by the end, she’s breathing more deeply as she sits on the floor slumped against the cabinet, Beatrice pressed close to her.

“Thanks, Bea.”

Beatrice presses a kiss to her temple. “I love you. Do you want a cup of tea?” A smile overtakes her face and she rests her head on Beatrice’s shoulder with a soft laugh. “I missed you so much. You know that?”

She feels the press of Bea’s lips on the top of her head. “I missed you too.” They rest for a moment and then Ava says, because she needs to say it, “I was serious. I’m doing really fucking fantastic. But, uh, I definitely need to talk to someone, too. This shit’s hard, Bea.”

Beatrice hums into her hair and plays with Ava’s fingers. “I can introduce you to Margaret, if you’d like. She’s the person I’ve been seeing and she’s been…helpful.”

It’s the same way she’d complimented a stew Hans had made and brought to the bar for them to try. “Healthy,” she’d said, trying so hard with a grimace-smile on her face. Ava had turned around and bitten into her thumb to keep from bursting into laughter. Beatrice had swatted at Ava, who was laughing hysterically on their walk home, and said, “It wasn’t a lie. It was healthy. I had to say something, Ava.” Ava had been then, as she is now, totally in love.

“You hate it don’t you?”

“So much, Ava. I hate it so much.”

Ava laughs and lifts her head, turning Beatrice’s head with her hand so that she can kiss her properly.

“It’s good for me, though. I know it is. It’s only been a month or so but I’m already…I am coming to understand and to…to accept myself, and what I want. And, of course, I’m working through some of the,” she hesitates, “violence of my life, in the Order and before. It’s a process.” She says this like it’s something she’s tired of hearing and lifts her eyes to the ceiling. Ava traces a finger down the slope of her nose because she can’t help herself and Beatrice leans further into her before she continues. “It’s difficult, but Margaret understands more than most.” At Ava’s questioning look, she responds, “She used to be part of another order, sort of like the OCS. They dealt with, well, things out of the ordinary.”

“Huh.”   “Yes. And she’s gay.” Ava smiles as Beatrice pauses, fiddles with the hem of her shirt for a moment. “Yasmine recommended her, and Jillian called and offered her a job. She’s working for the OCS now, for the foreseeable future. As it turns out, many of us could benefit from additional attention to mental health.”

Ava tries, unsuccessfully, to hold back a snort. Beatrice pokes her knee. “Don’t be rude.” She kisses the finger that had poked her in penance. Beatrice appears placated.

“I’m scheduled to see her tomorrow. I thought maybe I would cancel, but I could bring you with me, if you’d like? We usually meet just down from my room…the room where I was staying at the temple. Or, if you’d prefer not to go back there, she’s coming to Cat’s Cradle in a week or two, I think, to set up there. It’s just been easier, with enough of the Order coming back and forth during the day, for her to stay close to the temple for the moment. In any case, I’m sure it wouldn’t be an issue for us to go with Camila to the temple tomorrow morning.”

Ava considers, wiggles her toes in the fuzzy purple socks Camila had apparently knit for her while she was gone. “I’d like to meet her, if you’re up for it.”

“Of course.” Ava stretches and pushes up from the floor, offering a hand to Beatrice purely for the contact. Beatrice takes it, Ava assumes, for the same reason, brushing the back of her shorts off and reaching for the floss to tear herself a new piece.

Beatrice finishes and Ava manages to brush her teeth and then they’re in bed, facing each other in the low light from the lamp on Ava’s bedside table. It’s quiet, for a moment, before Beatrice, without any hesitation at all, kisses her, a hand carding through Ava’s hair as she brings herself closer. Ava twines their legs together, and the slide of her smooth skin on these stupidly nice sheets had been baller but the feel of Bea’s skin, the warmth and the texture of the hair on her legs? That shit’s fucking perfect.

She sneaks a hand up the t-shirt Bea is wearing, another Arq-tech loan, and lets it rest just above the swell of her hip. She’s not trying to escalate anything, not right now, but she’s greedy for contact. Beatrice seems to feel the same way, the hand in her hair moving down to slide under her own t-shirt, resting low on her back. She presses a kiss to Ava’s chin, her nose, her forehead. The halo goes fucking wild, humming and lighting up the room. She tamps it down, because it’s late and she wants to do this with her own body and words.

Hooking a leg over Beatrice’s hip, she rolls them and situates herself on top, arms braced at an angle above Bea’s shoulders. Wide, brown eyes stare up at her. It is better than all of her daydreams, the feeling of Bea’s body laid out underneath her. Hands make a tentative home on her waist and Ava nods, whispers, because this is for them, “It’s okay, Bea. Touch me however you want. I want your hands on me.” The flex of fingers and a new sensation, the fabric of her shirt pushed up slightly so that Beatrice can hold her the same way without any barrier. It’s so good, Bea’s hands on her. She bends down to kiss her in approval and then moves to nose into the skin of her neck. Beatrice tilts her head to give Ava more access without a thought, and Ava’s stomach clenches as she lets her lips graze Bea’s pulse point. The shiver that she feels run through Beatrice, the knowledge that she made it happen, it’s almost too much.

“I love you.”

“I love you so much, Ava.”

She drops from her hands to her forearms, rests her weight on Bea’s body and arches slightly as hands move from her waist over her spine, tracing her scar. Ava and the halo gasp, a sharp breath and a pulse of light. This is far from the first time someone has touched her here, but it has never been for this, never felt like this.

The hands hesitate and Ava says, nose tucked under her jaw, “Feels good, Bea. Feels so good.” There’s no more hesitation, then, and Ava whimpers as Beatrice explores, varying pressure in her fingertips, occasionally letting her nails catch on raised skin. Eventually, she moves her hands away and settles them, spread wide, over Ava’s shoulder blades. By this point, Ava’s breathing deeply, caught very pleasantly in the space between entirely relaxed and undeniably turned on. She lets the latter go for the moment because they have time, now, and it’s late, and her partner doesn’t have a magic battery in her back. And even though she wants to touch Beatrice so, so badly, what she’s doing now is in no way a consolation prize. It’s something she’s wanted for a very, very long time.

She presses herself back up and kisses Beatrice, getting lost for a minute before moving to her side. Beatrice looks at her curiously and she kisses her again before asking, “Turn on your side for me, baby?” Beatrice takes another kiss, soft, before complying, and Ava wraps herself around her body as tightly as she can, one arm tucked underneath her neck and the other over her waist. Beatrice tangles their fingers together and brings them to her mouth, presses her lips to Ava’s knuckles before bringing their joined hands to rest over her sternum. It’s quiet, and Ava lives in it, in the way Beatrice’s body fits against hers so perfectly. She presses her mouth to the cloth covering Bea’s shoulder and waits for Beatrice’s breathing to even out, her body relaxed and surrounded by Ava’s, before she lets herself fall asleep.

There are two pains au chocolat waiting in the kitchen next to a little sticky note proclaiming, in Cam’s handwriting, For Ava :) Ava doesn’t cry but she comes very close, biting into one and bopping happily over to the fridge to find orange juice. Beatrice makes herself toast and eggs, smiling indulgently and taking a bite when Ava offers. She doesn’t usually eat sweet things in the morning often because they can upset her stomach, but she does love good coffee, and Ava had been happy to see the reusable mug next to her plate of amazingness with its own little For Bea <3.

Beatrice had texted Camila from bed this morning, Ava lounging unapologetically on top of her, to ask about going to the temple instead of straight to Cat’s Cradle. They’d gotten a thumbs up emoji and about an hour to get themselves ready, and now they were, Beatrice in a fresh version of yesterday’s outfit and Ava in the same sweater, this time with a pair of very utilitarian black cargo pants that she found to be hilarious and fun and which, bonus, left a strip of skin exposed that Beatrice had already run her fingers across several times. Because her girlfriend is constitutionally incapable of being late, they’re waiting for Camila in the foyer five minutes before schedule. Ava is somewhat resentful when Camila herself shows up four minutes late, because she had given up incredibly valuable alone time involving Beatrice’s increasingly confident exploring hands to be here on time.

She hugs Cam and kisses her cheek and says, pouting, “Thank you for the pastries. I love you. And you’re late.”

Camila rolls her eyes. “Good morning to you, too, Ava.” She wraps an arm around Beatrice and says, “Beatrice, I apologize for being late.” Bea grins, the traitor, and dips her head. “Please don’t worry about it, Camila.” Ava crosses her arms and pouts deeper while Cam and her girlfriend basically cuddle and make fun of her.

“You’re both very rude.”

Camila laughs. “Oh, hush. We both know you’re only here on time because your,” she looks between them, eyebrows raised, and Ava and Beatrice supply, at the same time, “Girlfriend.” “Partner.” Camila grins and bounces a little. “Right, yes. Your partner is unfailingly polite and prompt. I have absolutely no doubt that if she were not in charge, you would still be in bed.”

Ava is prepared to take full advantage of that opening when Mother Superion appears and says, “Good morning.” Beatrice shoots eyes at her and Ava rolls her own, miming a lock on her lips. Superion looks between the three of them and then asks Beatrice, because she was not born yesterday, “Is everything alright this morning?”  “Everything is wonderful, Mother. Thank you. Are you joining us?”

Mother Superion smiles and squeezes Beatrice’s shoulder in greeting before moving to do the same to Camila and Ava. “Yes, I thought I would. Are we ready to go?”

There’s a lot less cuddling on the drive than there was yesterday, but she sits close to Bea and they hold hands the entire way and she asks about Dora and Yasmine and the newbies and Ava is happy and at ease. When they reach the temple, they make their way to a set of residential halls that Ava had seen only in schematics. They’re very nice, and they find one that looks like a sitting room, Ava plopping down nearly in Beatrice’s lap in a chair just big enough for the both of them. Beatrice’s arm is securing her immediately, and Ava snuggles in.

“Margaret’s in with someone but she’ll be finished soon.”

Beatrice nods and Ava lets her mind drift as the women around her talk. She’s not sure how much time passes before there’s a knock on the cracked door. The woman who follows is probably Jillian’s age, and she's very handsome. She’s wearing perfectly tailored dark gray pants and a crisp white shirt with a light pink windowpane pattern rolled to her elbows, a smoke gray watch on her wrist and a gold wedding band on her finger. There’s a dark brown belt and matching brogues and her hair is short and neat, and yeah, Ava’s about it. She pops up from her chair and Bea comes immediately after her, settling a hand on the small of her back and walking them forward slightly.

“Beatrice.” The smile she wears is genuine, and when she turns to Ava, her eyes are blue and kind and interested. She reaches out a hand and Ava takes it. “And you must be Ava. I’ve heard so much about you. Welcome home.”

#avatrice #sister beatrice #ava silva #warrior nun #warrior nun fic #sister camila

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bricoshoppetees · 27 days ago

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They Whine I Wine Mom Wine Shirts Wine Shirt Wine Lover Shirt On Sale

Raise a glass to humor and style with the "They Whine I Wine" Shirt, now on sale at Bricoshoppe! This witty and playful shirt is the perfect addition to any wine lover's wardrobe, making it an ideal choice for moms who appreciate a good laugh alongside their favorite glass of wine. Whether you’re hosting a gathering, enjoying a night out, or simply relaxing at home, this shirt lets everyone know how you truly feel!

Crafted from high-quality, soft fabric, the "They Whine I Wine" shirt ensures all-day comfort, allowing you to wear it wherever your wine adventures take you. The relaxed fit makes it easy to style with jeans, shorts, or leggings, giving you a chic and casual look that’s perfect for any occasion.

The eye-catching design features bold, vibrant text that is printed with durable ink, ensuring it stays fresh and bright wash after wash. This shirt isn’t just a fun piece of clothing; it’s a celebration of your love for wine and a humorous reminder to embrace life’s little moments.

Don’t miss your chance to add this delightful shirt to your collection! Shop now at Bricoshoppe and let the world know that when they whine, you wine!

More design at Bricoshoppe

#tshirt #they whine i wine

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fashionveroshop · 1 month ago

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Sophie Anderson Fuck Its a Sunday Shirt

Embrace the laid-back, carefree vibe of the Sophie Anderson “F**k, It’s a Sunday” Shirt by Veroattack. Designed for those who appreciate a little sarcasm and humor, this T-shirt perfectly captures that weekend mood when you realize it’s Sunday and the work week is just around the corner. It’s the ideal piece for anyone who likes to keep it real while staying stylish.

Made from ultra-soft, breathable fabric, this shirt is designed for all-day comfort. Whether you're lounging at home, running weekend errands, or catching up on some much-needed relaxation, this unisex shirt keeps you feeling comfortable and looking effortlessly cool. The bold, fun print adds personality to any outfit, making it a great conversation piece.

Perfect for both men and women, this T-shirt offers a relaxed fit and a versatile style that pairs easily with jeans, leggings, or shorts. The minimalist design and witty message make it ideal for casual outings or as a cozy weekend staple.

Why settle for ordinary when you can make a statement? Get your Sophie Anderson “F**k, It’s a Sunday” Shirt by Veroattack today and express your weekend vibe in style. Limited availability—grab yours before they're gone! Shop now

More Design at Fashionveroshop

#sophie anderson #tshirt

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teeniquedesign · 2 months ago

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Cat T-Shirts: The Purrfect Choice for Every Cat Lover

Cat t-shirts are more than just a piece of clothing; they’re an expression of your love for felines. Whether you’re a proud cat owner or simply an admirer of these majestic creatures, a cat-themed t-shirt is the perfect way to showcase your appreciation. With an endless variety of designs ranging from cute and humorous to artistic and abstract, cat t-shirts have become a wardrobe essential for anyone who wants to add a bit of feline flair to their outfit.

In this guide, we’ll explore the appeal of cat t-shirts, highlight popular designs, and offer tips on selecting the perfect one for your style. Whether you're buying for yourself or looking for a thoughtful gift, cat t-shirts are a stylish, fun, and versatile choice.

Why Are Cat T-Shirts So Popular?

1. A Fun Way to Express Your Personality

Cat t-shirts provide a unique way to showcase your personality. With hundreds of designs available, you can easily find one that reflects who you are. Whether you’re a fan of funny cat puns or prefer artistic representations of cats, there’s a t-shirt out there for every type of cat lover.

2. Comfort Meets Style

One of the main reasons why cat t-shirts are so popular is their versatility and comfort. T-shirts are one of the most comfortable pieces of clothing, and with cat-themed designs, they add a playful touch to your everyday style. From lounging at home to casual outings, these shirts can be paired with jeans, leggings, or even skirts for a cute and relaxed look.

3. A Perfect Gift for Cat Lovers

If you’re looking for a gift that’s both practical and meaningful, a cat t-shirt is an excellent choice. They make great gifts for birthdays, holidays, or even just because. The best part is that with so many styles and designs available, you can find a t-shirt that suits the recipient's taste perfectly. It’s a thoughtful way to show you appreciate their love for cats.

Popular Cat T-Shirt Designs

1. Cute Cat Illustrations

One of the most beloved styles of cat t-shirts features adorable cat illustrations. Whether it’s a sleepy kitten, a cat playing with yarn, or a mischievous feline caught mid-pounce, these designs tug at the heartstrings of every cat lover. Cute cat illustrations are perfect for adding a whimsical touch to your outfit and are especially loved by those who appreciate the softer, more playful side of cats.

2. Funny Cat Quotes and Puns

Cat lovers often share a sense of humor about their feline friends, which is why t-shirts with funny quotes and puns are so popular. Phrases like “I’m Not Single, I Have a Cat” or “Cats Rule, Dogs Drool” capture the playful and independent spirit of cats. These t-shirts are a great way to make people smile and are ideal for casual outings where you want to add a bit of humor to your look.

3. Artistic Cat Prints

For those who prefer a more sophisticated or unique look, artistic cat prints are a fantastic option. These designs often feature abstract or highly detailed representations of cats, sometimes using bold colors or creative patterns. Artistic cat t-shirts allow you to showcase your love for felines in a more subtle and stylish way. Whether you’re wearing it to an art gallery or a casual dinner, these shirts make a fashion statement while celebrating your love for cats.

4. Realistic Cat Photography

Some cat t-shirts feature high-quality photographs of real cats. These designs capture the beauty and majesty of felines, from sleek Siamese cats to fluffy Persians. Realistic cat photography t-shirts are perfect for those who want a more authentic representation of their favorite animal. These shirts often showcase a cat’s intricate details, from its fur texture to its captivating eyes, making them a visually stunning piece of apparel.

How to Choose the Perfect Cat T-Shirt

1. Find a Design That Speaks to You

When shopping for a cat t-shirt, the design is one of the most important factors to consider. Think about what type of design resonates with you. Are you looking for something cute and lighthearted, or do you prefer a more artistic and understated design? The key is to choose a t-shirt that reflects your personality and style, as well as your love for cats.

2. Consider the Material

Comfort is key when it comes to t-shirts, and the material plays a big role in how comfortable your shirt will be. Look for t-shirts made from high-quality cotton or a cotton blend. Cotton is soft, breathable, and durable, making it the ideal fabric for everyday wear. Be sure to check the product description to ensure the shirt will feel as good as it looks.

3. Check the Quality of the Print

The print quality is just as important as the design. A well-made t-shirt should have a vibrant, long-lasting print that doesn’t fade or peel after a few washes. Look for t-shirts that use high-quality printing methods, such as screen printing or direct-to-garment (DTG) printing, which ensure the design stays sharp and colorful.

4. Choose the Right Fit

It’s also essential to find a t-shirt that fits well. Many cat t-shirts come in a variety of fits, from classic cuts to fitted or oversized styles. Make sure to check the sizing guide to find the best fit for your body type and style preference. A t-shirt that fits comfortably not only looks better but also feels better to wear.

Where to Buy Cat T-Shirts

1. Online Stores

The internet is a treasure trove of cat-themed apparel. Major online retailers like Amazon and Etsy offer a wide range of cat t-shirts from various sellers, giving you endless choices. Whether you’re looking for custom designs, artistic prints, or humorous quotes, online shopping provides access to unique and creative t-shirts that you may not find in stores.

2. Specialty Pet Shops

For more specialized and unique cat t-shirts, check out stores that cater specifically to pet lovers. Many independent shops and online stores offer a curated selection of cat-themed merchandise, including t-shirts. These stores often feature designs created by independent artists, ensuring you find something that stands out.

3. Local Boutiques

Don’t forget to visit your local boutiques or clothing stores. Many carry novelty t-shirts, including cat-themed designs, which can be fun to browse in person. Shopping locally also allows you to try on the t-shirt and check the fabric quality firsthand.

Conclusion

Cat t-shirts are more than just a fun fashion trend—they’re a way for cat lovers to showcase their passion for their furry friends. With a wide variety of designs, styles, and colors to choose from, there’s a cat t-shirt for every personality. Whether you’re drawn to cute illustrations, funny quotes, artistic prints, or realistic cat photography, these shirts are the perfect way to add some feline flair to your wardrobe.

When choosing a cat t-shirt, make sure to consider the design, material, print quality, and fit to ensure you get the most comfortable and stylish option. And if you’re shopping for a gift, a cat t-shirt is a thoughtful and fun way to surprise the cat lover in your life.

So, whether you're lounging at home, heading out for a casual day, or looking for a way to express your love for cats, a cat t-shirt is the perfect choice. It’s comfortable, versatile, and a great way to show off your purr-sonality!

#sweatshirt #teeniquedesign #tshirts

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bestshirtcanbuy · 7 months ago

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You Cant Not Fix Stupid Funny Cleveland Browns T-Shirt

The Cleveland Browns are a professional American football team that has gained quite a reputation over the years. While they have had their fair share of ups and downs, their loyal fans never fail to show their support. As with any sports team, there's always room for some light-hearted humor, and that's where the "You Can't Not Fix Stupid" funny Cleveland Browns T-Shirt comes into play. This amusing and humorous T-Shirt is designed for both men and women, making it a perfect gift for every Browns fan out there. The shirt is made from high-quality materials, ensuring durability and comfort. Its simple yet eye-catching design features the iconic Cleveland Browns helmet logo alongside the text "You Can't Not Fix Stupid" in bold, vibrant colors. This combination, coupled with the team's colors, creates an attractive and amusing visual appeal. The phrase "You Can't Not Fix Stupid" is a comical twist on the popular saying "You can't fix stupid." It's a playful jab at the highs and lows that the Cleveland Browns have experienced throughout their history. It's a lighthearted way for fans to acknowledge the team's challenges while still showing their unwavering support and love for the Browns. The T-Shirt is suitable for all occasions, whether you're attending a game, watching from home, or simply showing off your team pride. It's a versatile piece of clothing that can be paired with jeans, shorts, or even leggings, providing fans with a fashionable and comfortable way to support their favorite team. What makes this T-Shirt truly special is its universality. It makes a great gift for anyone who loves the Cleveland Browns, regardless of their gender or age. Whether you're shopping for a die-hard fan, a casual supporter, or even someone who enjoys the occasional sports joke, this T-Shirt will surely put a smile on their face. In addition to being a humorous fashion statement, this T-Shirt also serves as a conversation starter. It allows fans to connect with others who share their passion for the Cleveland Browns, sparking engaging discussions and camaraderie amongst fellow supporters. Ultimately, the "You Can't Not Fix Stupid" funny Cleveland Browns T-Shirt is a fantastic way to showcase your love for the team while injecting a bit of humor into the mix. It's a versatile and timeless piece of clothing that will surely bring joy to any Browns fan lucky enough to receive it as a gift. So why not embrace your sense of humor and show off your team pride with this hilarious and stylish T-Shirt?

Get it here : You Can’t Not Fix Stupid Funny Cleveland Browns T-Shirt

Home Page : tshirtslowprice.com

Related : https://bestshirtcanbuy.tumblr.com/post/719016030627938304/volleyball-mom-crocs-classic-gift-mommy

#ClevelandBrowns

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caramellecreative · 1 year ago

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My Etsy Shop

Introducing my “Thick and Tired” T-Shirt!

Description:

My “Thick and Tired” t-shirt is designed to let you enjoy the best of both worlds, offering a soft, relaxed fit with a dash of humor. Crafted with the utmost attention to quality, this tee is your go-to for expressing your unique style while staying comfy all day.

Key Features:

• Premium Comfort: Made from ultra-soft, breathable fabric for an effortless, cozy feel.

• Clever Design: “Thick and Tired” isn’t just a phrase; it’s a lifestyle statement that resonates.

• Versatile Wear: Pair it with jeans, shorts, or leggings for a trendy and laid-back look.

• Ideal Gift: Whether for yourself or a loved one, this t-shirt combines humor and style perfectly.

Get ready to make a bold fashion statement while celebrating your “Thick and Tired” vibes. Available in various sizes and colors, this t-shirt is the perfect addition to your wardrobe. Don’t miss out on the chance to upgrade your style with this essential piece!

The unisex soft-style t-shirt puts a new spin on casual comfort. Made from very soft materials, this tee is 100% cotton for solid colors. Heather colors and sports grey include polyester. The shoulders have twill tape for improved durability. There are no side seams. The collar is made with ribbed knitting to prevent curling damage.

.: Made with 100% ring-spun cotton, a lightweight fabric (4.5 oz/yd² (153 g/m²)), this unisex t-shirt feels like a bliss to wear all year round.

.: The classic fit with the crew neckline deliver a clean, versatile style that can match any occasion, whether it's formal or semi-formal.

.: All shirts feature a pearlized, tear-away label for total wearing comfort.

.: Made using ethically grown and harvested US cotton. Gildan is also a proud member of the US Cotton Trust Protocol ensuring ethical and sustainable means of production. This blank tee is certified by Oeko-Tex for safety and quality assurance.

.: Fabric blends: Heather colors - 35% ring-spun cotton, 65% polyester; Sport Grey - 90% cotton, 10% polyester.

.: Without side seams

.: Knit in one piece using tubular knit, it reduces fabric waste and makes the garment more attractive

.: Ribbed knit makes the collar highly elastic and helps retain its shape

.: Shoulder tape- Twill tape covers the shoulder seams to stabilize the back of the garment and prevent stretching

.: Fabric- Made from specially spun fibers that make very durable and smooth fabric that is perfect for printing. The "Natural" color is made with unprocessed cotton, which results in small black flecks throughout the fabric.

https://caramellecreativellc.etsy.com/listing/1592531746

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pawableltd · 1 year ago

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Pet-Lovers' Paradise: Buy Pet-Themed Mugs to Celebrate Your Furry Friends

For pet owners, there's nothing quite like the joy and companionship that our beloved furry friends bring to our lives. Whether you're a proud cat person, a doting dog lover, or a devoted fan of any other four-legged companion, celebrating your pet's presence is a must! One delightful way to do so is by owning pet-themed mugs that bring a smile to your face every time you enjoy your favorite beverage. In this article, we'll explore the charm and variety of pet-themed mugs available, from humorous designs to heartwarming tributes. So, grab your coffee, tea, or hot cocoa, and let's embark on a journey to find the perfect mugs to honor your cherished pets.

Express Your Pet's Personality Pet-themed mugs come in an array of designs that showcase the unique personalities of different pets. Whether you have a sassy Siamese cat or a playful Golden Retriever, there's a mug that perfectly captures their essence. From comical caricatures to artistic illustrations, these mugs let you proudly display your pet's one-of-a-kind personality.

A Daily Reminder of Love Start your day with a warm cup of coffee and a loving reminder of your pet's unconditional love. Pet-themed mugs with heartwarming messages like "My Dog is My Heart" or "Cat Mom/Dad" make for a heart-touching addition to your morning routine. These mugs not only lift your spirits but also celebrate the bond you share with your furry companion.

Personalized Pet Mugs Take the celebration of your pet's presence to the next level with personalized pet mugs. Many online retailers offer the option to customize mugs with your pet's name and even their adorable picture. It's a fantastic way to immortalize your furry friend's cuteness and create a treasured keepsake.

Humorous Pet-Themed Mugs Inject some laughter into your daily routine with humorous pet-themed mugs. These mugs feature witty quotes and funny illustrations that are sure to tickle your funny bone. From phrases like "I work hard so my dog can have a better life" to "Crazy Cat Lady," these mugs show that pet ownership can be both endearing and entertaining.

Pet Puns and Wordplay If you love wordplay, there are plenty of pet-themed mugs that will leave you giggling. Puns like "Pug Life" or "Whiskers and Wine" combine clever wordplay with your affection for your pet, creating a delightful addition to your mug collection.

Celebrating Special Occasions Pet-themed mugs also make fantastic gifts for special occasions. Whether it's a birthday, Gotcha Day, or a holiday celebration, these mugs add a personal touch to the gifting experience. Consider a mug that says "World's Best Dog Mom/Dad" or "Happy Meow-lloween" to make your loved ones' special moments even more memorable.

Pet-Themed Mug Sets Why settle for just one pet-themed mug when you can have a whole set? Many retailers offer collections of mugs featuring different pet breeds, allowing you to showcase your love for various animals. You can choose a set of mugs with different cat breeds, dog breeds, or even a mix of both!

Eco-Friendly and Sustainable Options For environmentally-conscious pet lovers, there are eco-friendly and sustainable pet-themed mugs available. Look for mugs made from biodegradable materials or recycled materials to reduce your ecological footprint while enjoying your favorite drink.

Supporting Animal Welfare Causes Some pet-themed mugs are affiliated with animal welfare organizations, and a portion of the proceeds from each sale goes to support animal shelters and rescue groups. By purchasing these mugs, you not only celebrate your pet but also contribute to the well-being of other animals in need.

For More Info:-

Buy pet-themed mugs online UK

Budget-friendly dog t-shirts UK

Buy Embroidered Dog Hoodies USA

shop unisex short sleeve tee for dogs

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justsometypesofpeopleposts · 2 years ago

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Changelingcore: hastily picked wildflowers in empty glass bottles, accepting what makes you different, knowing what to say but not knowing how to say it, collection of strange trinkets and trivial objects, doodling on your skin and clothes, busy hands and legs, stimming, complex sense of humor, having a hard time letting go, mystery bruises and scrapes, corduroy trousers, stuffed pockets

Suburban Gothic: budget popsicles and ice cream trucks, late night convenience store visits, silent trauma, the chime of an old clock, gaudy wallpaper, gossamer curtains blowing softly with the breeze through open windows, cotton sheets, dogs barking in the distance, drinking a milkshake in an empty diner, drug stores, broken windows and acts of vandalism, vending machines, water fountains, walking on abandoned train tracks, walking around a semi-abandoned mall, running down the street holding hands with someone familiar, varsity jackets

Cuddle Party: running through an empty field hollering and whooping in the dead of night, neon signs, drinking cheap alcohol, drunken “I love you"s, watching old cartoons together, road snacks and singing out loud in the car, finding new places to explore, sweatpants and joggers, dirty tennis shoes and high tops, stick and poke tattoos, tacky matching tie dyed shirts, county fairs and arcade visits, eating fair food, trying to earn as many tickets at the arcade and still winning cheap prizes, adult sleepovers, eating junk food and takeout, being the last one to fall asleep, casually sleeping all together in the same bed, holding hands in crowds

Cryptid Academia: exploring abandoned buildings (legally and illegally), always keeping a pocket knife on you, wanting a typewriter, tearing yet another hole into your clothes climbing over fences, chunky sweaters, sarcasm and icon t-shirts, cargo pants and trousers, hoodies with long sleeves, scuffed up boots and shoes, backpacks with keychains and pins, novelty socks, analog watches, mending your clothes (again), dragging your friends into what you’re up to, thrift shopping

Desertwave: aloe vera plants on the kitchen windowsill, cacti in the backyard, making leather friendship bracelets, corner stores

Tag Yourself as Aesthetics I resonate with

Changelingcore: Broken or misshapen wings on insects, hastily picked wildflowers in empty glass bottles, catching tadpoles and salamanders in the creek, pretending to have a tail and wings, making up vast and complex stories for no one, accepting what makes you different, knowing what to say but not knowing how to say it, the lingering mist in the air after it rains, playing pretend in the woods, wet shoes from running through the grass, searching for fairies, heavy coats and transparent rain ponchos, the feeling of moss and bark under your fingertips, collection of strange trinkets and trivial objects, not being afraid of what people normally fear, being a fan of the unusual, taking your stuffed animals on adventures with you, doodling on your skin and clothes, busy hands and legs, clunky rainboots and muck boots, wading knee deep into a dark lake and screaming into the air to ease frustration, cloud gazing while lying in a beached rowboat, organizing and reorganizing your treasures, reading books with complicated words, arts and crafts, stimming, getting lost in your fantasy world, bird calls and animal howls, being alone but not feeling lonely, digging in the mud with your bare hands, dying your hair dark green to match the trees, being an animal person rather than a people person, complex sense of humor, having a hard time letting go, chewing on your lip or tongue till they bleed, mystery bruises and scrapes, neon colored bandaids, turning abandoned deer blinds into safe spaces, corduroy overalls and trousers, stuffed pockets, the urge to live in the woods and never return to regular society, ruffled and knotted hair from the wind, making your own paint out of flowers and plants, changing your name every time you enter the woods to feel like a new person, building shrines to the forest, flower blossoms in your hair

Suburban Gothic: Summer evening heat sticking to your skin, the buzz of florescent lights, flickering street lights, budget popsicles and ice cream trucks, riding your bike with friends, late night convenience store visits, lingering family drama, muffled arguments, dusty attic sanctuaries, silent trauma, the chime of an old clock, guady wallpaper, gossamer curtains blowing softly with the breeze through open windows, cotton sheets and homemade quilts, quiet naps, broken umbrellas, dogs barking in the distance, drinking a milkshake in an empty diner, deep thick fog that creeps in without warning, communing with the spirits of the night, drug stores, broken windows and acts of vandalism, sandlots, vending machines, water fountains, walking on abandoned train tracks, watching your clothes spin in the laundromat, playing on the playground you haven't been to since you were twelve, trees and buildings silhouetted by unusual colored lights, walking around a semi-abandoned mall, hearing the roar of traffic and train horns in the distance, driving around at night while soft music plays on the radio, watching movies on an old tv, junk yards and pick-n-pulls, running down the street holding hands with someone familiar, urban legends, varsity jackets, trying to befriend stray animals, broken glass crunching beneath your shoes, rusty bridges, local television channels

Cuddle Party: Excited giggles and hushed whispers, condensation on drinkware, running through an empty field hollering and whooping in the dead of night, neon signs, drinking cheap alcohol, smoking or vaping on the porch in rocking chairs, irresponsible amount of glowsticks, drunken "I love you"s, watching old cartoons and classic disney movies together, five dollar pizza and breadsticks, road trips, road snacks and singing out loud in the car, hair braiding, finding new places to explore, sweatpants and joggers, dirty tennis shoes and high tops, letting your friends dye your hair or pierce your ears, stick and poke tattoos, tacky matching tye dyed shirts, county fairs and arcade visits, eating fair food and screaming your lungs out on rides, trying to earn as many tickets at the arcade and still winning cheap prizes, adult sleepovers, eating junk food and takeout, being the last one to fall asleep, casually sleeping all together in the same bed, holding hands in crowds, if one of us isn't having a good time none of us are, wondering how long these days will last

Cryptid Academia: Listening to long video essays while sketching cryptids, exploring abandoned buildings (legally and illegally), always keeping a pocket knife on you, dusty bookshelves and candlelit desk, blackout curtains, composite notebook stuffed with drawings and newspaper clippings, viewing the night sky through a telescope looking for aliens, visiting natural history or science museums, wanting a typewriter, info dumping conspiracy theories on friends, making plans to investigate that never come to fruition, tearing yet another hole into your clothes climbing over fences, chunky sweaters and turtlenecks, sarcasm and icon t-shirts, cargo pants and trousers, hoodies with long sleeves, shoddily patched up denim jackets with iron on patches, scuffed up boots and shoes, backpacks with keychains and pins, novelty socks, analog watches, scarves that billow in the breeze, binge watching The Twilight Zone and Buzzfeed Unsolved, cryptid podcasts, sprint training so you can outrun whatever is chasing you, constantly challenging your friends to games of wit, making your own journals, mending your clothes (again), whittling sticks when you're bored, dragging your friends into what you're up to, thrift shopping, all of your class essays are on cryptids and your professors want you to stop

Desertwave: Lizards, billowing winds, sandstorms, succulents in homemade pots, aloe vera plants on the kitchen windowsill, the full moon and the milky way on a clear night, the distant howl of a coyote, faded winnebagos, the steady lull of an RV driving to its next location, outdoor concerts, the soft hiss of misters, gazebos, campsites, large rock formations covered in graffiti, picking up trash, collecting smooth rocks, spanglish, distant sounds of house parties and laughter, earthen homes, iron fences with intricate designs, fire pits, the crackle of a bonfire, cacti and joshua trees in the backyard, making leather friendship bracelets, never getting the sand completely out of your shoes, curling up with a tiger cobija at night, trailer parks, a passing car with the spanish radio full blast, knit ponchos, dusty shorts, hiking boots with colorful laces, damp bandana around your neck, laying in a hammock watching the stars, corner stores, water balloon and gun fights, hot springs, mexican ice cream bars

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joomma · 2 years ago

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Impractical Jokers Caricature shirt

My grandfather was fond of Impractical Jokers Caricature shirt. When diabetes affected his legs and made him immobile, he continued to whistle. When glaucoma affected his eyes and he lost his eyesight, he continued to whistle. As someone in her early 20s, I found my granddad’s immense pleasure from life overwhelming and infectious. Here was a person who was losing all his senses, yet was gracious enough to utilize and maximize his happiness from the senses he still retained. Try whistling. It improves your lung capacity and will send more oxygen into your bloodstream, making you feel better instantly.Try cooking. I hear it is quite therapeutic when used to counter depression. Try duck meat (if you eat non-veg). If you have trouble sleeping, I read that tryptophan (an amino acid in duck meat) puts you to sleep instantly. Alternatives: try honey with milk before sleeping.

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grannyandgrandpascreations · 2 years ago

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She Is Clothed In Leggings and Oversized Shirts And Eats Without Fear Of The Future Probably Me 24:7 T-Shirt.

Shop this custom, funny, comfortable, causal “She Is Clothed In Leggings and Oversized Shirts And Eats Without Fear Of The Future Probably Me 24:7" T-Shirt. Perfect shirt to wear for your upcoming holidays! This t-shirt will become one of your favorites quickly!

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All items are created or designed by Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations. We also print and heat press our items using our professional, commercial grade heat press! Each design is made with High Quality, Heat Transfer Vinyl.

After a package leaves my hands with the post office, Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations is not held responsible. Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!

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Care instructions: Turn item inside out, machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Tumble dry low.

Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

Thank you so much for supporting our "small Granny & Grandpa's Shop", we truly appreciate YOU!

Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com/shop to view more of our creations!

LET’S GET SOCIAL & BE FRIENDS! Like, Tag & Follow us for Our new Creations, Inspiration & Giveaways!

website/ www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com/shop

facebook.com/ https://www.facebook.com/GrandpaHandmadecreations/

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himbocoups · 2 years ago

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˗ˋˏ YUCK! ˎˊ˗ | 18+ Only (Part Two)

synopsis: how can you remain friends with benefits with someone who turns his plushies around during sex, pouts when you don't kiss him goodbye, and spends his time occupying your mind when all you want is for him to leave you alone?

pairing: lsm x yn (gn afab)

genre: fluff, humor, romance | m, smut

tags: alcohol/food - reader also briefly blacks out, costume party, cursing, domesticity, fwb, sexual innuendos, showering together, yn un-alives a spider, university au | cowgirl, cunnilingus, dirty talk, fingering, handjob, hickies, love making, pet names, pnv, praise

wc: 11.5k

a/n: hi this is part 2/2 of yuck! thank you all so much for waiting. I honestly had so much fun writing this, and I hope you have fun reading. lmk if I missed any tags in part one or two. comments and reblogs are super appreciated!! pls pee after sex so you don't get an uti ♡ -nu

yuck! - part one

lipglossjun's masterlist

He came to your door unannounced, knocking loudly on your front door and causing you to jump in your seat. Three sharp knocks against the door using his middle knuckles and then a few friendly taps because he realizes he's standing in front of your door and not his resident’s door. The sound echoes loudly inside your lonely apartment but isn’t loud enough to alarm your neighbors because he purposely leans his side against the door to diffuse the sound and vibrations. You can’t blame him for his habit - he’s used to knocking on so many doors in one night that the freezer part of his mini fridge is stocked with frozen sponges in plastic baggies so he can ice his swollen knuckles at night. You don’t even have to look through your peeping hole to know it’s him, but it’s weird because you know he should be on-call today. Still, the knocks are enough to scare you into thinking you’re still dorming in the universities.

He tells you he has an employee banquet a few days before the break and was worried that his makeup might smudge on his suit. He also brought your go-to drink order from the tea shop across campus, punching in your specific add-ons and adjustments into the kiosk before even deciding what new seasonal drink he wanted to try. You had no choice but to begrudgingly take your drink from him while you shuffled to the side of your door so he could come into your apartment.

"I thought you already knew how to do this.”

You see him hold up your hand mirror to his neck to look at the small bruise you left on the side of his neck a few nights ago. He sits cross-legged on your apartment living room carpeted floor while you sit on the ottoman next to him.

“Only for an everyday base routine for my face,” he frowns while softly poking his bruise. “But my neck makeup keeps smudging and I don’t know how to stop it from getting on my clothes,” he admits while he lowers the neckline of his t-shirt, thinking about the stains he left on his shirt collars.

You uncap the bottle you’re holding and spray the cool setting spray on his bruise. He fans the wet product with his hand while you dig through his toiletry bag for his color-correcting palette. You dip his tiny makeup brush into the palette and bring the product-coated brush to paint over his bruise.

“If you want me to stop marking you, you can just tell me,” you suggest to him while brushing another thin layer. You tap your pointer finger lightly around the harsh edges, blending the colors into his skin. An intrusive thought tells you to poke your finger deep into his skin, but you decide not to.

He ooo’s at how you’re blending the product, angling the mirror so he can better see how you’re working.

“But I like them,” he says while you spritz another light layer of setting spray. “They remind me of you,” he softly confesses while you blow on his skin. He finds himself angling the mirror again so that the mirror now focuses on your face.

He giggles at the tingling sensation of your warm breath against the cold product, and he smiles to himself when he sees your concentrated expression through the reflection in the mirror – how you purse your lips and how your eyebrows furrow together. If he weren’t an RA, he would proudly wear his love bites as a badge for everybody around him to see. He wants people to tease him whenever they see the bruise poking out of his hoodie when his hood is down. It’s not to let people know he’s getting it on. That’s just not who he is.

But there is that part of him that wants others to know you’re his. He’s tired of soft launching you on his Instagram. That’s what people do when they want others to know they’re talking to somebody. But you’re just his friend. He’s completely fine with showing you off, but he respects your privacy, knowing how much you hate having your picture taken. It’s also not like his closest friends don’t know about his relationship with you, but if it makes you happy, he’ll take it. He likes what the two of you have. And after all, he doesn't care about the pictures. It’s the person whose plate is almost always pictured across from his, the hand holding the ice cream cone, the second shadow under the street light who he cares for.

The bruises feel sore, but he loves how you automatically coddle him afterward, especially after a heated session. You always have that worried look on your face, your lips pouty and frowny. He remembers the number of ridges between your brows when you ask him how he’s feeling. He always tells you that he feels fine, great even, but you always sigh with a defeated look on your face. You’ll walk to the fridge in nothing but one of his old t-shirts and grab him a cold metal spoon. He doesn’t know if the cold spoon hack works, but he lets you do it anyway. He’ll let you do anything if it means he gets to spend more time with you no matter how prickly you may seem on the outside.

Now, he’s spending more time with you on a lazy Tuesday night. He’s done for the day and doesn’t have any RA duties at night because the university recently handed on-call duties for the campus security to handle. On the other hand, you didn’t have anything scheduled for today and spent the entire day indoors. You’re still in your pajamas – a free shirt from a past school event and old running shorts that you never wore while exercising. There are leftover food delivery containers in your fridge from dinner. You tell him the importance of investing in a tinted sunscreen while pushing up your wired glasses. It’s ironic because he knows you haven’t washed your face today or applied any form of sun protection at all. The closer you lean into him to be sure he understands, the redder his cheeks flush. He hopes his mineral powder is enough to diffuse the blush or at least make it seem like it’s the redness from his acne.

Feeling a little hot, he reaches over to grab his fruit slushie-turned-juice from the coffee table and brings it to his lips. He sucks the concoction through the metal straw, letting the cool liquid settle in his mouth so he can savor it before swallowing. You notice the condensation dripping down his arms before he does, and you wipe it away with the edge of your t-shirt without any thought. Your drink is already long gone, finished within minutes after poking your straw through the flimsy plastic lid, washed and disposed of in your recycling bin. He wonders if the taste of his drink would linger on your tongue if he kisses you. And he wonders how the tangy sourness of his drink would contrast or balance the extra amount of sweetness in your tea.

But you’re done concealing the bruise, already sealed it off with the last layer of setting spray. Satisfied with your job, you plop yourself on the other side of the couch and grab the book you put face-down on the table when DK arrived at your front door. You tuck your legs under you and use the armrest as your elbow support as you resume your novel. DK types the makeup steps into his notes app and quickly cleans up his products, looking for something to do.

DK snakes his head between the open gap between your stomach and your book, putting his head on your chest. You pay him no mind, flipping another page while he thinks of a conversation starter. He relaxes into the feeling of your chest rising and dropping and the steady thumping of your heartbeat pulsing under his ear. He asks you what your novel is about while twiddling with the hem of your shirt, noticing it’s still a bit damp from before.

“Smut,” you nonchalantly answer him. You didn’t know much about the novel, but you borrowed it from your friend who kept raving about it while you visited her the other day. She claimed it was better than sex, but honestly, all you’ve been reading so far are overly detailed descriptions of scenery while the main character stares out of the parked car window.

“But you have me,” he teases you. He lets go of your shirt to poke you on your cheek between each word, “You. Have. Me.”

You swat his hand away from your face and subsequently decide to place your novel on his head to use as a stand. He huffs underneath the book, and you snicker at him, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. You think it’s cute whenever he’s being annoying, throwing tiny tantrums whenever he doesn’t have enough attention. You catch yourself lingering on the thought of what his neediness would be like if the two of you were together.

“I’m too lazy,” you flip another page after letting the thought dissipate. “You’re on your own unless you can find another way to do it.”

He huffs and lifts the novel from his forehead to sit up. He turns to you and untucks your legs from beneath you.

“Continue reading your book. Let me eat you out while you rest,” he tells you while pulling your legs with ease so only your upper back and head is leaning against the couch’s armrest. He rests your legs on each side of him.

“Go ahead, but wouldn’t that be a little boring for you?” you ask him while your eyes are still trained on your novel. Even though you spend a lot of time thinking about him manhandling you, his persona easily makes you forget about just how strong he is.

He grabs a cushion from the middle of the couch and tucks it behind your neck. He asks you if you’re comfortable. You give him a thumbs-up, and he gently pecks your thumb before moving your hand back to your book so you can properly hold your book. His little touches and kisses aren’t new to you, but you think it’d be a shame if his kiss transferred onto your pages instead of keeping it to yourself. You choose to hover your thumb above the pages, choosing to use your hand’s round fleshy thenar to hold the pages.

You lift your hips upwards so he can easily remove your bottoms. He tugs them off you as if he has all the time in the world, folding your shorts and undies and setting them on the coffee table like they’re part of the decoration.

“I don’t think I’d be bored,” he kneels himself in front of you and lowers himself so he’s flat against the couch. He gently lifts your shirt higher so it’s past your belly button and proceeds to hook your legs over his shoulders. “Read to me? Out loud?” he asks you while massaging the outside of your thighs.

You lift your book, looking at him quizzically. However, when you see the tiny fading red mark on his forehead from when you used him as a stand, you can’t help but agree to his request. He lowers his head to your core and quickly taps your thighs twice to tell you to read.

“Now, a black flashy standard motorcycle with matching black chrome wheels pulls into the driveway of the auto shop where your car is currently getting its engine replaced. The steady hum of the engine is enough to have every single mechanic in the vicinity turn their –,” you were doing pretty well at reading until DK, without warning, puts his warm tongue flat against your clit, licking upwards until it reaches your nub. “Ah – h-heads to stare at the bike,” you stumble with the last phrase.

He lets his spit drop at the top of your clit, watching it glide downwards along your ridges before catching it with his tongue like a little game of Plinko. He feels you tense under his tongue, causing him to hum in delight. He mumbles something about you doing good before attaching his tongue to you again.

“One of them whistles when the motorcyclist comes to a full stop in front of the open auto shop garages,” you try to ignore the fact that he’s gently blowing wind to tease you, to hear you stumble across your words. There is no way you are going to cave right when you started reading out loud, so you bite your lip when you feel his soft and open lips close around your labia. But you can’t ignore him no matter how hard you try.

He kisses you deeply, full-mouthed while his large hands lock around your thighs. Painstakingly slowly, he buries his face deeper into your cunt.

“Eungh- O-one of them whistles when the mo- oh,” you moan while your mouth hangs open when he circles the tip of his tongue around your clitoris. You move your novel away to look at DK whose entire face is gone. You can only see his bushy black hair.

He continues to circle his tongue around you while your breathing gets shallower. You feel your arousal building, causing your thighs to close around his head. He looks up at you looking back at him with a lustful expression. He sucks softly on your clitoral hood and pries your thighs open with his hands. He only winks, letting go of your skin through his lips before going back to eating your cunt.

“…motorcyclist can loudly rev his engine,” you manage to finish the paragraph with a little sigh of relief.

“Mmmh. Good job, baby,” he groans, praising you against your cunt.

He kisses the inside of your right thigh while moving your left leg off his right shoulder.

You find yourself frowning just a little bit when you think he’s finished, but truthfully, he’s only moving your leg off the couch so he can finger you while eating you out. He puts his right hand on your stomach and uses his thumb to rub your nub.

“I’ll reward you if you keep reading okay?”

He kisses your stomach and moves your shirt down so you wouldn’t shiver from being cold. If only he knew why you were shivering.

“‘Couldn’t you have driven here?’ you frown at your older brother w- ah- fuck. Fuck,” you jerk in your seat when DK inserts a finger in your cunt. You can feel him smile against you as he drags his tongue against your folds while his finger dips in and out of you knowing exactly how to drag a string of moans from your mouth, to make your legs tremble and shake.

All this, and you’re only half a page into reading out loud.

“…while he reaches between his legs to pass you his extra motorcycle helmet as you approach him,” you read while trying to ignore the fact that you’re gripping your borrowed novel with so much force that you probably bent the matte paperback cover. “He shrugs and passes you the helmet which you – mmm fuck just like that – begrudgingly fit over your head.”

You’re clenched tightly around his two fingers as he curls them in you while sloppily giving you head. You hear exactly how wet you are, how his fingers squelch every time he reinserts them in you, how his coated lips smack against your glistening pussy – devouring you as his life depended on it. You can feel your juices pool around your ass as he uses his left arm to hold you down whenever you lurch upwards. He moans profanities against you, but never at you. When he raises his head to take a break, he makes sure his fingers never stop moving. He always brings you to your high, and you feel so safe with him.

And he tells you you’re sweet. He always does.

Sometimes you’re sweet because he compliments you for doing something for him. He calls you sweet when you’re frowning about somebody criticizing your RBF. You like it when he calls you sweet when he calls you Sweetie. You like it when he says it with flair. You like it when he says it when you show him your project. You like it whenever he says it when you make him take a sip of any of your sugary drinks – the way his face contorts in total disgust, but he still manages to do so with a smile on his face.

He never called you my sweet, but god damn do you wish you could experience what it would feel like for him to call you his. But tonight he describes your flavor as sweet as you like your teas. He can’t stop praising you for how sweet you are, how you’re like dessert on his tongue. And you can’t get him out of your head.

“He leans forward and clicks open the motorcycle’s rear footrests with the back of his boot,” your face scrunches, but you continue. “When he is done, he looks back at you struggling – eungh Kyeom,” you struggle.

He only grips your thigh tighter as he alternates between fingering you and pausing so he can kiss your cunt like he’s kissing you during sex. He flattens his tongue against you and twists it so he can tease your hole. You’re whining and speeding through the last few words of the sentence, desperate to have him in you.

“Whoa. Whoa,” he temporarily detaches himself from you to grab onto your forearm as he raises himself above you. His lips glisten from the wetness, and the color of his flushed face compliment the color of his sore lips. “Slow down baby,” he tells you and kisses your cheek, “Wanna hear your pretty voice, okay? Just read and relax.” He strokes your hair and brushes away the strands covering your eyes, “I’m not going anywhere.”

But you don’t relax. How can you relax when he grips your hips, fingers dipping into your pelvic bone as he shoves his nose against your clitoris, sticking his tongue into your cunt? He bobs his head while he tongue-fucks you, nudging your nub and making your pussy throb even when he briefly comes up for air.

Your vision blurs as he continues to build your high, ignoring you as you continue to call out his name. The words on the page are replaced by stars when you tell him you can’t take it anymore. Heart racing and muscles tightening, you cum while his tongue is in you. And he laps you up as you convulse around him, back arching as you continue to come. He drinks what’s left of you like he’s drinking ice cold water at midnight – you’re insatiable. You moan his name into your book once more, hiccupping as he brings your left leg back on the couch.

“Yn,” he whispers as he removes your book from your face. He puts it on the coffee table without breaking eye contact with you. “What did you call me?”

You don’t hear him as you’re still struggling to catch your breath. Your pussy is still pulsing without pause. Everything is hazy, but you can see him reaching over for something in his cosmetics bag. You close your eyes, still undeniably horny and wanting more.

There is a little bit of shuffling and then the sound of a few light things dropping on the floor. He reaches under you and scoops you up as if you weigh nothing. You briefly remember him telling you about hitting a new PR where he could lift someone a little over his weight. But he brings you to your bed, only switching on your nightstand lamp.

He sits on the side of your bed while he strokes your cheek.

“Yn,” he whispers again while leaning closer to you. “Do you remember what you called me?”

You blink twice at him before slowly realizing. Your lips part in realization, and he only smiles at you.

He opens your nightstand drawer and pulls out a condom and your bottle of lube. Your fingers automatically fly to cover your lips in horror, but he only chuckles at your expression while he positions himself between your legs and leans over you. He coats his wrapped dick in the lube and rubs the remaining gel around your vulva. You whimper at the coldness, and he wipes the remaining bits on his thighs.

He leans over you again and rests his elbows on the sides of your face. He asks you again, gently, if you remember what name you called him.

You nod your head, breath hitching as you stare at him. It’s unfair, you think, to look as pretty as he is under the ugly yellow light your lamp emits. But he looks at you with so much care in the world, and you feel thankful that you’re spending your Tuesday night with him. You thank his lame excuse for intruding on your time for yourself. You thank him for spending time with you, for looking after you, even if he isn’t yours at that moment.

He aligns himself at your entrance while waiting for your answer.

You whisper it almost inaudibly, barely believing yourself as you let the word leave your mouth.

“Say it again,” he instructs you.

“Seokmin.”

You’re not sure if the two of you should have come up with one of those contracts you always read about in books when you first started the relationship. Maybe you should’ve learned from Lara Jean – a binding relationship contract written on notebook paper and signed in pen. There would be a couple of items on the list, a few weird ones, and then a majority of the items being standard ones. Standard item number one? No kissing. Standard item number two? No staying over after sex (sub-line: No cuddling). Standard item number three? No meeting unless it’s for sex. Maybe a weird item would be the option to try pegging. However, the last item on the list? No developing feelings for the other party.

If rules are made to be broken, but contracts signed by people older than eighteen are legally binding, then you would’ve been in jail by now.

His lips are locked against yours, groaning your name as he wraps your legs around his waist. He nibbles along your jaw as he makes love to you, slowly pushing deep inside you so you can feel his balls lay flush against your ass, feeling all of him in you. You call his name through a choked sob, your hands roaming around to find something to grab. Anything.

Your fingers find the back of his head, and you pull on his hair. And he flips like a switch, immediately pounding into you over and over again, praising you and calling you his.

Tonight, the rules have definitely been broken. And you’re starting to realize this isn’t the first offense.

“Okay so, I didn’t want to take it off because I wanted to see if my makeup would smudge, but I did it because I knew I was going to get hot.”

“Omg he wanted to keep his shirt on. He’s so quirky!”

“Stoppp,” he laughs while he passes the showerhead to you. “I can’t believe you’re the only person who tried to tell me a joke during sex.”

“It’s because I’m the only person you’ve ever had sex with,” you stick your tongue out at him while you rinse the body wash you previously bought with DK off your body.

“You too,” he retorts while turning around so you can rinse the soap off his body for him.

He grabs your shampoo from your hanging wire basket and plops a dollop into his hand. He tells you to look up while he lathers it in his hand before he brings his hands to massage your scalp. His fingers feel amazing while he massages you, so you close your eyes in the process, hoping to keep the shampoo out of your eyes.

He thinks you look like one of those dogs from the pictures you find online where the owner sticks a metal head massager on their heads. Your eyes are closed in contentment, and there’s a lazy smile on his face that he only gets to see so often. He can’t help himself but sneak a little kiss on your lips while he piles your hair into a mountain so that you look like that one guy from the first Incredibles movie.

You open your eyes to look at him, but you see that he’s purposely looking away, pretending to be interested in something else. You try to follow his eyes, but your eyes land on something dark crawling down the wall above DK’s head.

Being you, you blatantly point out the descending spider, and DK screams, slips, and crashes onto the tiled floor. Your bath products tumble down after him. You sigh, knowing you’ll have to clean up the mess and drive him to school tomorrow instead of sending him off tonight.

“Aww you care for me,” Dokyeom coos while you fuss over the ice pack on his ankle.

“I’m just making sure my Sybian isn’t too damaged,” you scoff at him.

You thought you would spend the night with a cozy book in bed while you wait for your face mask to dry. However, you find yourself blow-drying DK’s hair, letting him borrow one of your old t-shirts, and nursing his badly bruised ankle. It’s a wonder how he somehow didn’t end up spraining it after that nasty fall. You could’ve sworn you heard the cartoon swishing sounds while he tried not to slip.

Not to mention, he somehow talked you into cuddling with him in bed through several lame excuses.

Q. What if I fell off the bed?

A. Fuck, then pick yourself up I guess.

Q. What if I sprained my dick?

A. We have toys.

He wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Although, you have to admit it feels very nice to sit in bed with him with his left arm around your waist while the two of you silently scroll through your phones. He leans his head on your shoulder and hugs you from the side. You tilt your phone towards him so he could watch you tap through your friends’ stories. You can tell he’s more needy than usual, probably from climaxing more than once in one night and then undergoing the shower incident following right after – he screamed while you crumpled the spider in a wad of tissue. He’s latching onto you like a parasite, but he does give you good dick so you think it’s more like a symbiotic relationship. The way he’s clinging to you makes you think it is what it feels like to be trapped under one of those large teddy bears you can buy at warehouse retail stores.

He asks you if you’re going to the party on the weekend after you tap through the story of a mutual friend. You tell him you are.

“Be my date to the party?” he asks you.

You think he forgot you always go to parties with Jun and Chan.

“No thank you,” you politely decline his request, “I don’t do party dates.”

He pushes himself off of you, “Why not?”

“Because all of my past dates always left me for their friends and I would just spend every single party alone,” you grumble thinking about how many times you ended up taking care of drunk people you didn’t know because you ended up being sober the whole time.

“But I wouldn’t leave you.”

“There!” you exclaim while pointing your finger at him, “That’s what they all said to me.”

He frowns and crosses his arms, kind of upset you would think he would ever leave your side.

“Date or not I’m still not going to leave your side,” he grumbles while slinking down so he lays on the bed. He turns his body away from you to sulk.

The ice pack falls off his leg and tumbles to the ground. He continues to lay on the bed, not doing anything to pick it up so he can ice himself.

You know how stubborn he can be, especially when his pride is mixed in the equation. Part of you is proud he is sticking through being moody by refusing to move. However, you know how soft he is. If his future kid got a paper cut, he would probably end up crying harder than his kid. His kid would probably end up consoling him. His ankle must feel like pins and needles are sticking into it without the icepack, and he can’t do anything to distract the pain because his phone is out of his reach.

“Kyeom,” you gently shake his body. “You have to ice your ankle.”

He only shakes you off and brings his legs to his chest.

Usually, you would smack him with a pillow and call him dumb, but you think he’s suffered enough damages for the day. You know if you continue asking him to ice his ankle, he would just ignore you. So, you think either climbing on top of him or tricking him into breaking would be better choices. You choose the latter.

“Sigh,” you say out loud, pretending to talk to yourself. “If DK is sleeping then that means I’ll have nobody to cuddle with while I talk about my slutty costume choices.”

You see him slowly turn his head to look at you in the corner of your eye, but he quickly averts your gaze and turns his head back to its original position. You find yourself smiling at his action. He’s like a literal child. A puppy.

“Aww I thought Kyeom wanted to cuddle all night, but I guess I have to go to sleep because he’s asleep,” you tell him while leaning over him to check on him.

You see he’s pretending to sleep. He squints his eyes shut. His lips are poutier than usual, pressed in a thin line to probably stop himself from speaking.

“Maybe I’ll go sleep on the living room couch by myself so he can be more comfortable by himself,” you slowly move off the bed by trying to cross over his body.

“Noo,” he wails while sitting up to grab you. He immediately yanks you back down, trapping you in his arms. “How slutty is it, Yn? HOW SLUTTY?”

You have your morning lab in a few hours, but you’re standing alone in your dark kitchen with your head stuck in the freezer. The only source of direct light comes from your freezer, and you’re glad you’ve lived in your place long enough to navigate in the dark. The green digital clock digits flash on your oven. It’s getting close to 4:00 am, but you can’t sleep.

The icepack, or more like a water pack at this point, left a giant wet spot on your carpet while it thawed. It now sits in a lumped form in the side door, wedged between a frozen loaf of bread and some microwavable pizza bagels. The coldness of the freezer feels nice on your skin, but it’s not enough to make you feel numb.

You feel hot and stuffy, and your mind has a million thoughts running around at once. You make him tell you why you should be his date to a stupid costume party, and he tells you he likes you. However, his dumbass knocks out immediately after while he’s still holding you tight in his arms. You’re left alone with your thoughts and a pounding heart while you wait for him to finally let go of you when he is asleep.

Truthfully, you want to tear your hair out. It’s not like you couldn’t wake him up to make him tell you whether or not he finished his sentence. However, you think you’ve already tested his patience enough in one day. You would trust his “I like you” more if he told you while he was drunk, but telling you and then immediately knocking out? You really don’t know if it could count as a confession.

So now you whisper scream into a frozen bag of mixed vegetables while you think about everything that happened this night. You think about him showing up at your door. You think about the hickies he leaves between your thighs. You think about the way he kisses you after you moan his name.

“Seokmin,” find yourself whispering his name.

You don’t understand how this name is so different from the others, but your fingers softly touch your lips as if you just whispered something you weren’t supposed to say.

“Aww I get it. Jane Goodall. That’s so cute.”

“This is NOT a couple’s costume. I am clearly a hiker,” Chan angrily grumbles at the passerby while dumping another scoop of ice into the glass fishbowl on the kitchen island. He takes out his red handkerchief to wipe his hands and places it around his neck when he’s done.

“Why are you annoyed that people think you’re Jane Goodall? She’s one of the greatest scientists of our time. Do you not appreciate our women scientists? Women in STEM?” Jun asks him while he pops another sour gummy worm into his mouth. He licks the sour and sugary coating off his fingers one by one and wipes them dry on his monkey onesie.

You grab the bag of gummies from the table and dump the rest into the bowl. You tap and shake the edge of the bag until all of the remaining sugar falls into the bowl. Jun quickly plucks a worm out of the bowl before Chan turns around with a bottle of blue curacao in one hand and a bottle of coconut rum in the other hand. Chan insists on making fish bowls at parties for the three of you to share because he refuses to drink the jungle juice Jeonghan and Joshua make for parties. No matter how many times the two show Chan how they clean the giant clear plastic storage container they use for the juice, Chan absolutely refuses to drink from it. He argues that it’s a breeding ground for bacteria from people scooping the liquid with their cups, but Jeonghan dumbly replies that the amount of alcohol in the jungle juice should be enough to kill the germs.

By the time you’re done saying hello to some friends, Chan is already done making the bowl. He takes off his sunglasses and hangs it from his blue and grey colored top, looking at his creation with satisfaction. He swirls the bright blue concoction with three straws and tops it off with a paper umbrella toothpick he found in Jeonghan’s kitchen cabinets. Bon appétit.

The bright blue concoction stains your tongue, but it gives you a really nice buzz before you know how its aftereffects will hit you like a giant tsunami later. However, any precautious thought about getting too drunk and waking up with a massive hangover gets thrown out the window when Chan reminds you that the reason why the three of you took a ride-share cab is that you wantedto get fucked up. So the three of you smile and continue drinking.

The three of you are about two-thirds into finishing the fish bowl when you see DK and his friends stumble through the front door. DK’s dressed in the same slutty fireman costume he wears – the firefighter suit hanging low on his hips with the shoulder straps dangling, the hose on his shoulder, and the white tank top decorated with streaks of ash. You see Jeonghan greet him with a jello shot in his hand. The firefighter takes it from him and swirls his tongue around the perimeter of the jello, loosening it from the tiny container, and knocks it back swiftly in one go. He passes the container back to Jeonghan with no amount of blue raspberry flavored gelatin remaining on the inside. And all you can do is stare at him with your straw in your mouth while your friends attempt to play Jenga in their buzzed states.

It’s not long before you take your eyes off DK and realize that you finished the rest of the bowl by yourself. You tap in while Jun taps out of the game so he can happily scoop the slimy gummies out of the bowl and into his mouth. The tower looks jagged enough that one knee bumping against the table leg can easily knock the tower over. Shrek places their block on top of the tower with a shaky hand and sighs when the tower doesn’t topple over. A vampire bites their lip as they remove a side piece from the middle. You hold your breath as they slowly wiggle the piece loose, frowning when they successfully take it out of the stack and add it to the tower.

All eyes are on you as you hover your hand next to the piece that you want. You think if you take out that specific piece, you would make the tower a bit more balanced when it comes to how it leans. It also makes it harder for Chan to pull out a piece because he would end up shifting the balance if he pulled a block. Everything is in your favor – from the EDM song shuffling to a club song to your friends watching you silently – there is nothing that shouldn’t rule in your favor.

However, somebody behind you shrieks your name, and the tower topples. A few filled shot glasses are immediately placed in front of you, and everybody’s phone cameras are pointed at you, waiting to record you taking the shots. You sigh before bringing the first shot up to your mouth. You didn’t even get to touch the Jenga piece.

The perpetrator who stands behind you cheers the loudest every time you tip each empty shot glass over your head. He raises your hand in triumph and hugs you from behind your seat. The tsunami that’s been building up in the distance crashes. And by the end of it, you’re good as gone.

He tells you that no matter how comfortable his shoulder may feel at that moment, you do need to sit up and drink some water. And DK, for what seems like the nth time, hands you a bottle of water to drink.

He thanks the person who passed him the water bottle and stops for a minute. He points at him while scanning his outfit. “Hiker,” he finally decides on his answer.

“THANK YOU,” Chan yells at him while slapping him repeatedly on the back, unaware of his own strength, making DK flinch a little. Chan drunkenly decides that DK will become the fourth person to drink from his fishbowl. He drags Jun, who is chatting up Trixie from the Fairly Odd Parents, with him to the kitchen to make a fresh batch.

DK is the type of person to make you forget, but not in a forgetful type of way. He makes you forget about your troubles. He makes you forget about the resident knocking on his door while the two of you hide in bed together. He makes you forget you’re at a house party in a room full of people. At that moment it’s just you leaning on his shoulder with his arm wrapped securely around you. None of you are hiding the fact that there’s something budding between the both of you. It feels nice, liberating even.

“Hi baby. You doing okay?” he asks you after making sure you drank until the waterline hit the top of the plastic label despite him being extremely drunk.

“I like it when you call me baby,” you mumble while falling back onto his shoulder, feeling yourself slowly sober up.

“Yeah?”

“But don’t tell anybody or else I’ll have your head,” you turn your head and glare at him.

“I’m not sure if that was a sexual reference or maybe you’ve been reading too many isekai mangas that Jun sends you,” he chuckles while laying your head on his shoulder. He almost sighs in relief when you don’t blame him for you losing Jenga earlier.

He gives an okay signal to any passerby who asks if you’re doing alright.

“You weren’t by my side the whole time I was here. You’re a liar. Slutty liar.”

“I’m horrible aren’t I?” he kisses the top of your head.

“The worst.”

You never knew what “a beat” indicates in screenplays. You didn’t get why the screenwriter would want to indicate a pause. Nothing that you experienced in your life ever indicated a pause in the conversation. But now you understand. There are so many things you want to say, things you’re too afraid to say. You have questions for him, but you’re also happy he’s on your side. Maybe a “beat” is a filler. This pause in the conversation, you staring at him – eyes trying not to waver to his lips – it’s a mutual understanding between the two of you, something that makes up for what words cannot say.

“I need to pee.”

Now is definitely not a good time to be confused about whether you need to pee or if you’re simply horny.

Tonight the two of you are sloppy, bodies pressed against each other in the quiet hallway of a house party. Someone occupies the hallway bathroom, and you’re leaning with your back against the wall. DK stands in front of you with his left forearm leaning against the wall in the space next to your right ear. He kisses along your jawline, nipping the base of your neck. The softness of his lips caresses your skin, blending into the waves while you slur your moans. He hushes you by covering his lips over yours. You prefer him closer to you so you reach behind his head to pull him into you. His mouth opens, and your tongue glosses over his. He meets you in the middle, circling his around yours and groaning when you tug on his lower lip with your teeth. Your hand roams across his chest, and he pushes into your thigh, grinding against you. Both of you are too drunk, too lost in each other to care if others are looking.

He pulls his head back and looks at you with a hooded gaze. He can’t believe the sight in front of him and the ache he feels inside of him. He leans his head against the side of your ear, nipping softly at your lobe before talking to you in a low voice, “I want to pin you against the wall with your legs wrapped around my waist while I whisper every single thought I’m having about you into your ear. I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk out of this party without me supporting you. Everybody passing by will see how well you take me while you beg for me to pound into you deeper and harder. Then, you’d have to say goodbye to all of your friends while trying to keep my cum from leaking out of your sore pussy. I want to be able to open your legs and see it seeping out of you while I fuck it into you again in the car.”

Another beat.

This time it’s different. You feel your knees buckle underneath his body, sliding slightly down the wall. You look at his face hovering over yours, practically begging him to kiss you again. Anything. But he doesn’t. The two of you stay silent while you hear cheers from the living room. Then he proceeds to pull away as if nothing happened between you. He has the dopiest grin on his face. He cheeses at you – tiny wrinkles at the edge of his eyes and his pearly whites in full view. You’re still struggling to process the stream of consciousness he spoke into your ear.

“I like your pizza costume,” he giggles while poking your costume, especially the edges of the crust that hang off your shoulders.

“I bought it because I thought it might humor you,” you mumble while he takes your hands in his.

You see how much he’s gushing with happiness. You think he’s so cute, happy that your costume has such a positive effect on him. But you’re slightly annoyed that he’s able to move onto a different subject so quickly while you’re still stuck on the last one. You want more.

However, he tells you he really likes you and leans in to peck your cheek. When he pulls back, the bathroom door opens, and out steps Lee Jihoon who immediately grabs DK by his left ear and drags him away from you. “No fucking in the hallway,” he reprimands his friend.

DK only smiles at you while he’s being pulled away by his ear, too drunk to care, two finger hearts pointed directly at you.

You can only stand next to the vacant bathroom, now soberer than ever and seriously turned on.

You wake up on the floor next to your bed and slowly push yourself off the carpet, feeling the soreness in your body. You look at the carpet indents in your arm and then your surroundings. You notice your bed is empty, and Chan is asleep in his extra set of clothes, sprawled on the floor near your bedroom door. You can’t remember what happened in the latter half of the night, but you can at least deduce that all of you were at least sober enough to change out of your costumes and get ready for bed.

Your body is sore from sleeping on your floor, and you still feel pretty groggy. Still, the sweet scent of something coming from the kitchen is enough to convince you to walk outside instead of moving onto your bed to sleep some more. You stand up, knees cracking loudly, and you cross over Chan to exit your bedroom. You think it’s Jun who’s cooking, but you see him in his monkey onesie, passed out next to your rack of shoes near your entrance with a spare blanket covering him.

At least he has a blanket, you think to yourself. You woke up cold and with nothing covering you.

You see him standing in front of your toaster, wearing the extra set of clothes he keeps at your place. You see him place waffles into your toaster, minding his business while he hums to himself.

“Why are you here?” you approach him and stand by his side. You can see used wine glasses in the sink and opened chip bags you don’t remember buying sitting on the counter. The four of you probably continued drinking after arriving at your apartment. You hope there’s nobody else sleeping in your place.

“I dunno,” DK shrugs and proceeds to greet you by pulling you into his arms while he stands behind you, keeping a close eye on the frozen waffles.

You don’t get how he can look like he didn’t spend all of last night drinking. He looks completely refreshed with the kind of glow, an aura, you have after a good workout…not that you ever experienced what it must be like. He just looks like one of those smiling actors in fitness commercials.

You can feel his chest rumble against your back as he tells you he’s sorry he couldn’t cook something better for the four of you because he’s been living in the dorms for years. He honestly hasn’t touched a stove since he went home last summer. However, he did perfect cooking frozen food in microwaves and toasters. It’s the least he can do. He also quickly adds that he’s sorry he’s cooking all of your frozen waffles and would gladly reimburse you. You tell him to fuck off. There’s no way you would ever make him pay you back for making breakfast. He should know that by now.

The toaster pops, scaring you a little. A long yawn follows, and DK chuckles at you rubbing your eyes. He removes the waffles from the toaster and tells you to close your eyes. You dumbly follow, believing he’s going to kiss you when he cups your face in his hands. Instead, he rubs the inner corner of your eyes with his thumbs. “Eye boogers,” he says.

“Gross,” you watch him flick them to the ground.

“You thought that I was going to kiss you, huh,” he teases you while adding more frozen waffles into the toaster.

You grumble at him and stand to the side, leaning against your fridge. Your arms are crossed, and you watch him go back to humming the song he was humming before. It’s the same song playing from the speakers when the three of you decide to bring DK back to your apartment as there was no way he would have been allowed on campus in his state. It was partly Chan’s fault for getting him so fucked up – he couldn’t find regular vodka for the bowl so he replaced it with some Everclear he found tucked away under the sink. Jun tells him he really needs to stop snooping in Jeonghan’s cabinets. That’s when your memory starts to clear.

“Do you happen to remember what you told me before Jihoon dragged you away?” you curiously ask him.

You expect him to deny the memory or laugh at your sudden boldness, but he tells you that he knows better than to drink to the point where he blacks out and loses his memory. He would also like to stay true to his word, all of it.

“If you’re going to fuck in the kitchen, at least give us the waffles first,” Jun groans from the hallway.

DK winks at you in response, but you don’t know if he was referring to his second confession or if he promised the reality of his sexual fantasy. Before you can clarify, Jun appears in the kitchen, opening the dishwasher to grab a ceramic plate.

It shouldn’t be this confusing. DK told you that he liked you twice. You’re also pretty sure you like him. Nevertheless, it’s DK. He tends to joke around and switch from topic to topic. He throws words of affirmation at everybody he talks with. He confuses you even when you feel like you shouldn't be confused.

“God Yn. You can’t be doing this to me.”

He sits upright, and his hands are positioned to his sides, tightly gripping his bedsheets.

You use his thighs as your support as you ride him, slowly bouncing up and down so he can watch his cock appear and disappear into your cunt.

You feel him twitching in you as you let soft moans float out of your mouth as you arch your back more and lean your head back toward the ceiling. You make sure you gyrate your hips switching between circular and back and forth motions as you continue to fuck yourself on his cock. He wonders how your soft mewls would break into staccato moans if you were to continuously bounce on him, letting lust cloud his thoughts.

Then you lean further backward, practically grinding on him. He feels your ass rub against his balls, and he does everything he can to restrain himself from rutting himself upwards into your cunt. He knows your thighs are tired as your breathing gets heavier and the way you grind against him gets messier. You sit on him, your whole body trembling and twitching from pleasure simply from the feeling of him fitting so snugly inside you. He feels so warm today, so good, stretching you nicely as you tell him all he needs to do is to sit there and look pretty. You reward him by sitting upright, guiding his hands from behind his back so they rest on your ass. He kneads them roughly, feeling your skin fill the spaces between his fingers.

Your ass cheeks feel sore, and you can’t stop panting when grind on him, rocking him so crudely that his bed begins to squeak. You bring a hand in front of you to start rubbing your nub, and high-pitched whimpers instantaneously escape your mouth. Your soft circular motions increase speed, attacking your soft flesh and making you forget he’s in you.

“Hng Seok,” your face is scrunched in pleasure, “Fucking myself feels so good.” You smirk at him as you ride out your high, knowing very well it would piss him off. You can tell he’s already a little upset you’re fucking him in cowgirl when he doesn’t get to do anything but sit there.

Annoyed, he brings his right hand upwards and brings it down quickly against your ass. The crisp slap rings throughout his empty room, and he feels you clench around him as you gasp out loud. He slaps your ass again, finding deep pleasure in watching you pulse and quake around him and hearing you moan.

You lift yourself slightly upwards, having regained some energy, and reach under you to grab the base of his shaft. You watch his face contort from annoyance to surprise to pleasure as you stroke him, squeezing and releasing incrementally as you simultaneously fuck his upper half.

You can tell he is about to cum when he starts reaching for your face. He wants to make out with you, to dig his fingers into your back as you suck his neck. He moans your name, cavernous and gutturally, and tells you you’re doing so well. His sweet, sweet baby. The way you’re fucking him makes him go feral.

Just then, there is a knock on his door, and he immediately pushes you off of him, practically hopping off his bed so he can run to his door barefooted and naked. He tells them to wait a minute as he’s wrapping something up.

You sigh, quickly following behind him so you can hide in his closet, already used to having his residents show up out of the blue. You hand him his sweater and a pair of shorts before climbing into his closet and closing the doors behind you.

You hear him open his door a minute later. You’re not sure what the topic of their conversation is as everything sounds muffled. You hear DK tell them that he has to grab a few things first, and then he’ll meet them in their room. He closes his front door and opens his closet.

He looks worried. You observe it must be something important or an emergency as he doesn’t bother to make himself look presentable or deodorize the smell of sex lingering on his skin. He tells you he’s sorry and that he’ll try to be quick. He kisses you on the forehead before leaving with his stuff. However, he tells you you’re welcome to leave. And you sit there in his closet, alone and naked, the spot on your forehead burning. The motion-sensor lights in his bedroom turn themselves off, and you know you’re fucked by the way he gave you a choice to leave instead of telling you, begging you, finding stupid ways to get you to stay like he always does.

Your feelings are hurt, and you’re pathetically close to tears. Why is it that every time you look at him or talk to him, it feels like you have to stop yourself from having your confession burst out of your mouth? “I like you” always feels like it’s sitting on the tip of your tongue, and you’re too scared to confess to him.

It’s dark inside the closet, but you’ve been in his room enough times to know what’s hanging above you and sitting beside you. His business shirts are hanging above your head. On the other side of the closet, he has his pants. They’re organized by fabric type and colors. The jeans hang on the far right side of the closet. The sweats and athletic tights are next. Then he has his business pants. Dark colors are on the right, and light colors are on the left. His clothing hanger hooks are always hung over the closet rod, never under. Yet, at this moment, everything feels so foreign, like you’re a new person in a new place. But it’s because you are a different person now – a person who has fallen for their friends with benefits.

The metal front door whirs and clicks open. You can hear the automatic lights flicker. He tells you he’s alone and that you can come out as he sees your stuff in his room. You’re not replying.

“Shit Yn,” he opens his closet to find you still sitting in the dark closet, staring into nothing. “Aren’t you cold?”

You shake your head.

“Did you go pee? You should go pee,” he says expressionlessly. There’s not an ounce of care present in his suggestion.

He leaves your side and stalks over to his bed, throwing himself on it. He loudly groans into a pillow to rid some of his stress. You can only climb out of the closet, your jaw clenched. “I like you! I like you a lot” is still in your mouth, taunting you, threatening to escape.

“Is he done yet?”

“Bro he literally just started. Have a little more faith in Chan, okay?” you mumble at Jun while looking at your phone. You lock the screen and place your phone face down on the table.

Today is a day for firsts. It is the first time Jun and you are trying the café across the nice-looking residential building near campus. It’s the first time you try an iced mint mojito coffee when you usually have its alcoholic counterpart. It’s the first time Jun had a professor cancel class this semester. It’s also the first time Chan hooks up with somebody he met on the dating app Jun set up for him. It’s also the first time you’ll openly admit that Jun somehow has the most “game” compared to the three of you. Strange universe.

Jun knows something is bothering you. Your comebacks have become snarkier, yet you’ve been more lenient with whatever he does around you. He once told you to pay for the three of your dinners, and you passed him your credit card without saying anything. And it’s not like DK hasn’t been becoming less of the topic of your conversations - you’ve been quieter. And he doesn’t know what’s going on because he’s scared you might punch him. So he doesn’t ask you and only looks around the café’s nice interior, choosing to count the number of glossy white honeycomb tiles on the wall.

“How can you walk up to somebody and ask them out even though you don’t know them?” you blurt loudly at him out of the blue.

“Me?” Jun dumbly asks you. He already forgot the tile number he was on.

You nod your head while you bring your drink up to your lips.

He leans back into his chair and crosses his arms.

“You know how blunt I am.”

You nod your head, recounting all of the times he was called out for his bluntness.

“I think you already know how I can sometimes rub people off in the wrong way because I accidentally say things that I don’t mean. Sometimes people like you understand me and sometimes people don’t. I guess it’s like people liking you? Sometimes people will like my bluntness and sometimes it comes off in the wrong way. So I think it’s the same for liking people? You either like somebody or you don’t? So I’ll ask anybody out as long as I’m interested in them because the answer is always a simple yes or no.”

You’re so confused.

“You literally jumped from one topic to another. I literally could not follow you at all,” you blink.

“Well I’m sorry,” he throws his hands up in defeat. He’s not used to giving helpful advice nor is he used to having people go to him for advice. He wonders if he should start counting the number of chairs in the café.

He remembers an interaction he had in front of your apartment building last week. He was surprised that DK would call him and ask if he could meet him in front of your apartment. Jun told him that Yn is home and that he could just knock on your door, but DK unequivocally rejected his idea and told Jun to come. Jun saw him walking back in forth in front of your apartment building sign with a bunch of ugly roses in his hand, obviously stressed out of his mind. He asked him what was wrong.

“I dunno. I think they’ve been avoiding me for some reason,” DK tells Jun once he feels calmer with the older boy around him.

“But they’re literally wilting, bro,” Jun tells DK with clear judgment in his voice. “Some of the petals are black. I’d avoid you if you gave me wilting roses,” he points at all the petals with darkened tips and wrinkles.

“Yn will like them,” DK insists. “They think they look cool like that.”

Jun brought them to your apartment for DK, not wanting to ask or press him for more information. Although, he would have to admit it was a bit confusing to have DK ask him to deliver the flowers for him. Albeit, you are pretty scary when you’re mad. You were pretty enthusiastic when you saw the flowers in his hand, but you immediately slammed the door on him when he told you they were from DK. However, you did open your door again to let him use your restroom.

“Do you like DK but you’re having trouble figuring out whether or not he likes you?” Jun cautiously approaches you with his question.

You nod and spill your troubles to your best friend. You tell him about the two times he told you he liked you and about the day you hid in his closet. You tell him about the roses – how he didn’t text you or leave you a card so that you don’t know why he bought the roses and why he couldn’t deliver them himself. You tell him about the “not a date” dates and how he calls you pet names.

Jun tells you it sounds confusing, but it’s actually pretty normal to fall for your friend with benefits especially if you have a strong emotional connection. That’s how normal people fall in love. He feels for you and understands how confusing it must be for you when the two of you have basically skipped the dating part and landed in the married for thirty years part of the relationship without being in a relationship.

“But isn’t it tiring have to hide?” he asks you. “How many times did you have to hide because of a resident? How many times did you have to fake not knowing him or not liking him whenever you saw somebody flirting with him?”

“Too many times,” you admit. It’s exhausting.

Jun only nods and grabs his set of keys from the café table. He pulls out his wallet from his back pocket, “Lemme buy you dessert while I pay for Chan’s ‘congrats on your first hook-up’ cake.”

You stare at your friend, “You aren’t going to give me helpful advice?” You’re dumbfounded.

“Who do I look like to you? Yahoo answers? Reddit? If you want helpful advice, suck it up and tell him that you need to talk to him and talk. It’s going to eat you alive before your future cats get to eat you.”

Fuck. Jun’s right.

Today is a weird day for firsts.

“But I literally just nutted,” DK tells you while you storm into his dorm.

He’s shirtless and is wearing those grey sweatpants that ride dangerously low on his hips. He looks like he just woke up from a nap, his hair messy and matted. A bottle of unscented lotion sits on his nightstand.

“Did you want to shower or do laundry with me later?” he asks you, letting his door shut behind him. He follows you to his bed. “Did you want to get dinner with me? We have a while until Chan’s night class ends. I know you usually wait for him so you can walk home with him.”

You sit on the edge of his bed and pat the space next to you, telling him to sit next to you. He sits next to you and looks at you with a worried expression.

“I’m going to be honest, I don’t think I have it in me to fuck right now unless you find a way to help me get it up,” he confesses while scratching the back of his ear. He’ll say anything to fill the awkward silence, but he’s glad to see you after being out of touch for a week.

He sees you frowning, and his breath hitches when you turn to him.

“You confuse me DK,” your voice wavers. “I like you so much, but you keep on sending me mixed signals by telling me you like me and then acting like nothing happened. And then you’re so kind to me, and you call me those names while constantly treating me like I’m in a relationship with you when I’m not.”

“Oh, Yn,” his lip quivers.

“You don’t understand how much I like you, how much I want to stop being friends with benefits with you. But you confuse me so much. Your kindness is confusing and I wish you were meaner so I wouldn’t have fallen for you…why are you crying?” you slap his bicep.

He flinches in pain from the slap because he’s still shirtless, but the tears keep running down his face.

“I’m sorry,” he cries while clutching his arm. “I thought I was being straightforward with my feelings, but I hurt you instead,” he wails, “I’ve started liking you longer than you could imagine.”

You don’t know how to react to him crying while confessing, so you awkwardly get up and walk over to his mini fridge to bring him one of his frozen sponge packs to ice his arm.

You kiss him back before closing his large metal dormitory door behind you. His keypad whirs and clicks its automatic lock into place, and you make your way to the hallway elevators, giddy on the inside.

You make your way past all the bright green dormitory doors and stop in front of the elevators. At the side of the elevator is the large classroom bulletin board with DK’s stupid laminated face smiling at you. This time the board is sky blue. You can recognize the clouds glued onto the board anywhere – they’re sheep repurposed into clouds from when he did the board about sleep facts. Hot air balloons decorate the board. Expensive cardstock letters spell the title: Love is in the air, and so are STDs! You snicker at the tiny rips in the blue background from students ripping off the taped condoms to use for themselves before stepping into the elevator.

Your phone in your pocket buzzes when you step out of the elevator and exit the dormitory. You pull out your phone while standing outside. It’s a text from DK. He says he’s been waiting for a while now, but he wants to be a bit selfish tonight. He asks you if you’re free this Friday night even though he knows your schedule like the back of his hand. He sends another text to let you know he’s horny again, but he missed you. A lot.

Stepping to the side to let other residents in and out of the dorm, you make your way along the front of the dormitory so you stop under his window. You see him looking out to check if you made it out of the building. You wave at him and hold your phone up for him to see while giving him a thumbs up. He triumphs when he realizes you're agreeing to go on a real date with him, and you laugh when you see his figure disappear when he trips while jumping. He comes back to his window with a shirt on this time. He waves goodbye to you, and you wave back with a large smile on your face. This time the smile doesn’t drop.

#seventeen smut #svt smut #dk smut #seokmin smut #dk x reader #seokmin x reader #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #dk imagines #seokmin imagines #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #✏️ ━ himbocoups

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irrelevantwriter · 3 years ago

Text

Gaze

Pairing: Fezco (Euphoria) x Female Reader/You

Rating: Explicit, NSFW, 18+ only

Warnings: Language, mentions of drug use, unprotected vaginal sex, mild spanking, mention of bodily fluids, Fez smoking a blunt in the middle of sex (dies)

Word Count: 2710

Summary: You make a purchase and decide to show it off for Fezco.

A/N: This is the last installment of my Five Senses Series. This is all smut so I hope you enjoy. Feedback is that good shit.💗

Disclaimer: Characters are of age in my fics. Reader and Fezco are in their early twenties.

*Masterlist in bio.

**********************

You slipped through the door with ease, balancing shopping bags in one hand and your purse and keys in the other. It was dark out, but there was light coming from the home you’d just entered.

You caught a glimpse of Ash laying on the couch, watching some kind of old movie. One you didn’t recognize. He greeted you with a distracted ‘hey’, too caught up in the images flashing on screen.

There were discarded moving boxes near the back door, the space looking more and more like a home as it filled with belongings. You’d all only been in the house two weeks. It was a far cry from the retro aesthetic of their grandmother’s house. It was a basic brick home updated to this century. And while it wasn’t much, it was yours. A real home. A fresh start after the passing of the boys’ grandmother.

‘I can finally work on getting us out of the game.’

That’s what Fez had said. And you believed him. He said it’d take awhile, but you were along for the ride. For better or worse. You weren’t going to abandon them. Fez and Ash deserved that much.

“Did you eat?” you asked the nearly six foot seventeen year old currently occupying the couch. You slipped out of your shoes and set your purse and keys on the table, laughing to yourself at the way Ash’s gaze never strayed from the screen.

“Pizza.”

You smiled at his monosyllabic responses, not at all put off by it. It was how he normally spoke anyway.

You took in the abandoned pizza boxes on the kitchen counter. You closed them up and set them aside, sure that Ash would get hungry later. You grabbed a water from the fridge and made your way towards yours and Fez’s bedroom, shopping bags in tow.

“Don’t stay up too late,” you gently warned Ash as you passed, tapping his head as you did.

He shrugged off both your words and your prodding touch. It appeared he had ignored you, but you knew better. The boy listened. And he had respect for you. He’d humor you because it made you happy. And therefore made his brother happy.

Thinking of Fezco made you smile as your bare feet padded down the hallway. You could hear the soft bass of rap music through the cracked door. The scent of weed permeated the air. It was a fresh scent. He’d just lit up.

You gently pushed open the door, seeing your boyfriend resting against his headboard. It was a sight to behold. He was counting cash, a few stacks already banded neatly beside him. His chain glittered in the low light, a stark contrast to the white t-shirt he had on. There was a cartoon character on the front of it. He wore grey sweats, his black hoodie abandoned on the other side of the bed. He and Ash had taken care of some business today.

His eyes caught yours, a slow smile forming. A joint dangled from his lips, smoke swirling around him while the strip of LED lights on the walls changed colors.

Red. Yellow. Green.

Your favorite was the purple and as it passed over you both, you shut and locked the door behind you, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by Fez.

“Hey baby,” he greeted, securing a rubber band around the last stack of cash.

You walked towards him, setting your bags and bottled water on the bed as he sat up. He opened his arms to you, letting you come to stand between his legs. Your nails scratched at his scalp, his eyes closing instinctively at the soothing sensation.

“Hi.”

You pulled his chin up, removing the joint to plant a delicate kiss to his lips, his beard tickling your nose. His hands gripped your hips in return, fingers inching closer to your ass.

“Have fun?” he asked as you popped the joint back into his mouth, eyes taking in the bags you’d dumped on the bed.

“I did. Picked up a few things.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

He released you when you reached for one bag in particular, your gaze shifting conspiratorially from him to said bag.

“Stay here and I’ll show you,” you playfully teased as you backed into the en suite bathroom.

He smirked and nodded, intrigued by your antics.

You shut the door and made quick work of your clothes. You pulled the dainty pink lace from the bag, securing the bra and panty set to your body. It fit like a glove, carefully concealing parts of you behind intricately placed flowers.

The set was different from what you usually wore. This screamed femininity and when you’d seen it in the store with your girlfriends, something about it made you think of Fez. You thought about seeing his expression with you wearing it. Thought about how his hands would itch to rip it off of you. How you’d want him to do just that.

You’d bought it on the spot.

There was movement from the other side of the door as Fez moved around, the playlist shuffling from rhythmic beats to a slow tempo melody. As if the universe knew what you had planned.

You appraised your appearance, satisfied with your reflection. You didn’t often wear lingerie. It wasn’t something you needed in your relationship. But it felt good to know that it was an option. A chance to make him feel special. To give him a gift that let him know you wanted to do things like this. For him.

“Ready?” you called from behind the door, goosebumps already appearing on your skin.

“Yeah,” came Fez’s response, slow and low. Like you liked it.

You pushed the door open and peered through the crack, seeing Fez back in his original spot on the bed. He still had the joint in his hand, but you noticed the bed was now free of cash and his hoodie.

He glanced up from his phone, eyes slowly taking in your body as you stepped out from behind the door. He abandoned whatever task he’d been busy with on the device and set it aside. You had his full attention now.

“You like it?”

“S’that a trick question?” he returned, moving to stand up.

“No. Stay right there,” you said with a hand up to stop him, stepping forward towards the bed.

His bearded lips lifted, but obeyed your request. You walked to him slowly, letting him take in every detail of your new purchase. He licked his lips, an action that set your insides ablaze.

You carefully straddled his lap, mindful of the still lit joint in his hand. He assisted you, anchoring you to him so that you didn’t fall. You smiled when he came face to face with your chest, your nipples visible through the fabric.

“You never answered my question,” you teased, hips seductively beginning to rock against his lap.

Fez took his time responding. He inhaled deeply off the joint as he watched you in measured silence. He was talented like that. Most people liked to fill silences. Fez didn’t. He could let them drag on, content to let someone else fill the void. He’d told you once that’s where people made their mistakes. Too many liked to be the center of attention. They were uncomfortable with the quiet. But it was when you sat back and observed that you learned the most.

Like him.

Like now.

You patiently waited as your boyfriend drew smoke into his lungs and then out again, the clouds nearly hiding his face from you. You gripped his shoulders and bit your lip, feeling him come alive beneath you.

“Pretty sure you can feel what I think, ma.”

He raised his hips into yours to accentuate his point, making you release a shaky breath.

“But in case you need to hear it,” he continued, playing with the thin band of your panties at your hip. “You the prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. For real.”

He had you right where he wanted you. Putty in his tattooed hand. It was your favorite place to be. Because when Fezco had you in his sights, he treated you so good.

You kissed him. Long and slow and deep with passion. You let your tongue reach out to caress his, letting him know he had you. He had all of you in that moment.

He reciprocated in kind. His free hand kneaded your ass, encouraging your movements as his lips moved over yours. Your nails tangled into his shirt as he slipped a few fingers under the hem of your panties.

He’d seen all of you. Felt every inch of skin. He’d explored you until there was no more to explore. And yet every time his touch grazed your bare flesh it was electric. Your body both tensed and relaxed, anticipating the pleasure he would surely bring you. It was Pavlovian. It was instinctual.

“Let me make you feel good, baby,” you breathed against his lips, impatience making its way to the surface.

Fez nodded, unwilling to dissuade you when you looked so fucking perfect for him.

Without wasting another minute, you deftly undid the loose knot on his sweats. You licked your palm and slipped it beneath both his pants and his boxers, feeling the heat coming off his skin. He watched you with heavy eyes and you knew it had more to do with the desire coursing through his veins rather than the weed.

“Fuck,” he groaned as your slick palm finally made contact with his throbbing flesh.

You worked him slow, like he preferred. You kissed his neck, feeling the chorded muscle strain. He let his head fall back as your fingers danced over him, your hips still moving against his.

His free hand squeezed your thigh, his mouth reaching out to nip at the top of your breasts. Your hand stuttered at the sting of his beard on your skin, desperate for more.

“S’good,” he slurred, face buried in your chest.

His praise made your panties wet with need, your back arching into him so that he could have more access.

Your own arousal built as you pleasured Fez. Your walls craved him. Your entire being yearned to be filled by him. It didn’t feel right to have him so close and not inside of you.

“Need you,” you confessed, hands shifting his pants down.

He helped you by lifting his hips, his right hand still clutching the half burned joint. He reached forward to help you settle onto him, but again you stopped him. You sent him a wicked smile as you shifted yourself around, your back now facing him. You moved your panties to the side and rubbed him against your folds. He immediately tensed and gripped your hip, a low moan falling from his lips.

“Shit,” he drawled, feeling how wet you’d gotten.

You teased him, slipping him inside before pulling out again. You glanced over your shoulder and watched as he brought the still lit joint to his lips to free his hand. He palmed your ass, testing its weight as you began to take him inside once again.

“Fuck Fez,” you gasped, feeling him stretch your walls.

You could feel his eyes searing your skin as you took every inch of him. Your breath caught when he bottomed out, the pleasure overpowering the sting of fullness. You sat there, unmoving, feeling him pulse.

His hand pulled at the back of your panties and moved them aside, exposing more of you to his ravenous gaze. You heard him draw in a breath and then smoke surrounded you as he released it.

You may not be smoking, but there was something about fucking Fezco while he was that made you feel just as high. The lights. The music. The intoxicating scent of weed. All of it set the mood in a way that made your pussy spasm.

He felt it too.

“You like that?”

You began to rock your hips, nodding in response to his question. Your nails dug into his thighs as you swirled your lower half, making your toes curl. You swallowed him, the sounds of your bodies joining now eclipsing the music. The explicitness of it all made your arousal skyrocket, pushing your hips to move faster.

A sting of heat and momentary pain hit your ass as Fez’s hand slapped the bouncing flesh, giving away just how turned on he was at seeing you in this position.

“Fuck…again,” you begged breathlessly.

He obliged.

You looked back as you doubled your efforts, seeing him casually smoking, eyes glued to where he was nestled inside of you. He was almost stoic. Save for the telltale twitch of his fingers as you rode him. His rings dug into your skin with every pass of your wet heat over his length. He was getting close. And so were you.

“Cum, baby,” you softly ordered, clenching around him in encouragement.

“You first,” he challenged, finally reaching over to set the now burned out joint in the ashtray on the nightstand.

You fingered your clit as you used him to reach that blissful end. You leant forward so that he could see, feeling the angle shift inside you. It was enough to make your eyes roll back.

“Can feel you. Just do what you gotta do, baby girl.”

His gentle instruction was all it took. Your body exploded, as if all you needed was his permission. Your limbs contracted while you soared through time and space while still seemingly anchored to him.

It was heaven.

Fez’s name was a prayer falling from your lips as wave after wave of climax washed over you. He let your body do as it pleased, mesmerized by it all. By you.

His hips began to meet your own, unable to stay still any longer. You were convulsing around him and you knew from experience that was his kryptonite. Knowing he got you off always did the trick for him.

“Fuck, like that…I’m gonna cum,” he warned, his hips beginning to stutter as yours finally calmed.

Warmth.

That’s all you felt as he came inside of you. It felt like you were finally whole as he claimed your body as his with each pump of his hips. It was the peak of that high you’d been chasing. It was everything you wanted it to be. And more.

Your skin was dewy with perspiration by the time your heart rate had settled. Fez’s touch transformed into delicate caresses as you both caught your breath. You collapsed against his legs, your forehead pressed into his knee. As awkward as the position was, you would stay there all day if he let you.

“You good?” he asked, voice deeper than normal. His hands still ghosted over your body, righting the lingerie he’d moved.

You sat up and gently released him from your clutches, causing him to hiss. You forced your heavy limbs to move as you turned back around to face him, his arms in position in case you lost your balance.

“I’m really good,” you replied lazily, playing with the chain around his neck.

He chuckled at your dopey smile, hand reaching up to caress your cheek. He nudged you forward and you caught the hint, claiming his mouth with yours. Despite the lethargy, a renewed spark of desire burned through you both.

“This shit didn’t last long,” he noted once you’d both pulled away. He was fingering the hole that had begun to form in the lace near your hip. He’d gripped the fabric too hard. “Sorry, baby.”

You waved off his half sincere apology. Fezco wasn’t sorry. In fact, his eyes said he was proud of what he’d done. Gleeful even. And he had no way of knowing that had been your intention when purchasing the set. He’d given you exactly what you’d wanted.

“No worries. We had our fun with it,” you said with a playful nip to his neck. “It was good while it lasted.”

“Yeah, it fucking was.”

Your laughter turned to moans, carrying on through the night as he worshiped your body as you’d done his. The lingerie long forgotten, ripped to shreds on the floor.

#fezco #fezco x you #fezco x reader #fez #fez x you #fez x reader #fezco euphoria #fez euphoria #euphoria #fez fanfic #fezco fanfic #fez imagine #fezco imagine #fez fanfiction #fezco fanfiction

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