#shop humorous leggings t shirt

[quietblueriver]

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.” 

[teeniquedesign]

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!

[bestshirtcanbuy]

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

[pawableltd]

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

[honey-flustered]

can i request mirror sex with eddie and wayne hears banging and barges in and talks to you guys about protection

A/N: Apologies for the long wait, love. But I’m here and slowly getting my writing mojo back. I hope you enjoy!

Wrap it Up! (MDNI+18)

Boyfriend!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.4k+

Warnings: smut, mirror sex, graphic language and descriptions, sex standing up, getting caught, creampie (cum gets everywhere), awkward conversations about (sex, pregnancy, protection), Eddie & Reader 18+, some humor, fluff

Despite Eddie’s lean frame, underneath that hellfire club T-shirt was all muscle and you have the perfect advantage to study every ripple and bulge. You’re eyes are hazy but intense as you stare at the image before you in the full body mirror: Eddie’s back, slick with sweat, flexes with every stroke into your sopping core as he fucks you standing up. The muscles rippling in his cute little ass was enough to pull one hand away from his hair to cup it.

Wayne invited you over for dinner as he did every night. And sometimes on the days when he’d have to go shopping for groceries, Eddie would occasionally stay over to “prepare the ingredients” but really it’s just an excuse to have you over his place earlier so that the two of you could fool around. Hence, why now you were in this position discovering your new mirror kink.

“Fuck, you feel so good.” You whine in his ear then bite on the soft lobe.

“You feel fucking incredible, baby,” His hoarse, raspy gasp into your ear causes you clench tighter around him and he hisses. “You’re killing me.”

“Want you to cum in me. Please, daddy.”

“Oh, yeah?” he said says knocking against the magic button within you. “You’re on birth control now?”

“No. But I can take a Plan B. I just want to feel your cum in me. Want it dripping down my legs.”

“Oh, fuuuck.” His nails dig into the soft, plushness of your ass as he pounds into you harder and faster, the sounds of your wetness and bodies colliding fill the room. It’s loud and so were you as you groan a throat-tearing groan at being filled so deliciously over and over.

He bends a little at the knee, throwing you up in his arms enough so that he can get your legs in a position where your feet are beside his ears, the anklet he’d given you on your first year anniversary dangling near the left one. The new position allows him to drill into your greedily suctioning pussy deeper and you thought you were loud the last time. You were screaming as if you were in a goddamn horror movie and he’s just staring you down fiercely wanting to elicit more sounds out of you. Your eyes dart back to the mirror nearly cumming at the sight alone.

Feeling himself about to reach his climax, he climbs into the bed on his knees with him still nuzzled inside you for the final strokes. The backs of your knees now hooked around his shoulders as he curls into you enough to bounce you in his lap and suck and twirl a tongue around one of your hardened peaks.

“Oh my god,” You whine. With one hand still across your slick back guiding you up and down his length, he brings the other between your bodies to massage your swollen clitoris. “I’m gonna fucking cum for you!” Sobbing with legit real hot tears streaming down your face, your orgasm slams into you like a fucking bus and your gushing all over him and you. His unruly public hairs matter down by your creamy arousal. He intensifies your high, slamming into your g-spot and not once giving you a break to cope. You dig your nails into him, the whites of your eyes are all he could see.

“Gonna cum, baby. Ready to take it.”

As if you could speak! You babble and cry out in response. He slams you down once…twice…three times and just as he’s about to fill you up—

“Edward Munson, you know how to work this damn pho-Jesus Christ!” Wayne Munson, coming home from a long trip to the store, expected to walk into his nephew’s room seeing him do anything from playing his guitar to reading one of his comics. What he hadn’t expected was not only had Eddie not set up the table for dinner but he finds Eddie doing you.

Eddie’s horrified that despite thinking that the intrusion was enough to stop his climax it was already too late. His orgasm raked through him forcing himself to bite on his lip to keep from whimpering as he spurts ropes of his warm cum into your inviting gummy channel. But you jump out of his grasp as fast as it happened, forcing his essence to coat anything in close proximity.

Wayne has long averted his eyes before this point, raising his hands out over his face. “Dear god! You could’ve at least put up a sock or something, boy.”

“Oh my god!” You find a throw blanket beside you to bury yourself in.

“Wayne!” Eddie shouts, shoving his exposed cock down between his legs. “What the hell are you doing here so early? Didn’t you have to run like a bunch of errands and shit?”

“I just needed to get some wine and cigarettes, ya nut. Just gather yourselves whenever you’re ready.” He blindly searches for the doorknob and shuts the door.

“Holy shit,” You throw the blanket off of you, standing to go in search of your clothes around the room. “How am I going to face him now after he’s seen us like that?”

“It’s not like he doesn’t know we’ve been having sex.”

“This is different! This is him actually seeing it for himself. I can never look him in the eyes again,” You reach for your panties thrown on his dresser, hoisting up and over you. “I should go home.”

“No, please stay. We can act as if nothing ever happened.”

“How? I’ll be burning up with embarrassment the moment I see him.” You groan and flop down on his bed, your face down on his pillow.

“Long as we don’t speak of it, it’ll blow over,” Eddie says, looking down at the trickle of his cum between your legs and the mess he made all over himself. “We don’t say a word about this even outside this trailer.”

You chuckle, wanting to lighten the mood. You ran a finger on one of his painted thighs, scooping up the thick white substance. “I don’t know. I think your friends would love to hear about your little mess even after getting caught.”

“You’re a menace.”

————

Throughout, preparation of the dinner neither you nor Eddie said anything. Not even to each other. Simply, hanging your heads low while he prepares the table and you spiced up the sauce for the pasta. Wayne is also occupied with his own chore of tending to the pasta and making no efforts to speak as well, avoiding all eye contact. It was an overall awkward affair for all parties.

At the dinner table, the three of you ate in silence. Eddie, rubbing a hand on your knee as you continued to blush profusely and hang your head low.

“Alright, I’m just gonna say it since we’ve already found ourselves in this awkward position,” Wayne says, throwing down his glass to break the silence. “In the countless times I’ve had to clean up your room, never once have I noticed a condom wrapper. So my question is, do ya wear protection?”

Eddie chokes on his drink. “Dude!”

“What? It’s a valid question. As my responsibility as your legal guardian, I should’ve had this talk with you long ago. So, it’s on me. But if the two of you are going to engage in these…activities, you should at least be safe,” Wayne says, carrying the tone of a concerned parent. “So how do ya do it?”

“Do what?” Eddie asks in hesitance, dreading the upcoming next set of questions.

“Prevent pregnancy. Birth control? Morning After Pills? Pull out method?” Wayne probes.

“I cannot believe this is my life right now.”

“Don’t shy away now, Eds? You’re a man now and you’ve gotta have these grown man conversations.”

“Mr. Munson’s right, Eddie,” You speak up, bringing your eyes up for the first time in the entire night. “We have been a little…risky.”

Wayne nods. “Having a child is a huge responsibility. I would know. I took Eddie in when I was pretty young myself. And you’re starting university soon, Y/n. On a full-ride. I’m sure that’s not something you see for yourself as of now. This isn’t to come down hard on y’all. Again, I was young once. But please for the love of God, use some form of contraceptive and learn to lock a goddamn door.”

“Okay, yeah we will.” Eddie affirms.

“Yes.” You agree.

“Good. Let’s shake off the tension now. I’ve already erased whatever that was from my memory so you two can stop acting like you’re walking on eggshells.”

The three of you join in laughter and move into conversation aside from the embarrassing moment. Although, later on that night while you were busy collecting the plates from the table, in one instance of a proud uncle moment, Wayne secretly gestures Eddie for a fist-bump. Eddie mischievously smiles and obliges.

[himbocoups]

˗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. 

[irrelevantwriter]

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.

[scuttling]

Sweet Evening Breeze

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 5,042 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Naïve reader, Innocence kink, Oral sex, Unprotected sex, Previous bad sexual experience Summary: Being Jack Hotchner’s babysitter is a pretty great job. He’s an angel, most of the time, and his dad is so sweet and thoughtful, really takes care of you. Really takes care of you... *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below! “Jack, buddy, time for breakfast,” you call down the hall for the third time. “We’ll play Legos later.” He shouts something nearly incomprehensible back, and you sigh as you stretch up, trying to reach the jam he likes on the top shelf of the cupboard.

Most of the time, the fact that Jack’s dad, Aaron, is very tall gives you butterflies in your stomach, but sometimes it’s just an inconvenience—like when he puts groceries up so high you don’t have a chance of reaching them.

“Dad did not say you could skip breakfast, and it’s not okay to lie. Little monster,” you mutter, and you can feel Aaron’s breath on the back of your neck when he chuckles softly. Whoops. You didn’t even know he was standing there. “I say that with full affection.”

He reaches around you to take down the jam, resting a hand on your lower back, probably for support. The bit of skin exposed by your stretching tingles at the touch.

“Of course, and so do I. Often.” You turn to face him, give him a grateful smile, and take the jar of jam.

“Thank you. Ugh, aren’t you miserable in that?” you ask, gesturing to his usual business suit. As Jack’s babysitter, you see Aaron in a suit almost every day—another thing that gives you butterflies—but you’re in the middle of a heatwave, and it’s 97 degrees in your little suburb of DC, which means it’s probably more like 115 downtown. That’s too hot to do anything, but especially in a suit and tie.

“It’s cool in here, but yes, I’ll probably be miserable the second I step foot outside.” You spread peanut butter on one English muffin and jam on another, laughing softly when a thought comes to you.

“Too bad you don’t have as much flexibility with your dress code as I do.”

At the start of this heatwave last week, you’d asked Aaron—after much nervous deliberation—if you could wear shorts and tank tops around the house instead of your usual jeans and a t-shirt or sweater. Your so-called uniform was self-imposed, because he’d told you from the start you could dress however you were comfortable, but you didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. You weren’t trying to show off your body, or tempt or tease, or anything like that; you were just extremely hot, especially playing outside with Jack.

He had agreed, of course, that you should dress for the weather, and that shorts and tank tops were fine. He also reminded you that you could use the pool whenever you wanted, whether he was home or not, and just thinking about taking a dip later is enough to make you sigh in relief.

“I don’t think anyone would be interested in seeing me in an outfit like that,” he jokes—sometimes people can’t tell when he’s joking, because he’s so dry, but you’re familiar with his humor by now—and you laugh again. It earns you a smile.

“I think it’s more important that you’re comfortable than what people think when they see you in something, but it would probably be a little distracting.” You’ve seen him in his swim trunks on more than one occasion, most recently with no shirt to accompany them, and you can attest to being very distracted that day. You were supposed to be keeping an eye on Jack, and you did, would never put him in danger, but your eyes had also been following the drops of water that dripped from Aaron’s hair, down his throat, over his chest…

You had been hot for more than one reason that day, and your butterflies moved a little bit lower.

You shake your head of those thoughts quickly, glance around you to see that Jack is still not in the kitchen. You sigh, and put the peanut butter muffin on a paper napkin, hand it to Aaron.

“I’m going to go get him, but have a good day, okay? Try to stay cool; maybe you can take a swim tonight when it’s not so hot.”

“Good idea. Maybe you can join me if you’re still here.” That was sweet of him to offer. You smile at his kindness, brush a hand over your head. You wish your hair wasn’t all over the place, clinging to the sweat on your neck, your temples, but humidity is not your friend. He doesn't seem to mind.

“Thanks, maybe I will.” He gathers his things to head out, and you steel yourself and head to Jack’s room, scoop him up, giggling, into your arms, and plop him down for breakfast.

The two of you spend the day inside, because even swimming is a nightmare when the sun is beating down the way it is. You play with Legos, watch a movie, do some coloring pages, and play learning games on his iPad.

At around three, Aaron texts you, lets you know he won’t be home tonight because of a case, and you mentally plan out a small, easy dinner for you and Jack, then a little more playtime, then bed for Jack and a swim for you after.

You tuck him in, turn on his nightlight, and close the door behind you, then head to your room to change into your bathing suit.

You usually wear a purple one piece with shorts over it, something you can play with Jack in without worrying about anything falling out, so you’re surprised to find a pale blue, floral print bikini on your bed—a very tiny bikini—with a sticky note on the tag.

Went shopping for Jack and this made me think of you. I hope you like it. - Aaron

The first two things to pop into your head are, it was so sweet of him to think of you while out shopping, and you’re really glad he’s not here to see you in it, because it only half-covers all the things it’s supposed to cover. You double check the tag, but it’s the right size, so it must just be the intended design. Your cheeks flush hot, but it also makes you feel good, to be wearing so little. Kind of wrong, but good in a way you can’t explain.

You grab a couple of beach towels and step out into the slightly cooler night air, sigh at the feel of it on so much of your skin. You lay out your towels on the lounge chair by the edge of the pool—maybe you’ll lay there and read or play on your phone after your swim—and then step into the pool.

The water is still so warm, and the contrast between it and the breeze that blows across the surface has goosebumps breaking out across your skin. You dip your head under the water, let your hair fall loose and luxuriously wet after being twisted up all day long, and when you open your eyes Aaron is standing at the edge of the pool; you gasp, startled by his sudden appearance, and then laugh lightly.

“Oh my god, you scared me. I thought you weren’t going to be home tonight?” You swim closer to the edge so you can see him better, and he crouches down to your level. He’s taken off his jacket and tie, loosened the collar of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves; your heart races a little at his proximity, and all the dark hair you’re presented with.

“Change of plans, we weren’t needed after all. I texted you, but I see your phone is over there; I’m sorry I scared you.” He looks you over, something calculating in his gaze, and then smiles softly. “You’re wearing the swimsuit I bought you. Do you like it?”

You can feel yourself flush, because you hadn’t anticipated him being home to see you in it, but there’s nothing you can do about that now.

“Yes, I like it. It’s pretty. Thank you.” He must be able to sense your apprehension, because he tilts his head curiously.

“If you don’t like it, you can tell me. It won’t hurt my feelings. Don’t be shy.”

“It’s not that I don’t like it, I love it. That was so sweet of you.” You reach out a hand to rest on his arm, don’t want him to feel like you aren’t grateful. “It’s just a little… revealing.” He makes a soft noise of contemplation, reaches out to brush his fingers over your shoulder, over the strap.

“I was a little worried about that. Why don’t you get out of there and let me see? I can let you know if I think it’s too much.” You appreciate that he’d do that for you, and you respect his opinion, but you feel really exposed in it—and you’re not sure why that makes you feel so uncomfortable and so good at the same time.

Sure, he’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life, but there’s no way he’d ever look at you as anything other than the sitter. You’re just too… innocent.

All the same, you nod your head and lift yourself up out of the pool; Aaron moves back, helps you up, and guides you over to the lounge chair. He sits, and you stand.

From there, he looks slowly over your body; he lingers over your breasts, your hips, then asks you to turn so he can see the back. You swallow, self-conscious under his gaze.

“Have you ever been this undressed in front of a man?” he asks, his voice low, and your breath hitches. “I can tell you’re nervous, that’s all.”

“Um. Once,” you say, flushing. He hums, brushes a hand down the length of your arm, and you feel a chill. You turn back to face him, and he pats the lounge chair, encouraging you to sit next to him. You sit, cross legged, facing him, nervous, but… also not; it’s hard to explain.

“Were you completely naked?” The way he asks it is so casual, but being naked isn’t casual for you; you can barely bring yourself to think about being naked, let alone talk about it. With your employer.

But something about the way he asks it makes you want to answer, at the same time, and there’s almost no one you trust more than Aaron. He’s always been so good to you.

“No. I left something on.” It had been a bra, gray with a pink bow in the middle. You were more comfortable keeping it on, and your ex-boyfriend hadn’t cared. He hadn’t cared about much, it turns out.

“Was it during sex?” The way the word sounds coming out of his mouth makes you anxious, and excited; you can’t believe you’re having this conversation, and you also don’t want it to end.

“Yes, during... sex.” He nods, brings a hand to your cheek and brushes your wet hair back, tucks it behind your ear. Your heart is beating so fast you’re surprised the world around you is still so calm, quiet. Intimate.

“How many times have you had sex, sweet girl?” You close your eyes, embarrassed. You don’t want him to know how innocent you really are, not when he’s so much older and more experienced. He’ll laugh.

Then again, this is Aaron, and he’s only ever made you feel cared about and safe before. So maybe he won’t?

“Um. One time.”

“Just one time? That’s surprising to me; you’re so beautiful.” You shiver, maybe from being wet with the breeze on your skin, or maybe because he brushes his fingers over your lips, or maybe because he called you beautiful. No one’s ever called you beautiful. “Did it feel good?”

You’d wanted it to feel good; it did, for maybe a minute, and you think about that minute all the time, especially when you… when you slip your hand into your panties at night in your bed, thinking about Aaron’s broad shoulders, his thick forearms, his hands, his mouth...

“Kind of. And then no.” His hand freezes and he frowns. His voice is abruptly less low, more serious. There’s a wrinkle between his eyebrows you want to reach out and touch.

“Did he hurt you?” It had hurt, but you know he hadn’t meant for it to hurt. He wasn’t mean. He was just so eager to finish that once he started, he’d stopped caring if you were feeling good, so focused on his own body. You figured that’s just how guys are, and it made you never want to do it again—so you didn’t.

“Not on purpose,” is what you say. He covers your hand with his, big and warm and careful. You’ve always felt so comforted by his touch, and tonight is no exception.

“What happened?”

“It started quickly and ended quickly. I don’t think I was… prepared.” You’re blushing, hoping he understands your indirect statement so you don’t have to say it out loud. He rubs his thumb soothingly over the back of your hand, reaches up with the other to touch your flushed cheek.

“You weren’t wet?” You exhale, a little shaky, tell him no. “Are you wet now, sweetheart?” You’re almost ashamed to say, but he is asking...

“Very.” It’s just a whisper, but it makes him smile a little, touch your mouth again. You could get used to that.

“Good girl. Can I feel?” That gives you pause, for a moment, but thinking of him touching you where you’ve imagined for months—it’s too good of a prospect to pass up, no matter how nervous you are. You nod, and he moves his hand inside your swimsuit bottoms, brushes over your core, slips between your lips easily. He never takes his eyes off of yours. “It would feel really good to have sex now. Do you want to try again? You’re always taking such good care of us; I want to take care of you.”

You bite your lip, and he leans in slowly, presses his mouth to yours for a gentle kiss. You make a soft noise of pleasure, tilt your hips so you’re sliding over his hand, and he groans—it’s honestly one of the best sounds you’ve ever heard in your life. It means he wants you… never in a million years would you have guessed that.

“I want to try,” you breathe, and you feel bold, so you kiss him this time. He pulls you close, deepens the kiss, adds tongue, and you moan at the feel, clinging to his shirt. “Aaron.”

“Let’s go to my bedroom,” he says, voice low, and he moves his fingers up to the part of you that makes you shake with desperate need, rubs tight circles so you’re panting, chest heaving; you nod quickly and he picks you up, hand still moving inside your swimsuit, carries you to the sliding glass door and pushes it open with his elbow.

You assume you’ll head straight for the bedroom, but he stops in the kitchen, sets you on the counter and kisses you again, a little harder than you’ve experienced before; you love it, try your best to match the way his mouth moves, and his fingers press hard against your aching bud, making you gasp with pleasure.

“Have you ever had an orgasm?” he asks, a little breathless himself, and you smooth your fingers through his hair.

“Um. I think so. From touching myself like this.” He moves his fingers faster, and you press your palm against the counter for support, move your hips against his hand. It feels so good, so much better than when you do it that you could cry.

“Has someone else ever given you an orgasm?” You use the fingers in his hair to bring him to you for a kiss, something you both moan softly into.

“No. I want-I want you to be the first,” you murmur, and he closes his eyes, exhales through his nose, and lifts you up again, this time carrying you to his bedroom and setting you on your feet by the bed. He looks down at you with eyes so dark and gorgeous, then asks if he can remove what little clothing you have on. You tell him yes, and he pushes down the bottoms, which you step carefully out of.

When his hands move to the top, you hesitate, always self-conscious about this; he leans in and presses delicious kisses to your neck, your shoulders, slides the straps down, and looks up at you with caring, gentle eyes. You nod, and he pulls your top off, too, leaving you completely naked in front of someone for the first time in your life.

It’s such a rush, you wish he hadn’t waited so long to initiate this.

“You are so incredibly beautiful,” he says, and with the way he‘s looking at you, you actually believe it. He takes your face in his hands, kisses your lips, then moves down your throat again, your chest—he pays your nipples a bit of attention, flicking his tongue, scraping his teeth, and your mouth falls open in a silent moan. “So perfect.”

He puts his hands all over your body, sweeping over your arms, your waist, and he presses kisses to your stomach, your hips, your thighs. You want his mouth where his fingers were, but you don’t ask; it’s almost like he knows anyway, when he looks up at you from his knees.

“Has anyone ever tasted you?” You shake your head, and he puts his hands on your butt, squeezes softly, and guides you to lay back on the bed. “I want you to tell me how it feels, okay?”

Normally, you’re quiet out of necessity, because when you aren’t here you have an apartment you share with a roommate—even though most of the time, you sleep here whether you’re strictly required to or not. You’re quiet here too, because you’ve never wanted Aaron to know how he makes you feel, although now you’re really wishing you’d have found out sooner that he feels the same way. Imagine all the cool, quiet nights you could have spent on this bed, in his arms…

Shaking yourself out of the fantasy—because reality is literally happening, and it’s so much better—you nod, and he carefully spreads your thighs, leans in to tease his tongue along your slit, light and wet.

“Oh. Aaron.” He looks up, reaches a hand forward to twine your fingers together, and you squeeze them, moaning when he dips again, this time pressing his tongue inside you where you’re wettest. “Oh my-oh my god.” He leans in to press damp kisses to your lower belly.

“That’s right, sweetheart. I want you to come on my tongue—come on my tongue, don’t be shy.” Again, he slides it inside, brings his free hand up to rub you, and it’s not long before you do as he asks, shaking and tightening your grip on his hand. You’re almost embarrassed by how loud you are, but he is nothing but sweet when he comes up, whispers in your ear how well you did for him, how pleased he is to be the first to make you moan like that, to taste you.

He kisses your mouth so you can taste yourself, and groans when you reach for his head, hold him closer.

“Thank you,” you murmur, shaky, when the kiss breaks, and he rubs over your lips with his thumb like he did before, smiles softly.

“You don’t have to thank me, sweet girl. I told you I wanted to take care of you; I’m just so glad you let me.” You move your hands to the front of his shirt and rest them there, hoping he’ll take the hint, but he just gets a glimmer in his eye that makes the butterflies flutter low despite your very recent release. “Don’t be shy. Tell me what you want.” You flush, don’t know how to ask a man—especially a man like Aaron—to get naked for you. “Oh, there’s that blush. My sweet, innocent girl. You haven’t even been properly fucked, of course you don’t know how to ask for what you want. But I’ll teach you.”

He sits up, hovering over your body, gets his fingers on the buttons of his shirt and starts to slip them free. He has to unzip his pants to untuck it, and the sight and sound of that makes you whimper—you immediately tense, feel shame at being so vocal, but he just leans in to kiss you, soft and slow.

“You can’t wait for me to be naked too, can you? You want to see what a man looks like, feel what a man feels like. Don’t you?”

“Yes.” It comes out roughly, almost too low for even you to hear; you clear your throat and try again. “Yes, Aaron.” It earns you a slightly harder kiss, and he climbs off the bed to undress the rest of the way; your eyes are drawn to his erection as soon as it’s exposed, and he looks at you with nothing less than lust in his eyes. It makes you shiver and want to open your legs for him again.

“You’re staring. Have you touched a cock before—stroked it with your hand?”

“No. Can I?” you ask, sitting up against the pillows, and he nods, moves next to you, and takes your hand. You’re intimidated by the size of him, all the more so when he wraps your fingers around it, covers them with his, and strokes.

“Feels so good, baby,” he rumbles, slinging his free hand around your hip and holding you close to his body. He is so… just good looking, so different from your ex-boyfriend, from guys your age, and you look up at his face while you touch him, hoping to bring him even half as much pleasure as he brought you. Your eyes flick back down, though, after a short time, transfixed by the wet head disappearing into your fist. “Hmm. Good girl. Do you want to try putting your mouth on it?”

God, do you want to try that. You want to know what it tastes like, feels like on your tongue; you nod, scoot back a little so you can bend over him, and he puts his hands on your head, slowly guides your open mouth to hover over him.

“Careful with your teeth, and keep me nice and wet, okay? We'll go slowly.” He pushes your hair back from your face so he can see you better, which is sweet, and you nod, close your lips around him, let him show you how he wants you to do it.

He feels so big in your mouth, and you remember to be careful, to be wet, like he said. He’s not making you take him deeply, just a couple of inches, and when you’re not so nervous it feels really good, the weight of him against your tongue, his gentle hands teaching you what to do. It makes you feel useful, learning how he likes to be pleasured, and you enjoy finding ways to make yourself useful to Aaron.

“Perfect, perfect. Just like that—you’re doing great, sweetheart.” You hum around him, pleased that it feels good for him, and you’re stricken with the urge to feel him spilling into your mouth, but he groans and offers something even more intriguing. “Would you like to come sit in my lap? I want to press into your warm, tight, sweet pussy; I promise it will feel good, not like last time.” You make another noise, something eager, and he pulls you off and gets his hands on your waist, brings you up to rest against his thighs.

“Will it hurt?” you ask, just in case. You hadn’t thought to ask that last time. “You’re big; what if it doesn’t fit?” You look up at him, and warm, tender eyes peer into yours.

“It won’t hurt, and it will fit, I promise. We’ll make it fit. Lean up.” You stretch up a little, press your hands to his shoulders, and he rubs his hands soothingly over your body, kisses your chest, and then dips a finger inside you; you grip him tightly, moan, hold still while he moves it in and out, then adds another. “How does that feel? Don’t be shy.”

“Feels-feels good,” you breathe, and he pumps them together which feels so incredible, so new. He brings his free hand to your butt and squeezes softly.

“Good girl. I’m adding another. You’re so wet, it shouldn’t be a problem, but tell me if it’s uncomfortable.” The third finger makes you feel like you’re full up, a little snug, but you know you’ll need to get used to it if you want him inside; you breathe, will yourself to only feel the good, remind yourself that this isn’t like last time. Aaron is being so good to you; he won’t stop being good to you.

“Aaron.” It’s a gasp, a plea, a question, and he answers it by pulling his fingers out, putting his hands on your hips, and lining his cock up at your entrance, lowering you slowly onto it. You pant, moan as it slides in; it feels tight to you, and you’re so incredibly full, but his hands feel like safety and you’re not worried. He’s always taken care of you; he wouldn’t hurt you.

“You’re perfect, you’re doing so good. You feel so good.” He squeezes you, stretches up to brush his lips over yours. “We’re going to make you come again; I’ll give you the best night of your life, I promise.”

“Of course you will. This is already the best night of my life,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck, and he kisses you harder; you can feel his hands tighten, and it doesn’t hurt, only makes you want more, rougher. You feel filthy for wanting that, but it’s Aaron, and you want any and everything he wants to give; you also want him to take anything he wants to take.

He moves your body up and down, a show of strength that makes you moan, just a string of desperate sounds you’re a little embarrassed of; he appreciates the noises you make, though, if the way he grips you is any indication, his eyes determined as he makes you bounce on his cock.

“Oh, yes baby, just like that. How does it feel, sweet girl?”

“Mmh, good, so good, so good,” you sigh, your butt making contact with his firm thighs each time he brings you down on him. “Feels so good to be… to have it inside me.”

Aaron hums, frowns just slightly.

“Tell me what it is, baby. Your innocent little mouth can be dirty for me, this once. What feels good? What’s inside you?” His voice is a little tense, like maybe he wants to finish, but he doesn't change a thing, doesn’t hurt you so he can get there faster. You sink your teeth into your bottom lip, curl fingers into his hair.

“Your… It’s your cock, Aaron. Your cock feels so good inside me.” You’ve thought the word, never said it aloud, but it makes him groan deeply, so you vow to say it again at some point just to savor that reaction.

“Yes it does, yes it does. Feels so good inside your perfect pussy, my perfect, sweet girl.” His hands move you faster, and you want to help now that you know this is how he likes it; when the two of you work together, it’s quicker thrusts, harder thrusts, your breasts bouncing along with the rest of your body and making you feel filthy, indecent. Amazing.

You lean in for a kiss, and Aaron turns it into something deep and decadent, delicious; you pass moans back and forth, holding tightly to him, the both of you breaking a sweat even in the cool air. You’re so close, so close to the ultimate pleasure you felt with his head between your legs, and you can hear your moans change, eager, needy things.

“Aaron please. Please.” You take his face in your hands, look into his eyes, bounce on him and kiss him and plead for release against his lips, and he holds you so tightly and climaxes, spilling inside you and pumping up into you, breathless.

“Oh, good girl, you did that. You made me come, baby. Not so innocent anymore, are you?” You shake your head—you don’t feel innocent anymore, you feel good, you want more, want to chase the feelings you’ve felt tonight, including the one still building inside you. “Now let’s get you off. I want to feel it.” He digs his fingers into your hips, so hard you think it might bruise, but in your heightened state of arousal it just feels good; you keep moving until your orgasm takes control of you, makes you grip his hair hard in your fingers and slam yourself down on him.

“Yes, yes, mmm.” He brings a hand to your face, softly catches your jaw, and guides you to make eye contact while you ride him through it until you are both spent, sinking against the bed. He sweeps his hands over your body, kisses you softly, and you melt at his touch. “That was so incredible. Thank you.”

“I told you, you don’t have to thank me. I wanted to take care of you; been wanting that for some time,” he admits easily, touching your cheek. “I’m just glad I could give you a good experience after the bad one.”

“Good doesn’t even begin to cover it.” Your voice is light, low, because saying things like this, talking about sex, is still so new to you. “I love being here for you, helping you with Jack, and anything else you need. Do you think you’ll want or need me like this again?”

“Oh, I don’t see how I could do without, if it’s something you want. Although I may have to return that swimsuit. It is pretty indecent,” he says with a somewhat guilty smile.

You figured as much, and for the first time tonight you feel very confident when you say, “No, I think I’d like to keep it.”

Taglist ❤️: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed

[junicai]

Relationship with Stray Kids

➣ CHAN ☾ dachan

daeun is chan’s baby and the fact that she’s only two years younger than him changes nothing 

really really dependent on his approval. especially on mixing during the first few songs for skz 

skz has a completely different sound to what daeun was used to, and changing her production style to mirror that was a challenge

there are a lot of clips in the first few episodes of the survival show of daeun sidling up to chan with a notebook in her hand

and them sitting beside each other on the sofa while they worked

you can find dozens of ‘Bang Chan doing the Proud Dad smile because Daeun existed’ videos on youtube

its a very common occurrence 

hence why daeun hates hates hates being told off by him 

its never anything serious 

but she always feels so guilty afterwards, and then she’ll cry and then chan feels guilty

and it’s a whole guilt-fest 

so daeun usually tries to avoid having to be told off

now that doesn’t stop her from telling him off

can and will drag him out by the ear if he stays in his studio for too long

that’s a lie

she’ll just stand in the doorway and pout until he saves his work down and leaves 

works every time

sorry but this man loves to pick her up? 

its a problem 

girl isn’t even hurt or tired just piggybacks 

always 

he said he likes to carry her because he knows that she dances in heels for so long so her feet must hurt more than theirs does

YEAH-

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

chan walks at the end of the group, we all know this. but the one time he wasn’t, was when daeun was the second last getting out of the van, and had to dip back in to snag the bag she had left behind. already three strides into the building, 

chan - upon realizing that he had seven heads in  front of him, and not eight - spun around in a circle, eyes wide and shoulders pushed back as he tried to peer over the crowds. when he spotted daeun, he took her bag from her hand, snagging her hand in his other one, and refused to let go of her until they made it safely into the venue.  

➣ MINHO ☾ mieun

actually attached at the hip?

genuinely

like, no one was going to peg the very intimidating and sullen looking-fellow with the bubbly bitch with pink in her hair and yet: 

✨besties✨ 

it’s comical 

minho’s dry humor perfectly balances with daeun’s unique blend of absolute buffoonery

 they have a lil tradition before they go onstage of exchanging bracelets

yes, they have matching bracelets

it was minho’s idea and yes, stays freaked out

it’s like a little, ‘see you on the other side’ thing

because lord knows daeun spent hours upon hours running herself ragged in practices until all hours of the night 

and minho Wasn’t Having It

so the bracelets are a little. U Got This. from him

really doesn’t like it when she cries 

to the point where he’ll do absolutely anything to get her to stop crying

it was then, that daeun discovered that minho gives god tier hugs 

God. Tier. 

minho and daeun cuddling when they’re drunk? more likely than you’d think 

they’re hilarious together, and probably one of stays most preferred ships with daeun and any of the boys 

the twt threadfics here are Legendary

the most popular one is a coffee shop au - where daeun is a struggling literature grad, and minho is a long-suffering night shift worker

absolutely does not tolerate any kind of hate towards daeun - verbal or otherwise. he blew a fuse the first time she trended for sexy pictures someone had taken of her at a fansign 

daeun had to tell him it was fine twelve times before he calmed down

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

daeun pulled down her skirt again for the nth time, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. she had her ankles tucked behind the leg of the chair and her hands folded over her lap to try and prevent anyone getting a glimpse up further into her skirt than was strictly necessary, but was - ultimately - doing a poor job of protecting her modesty. 

leaning over, minho took a glance at daeun shifting uncomfortably in her seat again, and shucked off his jacket - leaving him in a thin t-shirt in the cold breeze. before daeun could protest, he had laid the jacket over her legs, tucking it in and then sliding his hand in between hers and holding it tightly over his own lap. 

➣ CHANGBIN ☾ dabin

same age siblings !

both being in the ‘99 line, and with daeun originally training to be a main rapper than a vocalist

they were pretty comfortable around each other having spent so long training in each other’s presence

in fact

they even performed a duet together for one of the monthly evaluations

that was when they really became friends so to speak 

daeun fell asleep during one of their rehearsals on the floor of the studio

and changbin couldn’t just, leave her

so he ended up staying with her the whole night

was she embarrassed in the morning? yeah. and then changbin told her off for not prioritizing sleep more, and then she was more embarrassed.

now in the group, their dynamic settled into something extremely comfortable

when daeun was first introduced to the boys as a team, changbin was the only one she was completely comfortable rooming with 

his studio? nah, their studio 

did daeun sit in on a lot of the 3RACHA work prior to debut? yes, solely because she wanted the experience, and changbin said she could stay

it is actually his studio, but there’s a small collection (read: four) of soft pillows in the corner of the room for daeun to sit on as they work

according to her, she works better on the floor

changbin can’t find it in him to refute the argument, so he always ends up down there with her, with sheets sprawled over the carpet

when he started working out, he started taking daeun to the gym

swole buddies 

except daeun wasn’t allowed to build muscle and just had to run on the treadmill the whole time and changbin wasn’t made about that. he wasn’t.

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

changbin and daeun being the mafia when playing with skz and neither of them being able to look at each other without laughing. every time they’d make eye contact, daeun’s lips would twitch up, and changbin would have to turn away to cough into his arm lest he give himself away. 

ultimately, they lost - much to the chagrin of the pair, who wailed at their loss and proceeded to drink their sorrows away with the coca cola that they were sponsored for. 

product placement at it’s finest, even if it was a metaphor for alcoholism. 

➣ HYUNJIN ☾ dajin

lil beans

babies

awh

not at the start but now, yes.

he was wary around her, at first because hyunjin knows he’s attractive and the Last Thing He Wants is a groupmate that has a crush on him

so he was a bit, cold and aloof with daeun at the beginning of the survival show

he didn’t want to give her the wrong impression !

but then 

then 

daeun apologized to him in her video message after her elimination for ‘upsetting him, and making him feel like he couldn’t be comfortable around her’ and dear god

hyunjin’s heart = broken. destroyed. shattered into pieces. 

he still feels Very Guilty about this sometimes because he knows that his attitude towards her played a huge part in her feeling alienated and not like she belonged in the group

daeun tells him it doesn’t bother her but he knows

they talked through it though

good communication besties 

A+

he doesn’t call her noona though

he did, once upon a time, but then daeun felt weird because realistically, there’s only four months between them and that’s not enough to make her any more of a noona to him than he is a hyung to jisung and felix? 

they have a little rountine now, when either of them are upset

they pack up all the emotions for a little bit

into a little box

get out a laptop (doesn’t matter whos)

and just cuddle, with some blankets, and a terrible show or movie that they’re not really watching until the person is ok to talk 

arguably the most healthy friendship you will ever find

therapists around the country are giving standing ovations 

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

felix padded into hyunjin’s room to shake the boy awake, before catching sight of an already-awake daeun wrapped in his arms.

“noona?”

“help-” she gasped out, patting frantically at hyunjin’s arm that was firmly wrapped around her middle. “he won’t let go. it’s been an hour.” 

felix bit his lip, trying to stifle the laugh that was threatening to burst out. “i don’t know, you look pretty comfortable.” he began backing out the door.

“felix. lee felix. lee felix you come back here!” the harsh whisper-shouts echoed down the hallway after the giggling boy. 

➣ JISUNG ☾ jidae

partners in crime

probably have committed some crime together at some point but there’s no proof so chan can’t yell at them for it

they met when daeun first sat in on the 3RACHA meetings 

did someone say: soulmates 

changbin is convinced that the angel choir played when they first locked eyes

like this

jisung kicked the angel off of daeun’s shoulder and now it’s just him and the devil racking up reverse-brownie points in daeun’s conscience 

he’s been a wonderful influence, truly

to be fair though, daeun did attempt to convince him to stop eating ramen every day (to a varying degree of success)

to no degree of success actually. she just takes him out of the dorm to eat it now, but chan doesn’t need to know that bit

daeun? did you mean: jisung’s pillow?

anywhere, any place - he just flops down onto her

many head pats

they are both givers and receivers 

no words spoken only HEAD PATS 

the comfort is exchanged through osmosis

jisung is wholeheartedly against her ever getting a boyfriend 

Absolutely Not. she is theirs, and he will glare at anyone else who dares to Look At Her

nap buddies 

they get a combined total of negative six hours of sleep per week so they always end up napping together 

it’s very cute

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

less of a ‘moment’ and more of a series of events that STAY found hilarious?

we all know han jisung’s iconic converse. they’re legendary. unofficial skz merch. 

right well, daeun was seen wearing them out and around a few times by fansites, and one of them asked had she bought her own pair after seeing jisung’s at a fansign.

daeun laughed and said no, they were almost the same size in shoe so she just borrowed his. 

daeun stole jisung’s shoes. 

➣ FELIX ☾ daelix

stop they love each other so much 

felix said once in a vlive that he finds daeun really comforting to be around because she’s so calm 

‘calm’ 

he had a lot of anxiety about debuting because of what jyp said to him upon his elimination *angry noises*

so daeun tried her best to alleviate as much of his worries as possible

even if that meant sacrificing her own sleep to sit with him in the kitchen and talk things out

sorry i’d like to revisit the point that They Love Each Other Very Much 

felix says that he was worried about leaving his sisters behind, so having another noona was really comforting to him 

daeun absolutely has an australian accent when she speaks english now and it is completely felix’s fault 

he’d actively correct her pronunciation to make her sound more australian because he thinks the accent is so cute on her  

aggressively cute together 

you will get a toothache if you watch them for too long 

someone stop them they’re so adorable 

he likes to give out random compliments to see how red he can make her face go before she whacks him to get him to stop 

the results conclude: a pretty nice cherry-cheeked colour

felix really lives up to his koala nickname when he’s around daeun

will latch on and will not let go until he has to 

you thought chan loved felix? now see: chan watching daeun and felix 

pain

its so painful he just smiles like everything is right with the world and it IS because felix and daeun are there and aaaaaAAAA-

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

a sad moment, but one that features in every compilation of daelix’s interactions anyway. when daeun’s name was called for her elimination, she closed her eyes, taking in a deep breath and schooling her face into something impassive. the boys were all staring at her with devastated looks on their faces, but nothing was matching the look that felix was giving her from his position right by her side. 

he choked out her name, stumbling forwards into her arms as she caught him and wrapped him in a hug. felix apologized profusely for being the one in need of comfort, while daeun just ran a hand over his hair and told him it was alright, she was alright. 

➣ SEUNGMIN ☾ daseung

protector of daeun’s sanity

she has One (1) well behaved dongsaeng and its kim seungmin

it’s not that he’s less likely to act out than the others, really. it’s that he’s the least likely to die while doing it, so that = most well behaved, in daeun’s books 

daeun likes to squish his cheeks

no reason

other than, soft cheeks go squish and seungmin lets her so why would she forsake this golden opportunity

now if he wants to sit on the couch beside her he has to resign himself to cheek-smooshing 

also cheek kisses, rarely. usually when daeun’s intoxicated.

the boys had figured that both of their personalities together would just merge and create an even more chill environment

calm²

but NO

pemdas

it cancelled out

they’re not Chaotic but they’re certainly not Calm 

it’s a unique vibe that can only be described by this -> link

sorry

scholars but minus the education 

profound visionaries but they’re blind, type beat 

have the combined brainpower of the librarian gary from that one spongebob episode but they choose not to utilize it for the memes 

in all seriousness though, they’re very comfortable around each other 

seungmin struggled a lot with confidence during their debut months, and daeun was the only person who really knew the full extent of it all 

there was a Hefty Amount of nighttime talks on daeun’s bed under blankets stolen from the living room 

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

seungmin can sing, we all know that. but stray kids’ style rarely allows for full ballad songs on an album, so seungmin being given the opportunity to perform ‘Love Poem’ on Kingdom was truly a blessing in disguise. (the disguise being daeun’s re-occuring vocal nodules that left her unable to perform). 

after the performance, seungmin had barely taken a foot off the stage before he was being tackled by a teary-eyed daeun, who immediately buried her face into his shoulder to stop the cameras getting a good look at her crying. 

“n-noona?” 

“you can sing.” 

“yeah?”

“you sing so beautifully, minnie, oh my god.” 

➣ JEONGIN ☾ jeondae

the first thing you have to realize about daeun and jeongin’s relationship is that both of them can be the Biggest Babies in the world 

now with that out of the way

jeongin ADORES daeun 

im sorry did someone say ‘noona who wholeheartedly finds it impossible to say no to him’?

i think they did

he doesn’t take advantage of it, persay

but he Does and Will use it to others detriment - especially during games

“jeongin! you told me you weren’t the mafia! i believed you! this is a betrayal!”

she’s so so smitten with him and everything he does 

it is virtually impossible for her to be mad at him 

he just gets a little scowl and then a soft flick on his ear at the PEAK of scolding 

is the world’s worst enabler for All His Bad Ideas 

often complains that he’s growing up too fast and it isn’t fair that he’s taller than her now 

which he’ll then respond to by resting his elbow on her head and leaning on her, so. it never goes down very well 

daeun checks his micpack for him before every stage

every. stage. 

daeun is the only person who is allowed to coddle him as much as she does 

hyunjin is Bitter and daeun is Smug 

jeongin needs help with schoolwork? daeun would do it for him if she had been any good at school either, but alas 

 FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT. 

chan stepped into the kitchen, camera in hand. 

“what are you doing?” 

daeun and jeongin shove his backpack off the table, the coloured permanent markers rolling off immediately after, two black ones uncapped in their hands. 

“NOTHING” 

chan looked pointedly at them, and then to the backpack that had slid underneath the table. there, written all over the straps and the front pocket were small drawings, ranging from dinosours to the words (written in very terrible handwriting, so he couldn’t be sure which one of them wrote it): “skool suks!”

chan looked over to the pair. they scrambled off the chairs, abandoning the evidence in their break for safety. 

[babyybitchhh]

Ogun x Reader 18+

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 8,375

Warnings: established relationship, cunnilingus, brief mention of breeding/pregnancy implication, piv sex, creampie

A/N: I really did not think I'd finish this and yet, months later, here we are. I said I wanted to do Ogun's hair for him so that is exactly what I did. 😤 A LOT of research went into the first half of this fic, I can't even tell you how many braiding videos I watched or how many haircare blurbs I read through, so if my ignorance shows I really do apologize. I can barely do my own hair let alone someone else's and I put in a lot leg work for about 5 paragraphs of relevant information. lol Best boy deserves it though, so please enjoy!

♥♥♥♥

The quiet drone of the TV against the far wall was the only source of noise in the small apartment and neither of you were paying any attention to it. Hadn’t been for the last few hours, but that was how most wash days went. The background chatter was superfluous at best when you had all of your attention zeroed in on your boyfriend's hair and Ogun was pleasantly dozing at your feet, lost in his own little world of pampered bliss.

It did, however, serve its purpose in helping you better keep track of the time. If left to your own thoughts, you would have all too easily slipped into the same comfortable lull as him and forgotten about everything else you had to do. Like think about food, for example.

Briefly glancing up at the sound of cheesy sitcom music, you mentally check off another half hour. It was starting to get late which meant he’d probably be starving by the time you were done and that wouldn’t exactly come as a surprise given you’d been at this for the better part of the day. All that hard earned muscle mass of his certainly wasn’t going to maintain itself.

And, now that you were thinking about it, you were starting to notice the creeping pang of hunger in the back of your mind, buzzing faintly like an incessant afterthought.

Drawing a breath, you start to ask if he’s in the mood for anything in particular but Ogun manages to beat you to it.

“What should we do for dinner?”

You smile to yourself, fingers deftly moving through his hair with practiced ease -- under, scoop, under, repeat -- while you give that question some thought. Surely there was something you could whip up with what you had on hand in the kitchen. The real question, however, was what.

Doing a quick mental checklist of your cupboards, you rapidly narrow down your options. A fast and easy pasta dish was out of the question without the sauce or any ingredients to make it with. No meat for hamburgers. There was still some salad mix in the fridge but he needed something far more substantial than that. Damn. You should probably go shopping soon.

“Hmm,” Gently tilting Ogun’s head forward, you pick back up on the half finished braid you were working on. He was almost done, with only two rows left to go. The argan oil and shea products you’d put in his hair left your fingertips feeling buttery smooth and soft, their lingering smell as warm as it was soothing. It permeated the air in the living room, enclosing you both in your own little bubble for two and making for an altogether pleasantly relaxing Sunday afternoon.

“Let’s see …” You murmur at length. “I could probably make a stir fry with some vegetables and shrimp. How’s that sound?”

“As much as I love your cooking,” He shifts on the floor and glances over his shoulder, forcing you to pause what your fingers are doing. “I was thinking we could order in tonight. My treat.”

Your smile grows even when you try to ignore the unmistakable flutter in your chest. “Oh? And what’s the occasion?”

“There isn’t one.” His mouth curls up, mirroring yours. “But if you need an excuse, consider it thanks for doing my hair.”

“That’s sweet of you, but I’m not finished yet.” Placing a hand atop his head, you pointedly turn him around straight again and Ogun laughs, very softly, when you release him so you can get back to work.

You enjoyed getting to do this for him and the fact you liked playing with his hair was no secret either. It was wild and thick, very close to being untamable, but it was also incredibly healthy -- something you would have all too happily taken credit for if it hadn’t been in the same enviable condition as when you’d first met him. That he trusted you enough to let you do this was, perhaps, more intimate than anything else you’d ever done together, and with a few more twists you put the finishing touches on the braid.

Letting it hang next to the others, you direct him to lean back so that you can easily reach the front of his hairline again. He acquiesces without a fuss and sinks into the couch, letting the back of his head settle comfortably in your lap. Ogun’s shoulders brush your knees when you hunch closer with a pink rat tail comb in hand and you’re acutely aware of him watching you as you begin sectioning out the next row. You start to smile again, even though you try not to.

“What?”

“I’m still waiting on an answer.”

You shoot him a quick look.

Golden eyes gleam back at you, reflecting endearment and humor alike, and you quickly focus in on his blown out, fluffy hair again before he can successfully distract you. “I don’t know. You pick.”

“Nope.” He hums goodnaturedly. “That’s not how this works. You can’t just push it back on me when I asked you for a reason. Tell me what you want.”

“I really don’t know - hey!” You squawk when he gives the back of your calf a sharp pinch in retaliation for being so uncooperative and you squirm, giggling. “Don’t do that! I’m honestly not sure what I’m in the mood for.”

“Then think about it.”

“I am.” You intone, gently pushing Ogun’s head forward just enough to get at the crown of his head. Relative silence claims the room once more while you consider an almost endless list of potential choices and finish up the second to last braid. Thankfully without any more pinching attacks on his end. He was going to look so nice when you were done.

“What about a pizza?” You suggest at last.

“I’m game.” He murmurs, slouching to the side so he can rest his temple against the plush cushion of your leg. It gives you the perfect angle to attack the final strip from and you get to work weaving coarse strands into his preferred fashion, your fingers moving quickly but efficiently. You’d practiced tirelessly just to ensure he wouldn’t have to go to someone else for this without skimping on the finished product's quality and it certainly showed.

A few moments later, the task is complete.

Grabbing an elastic band, you gather Ogun’s styled hair into a neat little ponytail and tie it off at the back of his head. You finish up by running your fingertips across one shaved side of his scalp, affectionately feeling out the new growth before deciding he can go another week or two until you have to bring out the clippers again.

“Alright. You’re all done.”

Lifting a hand to feel over his hair, he twists around and peers up at you with an expectant grin. “How do I look?”

“Like the most handsome man in the world.”

Ogun positively beams. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Leaning close, you press a brief kiss to his smiling mouth. “What sort of pizza do you --”

He cuts you off when he suddenly pushes up on his knees and catches your lips again.

Your eyes go big when broad hands find the meat of your thighs and gently squeeze them while he kisses you much more impassionedly than you’d kissed him. A sound of surprise rises in the back of your throat but he quickly swallows it, making your heart race.

Heaving a quiet sigh through your nose, you lean into the gesture and meet him halfway, eagerly kissing him back.

Grinning knowingly, Ogun tilts his head and slots his mouth more securely over yours to deepen the exchange. You find yourself slowly melting against him and you bring your hands up to grab onto his shoulders. God, he was unfairly good at this. Not that you were complaining, but a polite segue from one topic to the next would have been appreciated. You’d been thinking about dinner, what sort of toppings you wanted on your pizza, and now you were thinking about …

You groan, very softly, when his palms drag up along your sides, bunching the cotton of your t-shirt in the process. It allows for the briefest skin on skin contact and an eruption of goosebumps spreads across your body, as anticipatory as they were impatient.

Lips parting, you grant him access and Ogun jumps at the chance, eagerly sweeping his tongue into your mouth to lav yours with warm, wet attention. The smooth, flickering strokes he graces your palette with inspires a flood of molten heat in your gut that leaves you wanting more. Always more. It was never enough where he was concerned - and you slide one of your hands higher still to tenderly cradle the curve of his skull.

Much to your whining disappointment, however, he pulls back a moment later to give you some space and you whimper at the loss.

“Ogun …”

“Shh. I’m right here, baby.” He whispers, leaning back in to press a quick peck to your lips before doing the same to the corner of your mouth.

It’s not enough to pacify you though and you loop both arms around his neck, trying to pull him back in again. He obliges with an affectionate nuzzle, pressing close to settle against your lap and pin you to the back of the couch under his sturdy weight.

“What's wrong, sweetheart?”

You pull your mouth in an imploring pout. “I’d like for you to finish what you started.”

He laughs, sweet and boyish as he pulls back to fix you with a big grin. “Oh? And have I ever left you wanting?”

“No, but I’d hate for you to start now.” You sound a little whiny. Needy.

Another quiet laugh and Ogun comes in to kiss you again, much more sedately this time. His soft lips mold seamlessly to yours, working against your mouth at just the right speed, with the right amount of pressure to steal the air from your lungs.

You let loose a soft moan as you arch underneath him and push your chests together, basking in the fleeting contact despite how unsatisfying it is. What you really want is to have his body working over yours without the impediment of bothersome clothes in the way. To feel the chorded steel muscle he’d worked so hard to build flexing and driving into you.

A shudder ripples through you when the thrumming desire that wells inside slithers out from between your legs to ignite the rest of your body in heated flame. An all powerful compulsion which you wouldn’t have fought even if you could.

His mouth still working in tandem with yours, Ogun gives your waist a possessive squeeze and it sends a fresh wave of sharp arousal racing down your spine. You whimper, pushing up into him a little harder, more fervently, as you clutch at his shoulders. The need to have him laid out on top of you has taken over your higher functioning mind, all thoughts of pizza long gone out the window as the velvety push and pull of his mouth draws you further under his spell.

Willingly, you surrender to the exigent summons and curl your legs up around his narrow hips to tug him even closer, urging him into action.

A hot puff of air fans across your face when he abruptly disengages from the kiss, moving to press his lips against the apple of your cheek, your jaw. There’s a noticeable haste in his actions now and you turn your head to give him better access, exposing the vulnerable line of your throat to his seeking mouth.

Ogun wastes no time and immediately swoops in, pecking his way down the column of your neck with an occasional love bite here or there for good measure. Each one seemed to make your toes curl that much tighter to the point where you could hardly stand it anymore.

“You play dirty …” You mumble, lightly running your nails across his nape.

“Mm, how so?” He sounds distracted and preoccupied, too busy mouthing at your pulse to pay it any mind.

“You told me to decide on dinner …” You trail off when he latches onto the juncture of your neck and shoulder, immediately succumbing to the tantalizing suction Ogun applies with his lips. You let out a soft, faltering groan, brows furrowing in pleasure when it makes the simmering heat in your gut double and then triple as teeth sink into delicate skin.

Shuddering, you deliberately wrack your brain in an attempt to finish your train of thought but that proves much more of a struggle than you’d been prepared for.

“But … nngh, but now all I want is you …”

He comes up at your somewhat dreamy admittance, a mischievous look camping out on his face even as big hands push at the hem of your shirt. “Oh yeah? Anything you want in particular, sweetheart?”

Lifting your gaze, you peer up at Ogun from just a scant few inches away. The shallow rise and fall of your chest has no doubt clued him in that he’s got you all worked up now but you aren’t exactly trying to hide it. He already knew just how weak you were for him, knew precisely how well your body always responded to his advances, so there really wasn’t any point in pretending otherwise.

You were powerless against his undeniable charm and he seemed to get just as much enjoyment out of that as you did. And looking at him now you think, not for the first time, that you just might be the luckiest girl in the world.

“Let’s start with that talented mouth.” You murmur, reaching out to take his smooth jaw in hand and pull him, grinning, into another kiss.

Noising quietly against your mouth, he leans further into you until it feels like you’re being pleasantly crushed under the hard, muscular weight of his frame. It only serves to get you even more riled up, now well and truly desperate to feel his bare skin flush against yours as you roll your hips forward and drag your clenching pussy across the front of his pants.

Lips parting on a heady groan, he returns the favor by slowly thrusting his pelvis forward so you can feel the stiff outline of his cock caressing your clothed slit. You keen at the sensation and cant your hips into the pressure, the two of you gradually picking up a steady, unhurried rhythm together that damn near drives you wild.

Hands staying busy while he sedately humps you, Ogun patiently works your shirt up higher and higher until it’s bunched under your armpits. Reaching around for the clasp of your bra, he gives it one good tug and the satiny soft material loosens around your shoulders with a near silent slither. Bringing his hands to the front again, he shoves the cups up out of the way before letting them descend on soft, pliant breasts that seem to fit just right in the curve of his worn palms. Giving them both a gentle squeeze, he kneads your chest until you groan and tip your head back, breaking apart from the kiss in favor of sighing up at the ceiling.

He takes that opportunity to dip his face close and press an open mouthed kiss to the center of your sternum while he carefully squeezes your tits in a pinching grip. It makes you shudder, wishing you could clench your thighs and ease the growing ache there, but that’s impossible when he’s slotted between them like this. You have no choice but to endure the thrumming tension and you squirm underneath him, needily bucking up to meet the next thrust of his hips with a frustrated little groan.

“Ogun,” You gasp, letting your fingers scrabble to grab hold of his black t-shirt and tug on it. “I need you. Now.”

Bringing his head up, Ogun allows himself a moment to drink in the wanton expression on your face while he cups his hands around your breasts almost reverently. “How do you need me, baby?” He mumbles, letting his thumbs brush over your stiff nipples in a feather light caress. “What do you need?”

“Your mouth …” You whine, practically choking on it.

“Where do you need my mouth, huh? Tell me.”

“On my pussy.” It’s more a plea than a statement and you shake for him even as the words leave your mouth.

Ogun shifts against you and bends down, mouth opening wide over the pebbled peak of your breast. You watch on, mesmerized, when the pink of his tongue darts out to lap at the fleshy bud before sealing his lips around it and suckling. Your eyes slip shut as you arch, pushing your chest up to meet him while your fingers cling to the cotton of his shirt. Ogun doesn’t linger long though and he soon comes up off the first with a dull pop before catching your other nipple between his lips.

Briefly worrying it, he slides his hand forward to tweak the spit lathered bud between thumb and forefinger, making you outright seethe. You give up on getting his top off with an impatient little huff and bring your hands down to grasp at his arms instead. The firm, wiry muscle under his skin offers little give no matter how hard you squeeze or dig your nails in, and he remains ever unperturbed, casually sucking the tip of your breast to stiff, throbbing attention.

“Please, Ogun …”

With a faint hum, he comes up off your chest and presses a quick peck to the puckered nipple. “I know, baby. I know.” Moving back to the first nipple, he kisses that one too. “Just be patient, alright? You know you don’t have to beg me to go down on you …”

You groan at the velvety suggestion and tuck your chin down to pin him with an imploring look. Ogun offers you a lopsided grin in return, pinching both your nipples between his fingers and carefully tweaking the sensitive flesh until you outright gasp. You feel like you’re running on autopilot now as you reach up to sandwich his face between your palms and pull him into yet another kiss, lips crashing together with an intensity that makes your pussy flutter.

His mouth parts against yours, opening wide as if to swallow you whole, and all the while he keeps plucking at your tits until they’re aching almost as much as your neglected cunt. You couldn’t take it anymore ...

Tightening your legs around Ogun’s waist, you dig your heels into the small of his back and draw him right up against you so you can feel the hard weight of his cock digging into the spot where you need him most. A frazzled, high strung wail claws its way up the back of your throat as you jut your pelvis up and rub yourself against that thick, pulsing heat in search of some relief but very little is forthcoming like this.

He pulls back at the sudden friction thoufg and issues a faltering groan that seems to echo off the walls for as quiet as it is. “Shit … you really want it that bad, baby?”

“It’s your fault …”

“I know, I know.” Bending close, Ogun presses a hard peck to the center of your chest. “And I’ll take responsibility for that, don’t you worry.”

Lower he trails, slowly kissing his way down your fluttering stomach as his hands come around to unbutton your shorts. The zipper quickly follows suit and then he’s tugging them down your thighs while you eagerly twist to help get you undressed just that much quicker.

Thoughtlessly tossing them aside, Ogun reaches for your panties next but he’s much more subdued in removing these. One torturous fraction at a time, he carefully pries the thin cotton away until they’re low enough to expose your puffy slit to the air. He lets out an appreciative noise of approval when he sees the sticky mess you’ve made along the seam and your heart pounds in your ears as you draw your legs up so he can slip the dainty cotton the rest of the way off.

He discards them somewhere on the floor, probably right alongside your shorts, before palming your bent knees. Gently, Ogun eases them apart so he can peer down at your sticky cunt with an unconcealed expression of hunger.

“Look at you, baby. Just look at this pretty pussy, already so wet for me.”

Smoothing big hands up along your bare thighs, he bends close and presses his mouth to the apex of your mound in a surprisingly chaste but hungry kiss. Digging your fingers into the couch cushions, you enticingly wiggle your hips at him and gold eyes flash at you from between your legs, amusement and something much more dark shining within them.

You feel his lips eagerly curl against you then, and he shuffles closer to the couch so that he’s hunched directly over your prone body. Hooking long fingers under one of your legs, he hauls it up and over his shoulder before repeating the process on the other side. Grabbing big, grasping handfuls of your hips, he uses his hold on you to drag your lower body just to the edge of the seat, making you squeak at suddenly finding yourself completely vulnerable and laid bare. Your pussy clenches tight in anticipation though and you tremble, drawing a steadying breath when he pecks at the soft swell of your inner thigh, warm breath puffing against your skin.

There was no denying that he had you completely at his mercy like this and you would have been lying through your teeth if you said that didn’t excite you.

“Comfortable?”

At your nod, Ogun leans forward just enough to bend your legs towards your chest and fold you against the top of the couch. He settles on his knees and dips his head down, mouth parting so his tongue can take a quick swipe from the bottom of your gushing cunt up to the top. The sight of it has you groaning for him, your vision swimming as you force yourself to keep watching.

That proves exceedingly difficult when he presses in close, making the meat of your pussy lips squish and mold against his face. Slowly kissing at you to work them open with his mouth, he flicks his attention up to regard your face and you practically vibrate on the cushions. Another swipe of his tongue hits its mark, wetly knocking your clit, and you let loose a seething mewl.

“O - ohh! Yeah …”

Ogun’s fingers dig into your twitching hips to keep them spread while he takes his time slowly swirling around that sensitive pleasure button. He starts at a wide breadth and then gradually works his tongue in tighter and tighter circles until he’s finally grinding it into oblivion. The soft, gooey friction of his mouth is enough to have you wheezing in pleasure as sweat beads, unnoticed, along your lower back and you arch, making your tits jiggle with the motion.

“Right there … don’t stop!”

Issuing a low sound of agreement, Ogun opens his jaw wider and drags his tongue straight up through your slick, juicy folds. You can feel every little thing - every nerve ending and every meaty bit of flesh that tries to cling to the textured muscle and your legs jerk at the sensation.

Tossing your head back against the couch, you blindly reach down to grasp his knuckles in a death grip. “Ah, haah … feels good ...”

In lieu of a proper response, he tilts his head and attacks your thrumming clit from a different angle. He’s relentless, mercilessly battering that delicate little pearl back and forth with such fervor that it leaves you quaking under his attention, struggling just to breathe. You’re not sure how much more of this you can stand, the threat of tipping over the edge before you can even fully enjoy it looking like a very real possibility now, but then Ogun seals his mouth around the fleshy nub and sucks.

Hard.

“Oh!” You choke on a haggard, stuttering gasp of pleasure, lurching underneath him.

Confidently humming, he comes up off you with a dull pop and a sticky breath of air. “Looks like you’re already getting close.” Ogun murmurs, sounding really quite smug about that.

Never one to leave you hanging though, he crowds one of his hands between your legs and presses blunt fingers into your slit. Finding your throbbing clit again, Ogun starts to rub it in fast strokes made smooth by the viscous mix of saliva and arousal that absolutely coats your pussy and this time you practically shriek.

“Yes! Yes, I’m getting close! … nngghh … please, please, pleeease! Ogun, please!”

But he refuses to let up on your poor little cunt just yet. “Please what, baby?”

You twist, thighs flexing and going ramrod stiff around his head. Your vision was starting to blur around the edges, reflexive tears pricking at your eyes. It’s hard just to think straight let alone form a semi coherent sentence when he’s relentlessly rubbing your clit with roughly calloused fingertips like that, the friction almost too much to bear and quickly riding the line of overstimulation. You couldn’t handle much more of it.

“Pl - please put your dick in me! Please! I wanna’ come on your cock, Ogun! I’m buh - aaah - ah! - begging!”

A low, rumbling groan rises up in his chest but, still, he doesn’t stop. “I thought you wanted to come on my mouth?”

“I - I changed my mind!”

He grunts, deep and primal in his acknowledgement, and the sound races straight to your throbbing cunt.

You respond with a broken groan, only to nearly come right up off the couch when he withdraws his fingers and replaces them with his mouth. Supple lips part and work you open again so he can worm his tongue into the crease of your body. He delivers a series of taunting flicks to the straining bud hidden within, making you sensitively twitch, before dragging the flat of his tongue across it in broad, sweeping strokes. You could feel yourself tipping ever closer to the edge and, with a wheezing gasp, you reach down with both hands to cradle either side of his head.

You’re not sure if you want to push him away or draw him closer - as if that were even possible at this point.

“Oh - Ogun, wha - wait! Nngh … if you keep going - -“

Smacking his lips, he comes up just enough for you to hear him say “You’ll cum? Good.” Before diving back in.

The way he immediately opens his mouth wide and plunges his tongue into the satiny soft folds and creases of your cunt, teasing at your entrance, has you jolting as if you’ve been electrocuted. Gritting your teeth, you clutch him all the tighter while the building pressure inside you steadily inches towards blissful discomfort. Your heaving body was truly hanging in the balance now, entirely at his mercy (of which there seemed to be none) and your legs uselessly flex in the air when you squeeze them around his head. You could almost taste it in the back of your throat.

“Fuck! Right there …” you whine as you rock your pelvis against his mouth, the motion stiff and halting. “Right there, baby … I’m s - so - ooooh - close!”

Ogun grunts in approval and drags his tongue up to the top of your slit again, burying his face somehow even deeper into the cushiony give of your pussy. He glances at you, very briefly, from under the fall of dark lashes and the heady, masculine glint in those burnt gold irises sends a powerful shudder rippling down your spine. Your mouth drops open as if to scream but nothing comes out. For a worryingly long moment, it feels like you forgot how to breathe.

All you can do is watch on in thrumming suspense when he drops his gaze and gives his head a shake to jostle all the nerve endings in your cunt. The braids you’d worked on all day give a little bounce in their ponytail before settling again, and your eyes start to roll back when he flattens his tongue to your clit so he can grind down on it again. Static shoots through your system as you arch against him, so fitfully your back starts to ache in protest, but it was much too late. Nothing could stop it now, not even if you wanted to.

You suck in a haggard breath and the coil snaps, just like that. With an almost violent jerk, you devolve into a fit of convulsions that has you wailing up at the ceiling in total disregard for the upstairs neighbors. They probably heard you every time you and your boyfriend had sex but it’s not as if you could very well help it. Ogun was a talented individual by nature and that certainly transferred over into bedroom activities too.

Helpless, all you can do is cling to him through the full bodied tremors that shake you straight down to your core while he leisurely laps at your throbbing clit to ease you through it. He always seemed intent on milking your orgasms for all they were worth, and that certainly didn’t help your case with your neighbors either. It always felt like something of an out of body experience when he was the one going down on you and you couldn’t exactly say you disliked him for that.

The exact opposite, actually.

“Oh, god …”

With a stuttering groan, you slowly go limp as you come down from your high one piece of you at a time. It was hard to tell which jagged edges fit where, but you’re still acutely aware of the mess he’s made of your cunt when Ogun finally straightens and you feel a rush of fresh air hit your drenched slit. You shiver at the sensation and crack your eyes open to peer down at him, whimpering.

“You didn’t listen …”

Snorting a quiet laugh, he shifts against you and brings a hand up to swipe the glistening moisture from his mouth. “I only did what you initially asked for, sweetheart. That doesn’t mean I can’t give you the second request, too.”

Your lips curl in a warbling smile at that, and he grins right back.

Letting your head loll against the couch cushions, you contentedly watch as he brings your legs down off his shoulders so he can move to stand. Leaving you spread out and feeling like silly putty, he yanks his shirt over his head with one quick, fluid motion that makes his abdominals tantalizingly ripple before reaching for his pants next. He makes quick work of the button and then the fly, anticipation evident in his body language when he shoves them along with his underwear down to his feet.

Ogun’s thick cock bounces eagerly when he steps out of his discarded clothes, and the sight alone is enough to make your pussy clench tight. You still felt sensitive and over wrought, so fresh off the tail end of your orgasm, but that doesn’t stop you from moaning faintly at the sight of him.

You’d never known a more attractive man in all your life.

“Ogun …” You murmur, eyes slipping shut when your desire flares back at full force dizzyingly fast.

Your eyes immediately pop back open, however, when he slides his arms under your knees and leans forward to brace against the couch, folding you up like a pretzel. Your toes flex as you squirm underneath him, glancing down at your defenless little cunt with an excited squeak. Puffy lips can’t help but spread in this position and you easily catch sight of your swollen clit straining towards him in obvious need, not yet satisfied.

Hovering just a scant breath away, his straining cock - all silky smooth and heavy - twitches in anticipation, eager to sink into you. It doesn’t look like it's going to fit. It never does but, somehow or another, he always manages to squeeze every girthy inch of himself inside you and the thought alone has you throbbing in sharp, sporadic pulses.

It was almost embarrassing how fast you were bouncing back from the first round, but you can’t quite complain when you watch his hanging ballsack sway with the motion of getting himself situated and your pussy responds in kind with an intense pulse. He had the body of a breeder and you were sure he would’ve already had you heavy and round by now if only you weren’t on birth control. Maybe someday, though …

“Ogun …” You were starting to feel well and truly delirious now, and you reach up to dig your nails into his forearms for leverage to ground yourself with.

He doesn’t seem to mind it though, and he merely issues a soft grunt of acknowledgement as he rocks forward a bit to angle your defenseless pussy up at him more. You can feel yourself squeeze down and you groan, dazedly watching your own thighs flex in their bent up position but there was simply no way out of his hold now. The thought alone is enough to have you breathing out a stuttering puff of air, which you promptly choke on when he starts to lower his pelvis towards yours.

“Yes, yes, yes, please give it to me, I need it, I need it, please --”

You’re whining. You realize that on some level, but you’re much too consumed by this desperate hunger to have him rearranging your guts to care about that right now. It wouldn’t take Ogun long at all to have you creaming around him at this rate.

Unperturbed, he casually adjusts his position over top of you before swooping down to catch your babbling mouth in another heated kiss to silence you. The passionate force behind the gesture pushes your head back against the cushions and you relent, groaning into his lips as your hands fly up to offer his sides an encouraging squeeze.

Luxuriating under the strength of his body, you drag your palms up across his chest and higher still to grasp his shoulders. With a weak, halfhearted jut of your pelvis, you make a sad little attempt at angling your hips up enough to feel his leaking cockhead against your sticky cunt but it’s no use. He has you thoroughly pinned and at his mercy like this. His for the taking whenever he saw fit to skewer you on his sizable length and not a moment sooner.

It was too much.

You suddenly break from the kiss in favor of keening in soft desperation. He pulls back, stopping just long enough to regard you with that infuriatingly attractive, heavy lidded look before pointedly glancing between your bodies.

Slowly, you follow his lead only to swallow hard when his thighs flex forward and the underside of his cock skirts along your parted pussy lips. The crude way it bumps against your clit has you jolting at the sensation and clutching him all the more fervently. Your whole body positively shakes as Ogun shuffles his feet a little further apart and tries again, the bulbous glans slipping and sliding through petal soft folds once, twice - until it abruptly finds its mark on the third stroke.

Catching at your entrance, he pauses for a moment and then slowly starts to sink in. Your breath hitches, mouth opening on a silent scream as you watch the ruddy pink head slowly disappear into your body. The stretch is immediately felt, and it’s more than enough to make your greedy pussy flutter around the intrusion even as it gushes more sticky slick to ease the way.

But the more of him that slides into the gummy sleeve of your insides, the less good it does. He’s just too big - wider than he is long, yet still large enough to push your heaving body right to its limits. You hold your breath, head spinning, when he pushes further in and forces your squeezing passage to make room for him. More and more, until he’s about half of the way inside where he finally pauses to let you adjust.

You twitch, weakly writhing like a small animal caught in the merciless maw a steel trap. You were utterly powerless underneath him.

“Oh - Ogun! Fuck … fuck me - dear Sol, please just fuck me!”

He draws a slow, calming breath. “You’re still so tight, baby … I don’t want to hurt you.”

Whimpering, you reach between your legs and wrap trembling fingers around the base of him. Ogun moans after a few awkward pumps of your hand and tilts his face up at the ceiling, basking in the sensation of you jerking him while he’s half wedged inside your body.

It must feel good because it takes him a prolonged moment to get his bearings again and when he does, he carefully eases himself back just enough to give a tiny thrust forward. You can feel the moment he slips in a little deeper than before and you guide him into it, one sedate thrust at a time. When you stroke up, he pulls back and when you stroke down, he pushes into you. It’s a maddeningly cohesive rhythm that has you panting like a bitch in heat long before he finally slides home and you outright choke when the fronts of his thighs settle against the backs of yours a small eternity later.

“Shit,” He hisses, brows knitting as he peers down to admire the sight of his pelvis flush against yours. “That’s a tight fit … how’re you doing, sweetheart? It’s not too much, is it?”

You give your head a numb shake and roll your eyes up at him, teasing your fingertips through the mess of curls at the base of his groin while you do it. Words couldn’t even come close to describing how stuffed full you felt, but you loved it.

“N - no … it’s perfect … feels - ngh - good …”

Smiling, Ogun dips his face close to press his mouth to your forehead in a chastely sweet kiss. He stays like that as he carefully angles back until just the tip remains and then, so slowly you can feel it in your bones, he pushes back in. The drag is exquisite and it feels like you’re practically suffocating on the intense pleasure of every solid inch, each throbbing vein. You could feel it all.

A wordless cry of pleasure bursts out of you when he slides back out and in again at that same staggered pace. He’s so big you can feel the pressure on your cervix and when he wiggles his hips, grinding into you, oh god, it feels like he’s pushing the glans right on that raised ring of puckered flesh. Your mouth drops open but nothing comes out. It was hard just to keep your eyes focused anymore.

Haltingly, he starts up a gradual but steady pace as your body adjusts around the intrusion and makes room for him, your pulpy walls clinging to the length of him on each drawn out stroke. It comes as a great relief, particularly when the building pressure swells into high strung arousal and replaces the initial discomfort of being stretched right to the breaking point.

In a matter of moments, the sticky wet clicking that noises each time your pussy sucks him in deep on the downward thrust comes to dominate the living room. The sound of it only seems highlighted by your sensitive bleating and the husky groans slipping out of him, the drone of the tv so much an afterthought now that you forgot it was even on. Even when he picks up enough speed to drive the fronts of his thighs against your upturned ass, creating a sharp, fleshy slap, it’s nothing compared to the hungry slurping of your cunt.

You probably would’ve been embarrassed by the whole thing if only it didn’t feel like he was spearing you straight down the middle. It made your eyes cross, mouth hanging open in doped out bliss while you cling and clutch at him for dear life. There wasn’t a single inch of you that he didn’t touch like this and it lit up every nerve ending along the way like a goddamn firework.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think he was going to break you in half.

“Such a pretty baby. Look how well you’re taking my cock ....”

You gasp. “Hnng, s’so big …!”

“And you’re taking all of it,” he murmurs, just this side of breathless. “Like a champ. Do you have any idea how good you look right now? Huh?”

You warble out an incomprehensible response, far too overwhelmed and riveted by the way Ogun’s cock glistens obscenely every time it makes another appearance between your thighs. Your fingers dig into his forearms, leaving crescent shaped marks in his skin and try not to scream in ecstasy while he carves out a space within you.

You loved watching him fuck you like this for a multitude of reasons, the most pressing at the moment being that it drove you absolutely wild.

“If you keep squeezing me like that … ngh, I won’t last much longer.” He warns, his tone far too strained to hold even a hint of real reprimand.

“I want it,” you blubber wetly. “I want it, Ogun, please …”

“You want me to cum in you?”

A jerky nod accompanied by a mewling whimper.

He lets out a shaky breath as the speed of his thrusts quicken and you jerk underneath him, bleating like something wounded. The muscles in his arms flex and twitch around you when he smoothly adjusts the positioning of his hands, hunching further over you without so much as missing a beat.

“God, you drive me crazy …”

You’d like to tell him the feeling is mutual but you don’t get the chance. A particularly sharp snap of his hips knocks something loose inside you and you uncontrollably shake, legs kicking up uselessly at the air with a wordless noise of soaring pleasure. Cumming again doesn’t seem like such a far off possibility and a frazzled whine claws at the back of your throat when he presses his sweat slick forehead against yours, prompting you to glance up.

Ogun’s eyes were always beautiful to look at but especially so when you were staring into them from just a hair's breadth away and they were clouded dark with primal need as well something much more weighty.

“Tell me you want it, sweetheart. Tell me.”

“I - ngh - aaaahh, I want your cum, Ogun! I need you to fill me uh - up, please, I want it so baaad!”

A shudder races through him and he groans, eyes slipping shut for a brief moment as if to get his bearings before cracking open again. Keeping his forehead against yours, he tilts his head down to look between the two of you and, once again, you follow suit.

The sinfully rich color of his cock, just a shade or two darker than the rest of him, looks all the more tantalizing coated in your slick. You’ve all but drenched him at this point, the tight curls that frame his length visibly damp and matted together now. You suck in a frazzled breath at the sight, your head spinning alarmingly fast when the building pressure in your gut becomes almost too much to withstand. How was it that one single man could make you feel so primal with need but tenderly cared for at the same time?

“I - -“ You all but choke on it, wheezing at the next stroke. “I’m gonna’ - ahh, cum again … don’t stop!”

“I’m about to cum too, sweetheart.” With a soft groan, he lifts his attention to pin you with a heady look of challenge. “Think we can cum together?”

You frantically nod. “Uh huh!”

The corner of Ogun’s mouth twitches at that, settling into a lazy smirk as he shifts back and slows the motion of his hips. You can’t help groaning in disappointment but you realize what he’s doing quickly enough when he lets up his hold on your legs so he can lower himself down to lay out on top of you. Working his arms under your overheated back, he practically crushes you to the front of him and you bring your own up to wrap them around his neck.

This new position increases the pressure in your guts by a noticeable margin and the air rushes out of you with a stuttering sigh when he crawls up onto the edge of the couch to pin your thighs under his weight. Your legs are just as useless as before, twitching impotently in the air when he eases his hips back as far as he can. He doesn’t make it far, just enough to feel the drag and the subsequent plunge, but it makes you cry out all the same.

Face shoved into your hair, Ogun lets loose a series of heavy grunts when he picks up his earlier pace and the same sticky clicking rises in the air again. It’s much less deafening this time, softer by virtue of his shorter strokes, and you gratefully clutch him against you, glad to hold onto him.

“You feel so good …” he groans, making you shudder at the puff of hot air against your neck.

You can’t quite find your voice though, and you respond with a faltering moan that has him twitching inside you. The thick bands of musculature across his shoulders dance under your fingers each time he moves, emphasizing the raw strength in his lithe body. And yet he was still being careful with you, the plunge of his cock as carefully measured as before so as not to slam against your cervix but still tease it.

It wasn’t even that he was unreasonably large but, rather, he just so happened to fit you like a glove and that was perhaps the most arousing part of all.

“Ogun,” you finally manage to whimper. “Mm’ gonna’ cum …”

“Me too …”

The quietly stricken groan that comes out of him next makes your toes curl. You clench around him in a palpitating flutter, so close to the edge it brought the sting of tears to your eyes. His hips stutter at the squeeze and he trembles against you, struggling to keep up the subdued thrusting he’d settled into.

It quickly proves futile when his body tenses up with a low, faltering moan that rattles so deep you feel it in your cunt. The air catches in your throat and you squeeze him with your arms across his back and your legs around his narrow waist, clutching him to you as he lurches. Blunt fingers dig into your skin and he gives a little jerk, issuing a sucker punched wheeze seconds before you feel the rush of hot seed flooding your cunt.

You tremble wildly, nails clawing into his back when the sensation of Ogun shooting thick ropes against your gummy walls makes your muscles clamp around him hard enough to send you over the edge. Writhing in bliss, you stutter out a groan that he matches with one of his own while the two of you quake through your orgasms as one.

It was transcendental in a way you never would have thought possible.

Dropping his face to the couch cushions when you finally start to grow still underneath him some moments later, he issues a rumbling sound of satisfaction. The ragged quality of your panting quickly rushes in to replace the sticky wet squelching of your cunt, and you go boneless while you try to catch your breath. That was a lot easier said than done though and he, predictably, recovers much quicker than you.

“I’m surprised we really managed to pull that off.” He hums in contentment and turns his face to kiss at your ear, teasingly soft. “That’s a first.”

“And hopefully not the last.” You wheeze, making him chuckle.

“You liked it then, I take it?”

Dislodging your cramping fingers from his back with a certain amount of effort, you bring your hand up to push the hair from your face. “It was amazing … intense. I didn’t think we could do it either.”

Ogun lifts his head to press his mouth to your check, your nose, the spot between your eyes, all with a big smile on his face. “I’m glad we did. I promise I’ll try my best to make it happen again but no promises, okay?”

You can’t quite stop from giggling. “Don’t worry. I have faith in you.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Pausing long enough to give your ribs an affectionate pinch, he carefully pushes up from the couch and leans back. His softened cock slips out of you in the process, and you internally wince at the dribble of hot cum that oozes from you without him there to stopper it.

You draw your legs up to keep the mess to a minimum when he stands, gleaming eyes taking in the sight of you curled up on your couch with his semen leaking down the crease of your pussy for a prolonged beat. And then, he grins.

“Wanna’ get cleaned up and I’ll order that pizza?”

“How am I supposed to think about food after all that?” You pout at him.

Sending a sly look down at the spot between your thighs, Ogun starts to turn towards the bathroom. “I’ll get you a rag. I’m sure you’ll realize just how hungry you are once the adrenaline wears off. Besides, you should probably refuel before I try to give you an encore.”

Smiling at that, you appreciatively glance down at his tight ass before he disappears through the doorway. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind he’d be able to pull it off.

[teeniquedesign]

Are You Kitten Me Right Meow? The Purr-fect Guide to Cat-Themed T-Shirts

If you're a cat lover, you've likely come across the phrase "Are You Kitten Me Right Meow?" This playful and punny expression has become a favorite among feline enthusiasts and is now a popular design for cat-themed t-shirts. In this comprehensive guide, we'll explore the charm of these whimsical t-shirts, how to style them, where to buy them, and why they make great gifts. Let's dive into the world of "Are You Kitten Me Right Meow" t-shirts and discover why they should be a staple in your wardrobe.

The Appeal of Cat-Themed T-Shirts

Cat-themed t-shirts, especially those featuring the catchy phrase "Are You Kitten Me Right Meow," offer a fun and expressive way to showcase your love for cats. These shirts combine humor, style, and a touch of feline charm, making them a must-have for any cat enthusiast.

Why Cat Lovers Adore These T-Shirts

Expressive and Fun: The playful pun "Are You Kitten Me Right Meow?" adds a humorous twist to your outfit. It's a conversation starter and a way to share your love for cats with the world.

Versatile Fashion: These t-shirts come in various styles, colors, and designs, allowing you to find one that fits your personal taste and wardrobe.

Comfortable and Stylish: Made from high-quality fabrics, cat-themed t-shirts are both comfortable and durable. Whether you're lounging at home or going out with friends, these shirts are perfect for any occasion.

Styling Your "Are You Kitten Me Right Meow" T-Shirt

One of the best things about these t-shirts is their versatility. Here are some stylish ways to wear your "Are You Kitten Me Right Meow" t-shirt for different occasions:

Casual Day Out

Pair your cat-themed t-shirt with your favorite jeans and sneakers for a relaxed, casual look. Add a baseball cap or a beanie for an extra touch of style. This outfit is perfect for running errands, meeting friends for coffee, or enjoying a leisurely day out.

Layered Look

For a more polished appearance, layer your t-shirt under a denim jacket or a cozy cardigan. This adds depth to your outfit and keeps you warm during cooler weather. Complete the look with ankle boots or loafers.

Chic and Trendy

Tuck your "Are You Kitten Me Right Meow" t-shirt into a high-waisted skirt or tailored pants for a chic and trendy outfit. Accessorize with statement jewelry, a stylish handbag, and heels to elevate your look. This ensemble is great for casual Fridays at the office or a night out.

Sporty Vibe

If you're going for a sporty vibe, wear your t-shirt with athletic leggings and trainers. This outfit is not only comfortable but also perfect for a workout session or a casual stroll in the park.

Where to Buy "Are You Kitten Me Right Meow" T-Shirts

Finding the perfect cat-themed t-shirt is easy with so many online retailers and specialty stores offering a variety of designs. Here are some top places to shop for your "Are You Kitten Me Right Meow" t-shirt:

Online Marketplaces

Websites like Amazon, Etsy, and eBay offer a wide range of cat-themed t-shirts. You can find various designs, colors, and sizes, often at competitive prices. Many sellers also offer custom options, allowing you to personalize your t-shirt with your preferred colors or additional text.

Specialty Stores

Several online stores specialize in cat-themed apparel and accessories. Websites like The Cat's Pajamas, Meowingtons, and CatLadyBox provide a curated selection of high-quality t-shirts designed specifically for cat lovers. Shopping at these stores ensures you're getting unique and stylish items that celebrate your love for cats.

Local Boutiques

Don't forget to check out local boutiques and independent shops in your area. Many small businesses carry unique and handcrafted cat-themed t-shirts that you won't find anywhere else. Supporting local shops is also a great way to contribute to your community.

The Perfect Gift for Cat Lovers

"Are You Kitten Me Right Meow" t-shirts make fantastic gifts for friends and family who adore cats. Here are a few reasons why these t-shirts are an excellent gift choice:

Thoughtful and Personalized

Choosing a cat-themed t-shirt shows that you've put thought into selecting a gift that aligns with the recipient's interests. You can even opt for custom designs to add a personal touch.

Practical and Enjoyable

T-shirts are a practical gift that can be worn and enjoyed regularly. The playful design ensures that the recipient will get a kick out of wearing it and showing it off to others.

Affordable and Accessible

Cat-themed t-shirts are generally affordable, making them a great gift option for any budget. With so many designs available online and in stores, you can easily find one that fits your price range.

The Growing Popularity of Cat-Themed Apparel

The trend of cat-themed apparel, including "Are You Kitten Me Right Meow" t-shirts, continues to grow in popularity. This can be attributed to several factors:

Social Media Influence

Platforms like Instagram and TikTok have played a significant role in popularizing cat-themed apparel. Influencers and cat owners often share photos and videos of themselves and their pets wearing matching outfits, inspiring others to join the trend.

Celebrity Endorsements

Celebrities known for their love of cats, such as Taylor Swift and Ed Sheeran, have helped boost the popularity of cat-themed clothing. Their influence encourages fans to embrace their own feline fandom.

Community and Connection

Wearing cat-themed apparel allows cat lovers to connect with others who share their passion. It's a way to express a shared interest and be part of a larger community of cat enthusiasts.

Conclusion: Embrace Your Love for Cats

"Are You Kitten Me Right Meow" t-shirts are more than just a piece of clothing—they're a fun and expressive way to celebrate your love for cats. With their playful designs, versatility, and comfort, these t-shirts are a must-have for any cat lover's wardrobe. Whether you're buying one for yourself or as a gift for a fellow cat enthusiast, you'll find endless ways to enjoy and style these charming t-shirts. So go ahead, embrace your love for cats, and wear it proudly with an "Are You Kitten Me Right Meow" t-shirt

[bakugoyelling]

Don’t You Dare 

Mirio Togata x Fem! Reader

Warnings: 18+ / smut, oral sex, fingering, use of “daddy”, squirting 

Word Count: 1.8 K

A/N:  I can’t write a fic with this goofy ball of sunshine without adding in some humor! I hope you all like this one ♡ All characters are aged up 20+

  After a few hours spent shopping for the essentials needed to decorate the new home you and Mirio had just moved into, the two of you had finally returned. 

Setting up the mattress was a success, and now you were sighing as you fell back on, arms outstretched with your legs dangling off the edge as you relaxed into the comforting material of the brand new bedding you had just finished placing onto it.

It was nice, soft to the touch, and the perfect place to rest your body.

“How about I just lay here for the rest of the day?” You jokingly offered, smiling up at Mirio while you brushed your hand over the plush material of your cozy new comforter. 

Holding a pillow with the underside of his chin, Mirio tugged the new covering onto it, looking down at you while the corner of his mouth turned up into a teasing little smirk.

“Yeah, well maybe we should test out the new mattress while you’re at it…” Lifting his right arm, Mirio clenched his fist and flexed. “See if it can handle all of this power.”  

“Oooh.” You raised your eyebrows, lifting your upper body so that you were leaning on your elbows, eyeing the way Mirio fluffed up the pillow before he tossed it onto the bed and threw himself on top of you. 

He held himself up with the palm of his hands, and your back collapsed against the bed as he littered a series of gentle kisses across your face, causing you to fall into a fit of giggles. 

“What do you say?” Mirio asked, brushing his lips against yours.

“Sure,” you whispered, nodding your head in approval. 

Mirio started with a kiss, swiping his tongue along your bottom lip before he pulled away and began to kiss down your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin and leaving blossoming love bites on his way down. When he reached your chest, he licked at the swell of your breasts as one hand found its way underneath your shirt, tearing down the front of your bra to pinch your nipples in between the calloused tips of his fingers.

Your hips began to move on their own after that, lifting to try and ease the ache of wanting to be touched where you needed it most. Breathing out your boyfriend's name, you began to tug at your shorts, plucking them down little by little until they hooked onto your feet and eventually landed on the floor. 

Mirio chuckled when he noticed your enthusiasm, slipping his hands from underneath your shirt to let you remove it as he rested on his knees, hastily removing his own t-shirt and revealing the toned muscles of his upper body, scattered with scars from years of active hero work. While he was at it, he removed the rest of his clothing, pulling down his pants and freeing his half-hardened length from its confines. 

“Now I’m a little more comfortable,” Wrapping a hand around his cock, Mirio stroked it as he admired the curves of your body from below him. 

“By the way, I love the comfy panties, babe,” he casually complimented your daisy-printed underwear, using his thumb to nimbly smear the leaking pre over the head of his cock.

“Mmm, thanks. I like them too,” you smirked, following Mirio with your eyes as he lowered himself down, spreading your legs apart to rest in between them. 

Tugging at the hem of your panties, he let the fabric press into your hot folds, outlining the lips of your pussy while he peered up at you, nuzzling his nose against your clothed cunt and sticking his tongue out to taste the essence that was practically seeping through the thin material. 

“Can I take them off?” Mirio questioned, quirking an eyebrow.

The way he spoke, so politely, made your core burn with desire. 

It was such a contrast compared to what impolite things he anticipated doing to you.

“Go ahead,” you softly spoke, gliding your fingers through his hair and tousling up the blond locks as he smiled up at you, peeling your panties off your body. 

When your glistening cunt was exposed to him, the expression on Mirio’s face changed from a look of excitement to a look of appetence. 

“Oh, would you look at that,” Mirio licked his lips while his eyes swept over your pussy, watching the way the little hole clenched as he leaned in closer, kissing your inner thighs until his mouth finally made its way to your slit. Blue eyes closing as he indulged in your taste, trailing his wet tongue from your puckered asshole all the way up to your throbbing clit.

“Always so fucking sweet.” He took the swollen nub into his mouth, encasing it with his lips and giving it a light suckle as you threw your head back in pleasure, crying out a curse. 

Mirio’s tongue worked wonders on you, tracing intricate patterns against your clit that had your stomach clenching as every breath you took got caught in your throat. 

Your mind began to cloud when Mirio brought his hands into the mix, using the mixture of slick and spit that was coating your cunt to help him ease two thick fingers inside of you. 

As you welcomed the length of his fingers, your brows furrowed together, tongue lolling out of your mouth until they were knuckle deep, expertly pressing into the spongy spot within you that had you begging him to keep fucking going. 

Mirio’s face brightened up at your words, rocking his hips against the mattress as you moved in tandem with him, creaming down the length of his fingers before he pulled them out of you, tapping at your puffy clit as your pussy clenched around nothing. Leaving you on the brink of an orgasm, aching to be filled once again. 

“Mirio, I was so-”

“I know, I know,” your boyfriend cooed, interjecting you as he sat up, resting on his knees. “But I want you to turn around now. So lift your pretty body and show me that ass of yours.”

Raising your arms, you reached your hands towards Mirio and wiggled your fingers, signaling for him to take hold of them and help you up. 

Smiling at your cutesy actions, he gave you a laugh before his strong hands gripped onto yours, yanking you up until you were face to face with him.

“Mirio,” you said his name, staring down at his lips before your gaze traveled up, giving a piercing look into his blue eyes. “Don’t you dare get your cum on the new bedding.” 

With that, you turned around, maneuvering your body, so you were resting on your elbows with your ass in the air, exposed to Mirio’s liking.

“Well, alright then,” he smirked, stroking his cock as he admired your body. 

It was no secret that when in this position, Mirio preferred to cum on your ass. He enjoyed pulling out and watching the way his seed would spread across your skin, so wet and messy that sometimes, it would even shoot so far that it was impossible not to get it on the bed.  

He loved making you into a mess, it was a part of the fun after all, but if you didn’t want his cum soiling the new bedding, then he would be sure to control himself.   

“I’ll be sure not to,” he promised, bringing a hand down to your glistening cunt, fondling your folds until you were more than ready. Panting against the soft fabric beneath you, you bit your lower lip when you finally felt the heavy head of his cock pressing into your entrance.

 “Ahh...fuck yes,” Mirio’s mouth hung open as he held you by the hips, staring down as he watched himself disappear inside of you, inch by inch. 

His thick cock filled you up so perfectly, angling his body so that each thrust tore a lecherous moan from your throat as you worked along with him, arching your back and lowering your arms further, turning your face to the side and squishing your cheek into the pillow that lay beside you. 

“Desperate little thing. You want my cock so fucking deep, don’t do?” Mirio’s hands cupped your ass cheeks, digging his fingertips into your flesh as he continued to pound into you, giving it his all, using the glorious sound of his balls slapping against you to urge him on his quest to have you cumming all over him.

Bringing a hand to his mouth, Mirio spat onto the tips of his fingers before moving them down to your clit, circling the puffy bundle of nerves as he slightly leaned himself over your back, muscles grazing over your skin while he drove his dick even deeper, snapping his hips in tightly drawn movements that caused the walls of your cunt to flutter around him.  

“Just like that, squeeze around daddy’s fuckin’ cock. Don’t hold back, princess.”

In between breaths, you babbled out a slew of amorous obscenities, gripping onto whatever fabric you could get your hands on as you let yourself melt into a state of pure ecstasy. Slack-jawed and whimpering out your boyfriend’s name, feeling the heat in your belly spread throughout your entire body. 

Wanting to drag out the erotic scene, Mirio cursed as he edged himself, pulling his cock out of your convulsing cunt while his fingers attacked your clit, circling the puffy bud in such erratic movements that there was no possible way you could hold back. 

“M-Mirio, d-daddy, please, I-” 

But the constant stimulation had your words converting into a high-pitched keen as you came, squirting a stream of liquid all over Mirio's hand. And with the pressure of his fingers causing it to splash around, it further soaked the surface beneath you.

While Mirio watched you lose control, he laughed. 

Laughed because it was just so funny how, after sternly warning him not to dirty up the new bedspread, you were the one who had ended up creating such a mess. 

With your lower half still raised in the air, your body grew limp, chest heaving as you caught your breath.

“Ya know, for a girl who told me not to get my cum all over the nice new bedding, you’re quite messy, ” Mirio teased you, cupping your sloppy cunt with a large hand, chuckling when your body buckled at the sensation.    

“Mirio, oh my god. I fucking hate you.” you sneered, rolling onto your back in exhaustion with an evident smile on your face.

“Oh, do you now? Because I could have sworn I heard you say something about loving me just a few seconds ago.” Mirio balanced himself above you, admiring your glazed-over expression.

 “Or did you say you loved my willy?”

“Okay, maybe the word love slipped out, but I definitely did not say the word willy.” You giggled, pulling him into a kiss while he laughed along with you.

Mirio gave your lips another quick peck before he began to move away, preparing to help you clean up your mess until you stopped him, cupping his face in your hands with a narrowed look in your eyes. 

“Ah, ah, ah, where do you think you’re going? We’re not done yet.”

— please do not modify or repost my work

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. 

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed it, let me know and leave a comment if you’d like!! I really appreciate them :)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. 

[april-avenue-archiving]

Mess

Minors dni

This contains: extreme levels of sexual tension, friends to lovers, oral (fem receiving), tiddy worship, squirting

You work at Origini miya and Osamu loves to make messes

You aspired to be a great chef and open your own restaurant one day. So naturally you decided to work at a restaurant to get a feel for it. You decided that working with your best friend was your safest route considering he already owned his own restaurant. You ate here all the time anyways so what's the harm. Plus you know free food.

“Hey boss!” you teased, placing all your belongings in your usual spot in the kitchen. The back of the shop was all very home-like. The counters were filled with small nick nacks. Your favorite being the volleyball salt and pepper shakers.

“Hey pumpkin, bad news. We have to work pretty late today.” he spoke over his shoulder and continued cutting away at vegetables. There were small neat piles on his cutting board of all types of veggies.

“I don’t mind but may I ask why?” you questioned as you tied your apron strings. It was canvas colored with a small cartoon origini on it. He loved hearing you ramble on about how cute it was.

“My stupid brother wants to pass by with his team which means 10 professional athletes will be eating here tomorrow. Hence all the sacks of rice on the counter,” he points to the table with rice cookers and rice bags lined up ready to be prepared. He places down the knife and walks over to you. “And who better to help me than my pretty little assistant.” He flashes you a taunting smile.

“Alright big guy, where do you want me?”

“Preferably on my bed but getting the meat from the freezer is fine too.” he blew you a comical kiss which you gladly caught and placed on your cheek with a fake lovey dovey sigh.

And so the day began. The third staff member was in charge of the front counter and attending to the guests while you and Osamu made the meals for tomorrow. He was a shy but funny highschool student looking to get some extra cash for video games. Osamu had a soft spot for him so he was often given raises. Hours flew by as the two of you made rice and all kinds of fillings to suit the players' tastes. There was endless chatter about random nonsense, some tv shows you both watch and a shit ton of middle school humor.

“Does it taste good?” you gave him a spoonful of the meat and sauce mix to try. You decided to try something new and surprise him, miixing his favorite meat in with his homemade sauce.

“That’s what she said.” he giggled at his own joke before trying it. “Hmm goof.” he hummed in satisfaction.

“Swallow before you talk, nasty.” He couldn’t handle it. He spit out the mix at your face and burst into laughter. Gripping your shoulders to stabilize himself.

“Do you think before you say these things!” He clutched his chest as his breath stabilized.

You gave him a sour look and so he shuffled over to grab his towel and clean your face off. Your eyes were closed as he worked away, wiping all the food off you. He stopped at the side of your cheek to admire your features. “Pretty” his voice was so hushed you didn’t hear him. He leaned in closer, your faces inches apart.

“Sir my shift is over and the shop is all closed up and clean so have a good day!” The poor kid knew he walked into something. He quickly waved goodbye and left as quickly as he came. Slamming the door on his way out.

“Yeah thanks kid, have a good ni- and he's gone. Alright let’s get back to work.”

“Good idea” you cleared your throat and looked away.

Things got really awkward after that. He stopped making eye contact and his terrible jokes stopped. You had to think of something to ease the tension. You still had so much to do and you couldn’t bear to have it be like this the whole time.

“Hey ‘samu can you help me over here real quick!” you shouted from the sinks at the wash station. They were in a separate room to the rest of the kitchen so that spilt water can go down the floor drains. Which you thought was genius of him.

“Yeah whatcha need.” The second he turned the corner you sprayed him with the handheld nozzle. “Oh so that’s how we’re playing.” He grabbed a nearby cup and filled it, chasing you around for a bit trying to catch you. When he finally caught up to you he wrapped an arm around you from behind and drenched the front of your shirt, laughing into your neck. You couldn;t help but laugh along. Your laugh made his chest feel all warm.

The water had soaked through the apron and your shirt, making your shirt translucent. He could see everything from his view above you. He wasn’t going to lie, he’s always had a thing for you and this didn’t make it any easier.

“Didn’t take you as the lace bra type.” His grip on you tightened slightly.

“I’m so glad I made the staff uniform white” his hands come up to grope your pretty tits. Pushing them up and releasing them. “You’re gorgeous, you know that.”

“Can’t tell if you’re talking to me or my tits and my shirt’s still soaked.” he softly chuckled.

“Both.” he whispered into the shell of your ear. “Can I make it up to you? Maybe help you clean up?” his hand slowly trailed down to rest in your inner thigh.

“M’yeah.” You hummed in approval. His hand came behind to undo your apron knot, letting it fall gently to the floor.

“Spread your legs for me baby.” his hands smoothed over your stomach before making their way into your pants. “You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do this.” He rubbed small circles at your clit, eliciting satisfied hums to fall from your lips.

You’ve always thought he was hot but god did he just go from a 10 to 50 real quick. “Oh so you planned this, didn’t you pretty boy? Asking me to stay late, all the little hints.” you tried your best to make your voice not sound strained.

“Maybe a little, all with your permission of course.” His other hand made work of your shirt buttons. Taking in all you had to offer when your shirt finally came off. You were so pretty to him. All your small gimmicks and reactions to situations had him so in love.

“Ah. Such a gentleman.” a small moan escaped your lips when his fingers ghosted your entrance. You gripped his forearm and he stopped immediately, looking for any signs of discomfort or hesitance.

“Are you ok?” His voice was soft.

“Yeah can we just adjust positions?” you dropped your head back onto his shoulder.

He had a moment of thought, resting his head against yours. “Do you trust me?”

“One hundred percent.”

——————————————————————————

“God fuck! Right there!” your head knocks back into the wall and hips roll into his face. He doesn’t hold back any sounds either, grunting and obscene licking were the only things coming from him. He absolutely loved this. It was so messy. Cum and spit dribble down your thighs and onto the floor, his face was slick with your cum and he adored it. He could cum from this alone.

He’s had you against the wall with both thighs wrapped around his face for about 30 minutes now. His idea of trusting him was just another way to show off his strength. Gripping at your thighs like it’s his life line. You thrash against the wall, pawing at his hair and shoulders.

“‘Samu s’too much.” your words were barely understandable at this point. He had reduced you to a babbling mess. He hummed into you and that’s all it took. Your orgasm came crashing down hard. You didn’t even notice what you had done at first.

He looked up at you with cum dripping off his face and chin. The proud smirk on his face made you squirm in embarrassment.

“Hey pumpkin, I said I would help you clean up the mess. But I think I just made a bigger one.”

[whump-town]

Ambushed

Warnings: attempt sexual assault and Emily's potty mouth

No Pairings

Summary: A bathroom break goes very, very wrong

It's whumptober so I have to at least try this month to make things awful. Also, this is for @olivinesea, who has been waiting on this fic for months... maybe longer

Hotch’s order had been for Reid to follow him, that it would be the two of them departing tomorrow morning at four a.m. for Charleston, West Virginia. The way Hotch had marched across the catwalk with his file spoke measures about his mood before his clipped tone did. The second Hotch roughly called his name Reid flinched, looking pleadingly to Emily. Knew he was the target and was pleading with her to find some way to save him. With a sigh of resignation, she leans her head into her palm, knows what she’s about to put herself through for the sake of Reid and Hotch.

If Hotch has a problem with her rather blatant insubordination, he doesn’t say anything about it. He comes in and sees her, her go-bag at her feet and two coffees in hand, and raises an eyebrow. Ultimately, he carries on his path towards their SUV. Sharing not a word just a glance that she takes to his equivalent of a motion for her to follow him. She knows his silence to be of low social battery drained by the early morning and fatigue, nothing personal.

Besides four a.m. is way too early to be talking to anyone.

It gives him time to think, to try and not sour this entire trip with his bull in a china shop mood. He’s just unsettled, has this awful feeling in his stomach that he’s grown accustomed to developing whenever they take cases in the mountains. It’s not that he is afraid of them, this isn’t a matter of ghosts or monsters, but there is so much uncertainty every time you enter them. He spent his entire childhood roaming the Appalachian Mountains, knows them by their many dimensions. Chasing squirrels, knee-deep in rotting leaves every fall. The cooling breeze sweeping through pine needles, snakes striking at ankles. The trees swaying to tunes unrecognizable to his ears. Hearing his mother’s voice calling his name, turning to find nothing but shadows. Knowing someone, something, is watching around every turn.

Quantico is about all the Virginia he can handle, the city nestled warmly where the southern Virginians rarely touch it but northern Virginians are everywhere to be seen. The accents not so thick and the city full of tourists-- people from Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, etc. Fewer woods to get lost in.

Charleston?

He’s going to be neck-deep in the mountains everywhere he looks.

Emily’s here so that’s bound to make this whole trip more interesting. With her annoying wit and much to be desired charm. It’s like she can feel him thinking about her. With a yawn Emily sits up in her chair, shooting a sleep-stained scowl at him. She rubs her fists into her eyes, attempting to force herself back to awareness. “That coffee went right through me,” she tells him, clearly annoyed. She’s prone to oversharing but, for some reason, with him, it’s so much worse. He assumes it’s just because she knows it exasperates him. Doesn’t anger him but he typically sighs and shakes his head.

Secretly, he likes it. The way she’ll invade his person like no one else has the courage to. Casually laying across the couch and putting her feet in his lap or leaning against him. Talking like they’re lifelong friends and not two people distantly connected for the last twenty years as enemies, tied together by their hatred for one another. Only recently having learned there’s something more, still a nice enough connection that binds them as friends.

She squirms in the seat, bladder a little too full to be comfortable. The darkness outside consumes every indicator of where they are on the road. She can hardly make out the tree lines and aside from yellow precautionary signs aligning them with the turns on the road, there are only thick, choppy clouds of fog. It’s a little after five-thirty so they still have to be in Virginia. “Where the fuck are we?”

He grunts, furrowing his eyebrows at her explosive fuck cutting so harrowingly through the peaceful silence. It’s not an unusual occurrence, he’s used to the way she effortlessly tears through the walls and caverns he builds up around himself. “Strasburg.”

She groans, “really?” She should have made Reid come on this stupid trip. She could still be in her own bed, pressing snooze and rolling back over. Instead, she’s got to pee so freaking bad and she doesn’t know if Hotch is in one of his “no stops” moods or not. He’s such an asshole about making stops when they’re on the road. “I’ve got to take a leak, boss, so… We’re looking at a bathroom stop soon or new detailing on these seats.” She looks down at the worn seats, runs her fingers over the loose seams and torn fabric. “Not that they couldn’t use it.”

He seems more agitated with her oversharing than with having to stop-- looks like a bathroom break in her future.

She stays silent for a few minutes, just watching what she can from outside her window until the next town comes into view. She shoots him a glance, wonders if he’s actually going to stop, and breathes a sigh of relief when he uses the turn signal, pulling them in that direction. There was no way she was going that long without a bathroom break.

Hotch pulls the car into park, frowning when he sees the lack of lights guiding their path to the gas station and even around the side of the building where he knows the bathrooms are bound to be. Leaving them standing in the dark facing the woods. She’s already unbuckling, moving quickly so she can go pee, but he beats her out of the car. Opens his door first and announces, “I’ll go with you.” She frowns, cuts his back a dirty, confused look but doesn’t say anything.

He’s already standing on her side of the car when she gets out, glaring ahead at the empty field and then towards the woods.

“So you do care,” she mumbles, bumping her shoulder against his. “You don’t want me to get eaten by a bear.”

He grunts, still half-distracted by the darkness and the threat it presents.

She’s imagining him fighting a bear. “You know,” she keeps his pace, curiously looking around as they go. “I think you’re a really tough guy,” she says, “but Hotch vs. A Bear just… I’m rooting for you, really, but I’m not stopping to see who wins. No offense. I think you’d put up a good fight but I think, as a general rule of thumb, watching your friends get mauled to death by Pooh does not fall into the typical bonding experiences that strengthen dynamics.” She’s rambling, not in the same way Reid would have. At least with Reid, Hotch would still likely have the semblance of not only control -- the timing to include himself in conversation -- but also a clue about what the in the world they’re even talking about.

She sees him glare at her and so she glares back, “I said no offense!”

“Go to the bathroom, Emily.”

She smiles as she makes her exit, feeling triumphant with herself. She’d seen that little smirk, not a quirk of lips detectable to the naked eye but the way his eyes had flipped up. Looking to the stars, eyes searching up and away from her. A Hotch smirk and the very best kind.

Distracted by the graffiti all over the walls she hears the faint thump of something outside and humorously wonders if it’s a bear. “Hotch v Bear”, round one, and she’s in the damn bathroom.

While she’s washing her hands her stomach growls and she wonders if he’ll end up following her into the gas station too if she goes in for a snack. The man’s a shadow when he’s worried. She’ll probably try to reach for a snack and find him right underfoot mean-mugging the cashier for no apparent reason. A snack though… She’s starving and maybe if she’s feeling feisty enough she’ll start an argument with him until he gets a snack too. It’ll entertain her for a while.

“Hey,” she frowns when she steps out of the bathroom and finds that he’s not there. Not leaning against the wall like she thought he’d be. “Jesus, did that bear really get the--”

A gun cocks in her ear, slow but unmistakable.

“Slowly put your service weapon on the ground and raise your hands.”

She’s frozen in the spot. Eyes glued to their shadows cast out far around them. Drawn out caricatures of them.

“Do it or I’ll kill your friend.”

It wasn’t a bear.

She reaches for her gun, steady and slow movements. Her fingers curl around the metal and she wonders if she’d be able to move fast enough. That there’s a good likelihood if Hotch isn’t within her line of sight that he’s already dead and if she doesn’t do something she will be too. But she can’t risk it.

“Rob!” the man grabs her gun before she’s got it on the ground. Jerks it back from her grasp. To their left, coming around the section of the building facing the woods and completely dark, another man steps out. He’s younger than she is, probably thirty-fiveish, and dressed in work gear. Jeans that have plaster and paint stains and a t-shirt that is stained to the point of no return. “Get the G-man.”

Rob nods, disappearing just as quickly as he’d appeared.

“Listen--” as soon as she can open her mouth the gun taps the back of her head. A sharp warning followed by the order to shut up. No negotiating then.

A grunt turns both their attentions to the side of the building. Hotch stumbles out before Rob. His hands bound in front of him by rope and when he looks up to find her she watches him blink blood out of his eyes. There’s an open wound across his forehead, blunt force trauma split the skin open and now the wound weeps fat crimson tears down his face. His mouth is taped shut, deep grey cutting into his pale mouth. He’s disoriented enough to fall, tripping over his legs as he’s shoved forward.

Rob keeps a gun pointed at his head the whole time but looks to the man behind her. Waiting for the next instruction and as the man gives them she watches Rob react the same she does. Whatever is happening here Rob is an accomplice but he’s not in charge.

“Walk.”

The gun nudges her forward. She bites back her anger, annoyed with this constant nudging business, but her voice is still laced with it. She can play even-tempered but it’s going to take more control than she wants. But she has to play along. Unless she wants to die tonight or, worse, watch Hotch die. “Where?” she asks “Tell me where I’m walking.”

“The woods,” her answer comes, grunted and annoyed. “Now walk.”

Rob pulls Hotch up to his feet (so he’s stronger than he looks, Emily notes) and pushes him forward again. Hotch manages to stay standing this time, bringing his bound hands to his face to swipe at the blood. The glimpse she gets of his blood-stained fingers is what brings her to motion. To be close enough to inspect the wound herself.

“Straight ahead.”

She steps forward, shivering as the wind blows and she’s reminded that despite it being the middle of June it’s likely only sixty degrees out here. Getting out of the car, she hadn’t been planning on being kidnapped. If she had maybe she would have grabbed her jacket. Her fault, she supposes lack of forethought on her part.

As she steps into his gait, the two of them shoulder to shoulder but not close enough that she thinks Rob or the other man will say anything she glances over at him. A look she means to use to articulate her worry and to ask if he’s forming a plan on how to get them out of this. She’s met with his blood-stained eyes. He doesn’t know how they’re getting out of this. It hits her hard, unforgivingly.

If he’d set his shoulders and sent that haggard, worn look she’d understand he thought they were up against fools not even worth the exertion of escaping from. That the bump on his head pissed him off more than hurt him. Something akin to annoyance would mean he already had his plan, she should wait for the cue. Here, in the place she’s searching for his tactile brilliance, is trauma. He’s locking it down behind walls as quickly as he can but she still sees it. Trapped, they’re trapped and he’s blanking on what to do.

Well, maybe he gets a little leeway. He did get hit in the head.

So, fine, she’ll do it herself.

Can you fight? Dave said it was creepy, the conversations they passed through glances, and now she’s hoping creepy is enough to keep them alive.

He looks back, one glance over his shoulder, and gives a sharp nod.

Good.

Next comes the part she’s not really sure how works. The part where she never actually says anything at all, they just move together. Concisely at the same time. She moves for the unknown man and Hotch knows to go for Rob. Both trusting that the other can handle their target. She can hear Hotch take Rob off his feet at the same time her body smacks into the unknown man. The air is taken from her body, leaving her to pause for a dangerous second as her body fights to get it back. His elbow swings sharply into her cheek, smacking dancing lights behind her eyelids.

She’s trained for this kind of stuff. This shouldn’t be so hard.

It’s a bit of a panic, throwing her hands down. Just punching down blindly and hoping the blows land.

There’s a gunshot-- it takes her too long to recognize the sound. Her ears ring and her body aches. The wrangling limbs, the man underneath her, stops as they all identify who it is overcoming as the largest threat.

It’s Rob, blood-flecked across his face.

Hotch’s blood splattered across his face.

Emily screams, disembodied as she throws herself towards Rob but she’s stopped, grabbed by the hair, forced back down through the leaves, and sticks. The leverage pins her to the man’s chest, both pulled upright. All she can do is stumble back. She’s immobilized by the forearm he presses against her windpipe. “I oughta kill you,” he growls, smacking the gun against her temple. Not enough to draw blood but it cracks, makes the area of her scalp throb. “Stupid fucking bitch,” he pulls her tighter, ignores her fingers scratching at his skin as he cuts off her ability to breathe. “Both of you. I should have just killed both of you in that damn bathroom. Started with the G-man and I could have had hours, until day-light, with you trapped in that bathroom.”

He eases his hold on her not out of preservation of life but in his realization that he’s angry with himself for being so reckless. He and Rob had never had problems before. One woman wasn’t all that hard to control and after seeing Hotch and Emily walking so close, bumping together they thought it could be fun. Force him to watch and see if that makes this any more fun. To see him bargain for her life or sit there lifeless in his resignation that he could do nothing.

But Hotch was stronger than he looked.

“No!” her voice is scratchy from the pressure had against her throat. Combined with her desperation it cracks, pops like roaring embers in a hearty fire. “Stop! You’re killing him! Get off of him!”

Rob has Hotch pinned to the ground, his hands around his throat.

The other man holds Emily still, prevents her from being able to pull herself away. This isn’t how he’d intended for this to go but, he has to admit, this is fairly interesting as well. He’d expected it to be G-man that was forced to break. A big strong guy like him doesn’t take losing well. Feeling Emily shiver and cry in his arms is nice. Her desperation hums in his veins, arousing him in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He doesn’t want to lose that just yet.

“Get off of him, Rob.”

Hotch’s arms are still bound, all Rob had to do was push him over. It was over in a flash, leaving Hotch face down in the dirt one second and watching the trees above him fade out as Rob pushed down harder against his windpipe, his fingers digging into his neck. He couldn’t move. Unable to do anything more than turn and twist his hips, his arms pressed into his groin where Rob had immobilized them the second he threw his hips over Hotch’s.

Rob doesn’t let go, not immediately. He pushes down a little harder, wants to feel the snap of the other man’s neck but his name is called again. This time, not the light order the first had been. Rob doesn’t release Hotch and with an annoyed huff, the other man raises a gun. Emily cries out again, stunned by the gun right by her head, and flinches falls with a crash to the floor when the trigger is pulled. Her head a roaring buzz, trying to swivel its way off her neck. No matter how hard she pressed down on her ears she feels the throbs of pain as if her head was swelling. The world pulsing.

Rob’s dead.

She looks up and she’s looking right into his eyes. Shocked and open, not expecting the betrayal of his partner.

“Hey beautiful,” the other man crouches down beside her. Takes advantage of her confusion, of her shock. Her friend dead. Knowing she’ll follow soon after. “You never told me your name, you know. I’m Mark.” He strokes her hair back from her face, pushes her down to the ground.

Fighting is futile.

She had a chance with Hotch. Their odds nearly even, two against two. Even tied up and bleeding, they’re a threat that can’t be replicated and certainly not by an Unsub. Not one who takes women from gas station bathrooms in the ugly hours of the morning. Not ones dumb enough to take federal officers.

But it’s over.

It’s over and Hotch is dead.

“Don’t cry,” Mark whispers against her throat. He wipes her tears away with the back of his finger, shaking his head and mockingly comforting her. “But,” he holds her head, tenderly cupped in his palm. “You’re so pretty when you cry.”

Emily turns her head from Mark’s hand, finds herself looking at Hotch. His still body, head turned away from her. This is how it ends. Hotch dead and she’s powerless. She’s left his turned cheek, even he can’t bear to see. So she looks to the scar under his ear from New York, the hearing he lost and never fully recovered. A scab from shaving this morning. His hairline, the greys that were popping up around his temples and ear. Still sparse enough that he doesn’t look aged by them. And the blood. The wound Rob inflicted on him in their initial meeting. It doesn’t bleed now, it hadn’t been agitated in their fight. Color had started to creep into its edges, bruising to further demonstrate its anger in having been disturbed so violently.

Now he’s just dead.

She tries not to make a sound when Mark gets her pants undone, tries to make out unaffected. His hand cups at her hip, cold fingers curled around her. There’s a certain level of invisibility she’d felt on the other side of the yellow tape. After years of having used her body to get things, to win Ian Doyle’s trust and eventually his secrets, she’d thought herself too clever for this. Got too comfortable, perhaps. Surrounded by the likes of Hotch and Dave and Spencer and Derek. How many times had she stripped down to just an undershirt, leaned in too close over one of their shoulders just because she felt comfortable? Knew they wouldn’t hurt her.

But she’s losing.

After all the ways she’d won, all the ways she’d found victories in men’s selfish desires, and now she’s laying in the woods. She’s losing.

She’s going to die too.

But she doesn’t.

She jerks, unprepared for the sudden sharp pain across her temples. Her hands coming up to protect her ringing ears and not expecting the dead weight of Mark over top her. She writhes away, feels something hot and wet landing on her breast, sliding down her ribs. Sticks and rocks push against her shoulders but she fights with a terrified panic, crying in her blinding fear. Her fist connects hard with an audible crack of bone against bone and everything stops.

She pushes herself up and back, the back of her hand swiping through blood and sweat across her face. Leaves give beneath her, too slick with dew to hold properly as she moves backward. Sticks dig into her skin. Rocks turn over as she kicks them. Until she’s got an actual picture of what’s happening. Until her brain can work over details.

Mark is on his chest. His head split open, a terrifying weeping wound. Shot.

“Hotch?” she’s removed. Only partially aware of things as she takes them in. Of Mark’s death. Of the damp ground beneath her. Of the chill in the air. Of her own pounding heart. Of Hotch laid out on his back, eyelashes fluttering but open. Gasping sounds -- from her and from Hotch. His chest rising quickly with his shallow breathes.

Her knees scream smart pain as rocks and twigs dig into her flesh, deadened leaves chilled by the night’s air seeping through the material of her pants. She doesn’t even realize she’s moving, it’s automatic. It’s uncontrolled. “Hotch?” she touches his cold skin, taps at his cheek an indistinct beat she hopes will raise him from whatever unconscious solace he’s found. He breathes, shallow but audibly as his body tries to work again.

She touches his throat, grazes her fingers against miserable, chilled skin. He’s alive. Despite all the odds. Despite what she’d seen. Alive.

She cries as she leans forward, pressing their temples together. Cheek to cheek, their cold skin warm against one another. “I thought you were dead,” she sobs, fully allowing herself now to break. To feel the terror and isolation she’d felt thinking he was gone. Killed right in front of her. “You fucking bastard,” she holds onto his clothes, feels his hand come up and his fingers fumble to grasp her. To feel her alive and well. “I thought you were dead.”

He lets out a huff of breath, as close to relived laughter as he can manage. “Me too.”

She pulls back just enough to look down at his face, his pale lips twitching up and the blood caked across the side of his face. “I’m never going on a road trip with you again,” she says.

He nods, breathlessly whispering, “fair.”

She shivers, the breeze picking up. “Can you walk?” They can’t be that far from the car. She’s already pushing her hands into his pants pockets before he can answer, in search of the keys. Distracted to the point that she misses when he shakes his head. When he admits things are a little worse than what she thinks. “What do you mean--” and she looks down, his left hand shakily lifting off his abdomen.

“Shit!” she pushes his hand back over the wound. The first thing that comes to mind is to ignore the problem but that’s not very rational. “Why couldn’t it have been a bear?” That seems like it really beats watching him bleed out in the woods. She lowers her head, turns away from him for a second. She can’t lose her cool. He just saved her and now she has to return the favor. At this point, she refuses to go home without him.

Her earlier remark about bonding has aged like milk.

Something cold nudges her hand just faintly grazes her fingers. Despite everything they’ve been through in the last hour she still flinches, tries to move her hand away from what she suspects is a spider. There are sticks poking her back and ass but she’ll be damned if she’s going to become a jungle gym for a spider to crawl all over. Except she looks down and finds fingers, Hotch’s right hand pushing at her fingers.

It’s candy. Slowly, trying to find her courage and work through her panic, she lifts her palm back up. Looks at the stark contrast of his white mint on the decaying leaves.

She laughs.

They say nothing and yet they share an entire conversation. All glances, his pain pinching at the corners of his eyes, fatigue weighing him down quickly, and her slight humor over his grandpa candy. The mint is crushed, it hadn’t survived their rough journey well. “Are you trying to tell me my breath stinks?” she asks, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow to dare him. A playful sort of smirk on her lips as she declares, “Because I swear to God, I’ll punch you in the balls, Hotch.”

He smirks and as he opens his mouth a branch cracks, a flashlight shines right into their eyes.

“Hands up!”

Emily raises her hand to cover her eyes, wincing. “We’re -- We’re federal agents!” The flashlight lowers just a bit, enough so that she can see it’s a man standing before her.

“Your buddy hurt?” he asks.

Emily looks down, Hotch is already looking back at her. He’s shivering now and she knows whatever is about to happen is all on her. “Shot,” she answers. “Some guys they… they ambushed us? Dragged us out here.”

The man nods, “can he walk?”

She looks back down, Hotch’s eyes sinking shut, fighting to stay open. “I -- I don’t know? Maybe?” No. No, but she’ll drag his ass out of here if she has to.

“Alright,” the man steps forward, and Emily tenses. “I ain’t gonna hurt you little lady but you ain’t getting that big fella up without some help.”

Hotch remembers very little of what happens next. Standing seems to pull all of the blood from his body, at least there isn’t any in his head. Everything is confusing, a strange man is on his left and Emily on his right. He wakes up in a truck bed, rocking back and forth. His head in Emily’s lap and the cold wind grabbing at the blanket pulled under his chin. “We’re almost there, Hotch. Just hold on.” But she sounds like she’s underwater. Far away.

And then everything is still.

“And that’s how I saved us.”

He follows the sound of the voice over to his right, to Emily. She’s sitting up in bed, legs curled underneath her. There’s a chunk of gauze taped to her temple but she’s not wearing a hospital gown. She looks good, nearly restored to the Emily Prentiss he’s used to seeing around the office. The others are gathered around her, Dave smirking at what must have been a rather grandiose retelling of what happened.

“Technically,” he rasps, “I saved you first.”

Emily’s face betrays the first thing she feels hearing him. He’s been laying there for four days, unresponsive. He’d been on a ventilator the first two days. Throat nearly swollen shut from Rob’s attack, bruised badly. But now his eyes are open and he’s challenging her, picking a fight having been awake a whole minute. She's weirdly thrilled to see him glaring at her, too high and too exhausted to hide it.

“Are we really going to start keeping score?” she asks.

His eyes burn, they’re too heavy to keep open. He lets them slide shut, smirking still. A moment passes, maybe longer, and he feels a hand take his. Plastic sitting uncomfortably against his palm. It takes him a moment, the drugs trying so hard to pull him back under. It’s the mint he’d given her.

She doesn’t smile now, they share no knowing glances.

He hums, closing his hand around the mint.

“Considers us even,” she whispers.

He manages to crack his eyes open just a sliver, voice is completely gone but she just barely make out what he says: “not a chance.”

[drcalmreid]

friends - s.r. (pt. 1/2)

pairing: spencer reid x female reader

summary: pure angst - friends with benefits always ends up with one person scorn out of jealousy...and in this case, it’s spencer. especially when he sees you flirting with one of his BAU partners.

content warning: consumption of alcohol, indication of sex (no smut!), anger/trust issues, brief mention of blood

word count: 4.5k // part two

authors notes: lyrics = indicate a flashback!! ALSO this is completely inspired by the song “friends” by chase atlantic, so i recommend listening to it while you read! this part is all in spencer’s pov but the next one will be the readers pov ;)

SPENCERS POV

Sweat and tension hang heavy in the air as I sit in the bar, watching my co-workers from the booth. The condensation slides down my glass onto the table, creating a puddle around the cup. I run my fingers around in the ring of water, creating shapes on the table top.

“You know,” JJ says, taking the spot next to me in the booth. “If you’re going to come out with us, you should try to make conversation.” “I think I’m okay,” I smile at her as she nudges me with her elbow. “Really, you don’t have to babysit me. Go, have fun.”

“Alright,” JJ says standing back up. Her eyes scan over me before she turns to gaze to the dance floor. Luke, Tara, Penelope, Emily, and (y/n) all dance together, obnoxiously close to one another (some more than others). “You should tell her how you feel.” JJ comments, swirling her drink with the straw in her mouth.

“What- who? What are you talking about?”

“C’mon Spence! You really think after all this time I still can’t read you?” JJ asks and I shrug, giving her a small smile. JJ leans down to me and whispers, “just go talk to (y/n)”.

I lean back on the leather seat and crack my back, even though I know that the constant cracking of my back actually causes adverse effects...but I do it anyway. I bring my eyes up from the table and my still sweating glass of water and glance over at the dance floor. JJ just reaches the team as they welcome her into their terribly coordinated group. This is the third time the team has gone out this month and the first time I’ve been here to witness the completely obvious flirt-fest between Alvez and (y/n). How do I even compete with someone like Luke? I was captivated by (y/n) from the moment I met her, but was too scared to even process a relationship with her. My brain couldn’t stop running over every possible scenario of what could go wrong if I asked her out...even just for a simple coffee after work. I couldn’t do it, and I knew I wouldn’t. Until (y/n) took it upon herself…

Girl, tell me what you're doing on the other side?

And so, just tell me what you're doing with that other guy?

Cause I ain't got patience to slow down the bass

“You going to O’Malley’s tonight?” (Y/n) asks, peering down at me from the corner of my desk. She sits on the corner of the wooden top, her legs swinging back and forth. I turn in my desk chair and look up at her. It feels as though someone sucked all the oxygen out of the room and I’m lost in her presence. She captivates me in a way that no one has. “Reid?” She asks again, waving her hand in front of my face. She tilts her head down and smiles at me, but waits for me to answer.

“‘M sorry, I-”

“It’s okay, I just would really like it if you came. That’s all,” she grins and hops off my desk onto the floor. “No pressure.” I swivel in my chair and follow her path behind me, my words get caught in my throat before I finally call after her, “I’ll be there!”.

-

“Y’know Spence,” (y/n) drunkenly whispers in my ear, even though she’s practically yelling over the loud bar music. It was only an hour after the team had gotten to the bar, but (y/n) was drinking as if it were her last drink on earth. “I like you…” she trails off, swirling her drink with the straw. She flips her hair over her shoulder and leans down on her arm to stare into my eyes. Her eyes are glossed over from the alcohol she’s consumed and clearly her filter is completely gone for the night. I laugh at her words and lean down to her, “I like you too, you’re easy to talk to, funny, you actually listen to my rambles. You’re a great friend, (y/n).” I practically choke the words out, and thank God she’s intoxicated otherwise she would have caught my inflexion on the word “friend”.

“No, no, no-” She sits up on her stool and glances around the bar. She spots the rest of the team across the restaurant before she continues talking, “I like-like you, Spencer. I like you a lot.”

“(Y/n), do you know what you’re saying to me right now?”

“Of course I do,” she takes a gulp from her drink. “I’ve wanted to tell you for months, but now I’ve got the liquid courage.” She winks and tilts the glass in my direction. I want to believe that this is truly happening, but I can’t. I want to throw caution to the wind and be with her, but I can’t. I don’t trust myself or my past. I’m no good for her.

“I think we should switch you to water,” I say as I raise my hand to the bartender. She reaches over my chest and grabs my arm, carefully avoiding my hand, shaking her head.

“No,” she says leaning in near my face. My heart leaps into my throat and I feel my pulse quicken as she inches closer to me. “Spence, you can give me all the water you want...but what I said won’t change.”

(Y/n) hops down from her stool to meet the rest of the BAU at the large table, but turns on her heel only a few steps away, “you comin’?”

-

“Hi,” I say as (y/n) swings open her front door the next morning. Her eyes are hooded, red and puffy as she shields them from the sun. Her once perfectly curled hair is now gathered into the messiest bun, as she stands in her beat-up FBI training t-shirt and paint-covered sweatpants. “I figured you would want something greasy, so I got you a breakfast burrito, but when you realize that isn’t the hangover cure, I got you a banana and nut mix with some Powerade.” I say, raising up two separate shopping bags.

“Oh my God, my head,” (y/n) whines, shuffling away from the front door plopping herself on the couch. “I was so fucked up last night.” She mumbles as her face is squished in between couch cushions.

“Yeah,” I shut the door as quietly as I can behind me. “You were.” I chuckle, setting the bags down on her kitchen island. I grab the Powerade from the bag and walk back to her on the couch. I squat down in front of her, tilting my head back and forth waiting for her to look at me. Eventually, she turns to face me and a smile creeps across her face. She whispers a quiet “hi” and I mimic back the word, “hi”. She slowly pulls herself up from the couch and pulls her legs into a cross-legged position. I pass her the Powerade and she rolls her eyes at me before opening the bottle.

“Remind me never to drink again,” she crips. “I have no filter when I drink. I mean, I literally told JJ I like Henry better than Michael...who does that?”

“Same person who confessed their love for me last night,” I mutter and my eyes go wide, heart dropping. Did I really just say that? (Y/n) practically spits out her drink and laughs.

“You’re kidding right? Spence-” She leans forward, panic running across her features as she tries to hide it with humor. “Spencer.” She says and I look up at her, “what did I say to you, Spencer? Tell me, oh God maybe I don’t want to know,” she stands from the couch and pads off into her bedroom. I stand up from my spot on the floor and follow her. “No, tell me,” she pivots and leans against her bed.

“(Y/n), you were drunk and I should have stopped you.”

“Spencer, what the fuck did I say?” She says sternly.

All your girlfriends are wasted

They need it, they chase it

Face it. You want it, you crave it

I shake my head clear of that night and let my eyes linger on her. From my spot at the table, I can perfectly watch the team dance their hearts out. (Y/n) dances to the rhythm of the obnoxious club music, her hips moving at a steady pace. Luke stands dangerously close to her as he follows her movements. (Y/n) spins to face him, her laugh bubbling out of her as Luke smiles down at her. She stands on her toes, whispering something to him, before Alvez throws his head back laughing at her. He leans down to talk to her again and (y/n) wraps her arms around his neck, bringing him even closer. The two of them move together now, completely tangled in one another as the songs continue. Luke trails his hands down her sides before they rest just above her waist. (Y/n) lowers her arms and quickly spins in Luke’s grip, her ass now practically grinding on him. Her dress rides up her thighs, inching closer and closer to her waist. The other girls cheer on the two, but JJ looks over her shoulder at me giving an empathetic smile. An anger builds up from deep inside of me and I grip my glass harder than is probably safe. I can’t be here anymore. I stand up abruptly from the bench and work my way through the crowds, desperate for some air and to see anything other than that.

Believe when I say that you'll know once you taste it

“I don’t-,” I start, but (y/n) stands from the bed.

“Don’t give me that ‘I don’t remember’ bullshit, because you can I both know you do,” (y/n) says in a way that leans more nervous and upset than angry.

“You said, ‘I like-like you.’” I choke out, while scratching the nape of my neck.

“What else did I say?” She asks, her eyes wide with embarrassment.

“That, you wanted to tell me for months but didn’t have the courage to.” I say, staring down at the floor before I look up to see (y/n) also keeping her eyes fixed on the hardwood floor.

“You know what they say about drunken confessions.” She mumbles, pulling her hands in front of her to play with her fingers.

“It’s been proven that alcoholic drinks cause neurological and psychological regression with the higher blood alcohol levels, so more hostile and truthful responses are common...but alcohol can’t necessarily make you feel new emotions.” I ramble on and (y/n) shakes her head at me.

“Did you know that or did you look it up after I confessed last night?”

“Both,” I answer and we both release our built up stress in a heartfelt laugh.

“Yeah well,” she rubs her arms. “I didn’t lie. I really do like you Spence,” she looks up and holds my gaze. “You don’t have to say anything, or feel anything… I just- I just wanted you to know for so long, and I guess now’s the time.”

Without hesitation I lean forward, my hands cradling her face and pull her lips to mine. Our mouths melt into one another quickly and I lose myself in her. My mind races through every possibility of what this means for us, but I try my best to shut it off and just be in the present. (Y/n) giggles against my lips, pulling away for a second to look at me.

“I like you too,” I smile down at her, while pushing a loose strand from her bun behind her ear. She grins and stands on her toes, capturing my lips again before we step backward, falling onto the bed.

All of your friends have been here for too long

They must be waiting for you to move on

Girl, I'm not with it I'm way too far gone

I'm not ready, eyes heavy now

I step out of the bar into the cool March air, the night temperature chilling my lungs as I breathe in and out rapidly. I lean against the brick wall of the building, pulling at my tie feverishly trying to get it off. I yank off the tie, untying it in my hands while resting my head against the wall. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, inhale… When I open my eyes again, I look out across the busy street as couples pass by. Each one fixated on the other and my heart pounds in my ears.

“Spence?” A voice calls from near the entrance of the bar, “are you okay? I saw you run out, I-”

“I’m fine, (y/n).” I snap at her. She stands to my side, arms crossed, her hands running up and down to keep herself warm.

“Are you sure?”

“I said I’m fine.”

Silence settles betweens us for a moment before she steps forward, inching closer to me. We stand next to one another for a moment, both of us resting against the bar wall as cars continue to zip down the street.

“Alright, well if you’re fine, then I’ll leave you,” she sighs. (Y/n) steps back, heels clicking on the pavement as she approaches the bar.

“Do you like him?” I ask, staring down at the undone tie in my hands. She raises her eyebrows and her eyes scan over my face. “Luke. Do you like Luke?”

“Excuse me?” She asks, her hand resting on the door handle to the bar.

“I mean- it seems like you do.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” She drops the handle and turns to face me again.

“Nothing, you- you just were dancing and-”

“Oh my god,” she mutters through a laugh. “You’re jealous. Spencer, seriously?”

“I’m sorry that I can’t see you with other guys, it’s not fair for me to watch that. I can’t, (y/n).”

“Well,” she steps back, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “That’s not really my problem is it? You told me to, let’s see...how did you put it?”

She looks up as if she’s trying to remember the words, “ ‘Get over my feelings because we’re not together’? I believe that’s what you said.” She coolly states, quoting my words from days before. I stand against the wall stunned as I blink away tears.

“(y/n), I-”

“Spencer, please just don’t say anything else. You’ve said enough,” she grabs the door handle again and swings the heavy bar door open. She props it open with her foot and glances back at me, “just so we’re clear. None of this is fair, and I can dance with whoever I want.”

Heart on your sleeve like you've never been loved

Running in circles, now look what you've done

My cool fingertips run up and down her bare back, moving along her spine. Occasionally I trace shapes and words onto her skin as she lays against me. The hours pass as we stay in her bed, the world continuing on without us as we lay tangled together.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” I glance down at her. Her eyes flutter open as she looks up at me, keeping her head on my chest.

“Yeah? I bet I’ve wanted to longer,” she giggles, sitting up resting her weight on her elbow.

“Mmm,” I humm and pull her face to mine. Pecking her lips once, “I don’t think so.”

“No? Then why didn’t you say anything?” (Y/n) tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and rests her chin on my chest. Her big, bright eyes piercing into mine.

“I was scared,” I say truthfully and I feel as though a weight is lifted off of me. She tilts her head to one side as she waits for me to keep talking, “I don’t have the best relationship history. Actually, I don’t even have a history.” I take a deep breath and (y/n) smiles, tracing small hearts onto my chest with her index finger. “I- I just don’t know how to do this, (y/n). I don’t even know if I can…” I confess, but (y/n) doesn’t take her eyes off of me. She sits up slowly, the sheets of her bed gathered around her bare chest.

“Spence, I don’t know how to do this either,” she giggles. “But, I’m willing to try to figure it out with you...as long as you are.”

“Let me ask you this,” I say sitting up slightly, leaning against her bed frame.

“Oo yes, my favorite Dr. Reid phrase,” she says laying down under my arm. “Sorry, continue.”

“Do you think we could keep this between us? I’m just not ready for all of the pressure and conversations between the team.” She reaches up as I speak and twists one of my curls between her thumb and index finger.

“Of course,” she smiles and our lips meet each other again.

Give you my word as you take it and run

Wish you'd let me stay, I'm ready now

I close my eyes harshly and rub the back of my eyes with my knuckles, so hard that I see stars and swirls among the darkness. “Shit,” I shout, tossing the tie to the concrete, not caring where it lands. I swing my arms around, smashing my fist into the brick wall. “Fuck!” I whip my hands away from the wall, shaking my hand off. My knuckles are open, bloody, and throbbing. I fling myself off the wall again, headed back into the bar. My head is spinning and cloudy, but all I know is I have to get to (y/n). I have to apologize to her and tell her the truth. I need her to listen, I need her to understand, hell...I just need her. I pull open the wooden door and blasting music hits me like a wall. I shake my head at the change in volume and push through the crowds. I make a bee-line for the BAU’s table in search of any one of my team members. Penelope spots me first as she skips over in her brightly colored heels. “Reid, oh Reid! My personal genius! Come! Come,” she tugs on my shirt sleeve, pulling me closer to the back table. I turn my head back and forth, scanning over all of the faces in the crowd in search of (y/n). “Garcia,” I say, trying to put my heels down. “Where is (y/n)?” She ignores me and continues pushing us through the sea of people. Finally our table appears and Emily, JJ, and Tara sit in a semi circle shaped booth. “Found him,” she cheers, pushing me into the booth. She sits down across from me and turns to JJ. “Now shimmy over, I have a question for the good Doctor.”

“Garcia,” I practically beg. “Where is (y/n)?”

“Oh, sorry! She left with Newbie.” Penelope answers, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“No, Pen,” JJ glances up from her drink to meet my eyeline. “Not like that, Luke was just driving her home.”

“Are you kidding? Those two were hot-and-heavy on the dance floor. Totally into each other… Oh my god imagine their kids!” Garcia beams, clasping her hands together. JJ frowns, but nods at Penelope, not to give her any indication of my feelings. “So! Tara was telling me that alcohol actually-”

“Garcia,” I interrupt and stand up from the booth. “I’m so sorry, but I really have to go.”

Just give me some time and space to realize

That you, were busy lying, sleeping 'round with other guys

And what the hell were we?

Tell me we weren't just friends

This doesn't make much sense. No.

“Spencer for the love of God open the door,” (y/n) mumbles against my neck. Goosebumps rise in the wake of her words.

“I’m trying, but you’re distracting me,” I respond. The hotel keycard fumbles in my hands against the door as (y/n) lingers next to me.

“Oh I’m sorry, I’m distracting you?” She coyly asks, running her hands under my shirt. Finally the door chimes and swings open. “Thank god,” she says pushing past me into the hotel room. I shut the door behind us and within seconds, were connected again, our moans echoing throughout the empty hotel room. It’s been nearly four months since (y/n) and I decided to hide our feelings from the rest of the world. It’s safer and easier for both of us, but every moment with her makes me want to scream it from the rooftops. Everytime we sneak away to our hotel rooms on cases, share secret glances during profiles, bring each other coffee in the mornings, or just be around one another for longer than usual, my heart begs for more. The two of us agreed that with our jobs and personal struggles the easiest thing would be to enjoy each other when we could, but not stress ourselves about the labels. “Friends with benefits,” (y/n) would label it after we spent one of our first nights together. I hated the term, but by definition… it was true.

Moments pass by and before I know it we're both covered in sweat, tangled in the hotel sheets. We both collapse onto the bed, quickly trying to catch our breath. I plop down on my back, curls covered in sweat and slicked to my forehead. (Y/n) nuzzles into my side, our skin sticking to one another as she fits herself under my arm. My eyes get heavy and I continue to move my hands through her hair onto her bare skin. I reach over with my loose arm and flick the light off, before I bring my arm around her and pull her in closer by the waist. Minutes of silence tick by as both of us are drowning in sleep; I close my eyes letting the night time wash over me and (y/n) does the same. After a while, I feel myself losing to the tired, but before it completely consumes me I hear (y/n) whisper, “I love you”.

But I'm not hurt, I'm tense

Cause I'll be fine without you babe

The bar door swings open again with force and I step onto the sidewalk. The cold temperature chills me again, but I push through the air away from the restaurant. I have no idea where I am headed, but my legs carry me away from the doors and walk for blocks. Thankfully, I had walked to the bar tonight because I am way too restless and anxious to be behind the wheel. Before I know it, I’m in front of my apartment complex. I release a big sigh before climbing the steps up to my home. If I didn’t know any better, I would have ended up at (y/n)’s apartment on my hands and knees, begging for her to take me back. But this isn’t a fairytale, it’s life. Life of a traumatized FBI agent who’s terrified of commitment and loss. I turn my key in the front door and stumble inside the apartment. I toss my shoes by the door and walk through the living room, laying down on my bed as sleep washes over me.

Saturday morning comes only a few hours later, the day drags on as I lay on my bed fully clothed. I rub the back of my eyes with my knuckles before I feel an intense pain in my hand. Shit. I stand up from the comfort of my bed and walk into the bathroom, cleaning off my knuckles and the dried blood from the back of my hand. Pain sears through my hand, but I welcome it, the physical pain taking away from the hurricane going on in my head.

I walk out of the bathroom flipping over a stack of books near my desk. I can’t be trapped here anymore. I have to get out. I pull on a half-worn cardigan over my button up and flatten out my pants, grab my shoes by the door and leave.

Again, I find myself walking in the cool spring air, the streets beginning to fill with morning crowds. I walk the couple of blocks from my house to the BAU, knowing the offices will be empty on the weekend and I can have a space to work without my bed calling my name from the other room. I push open the glass doors to the BAU bullpen and practically collapse into my desk chair. I flick on the reading light and set my head down on the table top. Silence.

“Luke, if you don’t stop,” the words come from the doorway and a chill mixed with shock runs through my body. I whip my head in the direction of the voice and spot Luke and (y/n) laughing together....(y/n) in her dress from the night before. (Y/n) locks her eyes with mine and frowns, “Oh my god, Spence.”

—

oooo shiittttt!! two parter!! whatsss gonna happennnnnnnn ;)))))

part two

masterlist // requests

stay safe & wear a mask!! -m

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Love Cuts Deep

Chapter 14- New World Order

Summary: With the world back to it’s usual business, and the Avenger’s base on a long road to recovery. You and Bucky begin a new chapter in Brooklyn, New York City.

Warning: just fluff really, and some spicy talk maybe a little suggestive themes if you will

Masterlist

It’s been about three months since the events leading up to the dusting of Thanos’ whole army and the death of that giant purple bastard. Ninety-one days since Tony Starks funeral, and 2184 hours since your entire world changed for the better.

Although you’d be a sore liar if you said you didn’t miss your old life with everyone at the Avengers Facility. Even with such a dramatic new change to your life now, you miss Natasha, you miss your late night talks with Steve, and maybe you even miss that little shithead raccoon. But there has been an emerging inner peace with what you gained that just about outweighs your heavy losses.

Someone who’s brought you unconditional love and understanding in your blooming state, someone who’s helped to draw your grief and anguish out of your vessel and transform it into something golden and pure. Your sweet Bucky. If someone last year was to claim at this time you’d be living in an apartment in New York with the love of your life. Well, you’d probably have swiftly made them regret it.

But now, things are better, not one hundred percent fantastic and awesome. But so much better then yourself an entire year ago could ever have even imagined. And that’s good enough for you.

Staring intently down at your little houseplant, you gently spray it with a spray bottle before standing back to admire your caretaking skills. Not too bad. Not too bad at all. Face shifting to that of a stern army general, you get down real close to the leaves so that your face is mere inches from the soaked plant, “I hope you drink this up okay? Bucky thinks I’m gonna kill you and I’m not losing that bet to him. No sir, so don’t you die on me.” The tiny fern keeps silent for obvious reasons at your little pep talk, it’s green leaves protruding beautifully outward as you set the spray bottle onto the countertop.

“He’s gonna owe me fifty dollars if you last till October, and I don’t even care about the money. I just want bragging rights.” You whisper before standing up and wandering over to the living room window.

The city lights are glowing vibrantly in the nights atmosphere, cars and people alike traveling down below your apartment building, oblivious to the whereabouts of two Avengers a couple stories above their very heads. Two ex-assissins. Both products of Hydra. Damn you’ve got a loaded history.

“Y/N! Are you coming!” There’s a long pause of silence from your bedroom that causes you to open your mouth to answer, but before you’re able to say anything in reply, Bucky yells out, “Also I can’t find my white t-shirt, do you know where it is?! Actually never mind I’m going shirtless!”

You let out a humored snort before swiftly turning on your heel and walking down the hallway until you finally reach your bedroom door, “You know we have neighbors right?”

Bucky sends you a shy smile as he disappears into the bathroom for something, “I’m sure this place has thick walls.” He says while flipping up the ceramic toilet seat.

“Uh huh.” You mutter unconvinced, deciding to search his drawers for a spare sleeping shirt.

Noticing your snooping, Bucky finishes up before flushing the toilet and wandering out the door until he’s practically leaning against your shoulder, “Don’t you have clothes?” Questions Bucky with a small chuckle as you throw him a look.

“I need ones to sleep in.” You casually protest as he slowly nods, clearly not getting your admittedly vague point.

“Don’t you have one to sleep in?”

Picking out a grey shirt of his, you shut the dresser before taking off yours, “All my shit got destroyed when Thanos blew up the base. So I’m limited with the stuff I did buy.” He watches as you unintentionally flash him before pulling on his sleep shirt, “And I’m not exactly eager to be out and about right now. I’m still getting used to the new amount of people on this planet. Also I don’t like shopping......or people.”

Bucky nods in understanding as he follows you to the bed, though he can’t quit suppress his chuckles, “Okay fine.”

Throwing the blanket back, you raise a brow at him for that humored yet blunt remark, “Did you not want me to take this one?” You ask, speaking like you’re talking to a little puppy just to tease him more.

Rolling his beautiful blues, Bucky gets into bed as you do the same, “No. Its fine, I don’t actually care.”

Chuckling, you move to sit next to him as he lays on his back, “Good. Cause you’re shirtless and I think I like you better that way. Means I can tickle you easier.”

“Don’t you dare tickle me Y/N or I will lock you out of the bathroom again I swear.” Warns Bucky as he quickly pulls the blanket over his muscular body while you start laughing at him.

“I wasn’t gonna do that. No....definitely not.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Huh well, guess you won’t be able to cuddle me then if you don’t trust me...” Throwing the blanket off of him, Bucky quickly engulfs you into his strong arms as you squeak with surprise, pulling you down so that he can be the big spoon for tonight.

“Now you’re trapped.” Mumbles Bucky against your shoulder as his chest pushes at your back when he laughs. He thinks he’s so funny.

Holding his arm that’s pressed against your body, you gently pat it as he hums in content, “Buck, I’m thoroughly enjoying this actually so just keep your arm there, even if it falls asleep you’re not allowed to move it sucker. That’s the rules.”

“Well maybe I like those rules. Sucker.” Chuckles Bucky as you bite your lip to keep from laughing. “Now go to sleep, it’s been a long week.”

“Fine.” You mumble into the darkness as a yawn hits you right after. Soon your breaths become steady and calm as you both lay there for another thirty minutes. You are tired, it’s just, something keeps you awake that just can’t be satisfied if you keep going on like this.

“Hey.” You whisper, he gives a low hum in reply, “Buck, I forgot to tell you I have a cat.”

Opening an eye, he gently squeezes your stomach, “You have a cat? Y/N what....how...uh, where is this cat?

“I gave her to Morgan. So I guess she’s technically not mine anymore, I don’t know. Just felt like telling you that.”

“Thanks for sharing.”

“Anytime.”

The both of you go as silent as ghosts before erupting into a fit of giggles, he buries his face into your hair as his sweet laughter bounces off the walls of your room. Though soon enough does the both of your giggles die down to nothing more then the calming sounds of your breathing.

Your mind dwells with a growing fatigue though your body seems to want something else then slumber, sucking in a soft breath, you hum in thought before whispering, “Bucky.” Just to spark his curiosity.

“Yeah.”

“Uh,” Maybe you shouldn’t be asking this and just let him sleep, “how tired are you?” You ask him anyways.

He pauses for a moment before slowly answering with a mumbled, “Tired.”

You hum in acknowledgment, voice low as you answer him, “oh okay.” Immediately sparking his interest.

“Why?” Asks Bucky, intrigued with your slightly disappointed response.

“Nothing, you said you’re tired so we can sleep.”

Bucky’s head rises off of the pillow as he leans over you to try and look at your face, “Well now I wanna know so tell me.” States Bucky in curiosity before catching himself, eyes softer now, “Please.”

Sighing, you purse your lips together, knowing he’s still leaned against your shoulder but deciding to spill anyways as you half-sheepishly whisper, “I’m kinda horny.”

“Kinda?” Chuckles Bucky in an almost teasing manner as you snort.

“Listen you little shithead, I know we did it the other day but I haven’t had sex in five goddamn years give me a break for being a bit horny despite my sleepiness.” You sass, “I’m just, I’ve been feeling a lot of things since you’ve come back. And I yunno, didn’t wanna come off too strong at first so...uh...yeah.”

Bucky hums in thought, “Right, right....yeah.”

Maybe he is too tired? You let out a little huff of slight embarrassment before turning your head to face him better, “It’s just how I’m feeling right now but if you’re too tired that’s really fine with me okay Buc...oh uh...mhmm...” Your worries lost to the wind as his fingers begin slipping underneath your shirt, plush lips pressing feather light kisses against your neck to shut you up from your restless mind. His digits graze over your hardened nibble before Bucky pulls your body flush to his, stubbled chin pressed against your shoulder as he plants a tiny kiss there.

You smile into the darkness when his kisses trail up from from your shoulder to your neck and finally your cheek, he slowly turns you onto your back as his lips plant butterfly kisses all over your face as you begin chuckling at how undeniably adorable he’s being right now. Mhmm hmm you could get used to this.

His arms slip from out of your sleep shirt, soon trapping you to the bed as he hovers over your heavenly vessel, granting you with a plethora of lovely kisses all over your heated skin like he’s exploring you for the first time all over again. Your hands instinctively trail through his shortened dark locks while he draws your legs apart with his muscular torso, doing everything to further spark your growing excitment.

Tonight will indeed be wonderful.

——

Waking up from out of a decently pleasant slumber, you suck in a deep breath to awaken the senses for the day, hands feeling around the rumpled up sheets for your snuggle buddy only to find nothing but an empty bedside. He’s gotten unbelievably good at sneaking out of bed it’s honestly one of the most impressive things he can do.

Your eyes scan the semi-closed window shades to reveal a glowing darkness, it’s only 5:00am, and you know exactly where he’s gone off to even after keeping him up for half the night. Instantly you’ve slipped out of bed, not bothering to turn on the lights as you quietly wander down the hallway until you reach the living room.

Past the small kitchen, and to the left of the single lounge chair, there he is. Snoozing like a meaty log of pure muscle and Vibranium as he lays on a thin blanket flush against the hardware floor. Another blanket covering his lower half as he shifts a bit in his sleep, he’s restless. Your eyes soften at your lover, he’s been doing this recently since Steve left and the world sucked Bucky back into reality. You’ve had plenty of time to adjust of course, but for Bucky, he’s had three months since you two parted from the comfort of Wakanda to live in America as part-time Avengers.

Technically he’s only free from the government and jail time for that matter because he was pardoned by the president and thus was forced to agree upon attending mandated therapy for everything the Winter Soldier did in the past. While you on the other hand were pardoned for war crimes and your involvement with the terrorist organization Hydra because of your status as an Avenger.

Also you’re technically only still allowed to live in the United States because you live with Bucky, who is conveniently from America, so you get a free pass as long as you two plan on residing under the same roof. So it works out for you.

Suddenly his labored breaths quicken and a second later he jolts awake, now drawing himself into a seated position as little beads of sweat shine in the light of the glowing television screen that shows some unimportant sports game.

His chest rises and falls before his blue eyes blink back the vivid fuzziness of his latest nightmare, gaze slowly shifting over to you once he realizes another body is near him. When his irises catch you in the full glow of the tv, he immediately lowers his head in slight embarrassment.

“Did I wake you up again?” Mutters Bucky, almost sounding like he’s mad at himself for letting you find him like this once more.

Shaking your head, you swiftly move to seat yourself at his level before leaning your back against the lounge chair, “You never wake me up Bucky, I think I have a sixth sense for you or something cause when you leave I just know.” You chuckle lightly as he shifts himself closer to you, “Also I miss you next to me.”

His head presses against the corner of the chair as he leans down to leave a light kiss on your shoulder, “I’m sorry. I just.....I don’t want to startle you when I’m having a nightmare and wake up, well, like that.”

Turning to face him, you reach a comforting hand up to gently run it through his shortened dark hair, “You can’t scare me off that easily Barnes. I could probably be classified as the monster under your bed if we’re talking about scary things at night.”

He reveals the ghost of a smile while leaning into your touch, “I know Y/N, it’s just not fair that I do this more then I should. You shouldn’t have to wake up all alone after living like that for five fucking years....I shouldn’t be doing this.”

“oh James..” You whisper while scooting closer so that your bent knees are against his own, hand now snaked down so that you can intertwine your hands with his, “...it’s not your fault the nightmares are coming back. And as much as I miss having you near me, sometimes we all need our space when things get internally rough. I get it, believe me. But don’t ever feel sorry okay? You have nothing to say sorry for, at least not to me alright?”

Bucky nods, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze while he shows the flash of a smile, “Okay.” Whispers Bucky, eyes falling down to your intertwined fingers before he finds your gaze once more, “Let’s go to bed, the sun will be up soon and I have a therapy session today.”

“Therapy is good for you Bucky.”

He rolls his eyes as you laugh at his annoyed expression, “You are my therapy.” Protests your lover before standing and pulling you up with him.

Hugging his torso affectionately, you smirk up at him, “Wrong answer James.” Holding back a genuine grin, he simply leans down to press his lips against yours. Doing his best to shut you up from further mentioning his required therapy sessions that he absolutely loathes to attend. 

——

Hands stuffed deep within your jacket pockets, you wander in step with Bucky who brushes his right arm against yours every couple of steps on the cement sidewalk of Brooklyn. You patiently waited the full forty-five minute session for him, knowing all too well that the second he walked out of there and saw your beautiful face. He’d be significantly less grumpy then before, just as you’d suspected.

Turning your head to face him, he keeps looking straight ahead though he’s aware enough to know you’re about to say something about the session, “You didn’t mention the nightmares did you.” Bucky huffs, annoyed at getting so easily caught by your observant intellect about him. You can read him like a book.

“No.” A blunt answer, he knows there’s no point in lying. “She thinks I need to call more people. Be more social or something.....it’s stupid.” He grumbles to himself though your ears catch it all the same.

You hum in agreement, “Well it wouldn’t kill you to call Sam, I know he tries to text you sometimes...”

“Does he text you?”

“Yeah.” You reply before playfully nudging his arm, “And unlike you, I answer. He’s just a concerned friend, which is nice, you need those kind of people.”

“I don’t need anyone but you Y/N. I’m good, really.”

Rolling your eyes, you snort as he throws you a half offended look, “Babe, I love you. But it’s admittedly a good thing to have other friends other then me. I know this from experience as we both know, so, give him a call sometime okay? For me.”

“Ugh, fine.” He begrudgingly mutters, “But only for you, that’s it.” Smiling brightly at him, you’re about to add something else when the sounds of your friend Yori rings loud in the bustle of the city as he argues with his annoyance of a neighbor, Unique. Something about trash and putting it in the wrong bin.

Bucky soon comes to the rescue and quickly puts an end to the argument before Yori decides to throw hands and gets himself in trouble. The stubborn old man gives up on his yelling and soon Bucky is able to convince him to get lunch with the two of you.

To the sushi place you go.

“Nobody made it past 90 this week.” Says Yori sadly as you lean against Bucky’s shoulder to catch a glimpse of the newspaper that he’s holding in one hand while you use your chopsticks to stuff a chunk of sushi in your mouth.

“So young. Such a shame.” Mutters Bucky with a shake of his head while he takes another bite of his meal.

“You guys didn’t order the usual, huh? Feeling a little adventurous?” Smiles Leah as you take a sip of your water, she loves when you three come in during her shift. Honestly she’s heard a lot of your complaining over the last couple weeks, though it’s usually just about some city annoyance since you don’t want to scare her off with all the real shit you’ve dealt with. You’re trying to make friends after all.

You acknowledge her with a raise of your drink before setting it on the glass counter, “Oh yeah, I like to live a little on the wild side..” You add with a laugh, “..unfortunately I tend to drag them along with me.”

Yori nods, “I enjoy the adventure.” Before pointing to Bucky, “It’s him right here who is scared of getting his feet wet.”

Leah laughs at the adorably confused face of Bucky as he sends the old man a look while you snicker in amusement. “Yori.” Warns Bucky without an once of aggression while you give his shoulder a gentle squeeze of affection.

“What?” Protests Yori, “I am right and you know it. Y/N am I not right?”

“Oh, you’re definitely not wrong.” Bucky pouts as you give his stumbled cheek a light peck, eyes set back onto your delicious sushi as he pretends to be annoyed by you and and Yori’s teasing.

The three of you continue to chomp down on your weekly lunch days meal at the usual sushi spot for another minute longer. Yori’s eyes suddenly sparking with a thought that you know he’s absolutely not going to keep to himself.

“You know what?” Whispers Yori as he leans in closer to Bucky, quit obviously pointing a finger towards you though you simply ignore them as he continues, “You better treat your woman well okay? She’s a good one...Ah I have a perfect idea. You go on a date, like dancing or....or, bingo.” Suggests the old man as your smile grows.

Bucky’s brows furrow as he whispers back, “We’re already dating.”

Yori nods, “You misunderstand my point, you must keep the flame going always okay? Very important, very important. When was the last time you gave her flowers huh? Went to the park? Whooed her..”

“I bought her a plant.” Says Bucky defensively as he side eyes you, “I, I whoo her.”

The old man smiles, “Good, good. That’s how you keep them around for a long time. Don’t forget that, I know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m sure you do.” Mumbles Bucky as you suppress the urge to laugh at their adorable conversation about how to treat a significant other right. That significant other being you.

——

Seated crisscrossed on the wooden floor of yours and Bucky’s shared apartment, a single thin blanket underneath you, your eyes squint suspiciously at Bucky like you don’t believe a single thing he’s saying. He’s seated on a pillow across the small coffee table, raising a dark brow at you while he holds back a growing smirk.

Your eyes soon shift down to the board before slowly trailing over his forced stoic face, “Well, Mr. Barnes....you’re a strong captain I’ll admit. But I am a skilled sea traveler of my own. E7.” His blue irises flicker down to his board, expression shifting ever so slightly in irritation, you got him.

Biting his lip, his hands move from behind the plastic board of the game that you can’t see, “How about that.” States Bucky with a genuinely impressed nod, “You sunk my battleship.”

Instantly your hands ball into fists, “Yessss.” You whisper joyously as your eyes squint in happiness for your first ever win against the literal master of Battleship. “Ha ha sucker! I won! I fucking won!” You shout with passion as he leans back on one arm to watch you jump up into a theatrical victory dance. God he loves you so much. You dangerous little goofball.

Swinging your arm dramatically in a circle, you shake your hips before winding down your dramatics to wander on over to Bucky who’s still seated on the floor, shimmering blues never leaving yours. Smirking victoriously, you crouch down to meet his humored gaze, “I think I deserve a prize.....and by prize I mean you get me those gummy worm things from the corner store. I deserve it after all.”

He tilts his head, the corners of his mouth rising as his eyes flicker to your lips for a brief moment, “Do you now?” He smiles lovingly though a sudden mischief sparkles in his eyes.

“Yes. This was the first time I ever won so I definitely deserve some type of reward for my efforts.” You state justly, eyes narrowing as you add, “Or I will battle you, and I’m not talking about the game.”

Bucky tilts his head up, an alluring smile playing at his plush pink lips while his eyes flicker to your mouth once again, oh he is certainly not going to get you naked in an attempt at swaying your mind from those gummies. You’re an ex-assassin who deserves some damn gummies every once in awhile. And his ass is gonna get you them, it’s only fair after all.

“Y/N.” Coos Bucky in that sultry voice of his, metal hand reaching up to touch your beautiful face, but as his fingers come within an inch of your precious skin. You shoot a hand up to clasp against his in an iron grip, blue eyes immediately going big when you tuck and roll. Taking his whole body with you.

In the swift aftermath, you’re able to skillfully pin him to the ground with relative ease. Both your hands pressed firmly against his naked wrists as you lean your face mere inches from his own, “I warned you, didn’t I?” You tease playfully as he breaks out into an inviting grin.

“I have something else in mind that you’ll absolutely love.” Assures Bucky with a telling expression that does nothing to hide the lust that flashes through them.

“In that case, pin me to the floor. And I’m all yours for the evening.” You whisper slyly as he practically shivers underneath your touch, “But if I win, you gotta travel two blocks for those delicious bitches. Khorosho, lyubov' moya?” You add in your native tongue of Russian, translating to “okay, my love” before pressing your forehead against his, eyeing him up like a bull ready to fight.

Bucky lets out a little sigh, something between annoyance and pleasure, “Fine. But you’re going dow...” Your lips crash against his in a hot second of passion before you quickly pull away, letting go of his wrists as you move to stand in a defensive position nearby.

Slowly blinking, he lets out a little huff before pulling himself to his full height, eyes trailing over you as he raises a brow, “Now that wasn’t fair.”

You casually shrug, “What wasn’t fair? We made a deal Barnes.”

Bucky rolls his eyes at your teasing, “You know what I...okay, okay. We’re really doing this?”

You shrug at his adorable expression, “You either have to walk 2 blocks in the dark for my treat, or a night of undeniably fantastic sex is within your reach. Not that I wouldn’t enjoy it, it’s the principle of the thing here. So, I’m going to fight you James Buchanan Barnes.” Oh and you used his full name too, Bucky knows without a doubt, it’s on.

He reveals a little smirk at that, “Guess I don’t have much of a choice. Hmm alright hot stuff let’s do this.” Muses your lover as he draws his hands up into fists, ever so slowly approaching you like a wary predator to their opposing rival. Not so sure if this is going to be a fight he can win or not, well, it sure won’t be an easy one.

When he’s within arms reach, you swiftly duck under his swift jab to your right arm, shooting a leg out to push him away from you while your body twists around to meet him. “Cheap shot.” Mumbles Bucky, calculated gaze studying your every movement as you slowly wander closer to him.

Looking as innocent as ever, “I want some gummy worms, I’ll break you little man.” Accent dripping with every word, further arousing Bucky though he tries to play it off with a laugh and a shake of his head.

Soon the two of you engage in a swiftly heated battle of hand to hand combat showing your admittedly intense skills of what only a former assassin could display so fluidly. Your two bodies moving like seasoned dancers across the hardwood flooring of your apartment, though you’re surprisingly able to keep relatively quiet as he blocks your fists. Can’t disturb those pesky neighbors.

Bucky shifts left just as you narrowly scrape your right elbow against his shoulder with a high jab from your elbows desperate upper cut, you slide on the hardwood under the false presumption that he’s out of reach when his flesh arm swings out to catch you in your stomach with a loud hollow thud. Ouch!

Instantly your throat emits a strange squeak as you feel the air knocked out of your precious lungs, clearly you had not anticipated this turn of events and neither does Bucky who immediately looks like he just accidentally stepped on a puppies little paw. “Y/N!” Worries Bucky with wide eyes as you keep hunched over, trying to suck in some needed oxygen.

Pulling some air into your lungs, you pretend to hobble over to the couch like a beaten down boxer, “Mm hmgood, yep.” You rasp out, resting your upper half on the couch as Bucky quickly approaches your side. But before he’s able to lay a comforting hand onto your shoulder, you swing a decorative pillow right at his head.

The puffy fabric knocks him onto his ass, earning a surprised grunt in the process as you tower above him, smirking like a trickster goddess over a poor lost and lonely traveler. Bucky rubs his reddened cheek, brows furrowed as he whines, “Y/N.” Like a little child who just got something taken from them by another kid.

Smirking a satisfied grin, you kneel down to meet his level, raising up a hand to gently draw his chin upwards to face you better, “That hurt you dickhead.” You muse as Bucky pouts, “ Y/N, I didn’t mean too..”

“I know.” You chuckle, “Now make it better.” You slyly add with a suggestive implication in your tone that causes Bucky to raise a brow. Letting go of his stubbled chin, you seat yourself onto the floor, facing Bucky as he reaches his metal hand out to pull you in closer to him.

Just about shoulder to shoulder with him, he gently presses his Vibranium hand to your cheek before pulling your face closer to his, soon the two of you lock lips with one another as his other hand snakes around to pull you onto him.

Ever so gently do you follow him to the floor as he continues to passionately make out with you like there’s no tomorrow. Metal and flesh hand feeling you up from your breasts to your bum as you straddle your man, hands trailing through his shortened hair while he fully enjoys this new positioning and turn of events.

Bucky presses wet kisses all around your cheeks and lips while he begins nonchalantly unbuttoning your pants, clearly hoping this will continue further and that all thoughts of those delicious gummy worms are out the door. You won’t lie to yourself though, caging Bucky’s thick torso underneath your opened legs is an admittedly pleasant experience to say the least.

So when he snakes his hands up under your shirt and starts messaging your breasts through the fabric of your bra, your mind begins thinking of some other things a bit more important then some simple treat from the local corner store. He knows just how to turn his favorite lover into a pile of puddy with nothing more then his mouth and fingers. This little shithead isn’t even inside you yet, you’re not even naked for goodness sakes!

But alas, a bet is a bet, and you don’t like to lose. Smirking into the kiss, and holding back a moan as Bucky’s digits squeeze your soft breasts, you tug on his hair before pulling away from his pleasantly inviting lips. Earning a palpable pout of confusion from your man, who’s noticeably grown hard against your bum.

“Y/N?”

“Bucky.” You tease back, imitating his voice once again as he throws you a puzzled look, “Don’t give me that shit Barnes I know what you’re trying to do.”

“And what am I trying to do?” Sasses Bucky as he rests his hands onto either side of your hips.

You raise a brow down at him, “These shenanigans.”

Bucky smiles, head falling back onto the floor as he laughs, “That’s not, no I’m not doing any shenanigans I swear....I just, maybe I just want to show my girl how much I love her.” Replies Bucky, though you stay unconvinced.

“We had a deal remember?”

“Yeah well, none of us won so..”

“Oh really?” You challenge, “Then why are you on your back and I’m right here as the victorious one? Who by the way has earned her gummy worms fair and square James Buchanan Barnes.”

Bucky groans, “oh come on Y/N....I can’t go now. Have some pity on me please?”

“And why not?”

He gently gives your hips an affectionate squeeze, “Because, my beautiful she-wolf who I love so very much and cherish every day of my life forever and alw..”

“Get to the point I want those damn gummies.” You threaten with a stern look though he knows you don’t truly mean it of course, but he has successfully annoyed you. “What is the problem this time?”

Bucky throws you a sheepish grin as he takes one of your hands in his, “Because I’m hard.” Sincere and straight to the point.

Pursing your lips together in amused irritation, you remove his hand from your hip, “Well, you did that to yourself babe I can’t help how amazing I am just existing. Really get over yourself.” You playfully tease before standing above him as his eyes never once leave your beautiful face, “Those gummies aren’t going to buy themselves.”

Bucky sighs dramatically shaking his head as he whispers, “You’re a monster of the greatest evil.” Smiling like a lovestruck idiot despite his neutrally spoken words.

You chuckle, stepping over him to pick up a pillow, “That’s me. Now don’t give me a reason to show you my claws.”

He quickly rises to his full height, another fallen pillow in hand as he tries to hide his hardened member behind it like some shitty magic act, “I’m just, I’m gonna hold this pillow for you. Not important why.”

“Uh huh.” You muse as he watches you clean up Battleship, putting all the pieces away and into the particular box before shoving it underneath the couch. When you go to fold the furniture's decorative blanket, a knock is heard at the door.

“Not it.” Mutters Bucky as you throw him an annoyed glance, already aware of who this is by their familiar scent. You walk over to the door and open it as Bucky hides in the background, pillow still covering his tented crotch.

“Hello Mrs. Brego you need help with your windows again?” You speak in Italian to your neighbor from down the hall. The old woman smiles before giving you a little shake of her head indicating a no.

“No dear, just telling you there’s cops downstairs for that guy from Chicago I think, so if you plan on going out. I wouldn’t choose tonight, the whole lobby is filled with people I think he might have been into drugs.” Warns the sweet old woman as you slowly nod, knowing all to well that Bucky most certainly heard everything.

Faking a smile, you shrug, “Wasn’t planning on going out tonight anyways. Well, thanks again. See you when I see you.” She smiles brightly before turning to walk down the hallway and into her own apartment, you watch until she shuts her door just to make sure nothing bad happens on your time.

Feeling comfortable that’s she’s fine, you shut and lock the door, pursing your lips as you turn around to face a smirking Bucky. He’s still holding the pillow against his junk, but he looks incredibly full of himself standing there with that stupidly handsome face of his. Those eyes. That smile. His body......no, focus.

Bucky goes to open his mouth but before he can say something sarcastic you throw a hand up to stop him, “Not a word.” You deadpan before turning to walk down the hallway, stopping yourself to glance over your shoulder, “Give me five minutes and then you can come to bed. But you better be naked or else.”

Bucky snorts as you practically swagger down the short hallway and into your shared bedroom. Closing the door as you prepare yourself for a late night of adventuring each others bodies.

Oh tonight will be something indeed.

-

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