#though he usually teases you or distracts you from the main objective of studying and both of you lightheartedly bicker over random things

[merakiui]

who are your favorites from genshin and twst to write about? :o I feel like I know at least a few of the answers to both (cough cough. scara, octotrio) but maybe there's some more you really enjoy writing even if you don't write them often? and that being said.. are there any characters you'd like/want to write more for? :D

I do have many other favorite characters that I would love to write more for!! The scummy fish and Scaramouchey have a tendency to live rent-free within my head too much. orz

For Genshin, I like Aether, Albedo, Kaeya, La Signora (I miss her every day of my life. T_T signora, please come back...), Xiao, Childe, Dottore, and Kazuha! Lately Cyno and Yelan have been rising to the favorite spots as well, and I have been looking closely at Pantalone...

For twst, I like Riddle, Trey, Cater, Ruggie, Vil, Rook, Idia, Kalim, Lilia!! I also love Rollo and Neige a lot. :D

[kyanmapng]

han seojun college boyfriend headcanons.

listen to breathe by golden child.

˗ˋˏ author’s note ˎˊ˗

time for me to forget about the disrespect and give you the good seojun feels. imagine if seojun actually went to college and you got lucky to date this dork. let’s see what that would include.

coffee dates and making everyone around you feel single as hell. you would talk about your classes and how scary this one professor is and Seojun would stare at you over his sugar bomb of coffee and smile with his head propped on his fist. he would tell you about all the shenanigans his gang pulled and maybe just maybe the scary professor got one coming as well. 

waiting for you when he doesn’t have classes. depending on the weather he would bring an umbrella (you always forget to check the forecast) and if it’s cold he gives you his scarf, but purposely doesn’t get more than one pair of gloves because he wants to do the cheesy “your hand in my pocket” thing to warm you up. 

when he’s bored in lectures he texts you and annoys you even if you don’t text back, because you can’t fail this! has the biggest grin on his face when he breaks you and you text back that you WILL block his number. (you never do, but he pushes you to the edge often.)

seojun definitely tells you he will help you study just to be the most distracting element. he can’t help it, you look so focused, pouting over the notes and he has to poke your cheeks and needs to hold your hand because you don’t need to use both of them to study. 

but if you are about to breakdown over classes, serious Seojun mode is activated. he will help you make flashcards, ask you questions, bring you snacks, offer support in any way he can. he would write the test for you if he could. he leaves little encouraging messages on your notes (even though he feels slightly embarrassed so he always tries to put them in so you will notice at dorm/home). 

you are definitely motivating him to keep on going and to study some more. he is thankful for that. kisses are big motivation, he is a simple man. 

he often doesn’t say that he is tired, juggling uni, part-time and modelling gigs. but you know him too well not to notice the signs and you drop by with some home-cooked meal to his dorm and hope the vultures (his dorm mates) won’t be there so you won’t have to fight them to the death lol. you can see the metaphorical ears and tail whip out as soon as he sees you in the doorway. 

he definitely snuck out to your dorm when your dorm mates weren’t there and you had a movie night with cuddles (and maybe a make-out session here and there oop--). 

if you have a group project and as usual people aren’t doing their part, Seojun is ready to go and have a talk with them for you. the parts would be done in a day.

seojun is definitely popular and basketball team tries to scout him every year, but Seojun is already busy as it is. though if you ask him if he won’t play, he is saying yes right away. he is a sucker for his s/o. gives you a kiss that makes others blush saying: “good luck kiss.” and you are the talk of the university for a few days. 

he is also invited to every party, but he turns them down most of the time. sometimes his gang makes him show up, but it’s just not his scene. even though he is ungodly good at beer pong (frat boy seojun everyone?), but he is a lightweight and he’d rather not end up doing something stupid so he is the designated driver. he had to pull his friends from the pool where they fell 3 times in one night and he got tired with capital t. the car still smells like chlorine. 

maybe you both run into each when you get dragged to a party by your friends. and seojun is just watching everyone doing their thing and keeping his friends away from pointy and sharp objects like the mother hen he is. and then he sees you vibing with your group of friends, laughing at some joke and his lips turn upward instantly. and you text him to let him know you are fine because it’s a ritual. you both let each other know if you go somewhere late or just go somewhere period. and he texts you back, something along the lines of “look up”. 

just imagine meeting eyes with him in the dim lighting and college people around wreaking havoc in someone else’s living room. it would be kinda fanfic moment until he hears his friends yell “cannonball” and he has war flashbacks to the other party. so he has to run away to herd them back away from the expensive-looking pool. 

god help anyone trying to hit on you, Seojun’s senses are tuned into it. he has seen you turn down people a few times already, he trusts you completely and it makes his heart swell when you tell people that you already have a boyfriend you love. but he also loves to see the flirty faces morph into shock when he snakes an arm around your waist or shoulders and goes “are you having fun babe?” it’s his guilty pleasure, honestly. 

and if you do the same? his heart is sold. you see this girl sit down next to Seojun who is taking a breather after most of his friends passed out around him and she tries to put her hand on his knee, but he says he is not interested and taken and is about to get up to leave, but you (braver now when alcohol courses through your veins) decide to plop down on his lap and kiss his cheek, turning to the girl after. “oh sorry I didn’t see you there.” she leaves in a hurry after that. and when you try to stand up he just holds you closer, refusing. “you are really cute when you get jealous.” “i think that makes two of us.”

the day after he shows up with a hangover cure and tells you all about the things you might not remember. he makes sure you do remember the lap sitting, it’s his favorite part. it’s teasing material for months. 

when the holidays begin he is giddy to bring you to spend time with his mom and sister. it makes his heart do flips when his favorite people interact. even when he is clearly at disadvantage, his mom has so many stories to tell and you love to get something to tease him with as well. but he knows his time will come once you take him to your parents. 

he was extra nervous when he was meeting your parents, he asked about your mom’s favorite flowers and your dad prefered drink and almost studied to make the best first impression. your mom was blown away right away and your dad gave Seojun harder time just because he had to make sure he is serious about you. but when he sees how bright you get thanks to him, he warms up to him instantly. 

overall, college boyfriend seojun would be the best hypeman while also being the main cause of your inability to focus. he gives the best hugs when you are stressed with exam season and is basically a mind reader. would do anything for you and doesn’t ask for anything in return and that only makes you shower him in love and affection more.

[bi-naesala]

Demonstration

Fandom: Yakuza Rating: E Warnings: / Relationships: Kasuga Ichiban/Zhao Tianyou Characters: Kasuga Ichiban, Zhao Tianyou Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Established Relationship, Rough Sex, First Time Bottoming, Nonbinary Zhao Tianyou Summary:

Ichiban demonstrates to Zhao how he felt about him the first time they met.

(Also on AO3)

Every time Ichiban and Zhao have been intimate, they’ve always kept things quite simple, gentle even.

They never thought about it too much; it’s just that they enjoy each other, nothing more, and they don’t really care about what they do, as long as they are together and have both a good time.

It’s almost weird considering how their first meeting went. Of all things, Ichiban would’ve never imagined that he was going to end together to the person who threatened to kill him with a smile on their face, but so is life, and he couldn’t be happier about it.

“Oooooi earth to Kasuga-kun!”

Contrary to what Zhao might believe, Ichiban doesn’t jump hearing their voice calling out for him. Nope. Not at all.

“H-Hey! Zhao! What is it?”

Zhao shoots him an unimpressed look. “You haven’t been listening to a word I said, haven’t you?”

“Huh…” Ichiban smartly replies. “Sorry?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Zhao mutters, shaking his head, but despite their words, there’s a smile on his face, finding Ichiban’s behavior endearing. “And what were you thinking about that was so important that you’d stop in the middle of the street like a lunatic?”

Oh right! They went out grocery shopping for the barkeep. And here Kasuga was, lost in his thoughts…

“Oh, nothing much, really…”

“C’mon, I’m curious now. Pretty please tell me?” Zhao insists. Oh hell, Ichiban can’t resist that tone of his.

  “Just… Wait,” he mutters, taking Zhao by the arm and guiding him away from the main road, entering in one of the smaller streets. If he truly has to answer to Zhao, he’d rather do it in a place where they can get a modicum of privacy, which would usually be at Survive, but this is close enough. At least there’s nobody there for the moment.

Zhao hasn’t said anything about Ichiban’s behavior, not even a little word of teasing, for which he’s grateful for.

“Should I get worried?” he asks though. Considering how Ichiban’s acting, it would be safe to assume that this is something serious.

“Oh? Oh no! Not at all!” Ichiban’s quick to reassure him. “I was just thinking about… well… about us.”

Now Zhao looks extremely curious. “Us? And what about us were you thinking about?”

“About how funny it is that we ended up together, considering how we met and what I thought of you…”

“Ooh?” Zhao perks up. “And what did you think of me?”

Were their relationship still in its early stages, Ichiban might’ve felt so embarrassed about what he’s about to say that he would’ve tried to find an excuse not to reply, but now he replies calmly, accepting the challenge hidden in Zhao’s tone: he uses his bigger stature to tower over the other, reveling in the shiver Zhao isn’t able to suppress at the motion - though they don’t look intimidated at all.

“That you needed to be put in your place,” he growls then, voice low and gaze dark.

“Ohohohoh~” Zhao’s voice sounds more like it did when they first met: dangerous. “That so?”

Ichiban nods.

“Well then…”

Zhao stretches a hand towards their partner, cupping his cheek. “Feel free to put me in my place anytime.”

Oh, he’s into it. Ichiban can tell. Those glasses of theirs can’t hide shit from him, not when he knows them so well; there’s no other way he can interpret the shine in his eyes.

    After that revelation, of course, Ichiban hasn’t had a way to clear his mind enough to think about anything else that isn’t him putting Zhao right where he wants to and taking him the way they deserve.

How are they supposed to do it, though? They share a room with so many other people that they can't possibly put themselves in a situation where they would most likely traumatize someone!

This requires a solution, because as much as Ichiban could easily let this go and wait for the proper occasion, he has no idea how long that would take, and he wants it so bad. Usually, in the bedroom, Zhao’s the one leading, so changing things sounds very interesting, and Ichiban can’t deny that he’s curious to see Zhao’s reaction if he lets him get away with what he wants to do, so no, he can’t wait at all.

  Mmmh what to do…

Wait! He's just got an idea that might work!

    It’s harder than he thought having to save money, since he’s an impulsive buyer, but he manages because this is too important for him to ruin everything. Thankfully he makes enough as Ichiban Holdings’ CEO that in about a month he’s managed to get enough so that he can finally put his plan into motion.

What does his plan consist of? Renting a room at a love hotel, of course! Yeah, it doesn’t sound that fancy, especially considering that Ichiban’s been saving for this, but hey it’s not like he swims in money! Neither of them does!

At least like this they can be as rough and loud as they want to and, especially, they won’t have to be quick, because nobody’s supposed to walk into them when they least expect it.

  It takes him nothing to convince Zhao. They’re on board as soon as he mentions the love hotel part.

“Oh yes please,” they say, and is Ichiban dreaming things, or does he sound very eager? Eh, he supposes he’s been waiting for this for a while - though if they have, why hasn’t he ever mentioned it?

  During their ride - there’s no way they were going to walk all the way there, so they’ve taken a cab - Zhao hasn’t pulled away from Ichiban not even once, holding his arm tightly and whispering pure filth in his ear.

“I bet you can’t wait for it, can’t you? Are you going to make me scream? Are you going to make me beg for it? How long ‘till I’ll be able to walk again?”

On his part, Ichiban does his best to ignore what they say, even if the more time passes, the more difficult it becomes, especially when Zhao begins to lavish at his neck, like they’re not sitting inside a taxi and there isn’t a clearly uncomfortable driver.

“Z-Zhao… Please, not here…”

In response Zhao looks at him with such an innocent gaze that it almost makes Ichiban believe that he truly doesn’t know what they’re doing wrong. Ass.

  At least after that they calm down, not trying to rile Ichiban up anymore. Not that they needed to continue, since he did manage to get Ichiban going, even though there’s nothing he can do about it at the moment. Once they get to the hotel, though…

Ah. So this is why Zhao’s been acting the way they were acting: getting Ichiban so riled up that as soon as they were alone, he was going to explode.

Well, if that’s what Zhao wants, then Ichiban will give it to him, and with interests…

    Ichiban might be moving things along a bit too fast once they get to the love hotel, to the point that once he gets the key to their room, he almost runs towards it. He doesn’t only because he doesn’t want to appear too eager, though by the way Zhao’s looking at him, they must’ve caught it either way.

  Once they’re inside, they take a moment to study their surroundings. Huh, classic love hotel stuff: tacky pink everywhere, enormous bed, even bigger mirror, cabinet with lube and condoms… yes, the usual. Not that Ichiban has been to many love hotels…

He gets distracted when Zhao presses against him, circling his back with their arms. “Soooo Ichi, how are we going to do this?”

Seeing that Ichiban doesn’t reply, he begins kissing up from his neck to the corner of his mouth. “What? Cat got your tongue?”

  Before he can react, Ichiban grabs him by the waist and throws him on the bed, making him land with a loud oof.

“Hey, what the hell?!”

Before Zhao can complain further, Ichiban has found his place between his legs, pressing him against the bed.

“This what you wanted?” he asks, grabbing Zhao’s chin with a hand, sending a shiver across their spine.

“Huh-huh,” Zhao nods, looking at Ichiban with feverish eyes.

Oh god, they’re already get going… and Ichiban would lie if he said that this isn’t having an effect on him as well.

  He kisses Zhao hard, forcing their lips open with his tongue. The objective is to be as overwhelming as possible and, judging by the way Zhao is holding onto him, he must be doing a good job at it.

When they pull away, Zhao’s already panting hard, and his face looks even more debauched with the glasses that are threatening to slip off at any second. Ichiban takes hold of them and puts them aside, so that they won’t risk bending or breaking them - that would certainly be a mood killer.

He licks Zhao’s lips, taking then their lower lip and sucking, before biting it. Zhao gasp, body twitching against Ichiban.

“That all you thought about when you saw me? Kissing me?” they provoke Ichiban then, even though his voice doesn’t sound as confident as they’d like to appear.

In response, Ichiban grabs Zhao’s shirt and rips it open, making the other gasp as buttons come fly all over the place. Zhao doesn’t think he’s ever been so wet in all his life.

  Ichiban’s so glad Zhao didn’t feel like binding today; that thing is always a bitch to take off.

Like this, instead, he can already hold Zhao’s chest in his hands, squeezing it. His fingers are rough when they find Zhao’s nipples, twisting them in a way that makes Zhao whine.

“I-Ichiban…”

This is so different from what Ichiban usually gets to see, or hear, but he’d lie if he said that he doesn’t like it.

He lowers himself so that he can take one of Zhao’s nipples in his mouth, licking and sucking at it like he’s never done before, but when Zhao grabs onto his hair he pulls away, grabbing Zhao’s wrists and forcing them on the sides of their head.

“Stay still,” he orders then, but even after Zhao nods and Ichiban goes back to what he was doing, he still keeps his wrists in his hold. It would be easier to use some rope, or handcuffs - there must be plenty of those in here - but Ichiban has always preferred holding them down with his body, no need for anything else.

“Fuck…” Zhao moans when Ichiban bites down on his nipple, his whole body jolting at the sensation.

Ichiban raises his gaze towards him, and Zhao has to bite his lips to stifle a moan having that heated gaze on him. That, and also he looks so fucking hot while sucking on his tit like that.

If only Ichiban wasn’t between his legs he would try to rub them together, anything to dampen the wet sensation he feels between them. On his part, Ichiban doesn’t seem to care at all, at least for now, focusing only on their chest.

  They test Ichiban’s hold by trying to move his arms, but the other doesn’t budge.

“What did I say?” he scolds them. He usually sounds so gentle and careful, but Zhao hears nothing of that now. How much was he holding back all the times they’ve had sex?

“Sorry…” they mutter, though they don’t really sound that sorry.

Ichiban scowls, but apart from that it seems that Zhao’s apology is enough for him, because he begins kissing a line up to Zhao’s mouth, capturing his lips once again. He at least stops holding Zhao down, but just because he begins slipping his now thorn shirt off, and then going to their waist, thumbs caressing the exposed skin.

At the soft moan that leaves Zhao’s lips, however, they don’t stay still for long, and soon Zhao’s pants and leggings say goodbye as well, getting thrown on the ground with the shirt.

They pull away again, and god if Zhao doesn’t feel like a piece of meat from the way Ichiban’s looking at him. So hungry…

“You’re overdressed,” he points out, instead of saying anything about that.

“So?”

Zhao rolls his eyes. Ichiban has never defied them so much, but he supposes this is what’s fun about what they’re doing today. “C’mon… pretty please?”

It seems that his act does convince Ichiban a little, because he sheds his jacket, and then his shirt, so that Zhao can admire his body. Unfortunately, however, they don’t have enough time to stretch their now free hands to cup his chest because Ichiban drags him forward by the hips so that he’s resting on his knees, open and exposed.

  Ichiban looks down at them, and then a smirk appears on his face.

“Wow, you’re really into this…”

“Huh?” Zhao mutters, confused, but then they realize that there’s must be a pretty big damp spot between his legs. He nervously chuckles then. “Yeah… I am.”

Besides, it’s not like he can’t feel Ichiban getting hard against them. He’s into it as much as he is, and Zhao reminds him by grinding their crotches together, making Ichiban hiss.

It doesn’t last long, however, because soon Ichiban takes back control and pushes Zhao down, holding him still with a hand on their stomach, while with the other he travels down on Zhao’s body, until he reaches his pussy.

The fucker teases his clit just for a moment before lowering his fingers further, down to Zhao’s entrance. At first, he slowly gets only one inside, but seeing how wet Zhao is, he easily slips another one.

He doesn’t bother with being gentle, and thrusts his fingers in and out, in and out, getting the wettest sounds out of Zhao as he does. Holy fuck.

“Yeah… fuck! Ichiiiii!”

“Something tells him you’re liking it…” Ichiban grins, slowing down his movements. “But I bet there’s something you’d like more.”

“God, yeah,” Zhao moans in reply, knowing what Ichiban’s talking about. “Fuck, I need it…”

“Do you? ‘Cause I can keep going like this.” Ichiban twists his fingers up, and Zhao arches his backs against him as a loud moan escapes their lips. Oh yeah there, right there.

Ichiban doesn’t stop, making Zhao edge closer and closer to the orgasm, and all they can do is to hold onto him, scratching his shoulders with his long nails, unable to stop him - not that he wants him to stop. Holy shit it’s so good.

“I’m gonna… Ah!”

They try to warn him that they’re close, that they’re gonna come if he keeps going like that, but Ichiban doesn’t give him the time, going so fast that Zhao reaches the orgasm before he can even finish that sentence. His body tenses up at the sensation, arching and twisting in order to get it to last longer, just a moment longer but then, just like it started, it’s over.

  Ichiban pulls away, and Zhao already misses the feeling of having something inside him, though from the hurried way Ichiban’s unfastening his pants - he doesn’t even bother cleaning his fingers, the idiot - they suppose it won’t be for long.

Indeed, once Ichiban’s as bare as Zhao, he grabs their ankles and pushes them down, on either side of his head. He takes a moment to admire his lover under him, so pretty and flexible, at least until Zhao speaks.

“Again already?”

“You don’t sound upset about it,” Ichiban points out, and he can’t help but to smile, before remembering that he’s not supposed to do that, at least not during this particular occasion.

He distracts himself by kissing Zhao so that they can’t speak anymore, except for a few moans they can’t hold back when he begins to grind his cock against his pussy, getting it wet with all their juices.

He wouldn’t mind getting off like this, if he has to be honest, but he knows how good it feels inside Zhao, and he wants to get back there once again, so he temporarily lets go of one of Zhao’s ankles in order to better guide his cock, holding it as he begins to slide inside. Zhao hisses at the sensation, but otherwise he clenches around Ichiban, almost like he wants to suck him in.

“H-Hey, slow down!” Ichiban exclaims at the sudden stimulation, and he begins to thumb at Zhao’s clit in spite, knowing that it’s still oversensitive.

As predicted, Zhao shouts, body instinctively trying to pull away, but there’s nowhere they can go with Ichiban pressed against him like that, and it’s not like he’s giving him any mercy.

“Fuck! S-Sorry!” they try to apologize, but it still takes a while for Ichiban to stop, leaving Zhao a mess. They feel like a puddle, unable to move a muscle on his own.

  Only when Ichiban begins moving, Zhao manages to get partially out of the state of drowsiness that has been taking over them, body jolting awake at the pounding they’re receiving.

Ichiban’s going completely all out. He even makes the bed rattle with them, hitting the wall countless times. Had they been more coherent, Zhao would’ve wondered if they were going to make a huge hole in it, but with things being as they are, they don’t really care if they do, as longs as Ichiban doesn’t stop.

Usually they’re pretty quiet in bed, but this time they are unable to hold back his voice, moaning and screaming each time Ichiban sinks in. He swears he can feel him get deeper and deeper at each thrust; it’s like he’s drilling him open.

Their vision is cloudy, though it’s hard to tell if it’s just because they’re not wearing his glasses, or if there are some tears that are threatening to run down his face, but Ichiban’s close enough that he can see him pretty decently. He looks focused in a way that Zhao doesn’t think he’s ever seen him.

  Despite the fact that they’ve come recently, Zhao can feel another orgasm building up inside him. Once Ichiban notices - he always begins to tremble when he’s close to coming - he reaches down between his legs again, rubbing his clit with the same roughness from before, but at least it’s had some time to recover, so even though it still hurts a bit, it’s the kind of hurt that Zhao likes.

They feel a bit of drool trickling down their chin, but they don’t have enough strength to lift a finger and do anything about it. Besides, they barely have the time to think about that when Ichiban captures his lips again. It’s obvious by the erratic way he’s moving that he’s close as well.

“Zhao… Can I come inside?”

Zhao almost laughs. Really?

In a way, though, it’s sweet that he still asks.

“Please,” they say then, because he needs it, he needs Ichiban to come inside him so bad.

  Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for his wish to be granted.

God, it feels like Ichiban’s never stopping coming, which in turn tips Zhao well over the edge too, coming with a last shout.

Everything feels intense and not enough at the same time, and Zhao wonders if they've hit their head somehow for him to feel this way. He almost feels feverish.

  Soon Ichiban begins to slow down his movements, until he stills completely. He takes a moment to catch his breath, forehead gently pressed against Zhao’s, then he pulls out, making the other twitch at the sensation of sudden emptiness.

“Fuck…” he very eloquently says then. It makes Zhao chuckle.

“Indeed,” they reply, lazily dragging Ichiban in another kiss, this time softer and much slower than the ones they’ve shared until now.

When they pull away, Ichiban looks at them with badly hidden concern. “Are you okay? Does it hurt anywhere?”

“You fuckin’ destroyed me,” Zhao chuckles, but before Ichiban can begin fussing over them, something they’d frankly hate, they continue. “But that’s exactly what I came here for.”

“So it’s fine?”

Zhao nods. “More than fine I’d say.”

  “So… You liked it?”

Zhao raises an eyebrow at him.

“What do you think?” he asks, instead of replying.

After a moment of silence, Ichiban sighs. “Yeah, alright. Dumb question.”

  He lays down close to them, and immediately they drape themselves over him, holding him close. Ichiban hums contentedly, and returns the hug.

All that rough stuff is fine and all, but if he has to be honest, he prefers this “mushy shit” - that’s how Zhao would call it. This is simply how he is as a person, and nothing can change that.

He begins to idly caress Zhao’s back, fingers barely brushing against their naked body.

“Hey,” he says then. “Shouldn’t we take a shower?”

“Gimme a moment,” Zhao replies, voice a bit strained for the effort from before.

Ichiban nods, and waits until Zhao feels good enough that he can get up, because Ichiban knows that’s the problem. He’d offer to carry him, but Zhao would say no and maybe even get offended, so he stays silent.

  It’s not a problem, he can wait a bit.

Actually, with Zhao so close to him, he can wait more than just a bit, as long as they remain here.

“Yeah, take all the time you need.”

[sweatersexual]

just some black ink on some blue lines (and a shadow you won’t recognize)

Read on AO3

Stan wished he knew what was going through Ford’s mind when he’d packed this box and shoved it in a closet. When they were kids, they’d insisted to their mother on cleaning days that the piles of the stuff in their room were organized, they had a system. Ford probably still had one, but Stan was no longer privy to it. He’d probably be annoyed with Stan for messing it up if - when - he got back.

But if Stan was going to turn this room into a gift shop, this closet would have to be cleared out. So he dug through the motley collection of vinyl records, books, part of a research paper, a jar of molasses, and a Cubic’s Cube, placing most of them in the pile of Ford’s things to be packed away and eventually returned to him. The book on Fifth-Dimensional Calculus, though, that might be helpful with the portal.

Two loose sheets of paper fell out as he flipped through the book. A letter, but not addressed to anyone. Still, Stan had spent enough time bent over that journal to know Ford’s handwriting back to front.

I’ve fallen in love with him, the letter read. I never imagined I could fall in love, let alone with a hog farmer from Tennessee, but he’s brilliant and charming and something electric runs through me every time we touch.

The confirmation that Ford was gay after all these years was hardly a surprise to Stan. He’d suspected Ford’s sexuality for about as long as he’d questioned his own. But Stan could never imagine writing anything so sappy about a guy he himself was into. Stan snorted as he continued reading.

I know you would tease me if I told you this in person. That’s only one of the many, many reasons I can never send this letter. But I feel like I have to tell someone about this or I’ll burst. Anyone else would think I was some kind of pervert. But somehow, I think you would understand.

I know we never talked about this, back when we still talked. We both knew how our father felt about men loving other men . . .

This letter was written to Stan. Ford had wanted to tell someone he was in love, and he had thought of Stan, even though they weren’t talking to each other. Ford must have picked up on Stan being bisexual in some way and known that it would have been safe to come out to him, if circumstances were different.

Well, he’d have been safe from homophobia. Safe from the usual brotherly mockery was a different story.

We both knew how our father felt about men loving other men, and his disapproval hung like a specter over everything we did. I know some psychologists would blame his overbearing nature for my current inclinations . . .

Overbearing nature, yeah, that was putting it lightly. “He’s an asshole,” Stan muttered to himself.

. . . but I can’t help but feel that if an overbearing father makes one queer, there would be a lot more queer people in the world. And psychology is a very inexact science anyway.

Stan had already figured, but it was nice to have someone as smart as Ford say that at least one of the theories people put out about why people weren’t straight was bogus. It didn’t matter why he or Ford loved men, because they weren’t about to change, and they weren’t hurting anybody. The sooner more people realized that, the better.

I’ve given up on analyzing why I feel the way I do about F. The fact that we have so much in common probably has something to do with it, but we didn’t always get along so well. When we first met a few years ago, I found his unique blend of hick and hippie mannerisms very off-putting. He thought me stuffy and intractable. Still, we managed to stand living together long enough to become close friends, and now, something more romantic in nature as well.

A few weeks ago, he insisted we take a break from studying. We drove out to the middle of nowhere and stargazed, something we’ve done several times before. Talking about space excites our imaginations. It has sparked many a conversation about the future, not just our own hopefully bright ones, but that of the world and humanity at large. This time, however, we got on the subject of how grateful we were to have each other in our lives. I’m a loner by nature, as you know, so connecting with anyone as well as I do with F is rare and precious. No sooner were the words out of my mouth than his lips were on mine, and I was reciprocating wholeheartedly.

When the kiss broke, he looked at me questioningly, worried, I think, that either of us would come to our senses and acknowledge the enormity of what we had just done. Instead I simply kissed him back. We’ve shared so many since then, and the close quarters of our dorm have proven too enticing to get schoolwork done without distractions. I’ve had to relocate to the library several times in order to get any real studying done.

That nerd. Of course his main concern about getting a boyfriend was how it would cut into his study time.

Despite how busy we are, we’ve still found time for things like walks around campus or daringly holding hands in the back of a dark movie theater. But mostly we’ve spent an increasing amount of time in each other’s arms back in our dorm. We made love last night. I’ll spare you the details, but I’ll have you know he’s just as considerate and patient in bed as he is anywhere else. Perhaps even more so.

Oh come on. “Considerate and patient?” That’s how you’d describe your waiter, not your lover. Had the sex not been that good? Not that Stan wanted to know the details, Ford had been right about that, but sheesh, Stan expected something more spicy than “considerate and patient.”

I can’t believe I just put that down on paper. Thank goodness you’ll never read this, you’d say I’m such a sap. I can’t help it, I’m in love and the only one I can talk to about it is the object of my affections. And as much as I do love talking to him about us, it would be nice, just for once, for someone else to know how happy I am, and why.

Yeah, Stan had been there before, when he’d dated guys who weren’t out. It sucked, not being able to introduce him to your friends, having to worry about who was watching when you so much as held his hand. So much of what was normal for couples just couldn’t be for you.

But sadly, disappointment is just as much a part of life as love is. You taught me that.

Stan winced. Ford had basically just called him a disappointment. Stan had known their father had felt that way about him, and Ford probably did too, but damn. Seeing it in writing like that still hurt.

Even F may leave me someday. As lovestruck as I am, I can still see the obstacles ahead of us clearly. I try not to let it taint my time with him now, much in the same way I still look back on our childhood fondly, even though it ended so badly.

I still keep that photo of us on the Stan-o-War, you know. F has seen it. He thinks we should talk to each other. I have no idea how I would even start. And sending this letter is still very much out of the question. Ma thinks you moved from the last address you gave her anyway. I would tell you to call her, but that would involve talking to you.

See you never,

Ford

Stan turned the letter over and sighed. Disappointment or not, at least Ford didn’t completely hate him. You didn’t write a letter like that to someone you hated. You didn’t keep a picture to show your boyfriend. You didn’t fondly reminisce on old memories. It sounded like Ford had considered reconciliation as a possibility, but not one he knew how to pursue. Stan could understand that. He had felt the same way.

Stan wondered if he had enough information to look up this F guy. Surely it wouldn’t be hard to track down a Backupsmore alumnus who’d been a hog farmer from Tennessee and had the first initial F. Maybe he was the owner of the smaller sized clothes Stan had found lying around the house, or of the vinyl records that didn’t seem to fit Ford’s music taste. Or maybe Ford had moved on from his college sweetheart and they belonged to someone else.

No, looking up F was a bad idea. Either he’d figure out Stan was impersonating his brother and ruin everything Stan was working for, or he’d believe Stan was Ford and Stan would have to pretend they had romantic history. Neither option was worth the hassle.

Stan ended up keeping the letter down in the basement with his brother’s journal. Whenever Stan reread it, he felt every minute of the decade plus he and Ford had spent growing apart. In another life, could they have shared those moments together? Could they have come out to each other in person? There was a whole relationship as adults they could have had, and maybe it was still a possibility.

Stan just needed to get that portal up and running.

[omgkalyppso]

Coffee Shop AU writing prompt for your FE OT4: :"There is a big storm outside and yes, we were all warned, but some people have to work and now there is this group of people starting to make this small café their own for the next couple of hours till the storm eases up or we get rescued"

Hi. Thank you for this ancient ask. I struggled with this. Although I love reading coffee shop AUs, I've never written one. Why would you hit on a cashier? So. This is Something. 2,454 words below the cut; 2,600 words total.

.

"This puddle is disgusting," Fae said, in dark water past their ankles. A chill ran up their spine as they tried not to think of why it might be slushy.

"This is awfullll-ugh!" Hilda groaned from her place on Fae's back, tilting her toes to purposefully avoid it.

"We just need to go into the next open business," Lorenz repeated with a frown.

A wall of sandbags protected them from the veritable river flowing down the main road, where blocked and overworked catchbasins failed. The depth of the water had rendered it unsafe to use the rental vehicle, some distance away, and Lorenz wondered whether it would ever start again, when the storm had passed.

"But what if—" Fae started to object.

"There!" Hilda interrupted, pointing to where a bar, a pizza place and a coffee shop stood in a line across the next side street.

.

They were only out here because of a job interview that she should have refused, and Hilda was eager to get her friends out of the storm. Even if she got the position, if they were unwilling to reschedule in these circumstances, they seemed like they would be a nightmare to work for.

They waited as the wind scattered a few more sheets of rain between them and their destination, and ran in an arc uphill to avoid the depth of the water on the main road when they made their was across the side street. Still Lorenz leaned out as far as he could, to marvel over where the sea threatened to spill up into the city of Derdriu, a dozen blocks away.

The bar was actually full, extra sandbags by their patio ensuring the safety of a crowd who looked out at the trio in the storm with judgment and incredulity. Lorenz exchanged a glance with the others, and then they continued past. The pizza place was empty save the staff, and they likely wouldn't want to face three relative tourists.

This meant that they ducked inside Tall, Dark and Delectable: a three story cafe that boasted of comfort and meeting spaces.

Though they couldn't see it, the uppermost floor had signage requesting quiet, intended for library-like study, and though they didn't know it, the second floor was tragically treated like a high school cafeteria by their usual clientele, messy and loud. The main floor had the smallest amount of public space, three scattered tables, two couches and twin armchairs, and a counter meant for take out.

The tables had been pulled from the front of the shop, the floor damp and occupied by a Caution Wet sign, because the large windows were opened to the storm, allowing rain to scatter naturally. Upon their entry, two of the three people in uniforms stood, one rushing to a mop by the door to tend to the scant puddle, and the other approaching them with a customer service smile.

Besides the staff, one of the tables was occupied with another crowd of four, and it made the intruders feel a little less self-conscious about their entry. They were regretful about being soaked however, Fae and Lorenz especially from the knees down, but the staff seemed more sympathetic than anything about the muck and water they dragged in around them.

Hilda's heel slipped on the slick floor as Fae set her down from their back, and she threw a hand back to try and catch herself, but ended up slapping the door so that it opened half an inch, but, luckily, Lorenz caught her opposing wrist to stop her from falling through it or back outside.

The server held up a hand in front of his chest.

"Nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Me too," Hilda peeped, brow furrowed and lips pouting, humiliated and fighting adrenaline as she let Lorenz squeeze her wrist and shoulder, confirming her stability.

"You're okay?" Fae confirmed, feeling guilty, moreso when snickers came from the occupied table.

"I'm fine."

"Sorry about..." Lorenz trailed off, gesturing behind him.

"Excuse me?" Hilda exaggerated, insulted.

"The puddle!" Lorenz said purposefully, offended that she would think him so insensitive about her momentary slip.

"That's probably some of our fault," the other server said in apology, sweeping the mop around the caution sign.

"So long as you're alright," said the staff member who'd come to meet them. "Maybe take a seat and not a sofa, though? At least until you dry a little. I imagine you're here for the long haul?"

"Is it likely to wind down?" asked Fae.

The server chuckled softly. "Uh, no. You might want to walk uphill and call a cab, but rideshares are ... sparse, charging a premium, and the wait'll definitely be a few hours."

"So might as well have a coffee," Hilda said, in better spirits, or trying to be.

"Now you're getting it," the server teased with a wink, extending a hand as Hilda walked past him.

"Do you have a reduced menu, under the circumstances?" asked Lorenz.

"Not yet, anyway. Might be fun if you pick something complicated."

"Oh?" Hilda balked. "A lot of teas. I'll try rose grapefruit?" She looked at Lorenz as she added, "Whatever's your largest size?"

Lorenz nodded, and the server asked, "Name? Nope. Sorry, force of habit." He rolled a pen between his fingers in a fluid motion. "I'll know who you are."

"Black rose?" Lorenz requested. "And Fae?"

"I'll try the chocolate earl grey latte?"

"Perfect," agreed the server.

"Should we eat something?" Lorenz asked the others.

Hilda sighed, as if disappointed. She plucked a sandwich from the fridge in front of Lorenz and left it on the counter, and he and Fae followed suit. Lorenz added a chocolate bar that could be broken into squares, and watched as the server rang them up for small sized beverages.

"Oh! Wai—"

"Don't worry about it," the server said with a wink. "You look like you need to catch a break."

Lorenz sighed, feeling guilty about their circumstances. He tipped ten dollars on top of whatever change he was owed, and shrugged at the man behind the counter as he stepped away to sit with Fae and Hilda.

They moved to the table farthest from the windows, as their damp clothes and the continuous breeze had Hilda's teeth chattering. The temperature was warm, but for the most part, the wind had a cooling effect inside the business, and Fae sat Hilda beside them and across from Lorenz, where they could wrap a warm arm around her, and he could extend a hand if he were feeling bold.

.

"Hey Cyril, you going to help me?" Claude asked when their latest customers moved to sit.

"No, thanks," Cyril said simply, dropping back down into one of the armchairs.

Claude rolled his eyes, partly because he didn't really need the help, but mostly because he was frustrated that Cyril was still holding Claude's uncle's decision to keep the shop open against him, as if he'd had any say in it. Having an aversion to working with or for family, Claude had been at this job for less than two months, and if anyone should have argued on their behalf, it should have been Hubert, but he had his own reasons to enjoy the work.

Currently in hushed conversation with his friends, Hubert was as distracted as he always was when that fair haired woman came in.

Claude was pretty sure she was slowly leaving an abusive household, whether romantic or familial he couldn't guess, but he could appreciate why Hubert was slow and awkward about expressing his affection, and why he never objected when she and her friends came in to loiter.

The windows rattled, and everyone turned to look at them, but when nothing broke and the wind died down, Claude went back to working.

He'd been surprised by the tip, but figured that his concern about strangers in the storm had simply been mirrored by the customer's sympathy for workers in the storm. It was really flooding now, it wouldn't be the first time he'd expect a boat to sound out that supplies and medical attention were available, but for now, the loudest noise in the shop was him clattering away at the equipment, preparing three extra larges.

He walked over to the destined table, where they were in hushed conversation, and hesitated in a way that he hoped wasn't impolite, catching sight of the three joined hands on the table's surface before they all snapped back towards their owners.

"Here you are," Claude said, by way of offering them their drinks.

"Thank you," said the pink haired woman with the rain smudge eyeliner. Her eyes drifted across him, and she added, "Claude."

He ran a hand over his nametag absently, smiling as he realized he wasn't being scrutinized — maybe.

"No problem." He could've left it at that, but instead he asked, "Tourists?"

"Mostly," agreed the green haired patron.

"How'd you get trapped in all this?" he asked, gesturing with a finger.

"I had a job interview," confessed the pink haired woman, swiping her fingers through her bangs, "but now I don't know that I'd even want the job."

"Well, from personal experience, I've found that moving to Derdriu for professional reasons is ... challenging," Claude said, leaning on the free chair at their table, and then he didn't know what he was doing, feeling as though he should leave them alone. "I work on whatever projects I can pick up for underwater filming."

"You go diving?" asked the purple haired man.

"Not in this," Claude teased about the weather. "But whenever I can. Have three homemade cameras to take with me."

Was it because he'd felt he'd walked in on something personal that he felt it was only right to open up? Was it that they were easy to talk to?

Claude sat one table over, still measuring how invasive he was being, but the conversation seemed amical, and easy. They didn't formally introduce themselves, but he easily pieced together their names, and a little bit more of their business than he'd intended to collect, while gossiping about what Derdriu was like for foreigners, and where they might want to check out after the streets finished draining in about two days.

He only hesitated again when, halfway through their drinks, their sandwiches finished, Lorenz opened and snapped apart the chocolate, offering pieces to each of his companions. It should have been companionable, there wasn't anything decidedly un-friendly about it, but Claude still wondered about the ritual of it, and what else they shared, with care and practice.

He was glad Fae was telling a story then, realizing how dry his mouth had become. He raised a finger to request a moment and poured himself a glass of water before returning to the table.

Hilda opened her mouth to speak, but found herself interrupted by a bang, the sound of an accident less than a block away, and half the cafe yelped as the power went out.

Claude rushed to the door just ahead of Cyril, and after a moment or two of muffled yelling, Claude was cursing as he forced Cyril back inside as he chased after him, water rushing in behind the duo.

"What the shit, Claude?" called Hubert, standing.

"Someone drove into the hydro pole at the corner," said Claude as he and Cyril secured the door as best they could. "It hasn't fallen yet, but it might, and when the guy from the Venomous Knight came out on his cellphone to put in a call about it, he knocked over three of the sandbags."

Hubert growled and disappeared into the back, soon followed by Cyril while Claude closed the windows. Claude wondered how they looked to the patrons in the cafe, as he joined in the march, piling seven sandbags around the door while Hubert tried reaching his uncle.

To no one's surprise, they were going to close. One of Hubert's friends had a house, and the destination of their crowd was settled. Cyril had his bike and lived uphill, and he was raring to leave. That left Claude's new friends of mostly-tourists, staying at a hotel that was maybe a twenty minute drive down the highway, but at least a two hour walk on foot.

"Is there a closer hotel that you know of?" asked Lorenz, and Claude felt his heart fall through the floor. That was a far more reasonable solution than his mind rattling around with the idea of inviting them back to his sixth floor apartment. Even if it was more expensive.

The crowd was escorted out the back of the shop, and Hubert scoffed when Claude implied he was going to walk their three latest customers to a hostel six blocks away, but that was fine.

It was slow going, with Hilda's poor choice in footwear and the wind, but also because of the continued conversation. Claude had dark brown rainboots and a bright yellow raincoat to change into, but he kept the hood down, even as water saturated his hair and rushed over his eyes, gossiping about other harsh weather and assuring the others every few steps that they were nearly there.

Fae pulled Claude into the hostel when they arrived, so they could bring their phone to life in a drier environment, and ask him about sharing numbers, maybe to thank him later, or else to ask about scuba diving in a few days. He wasn't sure there needed to be a difference, and against Ignatz's advice, texted them once he arrived home, to assure them he'd made it through the storm.

.

The hostel had rules against sharing rooms, and so Fae, Lorenz and Hilda found themselves crowded in the communal living room with two other couples, for the sake of keeping each other's company a little later into the night.

Lorenz sat on a chair by a window, Hilda in his lap. She would be warmer wrapped in a blanket in bed, but she was making due with leeching off Lorenz, one hand on her thigh and the other holding the back of an upper arm, cradling her close and transferring body heat. Fae sat in the windowsill and when their phone buzzed again, Lorenz looked to the clock on the other end of the room before expressing his surprise.

"Are you still texting him?" It was nearing midnight, and while there was little else to do at the hostel, Lorenz worried about boundaries.

"He's still texting me," Fae said in their defense. "Besides, what's the harm in making a new friend in Derdriu?"

"He was very kind," Lorenz agreed. "He left a very good first impression. But I wouldn't you to be lulled into complacency. He is a stranger."

Hilda snickered as she sat up from Lorenz's chest. "You sound like an old man."

"You're worried he'd want sex?" asked Fae, so nonchalant that Lorenz scoffed.

"I'm worried he'd be obsessive, or otherwise hurt you. Or us."

"That's fair," Fae conceded, leaving Claude on Read. "I just thought he seemed fun."

"And cute," Hilda contributed, her tone making plain that she thought so too.

Lorenz blushed and swept a hand over his lips, squinting in his own meager defense when the other two looked at him. He murmured, "Did you see his shoulders while he carried those sandbags?" When Fae and Hilda giggled, Lorenz rolled his eyes and pointed at nothing as he said more forcefully, "That's not a character assessment."

"No," Fae agreed, "but it might be enough to invite him to get ice cream or something, as a thank you."

[mc-lukanette]

Grade for Each Other (Part 7)

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]

Luka smiled fondly at his phone, scrolling through his latest conversations with Marinette as he reminisced. Ever since their "study date date," Marinette had made further efforts to spend time with his friends, occasionally sending him pictures or rambling texts about it.

Claudine may or may not have teased him about "stealing" Marinette from him if he didn't take action. He merely smiled, not just because he knew it was a joke, but because Marinette making an effort to know his friends even without him being there made him immensely happy. He found no reason to feel jealous and rather encouraged it. As comfortable as he was letting Marinette rely on him, having more than just him was a good thing, at least if it involved good people.

Plus, their conversation had brought him endless amounts of amusement. She asked for tips and hints as if it were a game she was trying to win, like being friends with his friends was incredibly important and she took it very seriously. He'd insisted that she didn't have to do anything special and she was surprised when that actually worked.

He knew they'd like her. Granted, he was very, extremely biased, but Marinette was a naturally likable person. It would've been weirder if they hadn't liked her, and even then, they'd probably feel bad about it.

Luka snorted at the idea, ignoring the guitar on his lap in favor of continuing to scroll through his phone. The amount that he and Marinette had texted each other had multiplied ever since she joined his class, so there was a lot for him to grin stupidly at.

Then, said "stupid grin" was promptly smothered by a pillow hitting his face. It dropped down in front of him and he looked ahead confusedly to see Juleka standing there, her visible brow furrowed as she shifted uncomfortably. She looked irritated but simultaneously apologetic about the pillow she'd impulsively(?) thrown at him.

Turning off his phone, he set his guitar to the side and got up. "What's wrong, Jule?"

She stared at the floor, rubbing her sole against the floorboards. It took a few seconds but she eventually mumbled, "Marinette..."

Oh.

"I was with the rest of the girls and I saw Marinette hanging out with Roche. Alix figured out the rest later." She glanced up at him, but couldn't hold eye contact for long. "Why didn't you tell me she was in your class?"

He frowned. He supposed this conversation was inevitable, but it still hurt to see his sister so upset. He stepped towards her, placing his hands on her shoulders and bending down to be just slightly below eye level with her. "It wasn't something for me to tell you, and I never talked about it with Marinette. Things are easier for her with us and I wasn't going to pressure her to let me tell you if she wasn't comfortable with it."

"So I messed up?"

"You—" He shook his head. "Jule, there were a lot of things going on in your class. It was just too much for her. You definitely weren't the main reason, okay?"

She let out a neutral sound, acknowledging that he was probably right but still feeling bad anyway.

"Jule..."

"Does she still want to do stuff for Kitty Section?" she asked hopefully.

He knew she wasn't being selfish about it; it was just her way of asking if Marinette was still willing to see her or if any guilt should be had if she didn't.

"I'll ask her." He could promise that much at least. "As soon as it's all behind her, I'll ask."

She nodded, accepting that. He let go of her shoulders as she walked past him, her expression not fully happy and rather conflicted. In a way, he considered it a good thing; Juleka reflecting on why Marinette had left would make her think more about everything that'd happened.

Especially with that liar and all of Marinette's former friends.

Her former...

Realizing something, Luka returned to his bed, leaning over it to retrieve his phone. He navigated back to his conversation with Marinette, checking her most recent messages. After all, if Juleka and Alix knew that Marinette was in his class, that meant that the rest of the girls probably knew as well. He didn't know them well enough to even guess what they wanted to do with that information, but he just had to make sure that Marinette was okay.

There was nothing, not even a bunch of, "I'm sorry! They found out!"s. He sent her a few vague texts asking how she was (not wanting to tell her something important over the phone), but after waiting the usual amount of time for a reply, there was nothing.

...He had to go see her.

He reached for his guitar, but rejected the idea and simply pocketed his phone. Glancing Juleka's way, he told her, "I'm going to check on Marinette," before heading for the doorway.

"Should I come?" Juleka mumble-asked, her voice sounding apologetic, and confused all at once.

He halted, turning to her but holding back his immediate reply. Giving her a smile, he replied, "You thinking about it is already something, Jule. Don't worry about what to do until you're sure what happened."

She went back to quietly staring at her desk, allowing him to slip out of the room and start to head out. Anarka had shouted some comment after him about "braving the storm," but he was too distracted to reply properly.

——————

Tom and Sabine were busy with customers when Luka entered the bakery, meaning that he wouldn't have to brace himself for another hug from Tom. It felt wrong to enter from the side door of the house considering that he wasn't invited, so he was prepared to wait in line to talk to Sabine if he had to.

However, Tom noticed him first. "Ah, Luka! What brings you here?"

A few customers glanced back to look at him. Luka ignored them, focusing on the matter at hand.

"I wanted to see Marinette. But, she didn't invite me, so if—"

"Oh, you can just head on up!" Tom insisted, apparently laughing at the politeness on display. "Just be sure to knock! Don't want to surprise her too much!"

Luka opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it. He really just wanted to see Marinette.

He passed by Tom and Sabine, then made his way upstairs. He hadn't been there that often and was always led around when he was, but he knew the layout anyway.

A song where the lyrics stuck in one's head even with just a couple listens, he supposed.

Once he was in the living room, he headed up the stairs and hesitated for a few seconds before knocking. He listened closely, but silence was the only response he got. He didn't know if his voice would be louder than the knock, but he called anyway, "Marinette?"

A sound followed, like Marinette was scrambling to stand up. "Luka?"

He heard footsteps and waited for her to open the door. She looked utterly confused to see him there and he felt a little sheepish at how unbothered she looked in the moment; she was clearly okay, like nothing had happened.

"Hey."

"Hey!" She smiled despite her confusion, gesturing for him to come in if he so wished. "What are you doing here?"

He went into her room, watching her close the trap door behind him. "I thought you'd heard about Juleka. You weren't answering your messages so I got worried."

"Oh!" She covered her mouth. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to—I didn't even hear—" She paused, expression shifting. "W-wait, what about Juleka? Is she okay?"

"She's fine," he reassured. "She... found out about you being in my class. I think all of her friends did too."

Marinette frowned, approaching him anxiously. "Did she get mad at you? I'm sorry, I should've—"

"No." He was quick to correct. "She was mostly confused, that's all."

"...Oh."

Suddenly, all the anxiety left her. She let out a breath, placing a hand to her chest. "That's a relief."

She turned away, returning to the table on the other side of the room. "I hadn't even thought about telling anyone, especially not lately. I didn't even think about it causing problems."

So she hadn't even been worried about anything that happened? Only that it may've caused trouble for him?

Luka blinked, then let out a steady breath. He found himself taken by how much Marinette had changed ever since she'd gotten into his class. It was subtle at first, but now it was obvious that she wasn't as stressed or panicked as much even with the mention of old friends. To say he was happy was an understatement.

"I'm still sorry about not answering your texts though," she said. "I really didn't see them—I mean, I know you know that because they're probably not marked as 'read', but... I got really into working on this and I guess I didn't hear my phone."

He saw her start to reach for an object on her table, but she stopped as her gaze was drawn to her phone. She hesitated, then picked it up, tapping a few things and then typing.

Luka heard his own phone beep at him. Pulling it out, he noticed that his recent messages were now on 'read' and she had replied to them as if they weren't currently in the same room together.

She blushed, explaining sheepishly, "It would've bothered me forever if I didn't reply properly."

He giggled. She was too cute. "Thank you."

She turned her attention back to the object and finally picked it up, letting out a sigh. "I guess it's just like me to accidentally ignore someone while I'm making something for them."

He perked up, approaching her. "You made something for me?"

"Yeah," she admitted, voice only slightly shyer. "It was kind of an excuse to hang out with your friends—"

"Our friends," he offered gently.

She didn't hesitate to "correct" herself, but was clearly touched. "To hang out with our friends one on one, but they all told me the same thing anyway: that I knew you and shouldn't worry about a second opinion. It's actually been done for a while, b-but I might've gotten carried away with making it look as good as possible."

She held it out to him. It looked like a beautiful music-themed notebook at first - the kind with rings to allow the removal, addition, and replacing of pages - but as soon as he took it and opened it up himself, there were—

"Staff lines?" He glanced at her, eyes wide.

She shifted in place, but nodded. "I always noticed you tapping away melodies on your desk. I don't know how easily you remember them, but it seemed like such a waste not to let you get it down right away."

The obvious and appropriate reaction was to thank her, but he found himself at a loss for words. The notebook was extremely beautiful and would simultaneously look so natural for him to have. If a teacher saw him with it, they'd probably presume that he was just using it to take notes.

While opened, the pages actually didn't reach to the left and right edges of the book. The extra space was taken up by things like a pencil holder (that held two pre-sharpened ones just in case apparently) and thin colored sticky notes, presumably for marking a page if he needed to.

It was too much. He couldn't stop feeling the darn thing. He'd gotten a handmade gift from Marinette before in the form on his Kitty Section costume, but this was different. It was something just for him, because she'd just casually thought of him and wanted to do it.

He looked at her and opened his mouth, but couldn't manage eye contact and averted his gaze. He was feeling too many things and looking at her didn't help. He was legitimately worried that he was just going to rush to impulsively kiss her if he stared at her for too long.

"I love it," he said quietly. He was briefly worried that his low volume didn't make it sound sincere, but she was beaming immediately. "Thank you so much, Marinette."

"Thank you," she whispered in return. She stepped closer, her hands coming up to rest upon his. "It's not a thank you gift - I felt like that'd make it seem too obligatory? - but still. You do a lot for me."

"I—"

Her fingers went up to stop him from speaking. She pouted at him. "And I don't want to hear about how you've done nothing and that's it's been all me, or how it's no big deal because you're just being yourself and it's easy to do that because w-whatever nice things you were about to say to me, okay?"

He nodded. His mouth was still covered, but his soft gaze hopefully got through his feelings in the moment.

Her fingers moving away from his lips, she smiled. "I just... feel really lucky to have you and I wanted to make this for you."

"Thank you," he repeated, now less for the book and more just for her. "I'll cherish it."

"I know you will." Though the sentence was confident, her voice was filled with the elated notes of someone whose hopes had been confirmed.

They didn't say anything else for a moment. He was still on an emotional high while Marinette seemed thoughtful.

Her eyes went to him, then his hands. One of her hands was still over his own, her fingers sliding steadily along the back of said hand. Her lips pursed, one brow lowered as she seemed to consider something.

"...Luka—"

"Dinner's almost ready!"

The trap door swung open, Marinette leaping up and clutching her chest in shock as Tom and Sabine popped in. Luka knew they hadn't been doing anything strange, but the moment itself felt so intimate that he stiffened, almost embarrassed.

"Oh! Luka?" Tom asked. "You're still here? We must've forgotten about you!"

"Sorry if we startled you at all," Sabine said, completely and deceptively innocent. "Would you like to join us for dinner, as an apology?"

Calming himself, Luka carefully closed the book and hugged it to his chest with one arm. It seemed rude to refuse their offer - they were so obviously doing this on purpose - but he wasn't just going to agree either.

He turned to Marinette, about to ask if it'd be okay, only to be surprised when she seemed less horrified by their intrusion and more... offended? Her face was turned away, her cheeks were pink, and she was pouting.

Leaning in, he whispered so as not to be heard by her parents. "Marinette?"

She met his gaze, pouting more and nearly sulking. Under her breath, she replied with a huff, "T-that... that's what I was going to ask ."

He gaped, then couldn't help breaking into a happy flustered chuckle. This entire family was going to kill him and he welcomed it.

Standing straight, Luka walked past Marinette to place his gift on the table, then turned to Tom and Sabine with a smile.

"I'd be happy to."

[Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10]

[prettybiching]

hi!! first off, I love your writing 💕 second, could I request one with John King where there’s a significant age gap between him and the reader, and he maybe starts to feel a bit self conscious about it for whatever reason, but the reader reassures him and maaaaaaybe there’s a smutty makeup? we love a mix of angst and smut

Guys My Age

Pairing: John King x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ mature scenes, angst, curse words, John is a dick, dirty talking, unprotected sex, angry sex, age gap and unnecessary Phil bashing :(

Word count: 4,000 words

Note: I hope this makes up for the delay. I love each and every one of you with my whole heart. Also, Phil is single in this fic.

Your heels clicked against the hardwood floor as you made your way through the CNN office. Along the way, you greeted all the people you'd come to know in your five-month-long relationship with the one and only John King. 

"Hey, Y/N!" John's producer beamed at you, stepping aside to help you into the studio. "He's done any second now you can wait up for him inside."

"Thank you," you smiled, flashing your teeth before sitting down on your usual spot; just behind the main camera crew. 

The two of you had busy schedules, making it difficult for you to coordinate dates. However, a weekly lunch date was a must in your books, so here you were, out early from your firm to meet John before heading out for lunch.

You sat behind the crew, making sure to keep quiet as to not disturb them in their job. An involuntary smile tucked on your lips at the sight of John. He looked dashing---as usual, and your eyes wandered to his furrowed brows, his concentrated stare into the camera. Each small detail of him made your heart flutter. You were whipped.

You felt a hand on your shoulder, making you turn around. You were met with Phil Mattingly's face smiling down on you. "Phil!" you greeted, jumping from your chair to hug him.

"Easy there, tiger," he chuckled against you, holding you down to steady you. Pulling back, you punched his shoulder, your brows furrowed as you scolded him.

"I haven't heard from you in weeks!" 

"I've been busy," he defended, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Over the past few months, Phil had become one of your closest friends, perhaps because he's closer to your age or that the two of you share the same sense of humour.

“Anyways," he changed the topic before you could drag him. "What's up with you? How are you and John?" his face held a cheeky smile as you diverted your eyes in embarrassment, your cheeks getting warm.

"Oh my god," Phil let out a laugh. "Are-are you flustered?" His roar grew louder, although being mindful of the rolling cameras. A few passersby eyed him and his frantic state warily.

"No!" you shrieked with berserk eyes, hitting his arm again to quieten him. 

"Oh no, no, no," he shook his head, attempting to dial down his laugh. "The Y/N L/N is flustered!" he affirmed, holding onto his belly as he tried to regain his breathing.

You scoffed, planting one of your hands on your hip. "First of all, you look insane right now," you squinted your eyes at Phil. "Secondly, I didn't even say anything you just assumed shit."

"And you're supposed to be the lawyer between the two of us?" he asked, not convinced by your half-hearted argument. 

"I will prove you guilty for crimes you didn't even commit," you deadpanned, your tone leaving no place for an argument. 

"You know it's okay to admit things are going great between you and John," he began, sincerity taking over his voice, "and that you know, you are whipped."

"It's too early!" you exclaimed.

The truth is, you were indeed head over heels, perhaps in love with him. However, there was no way you were going to admit it out loud. The two of you had been going out for only five months, and you weren't about to say those three words without having had a proper discussion about your future with John.

"You can--"

Before Phil can complete his sentence, a hand snakes around your waist snatching your attention. You tilt your head, a squeal almost escaping your throat as you beam at your boyfriend. "Hey, you!"

"Good to see you're not bored," he murmurs, planting a delicate kiss on your lips. Your hands fall on his chest, running your fingers across the lapel of his jacket, a content sigh leaving your lips, delighted to feel him underneath you. 

"Never," you giggled, ignoring the teasing smile on Phil's face from the corner of your eyes. 

Phil cleared his throat, making you both snap your head towards him, "Well, it was good seeing you two lovebirds, I'm going to head out now."

"Bye, Phil!" you waved him goodbye before turning your attention back towards John.

"Shall we?" he asked, removing his hand from your waist and extending it towards you. 

"We shall," you grinned, interlocking your arm with his. 

-----

The two of you found yourselves at a quaint little cafe down by the CNN office. You, in a silk royal blue button-up, a pencil skirt and stilettos, and John, in his navy blue suit, stood out amongst the other customers. 

"So, Josh wants me on this case even though I already told him that it would be much better if---" You stopped, noticing the absent look plastered on John's face. He was distracted throughout the whole lunch, but you didn't want to seem pushy, so you waited for him to bring it up. However, he never did.

"John?" you called out, nudging his arm on the table. He hummed, snapping his eyes towards you, weakly attempting to smile at you.

"You okay?" you asked, your voice laced with concern, a frown etched on your face. John's eyes met yours as he pursed his lips, seemingly contemplating his answer. 

He cleared his throat, "Um, actually I'm not feeling well, I think we should head out early." He avoids your gaze as he spoke, making your heart clench. He was lying, you could tell. Stupified, you nod.

"Yes, of course," you nod frantically, at a loss of words. You try to disguise the hurt. It was perhaps going to be the last time the two of you would see each other for weeks. You had a flight to catch to Chicago tomorrow. 

"Will you be okay?" you asked, watching his expression, "maybe you should take the rest of the day off--"

"No, it's okay," he shook his head, brushing you off. "I'll manage."

You wanted to leave it at that, taken aback by his sudden dismissive demeanour. He seemed fine back at the office. However, now it seemed to be some other case.

"C-can I come over tonight?" you ask meekly as the two of you gathered your belongings, John asking for the cheque. "Because we won't see each other after tonight."

You hated how weak and desperate you sounded in front of him. It was so unlike you. Goodness, what has he turned you into?

"Uh," he pauses at his words, putting on his suit jacket as you waited for an answer. "I think it'd be better if I just spend tonight alone, I don't want you to get sick or anything," he reasoned.

You nodded a blank look on your face, "Uh-huh."

"Yeah, you're right."

He almost didn't even notice the robotic tone of your voice.

"You know what?" you smacked your lips as you two walked out of the cafe. "I just remembered, I have this thing I've got to do before I head back, so why don't you go on ahead, I'll just Uber."

John stopped at his feet, opening his mouth to object, but you were already on your phone, ordering a ride. You missed the torn look on his face, nearly mirroring yours. 

"I guess we will see each other later then," he stated, shoving his hands inside the pant pockets, watching as you continued to stare at your phone's screen.

"Yes, later," you clarified, announcing that your ride was here.

You were about to walk towards the car when you called out his name again. 

"Next time, you don't have to lie to me."

With that, you turned your back, not giving him another glance.

No kiss, no hug, just gone.

-------

John was aware he had fucked up--big time. If he only he hadn't let the thoughts of jealousy consume his mind at the sight of Phil and you together. As much as he tried to push them away, they always came back to haunt him, making him insecure more and more. 

You were gorgeous, charming, and any man would be lucky to have you. Moreover, you were significantly younger than him. In his mind, you were deserving of someone far younger than him--someone like Phil. He knew the two of you got along well, and he couldn't help but let his mind poison him, making him push you away.

He groaned, leaning his head against the headrest of his chair. He could feel a headache approaching. He had to fix this before it was too late. You would be gone tomorrow, and he might just lose you. 

He'd been avoiding the discussion about your age-gap, but he knew he'd have to face it sooner rather than later.

John made his way to your apartment with a bouquet of orchids and Thai food, knowing that the frail possibility of dissolving your anger could only be done through food. 

He rang the doorbell for your apartment, a silent prayer on his lips that you don't shut the door on his face. He could hear your hurried footsteps from inside the apartment and a faint 'coming' before you opened the door, your hand freezing on the doorframe as soon as he came in sight.

"Hi?" John began with an arched brow, an apologetic smile on his face. You were still wearing the same clothes from earlier except now your hair was tied in a ponytail and your feet bare of the heels that you often hated to wear. 

You didn't speak, your hip coming to rest against the doorframe while your eyes studied him, up and down. "I thought you were sick," you finally spoke, crossing your arms across your chest.

"Well..." he sighed, "I was being a dick."

That's the only shortened explanation he could give on your doorstep, and you don't skip a beat on agreeing with him.

"That's an understatement," you lift your hip off of the doorframe, stepping aside to let him in. He's surprised you didn't ask any more questions.

"Also," he starts, stepping into your place, making you turn around. "For you," he extends the bouquet and the food towards you, and predictably you roll your eyes at him before taking the food first. 

"You sure do learn your lesson," you state, placing both the items on the table. Earlier, you had been upset and angry, seething even, but as the hours passed you realised there wasn't anything particular for you to be mad about. You didn't even know the reason behind your silent spat.

"Y/N," he calls out, reaching out for her hands. He waited for you to react---perhaps pull away from his touch, but it never came. So, with a sigh, he began his apology.

"I'm sorry for acting the way I did during lunch, I understand it must've made you feel neglected and I---"

"John," you interjected, tucking on this hands, making him look up from your intertwined hold.

"I don't care about that," you stated with a weak smile, one that did not reach your eyes. "I just want to know what was bothering you."

You didn't care for an apology that would make no sense to you, you also had no time for that. "I don't like being kept in the dark, especially if it concerns me or our relationship," you added pointedly.

"The truth is, I was jealous."

You blink at him, once and twice, trying to make sense of him. Jealous? Now, where the hell did that come from? 

'What?" you scrunched up your face in utter confusion, waiting for him to continue. "You were literally fine in the office--Oh."

That's when it hit you. Phil, oh my god he was jealous of Phil! 

He opened his mouth, trying to explain himself. However, you can't help the laugh escaping your throat as you begin to topple over in laughter, letting go of his hands to clutch your belly.

"Y/N," he calls out dryly. It was important for the two of you to have this conversation, and it wasn't possible if you were almost about to hit the floor, laughing.

"Sorry," you cough out, covering your mouth with your palm. "I'm sorry, you got jealous of Phil?!" As the word leave your mouth, you begin laughing again, this time far more controlled.

"Sweetie--" you wrap your arms around his shoulders as John purses his lips, staring at you with an unamused expression.

"No, we need to talk," he interjects, and you can't find it in yourself to continue with your circus. You shake your head violently, clearing your throat before you looked up at him with earnest eyes.

"Shoot."

"There is a huge age gap between the two of us," he begins.

"---which I'm fine with, you know that," you interject, pouting. It was something you had clarified weeks into your relationship. You didn't care that John was so much older than you, he made you realise you preferred them--him over guys your age. 

"Yes, of course, I know that, but I still can't help but wonder how much easier your life would be if you were with someone more like Phil, someone you connect with more," you know his concern is sincere, the little frown on his face making you want to run your finger along the deepened lines. 

"I don't want someone like Phil," your friend's name making you roll your eyes, "I want you." You jabbed a finger into his chest, staring up at his aquamarine blue eyes with adoration and a hint of transgression.

"Y/N, my darling, I just don't want you to regret this later on," he brings one of his hands to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing over your cheekbones as his eyes gleam with a delicacy you'd never seen in him before.

It almost looked like he was afraid of losing you. Almost. 

You knew that the two of you were having a moment. However, your brilliant mind couldn't help but divert this situation and speak out what you said next.

"Are you afraid Phil could fuck me better than you?"

John’s eyes widened as he tilted his head back in shock. “OH,” he said. “That’s what you think this is?”

You could back away from this, but you knew you wanted to see what this jealous sight of him would bring out. 'Oh yeah," you shrugged. 

John stepped closer to you, towering over you. You stumbled backwards until you were against the door of your bedroom. Now, how the hell did you get here? He pressed himself against you completely, trapping you there. He leaned down so his mouth was next to your ear. “I’m going to prove to you just how good I can fuck you,” he whispered lowly.

You gasped quietly. “I’d like to see you try.”

John slammed his lips against yours, his weight pressed against you, and it felt like he was trying to devour you. He had his forearms pressed against the door on either side of your head while you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt, pulling him as close as you could get him. He used one hand to cup your face, giving him more leverage.

You pushed him backwards, giving you the ability to move away from the door. He grabbed you close, turning you and moving you through the door to your bedroom. He slammed the door loudly, causing you to shiver with excitement.

John grabbed the hem of your shirt, pulling it off over your head. You fiddled with the buttons of his shirt, silently thankful that he had taken his jacket off earlier, eventually slipping it off his shoulders. He broke away to pull his own pants down, kicking them off along with his shoes. You did the same, leaving you in just bra and panties. He pushed you back into a wall, attacking your neck with his mouth. You dug your fingers into his hair, tugging at the grey strands lightly. He sucked at the spot just under your jaw, which he knew you loved, causing you to moan quietly.

“What?” John growled, causing you to shiver. “Are you enjoying this?”

“Mm-mm,” you hummed in defiance.

He chuckled darkly. “Maybe I’m not doing enough.” He ground his hips against yours, and you could already feel his erection through two layers of clothing. You raked your fingernails down his back, whining at the friction.

You tugged at the elastic of his boxers. “Off,” you said simply. “I want these off.”

He grabbed both of your hands, pinning them to the wall above your head. “So eager,” He moved his lips up to yours, silencing any reply you had. 

He expertly used one hand to unclip your bra, letting your arms go so he could slip the straps off of your shoulders. The bra fell to the floor at your feet as he pinned your arms to the wall again. His free hand took hold of one of your breasts, rubbing his thumb in circles on your nipple. You moaned into his mouth, biting his lower lip gently. He chuckled as he gave the breast a squeeze, causing your knees to buckle slightly. You felt him smirk with satisfaction.

“W-whatever you wanna do,” you stuttered, “just do it already, y-you coward.”

“Funny.” He hooked a bit of your underwear with his finger, snapping it back against your hip. “You just said another man could perhaps fuck you better, and now you’re practically begging for me.”

You let out a hot breath. “I-I’m not begging. And you have yet to show me any proof that you’re superior.”

His eyes darkened. “Okay.” He let go of your arms, using both hands to pull his boxers down. His member sprang free, already leaking precum and exciting you even more. You took your panties in your hands, pushing them down your legs until they lay on the floor. You stepped out of them and kicked them to the side; you’d deal with all the clothes later.

John reached down, teasing your entrance with his finger. He slowly slid it inside, causing you to gasp loudly. He slid another digit in and started pumping them in and out. You grabbed onto his shoulder, trying not to make too much noise. One, because your neighbours complained the last time you had sex too loud, and two because you wanted to rail him up as much as you could. You were loving this side of him. You dug your fingernails into his skin, no doubt leaving several crescent-shaped marks.

“I’ll make you scream,” he said huskily. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work.” He curled his fingers, making you throw your head back and bite your lip hard enough to almost draw blood. “You really think a boy could fuck you better?"

You let out a shaky breath as he continued to finger you, eventually adding another digit while your head still lay against the wall. “Ah, shut the fuck up.”

John pressed his mouth to your collarbone, giving the area an open-mouthed kiss. You dug both of your hands into his hair, breathing heavily to avoid making any noise. He slowly moved his mouth down until he reached your breasts, nipping at the skin and leaving a trail of little purple marks.

You grabbed his face in both of your hands, pulling his lips into yours. The sudden movement caused him to remove his fingers, making you slam your legs together at the sudden empty feeling. He grabbed your hips, wiping the fluid from his fingers off onto your skin. He pulled you closer, and you could feel his heart going a mile a minute. He dragged you off the wall, pulling you down to the floor with him. He hovered over you, using his arms to support him.

John positioned himself, so his member was aligned with your entrance. He gave you a look as if asking for permission.

“Get on with it, pretty boy,” you whispered, moving your face to his ear. “I want to see what all this hype is about…”

His pupils dilated at your words.“Darling, you asked for this,” he growled. He slowly buried himself inside you. He didn’t give you much time to adjust before beginning to thrust, snapping his hips forwards. You wrapped your legs around his middle, giving him a new angle that sent immense pleasure throughout your body. The scratchy carpet against your back was a very different feeling than when you had sex on the bed, but you couldn’t deny that it was incredibly hot; you could learn to enjoy this.

You dug your heels into John’s back while digging your fingers into the carpet. He kept hitting your sweet spot deep inside you, and you figured you wouldn’t last long, especially not with the foreplay that just took place. You pressed your lips into a line, still determined not to make any noise.

John went back to your neck, sucking on the soft skin just below your ear. You threw your head back, biting your swollen lower lip. 

He smirked, noticing your action. “So, you’re really trying to be quiet?” He rotated his hips roughly, making you let out a tiny whimper.

“Yeah…” you choked out. “And I’m doing a great job, aren’t I?”

He caught your lips with his, beginning to thrust again. “Not for much longer.” He forced his tongue into your mouth, fighting with yours. “You dirty girl.”

You clenched around him. He knew you liked the dirty talk, and he was going to use it to his advantage. “J-John…” you whined.  

“What?” he grunted. “You like having my dick inside you? You like it when I fuck you? C’mon princess, tell me how good it feels.”

You loved every single word coming out of his mouth, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. You leaned up and put your forehead against his, pressing your lips together tightly.

“C’mon baby girl, say it.” With every word, you felt yourself getting closer to the edge. “Tell me, who fucks you the best?”

He hit your g-spot repeatedly, causing you to let out a quiet moan. “Y-You do,” you whispered.

“What’s that?” He took one of your breasts in his hand, fondling it roughly. “Who makes you feel good?”

You grabbed onto his shoulders with both hands, letting a few strained noises out. “You do.”

“Say it louder.” His thrusts continued at a desperate pace. “I wanna hear my name from that pretty mouth.”

“You do, John,” you squeaked. “You make me feel so good.”

“Louder,” he groaned.

You moaned his name, feeling like any small thing could send you to your orgasm.

“Louder!” he shouted.

You screamed, digging your nails into his skin as you felt the waves of pleasure roll through you. You tightened around him, so much so that he came only a few seconds after you, emitting a dirty string of words. You let out an almost pornographic moan at the feeling of his warm seed on your walls. All the pent out noise came out in about thirty seconds, causing John to smirk in satisfaction; mission accomplished.

He pulled out, watching the combined cum falling out of you and staining the carpet. He stood up and made his way into the bathroom, coming back with a warm, wet washcloth. Kneeling down next to you, he ran the washcloth between your legs, cleaning up all the fluid that rested there.

You sat up, grabbing his face and pulling him into a short, sweet kiss. “I’m sorry for saying that,” you whispered, running a thumb across his lower lip.

He wrapped you up in a tight hug. “I’m sorry for being a dick to you earlier.” He chuckled. “At least we both had fun.”

You smiled, contemplating whether you should confess or not. Ah, fuck it, you thought.

"I love you, John."

John kissed the top of your head, reciprocating your smile, “I love you more.”

[wherevermyway]

can’t wait for you (to shut me up) // binsung // oneshot // 18+

pairing: seo changbin x han jisung rating: explicit! 18+ warnings/tags: smut, food kink, roommates, spicy (literally), dacryphilia, don’t try this at home, explicit sexual content  word count: 5,475 also on AO3

originally posted: 14 december 2020

Han Jisung doesn’t turn down a dare. Ever. His roommate and occasional fuckbuddy, Seo Changbin, however, makes Jisung regret being so cocky and arrogant after he gets his hands on some capsaicin extract.

Alternatively: fuck bruh moments, Jisung has an Icarus moment.

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction! any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are  interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do  not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of  the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable,  please stop reading now.

Saturday nights always proved to be bizarre. Jisung’s friend and roommate, Changbin, was quiet and reserved six out of seven days of the week, only completely opening up as he got drunk and played some stupid multiplayer game every Saturday evening. As the night went on and Changbin’s friends logged off, the two of them would usually split a twelve pack of cheap beer together, take a break from their class projects, and do stupid things that usually involved drunken dares.

Jisung was never one to turn down a dare. He had an arrogant nature that would likely prove to be a fatal flaw one day. “You’re gonna regret that,” Changbin would tut, shaking his head after Jisung would accept a dare without hearing it out. Usually, it was something stupid or mindless, like licking honey off of Changbin’s foot, or walking through the library with a vibrating butt plug for as long as the upperclassman deemed necessary.

They weren’t dating — at least, not officially; this was something they constantly stressed with each other and their friends. Their relationship was just an eclectic, liberal interpretation on the boundaries of friendship. Friends could fuck each other after all, right? Honestly, the sex was too good between them to really bother with dating other people, but they did agree that they weren’t exclusive, even if it had been a year and a half of the same strange dynamic.

“You stupid motherfucker!” Jisung could hear Changbin shouting at the television all the way down the dorm hallway. The anthropology student was generally mellow and calm, until he had a couple beers in his system and joined a gaming session with his friend Chan.

The younger blond shook his head with a smirk as he ripped his lanyard out of his pocket, shuffling around to get the correct key to their dorm in between his fingers. The four single-serve shots Jisung snuck into the library for his study session were having an effect on his ability to smoothly rifle through the keys, but not enough to actually affect his cognition. Jisung slid the key into the lock and turned it.

When he opened the door, he expected to see Changbin, but he didn’t expect to see him in a loose, torn tank top and basketball shorts, especially not in the dead of winter. Toronto was cold, even indoors, and Changbin was sometimes nothing short of a madman. The older man was too busy yelling banter into his headset to notice Jisung standing in the doorway with his eyebrows comically raised and his jaw hanging open a bit.

Jisung tried to regain his composure before Changbin realized that his roommate was home, but, as he brought his bottle of beer up to his lips, the older man turned his head slightly, and they made eye contact. A bit of lager splashed up against Changbin’s face; he recoiled and quickly wiped his chin off. Jisung darted his eyes away, nearly forgetting to remove his key from the lock as he shut the door behind him and awkwardly mumbled some sort of greeting.

There was tinny chatter coming from Changbin’s headset, knocked slightly askew, and the older man scoffed. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he rolled his eyes and offered a polite wave with his fingers as he stared at the television, mashing some buttons on the controller in his hand. He set the near-empty bottle down on the table and raised his voice a bit. “If these motherfuckers would stop spawning missile launchers and aiming them solely at me, maybe I’d be able to help better.”

Jisung set his bag down on the kitchenette countertop, then opened the fridge and grabbed two beers from the door. He scanned the contents of the fridge, hoping that there was still leftovers from a couple nights prior. However, his face fell to a slight frown as nothing but a half-empty carton of whole milk and seven bottles of beer stared back at him. It was late, and Changbin probably figured Jisung would eat while he was out.

He wasn’t incorrect, but Jisung really looked forward to stealing one of the cold slices of leftover pizza when he got home; it always went well with the Molson Changbin would get for the weekend after class on Fridays. It was a mediocre beer at best, but it was good for mindless drinking. “Bummer,” Jisung muttered under his breath, grabbing a couple of the bottles from the shelf. He closed the door to the fridge and took the magnetic bottle opener off of the door. He popped the caps off of the beer bottles, leaving the bent metal on the countertop as he made his way over to the cheap, scratchy couch, languidly flopping down next to Changbin, putting an amber bottle down on the table next to his other beer bottle.

The older man grunted as thanks, focusing on the enemy in his sights on the screen, his tongue between his teeth and eyes squinting in concentration. This week’s gaming session with Chan featured Grand Theft Auto V, Jisung recognized the map. Changbin had mentioned something about a double XP event, and that he and Chan were trying to get their crew’s ranking higher up the list. It was all some inane bullshit that went in one ear and out the other to Jisung, but he enjoyed listening to it, regardless, since Changbin’s face would light up as he passionately explained just how renowned their crew had gotten.

This also meant that Jisung could get away with being a little handsy with Changbin, especially since he started drinking a little sooner than normal for a Saturday night. He took a long swig from his beer, then set the bottle down on the table, scooting closer to the older man. Changbin didn’t notice, still leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. Jisung crawled his fingertips up Changbin’s thigh, causing the upperclassman to involuntarily flex for a moment, his head twitching to the side but unable to break his gaze away from his match.

Jisung’s fingers kept creeping closer and closer to the inside of Changbin’s thighs, which parted further and further away with each little movement. After Jisung’s fingers landed over the stretched fabric above Changbin’s pelvis, the older man lifted his arm and leaned back a bit. He nodded once, silently granting Jisung permission to continue. The younger man bit his lip in excitement as he slipped down to the floor on his knees.

There were a lot of nice, strange little oddities about their relationship that Jisung loved. About a year ago, when things started to shift from stupid drinking dares to more sexually explicit dares, Changbin had drunkenly dared Jisung to suck him off while he was on voice chat, gaming with Chan and a couple of his friends. “Don’t look away from my face,” he had demanded with a bit of an ironic quiver to his voice. “I wanna look down and see you staring up at me.”

“That sounds like fun,” Jisung giggled as he accepted the dare. “You sure you can stay quiet enough for your friend to not notice, though?”

Changbin flushed, looking away from Jisung as he gritted his teeth. “You don’t hear me in my room late at night; Chan won’t hear anything. Besides,” he rolled his eyes and sighed, “Chan’s heard me get off over voice before, and he doesn’t care; actually probably finds it hot, knowing him. Wouldn’t shock him, really.”

It still wouldn’t shock him a year later, but now he’d give Changbin shit for roping his roommate into it, instead of just handling it himself. None of their friends knew that they were more than roommates, but Jisung’s friend Felix had suspected something was happening when Jisung agreed to be roommates with Changbin again for his junior year of university. Likewise, Chan had made some choice quips about how Changbin should have moved out and gotten a real apartment, not an apartment-style dorm that was ultimately owned by the university.

For this odd dynamic, some things were worth sacrificing.

Jisung worked in a calculated fashion as he offered small licks and nibbles up and down Changbin’s cock. The main objective wasn’t to get him off, just riled up enough to cause a bit of tension. Changbin slowly started to become more and more disheveled the longer Jisung teased him, the final nail in the coffin was when Jisung kept tonguing at his frenulum with progressively lighter and lighter licks.

“I’m done, man,” Changbin growled into his mic, grabbing Jisung by the hair and roughly pulling him back. There was a pause as they stared at each other, the younger man smiling and showing off his teeth with a wide, proud grin. “It’ll be fine, dude,” Changbin continued with a hint of a whine, pressing a couple of buttons on his controller. “We can deal with it tomorrow. I’ve got more important things to deal with.” The older man motioned for Jisung to get up and rolled his eyes. “Shut up, Chan. You’re just jealous. Night.”

Changbin practically tossed the controller across the room after he turned his system off. “You’re trouble, distracting me like that when you knew it was a big weekend for Chan and me,” he tsked, standing up and tucking his dick back into his shorts. “I hope you’re ready for a hell of a dare.” He padded off to the kitchen and Jisung smacked his hands against the coffee table to a loose rhythm.

“I’ll take whatever you throw at me,” the blond smirked. “Favourite part about the weekend.”

The elder shook his head. “You’re not going to think that after tonight.”

Jisung watched Changbin rifle through the cupboards of the kitchen and he tucked his head into his hands. “Come on,” he drawled out with a whine, “all of the stuff you’ve dared me to do has been mild and pretty boring so far. Unless you’re gonna have me walk around naked, blindfolded, and in high heels with nipple clamps down the hallway, I don’t think you can really shock me at this point.”

Changbin paused. The mental image of Jisung’s words must have danced around in his thoughts, because he was frozen for at least half of a minute, letting out a stifled shudder as he turned around. “Not quite that, but it won’t be mild, to say the least.”

“So get on with it. What’s the dare you’ve got in store, Binbin?”

“The first part is simple,” Changbin smirked and leaned back up against the counter, folding his arms. “Let me suck you off.”

Jisung’s eyes lit up, and Changbin already knew this was going to end up poorly. “Hell yeah!” The blond shimmied his shoulders and nodded his head. “I’m already down for whatever you’ve got in store.”

A simple shake of the head is all that Changbin offered in response. He untucked his right hand, showing off a tiny vial with a small, viscous liquid inside of it. “You didn’t even hear the whole dare.”

“When have I ever said no to your dares?” Jisung had a point: a year of dares every Saturday, and he never once declined. It was stupid, though, because he never heard the entire thing through. Changbin would bait him with a good idea, then throw in the crazy idea afterwards. It had always worked out, but tonight’s dare could easily go sour very quickly.

“This isn’t like the others,” Changbin’s smile faded and he shook the bottle between his fingertips. “I know you get really eager over these dares, but this one is gonna hurt. It’s high time you learned to stop being so overzealous, Sungie.”

Jisung scoffed and rolled his eyes, slapping his hands down on the table. “Whatever, whatever, man. What’s the last half of the dare?”

Changbin gritted his teeth and pulled his lips into a straight line. “This isn’t something you can really say ‘no’ to after you actually ingest it.”

“Drugs?”

“I mean, technically? It’s a chemical.”

A confused frown grew on Jisung’s face. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You wonder why I’ve been ordering spicy takeout all week?” He sets the vial down behind him and tucks his hands into the pockets of his shorts. Jisung shrugs his shoulders and makes a noncommittal grunt in response. “I’ve been gauging your tolerance level to see if you could handle an intense dare.”

Jisung rolled his eyes again. “Spice challenges are boring, dude,” he pouted as he looked at Changbin. “We killed that one at Roma’s last week—”

“Twelve million scoville units.” Changbin cuts off the excited junior. Jisung quickly loses the arrogance in his demeanour and sinks into himself a bit as his eyes grow wide. “Yeah, I thought so. Don’t worry, it’d only be two drops from this vial. You consume two drops of this hellfire oil, and I’ll distract you by sucking you off. Still interested?”

There’s a long, uncomfortable pause that hangs in the air as Jisung weighs his options.

Changbin curses something unintelligible under his breath. “I’ve got other, less potent ideas,” he offers, biting his lip as he watches Jisung think.

“Sure, I’ll still do it,” the younger man says with a shrug, like it didn’t really matter to him at all.

“Sungie,” Changbin brings his knuckles to his forehead, shaking his head as he sighs with disappointment, yet still smirks to himself. “You’re a fucking idiot.”

Jisung stared at the plate in front of him, with two neon red spicy cheetos set in the middle, one on top of the other. It almost looked like a photo he had seen in one of his art history books, so captivating by its simplicity. He had eaten these MSG-laden salt bombs several times. Adding a couple drops of oil infused with the epitome of lava would be fine, right? Temporary discomfort. Temporary.

“Sungie,” Changbin grabbed Jisung’s shoulder, softly shaking him. “Did you hear what I just said?”

The blond shook his head. “Sorry, got distracted.”

“This is a really stupid idea,” the older man sighed, “like, I really don’t think we should do this.”

Jisung knitted his brows together and scoffed. “I’m not turning this down. We’re doing this, dude.”

There was an irritated groan that came from Changbin as he gritted his teeth and tucked his head into his hand. He stared at Jisung and frowned. “I’m going to regret challenging you to do this more than you’re going to regret accepting this dare, I just know it.”

“That’s on you,” the younger man arrogantly quipped, running a hand through his hair with fake confidence. He grabbed the bottle of beer that was next to the small plate and chugged the last of it, slamming it down on to the table. “Anything to get you to get me off.”

“You know, you can just ask me.”

“Yeah, but dude, where’s the fun in that? That’s so… domestic, like actual couples do that.” Jisung rolled his eyes and smirked. “Anyway, let’s get this over with. Hey, we could film it and go viral or some shit, too, that could be fun.” Changbin deadpanned and scowled, causing Jisung to wave a hand nervously. “It was a joke, man.”

The older man shook his head and grabbed the tiny glass vial, staring into the oil as it lazily sank down the sides of the bottle. He continued to scowl, squeezing the dropper and unscrewing the lid from the glass. “You don’t have to do this,” he repeated, yet still brought the dropper over the red snacks.

“Shut up,” Jisung folded his arms and sighed. “If you really didn’t want to do this, you wouldn’t be going through with it. Just admit you wanna watch me sweat and cry and suffer and call it a day. You’re such a sadist.”

A flush crept up on Changbin’s face. He said nothing, just shook his head and dropped a single, quick drop of oil on each nuclear red corn puff. As he hovered his hand over the plate, Changbin nervously looked up at Jisung and opened his mouth to say something.

“Nope,” Jisung grumbled, shaking his head. “I’m not backing out of this, so don’t say anything.”

The older man rolled his eyes, then screwed the cap back on to the vial. “Fine,” he muttered, standing up and making his way into the kitchen. “Then I’ll just tell you that, again, you’re an idiot for accepting this.”

“You’re an idiot for suggesting this!” Jisung shouted and let his jaw hang agape for a moment, hands thrown up in the air in disbelief.

Changbin spun around on his heel and pointed a finger in Jisung’s direction. “You need to stop accepting dumb things without hearing the whole thing first!”

Jisung pouted and dropped his hands, recoiling a bit. “I only accept these things from you because I trust you, Binbin.”

The way Jisung’s voice went from an irritated shout to a soft whine caused Changbin to visibly wince. “Sungie,” he started, bringing his palm to his face with a heavy sigh. “That was harsh of me, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I guess,” the blond mumbled. “Just grab the stupid milk and get back over here. The whole point of this was so you’d suck my dick and distract me anyways.”

Changbin did as requested, but the air in the room was different now. He set the carton of milk down on the table and tugged his tank top down, playing with the hem of his shirt as he sat down on the couch. “You gonna be okay?”

Jisung took in a deep breath, looking away from the plate in front of him, turning his head to look at Changbin. They stared at each other for a moment, and then nervousness behind the blond’s eyes faded as he arrogantly smirked. “I’ll feel a lot better once you’re between my legs and doing your best to distract me.”

The older man couldn’t help but deadpan again, rubbing his temples with his middle finger and thumb. “You’re something else, Jisung,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, but you like that about me.”

“It’s true,” Changbin shrugged, dropping his hand to his lap. “You ready?”

Jisung turned to look at the plate and he nodded once. “This is a dumb idea, but fuck it.” He reached his hand out to the hellish crisps, fingers twitching a bit as he grabbed both of them off of the plate. He turned to look at Changbin, whose eyes were wide as he swallowed with anticipation.

“You sure about this?”

“Shut up, Changbin.” Jisung rolled his eyes, then shakily put the food into his mouth.

He chewed for a couple of seconds, nothing really happening. Maybe the oil that Changbin got from his friend Hyunjin was a dud. Then, he swallowed and everything started to fall apart. Rapidly.

Jisung’s eyes went wide as he coughed and shook his head a second later. “Oh my god!” He panicked, hands flailing and fanning his head as his face reddened. “Jesus fucking Christ, that’s—” he choked on his own saliva, coughing up a fit. Changbin’s face contorted in reactionary terror, reaching out to the carton of milk, offering it to Jisung as the younger man shook.

“This was a horrible idea, why the fuck did you go along with this?”

Jisung ignored Changbin’s comment, practically drowning himself in milk as he choked down the liquid, trying to swallow it and breathe at the same time. “Hot,” garbled up from his throat, some of the white liquid sputtered up into the air as he spoke, some dribbling down his chin. “Changbin,” Jisung whined, his eyes teary, glistening as much as his face was as it started to sweat, some visibly beaded up on his forehead. “Distract me,” he managed to pant out between gasps, wiping his face off with one hand and motioning towards his lap with the other.

“You’re a madman,” Changbin licked his lips, biting at the inside of his cheek as he watched Jisung unravel into a sweaty, teary mess. If Jisung could focus on anything other than the stinging, stabbing pain in his mouth, he would have noticed that Changbin was enjoying this a bit too much. Instead, he wanted to rip his tongue out of his mouth and forget he ever existed.

He decided, right then and there, that he was never going to take on a dare like this again.

Changbin stumbled to the floor, too busy watching Jisung writhe and sweat to pay close attention to undoing the button and zipper to the younger man’s jeans. The blond leaned back into the couch, chest rapidly rising and falling as he panted and whined, letting out strings of profanity as he suffered. Sweat, tears, and saliva dripped down his face, making Jisung’s face shimmer in the bluish white light of their dorm.

“For fuck’s sake,” Jisung loudly whined, shakily reaching a hand up Changbin’s head, curling his clammy fingers in his hair, “distract me, come on.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Changbin apologized, tilting his head down to focus on getting Jisung’s cock to spring free from the confines of his jeans and boxers. Surprisingly, it was already half-hard, causing Changbin to lift one of his eyebrows and offer a quip. “Excited over this, huh?”

Jisung groaned, rolling his head back and pushing Changbin’s head down. “Not distracting me,” a long, drawn out whine interrupted his sentence, “like you promised.”

Changbin chose not to say anything, instead he dug his elbows into the couch as he worked Jisung’s cock into his mouth. He gently pressed the tip of his tongue against the base, eliciting a small squeal from the younger man, who twitched and whimpered in response.

“More, please.” Jisung rolled his shoulder blades up against the back of the couch, furrowing his brows and wiping his forehead haphazardly with his free hand. “Wanna fuck your mouth, wanna come all over that pretty face of yours.”

The older man curled his lips in a devious smile. “I just said I’d suck you off,” he pulled back a bit, looking up at Jisung with a bit of snark, “not that I’d get you off.” Changbin flashed his teeth with an evil grin, until Jisung lifted his head and wildly stared down at him.

“If I didn’t feel like my face was about to fucking melt off,” Jisung hissed through his teeth, trying to stay relatively composed, “I swear to god I—” Changbin firmly gripped the base of Jisung’s cock and wrapped his lips around the head, sucking at it hard enough to cause the blond to stutter over his words. “Distracted, yeah,” he weakly moaned out, letting his head lull back.

There was an audible pop as Changbin pulled his lips off of Jisung’s head. “Distraction and sucking your dick was what the deal was.” He continued to grin, letting his hand continue to work Jisung’s shaft as he watched the younger man’s face contort in reaction. “Maybe once everything’s settled and you stop crying over a little pain, I’ll give you what you really want.”

Tears continued to stream down Jisung’s face no matter how much he tried to mop them up with the back of his hands. There was a fair amount of runny mucous dripping from his nose, too, rendering him into a sloppy, sticky mess.

Admittedly, it was a bit gross, but Changbin found it more disturbing that seeing his junior fall apart made him painfully hard. The way his tears shined on his pink cheeks, the way he whimpered and mewled in discomfort, all of it was strangely arousing to him. “Maybe we should shower first,” Changbin laughed to himself as he moved back down and wrapped his lips around Jisung’s cock.

“Maybe you should,” Jisung panted heavily, looking down to the older man, gasping as he spoke, “should go fuck yourself.”

Changbin looked up at the underclassman and flipped him off with a free hand. He hummed a laugh, the vibrations causing Jisung’s eyes to cross. The younger man threw his head back and rolled his hips up into Changbin’s face, causing the upperclassman to choke a bit, not expecting to feel Jisung’s cock hit the back of his throat.

Jisung pulled his shirt up and off as Changbin continued to bob his head up and down, circling his tongue around the length in his mouth. “Fuck,” the younger man whimpered, hastily wiping his face with his shirt as if it were a kitchen towel. He continued to let out a few strangled curses as he ran a hand through his hair.

Changbin offered a few more tongue flicks against Jisung’s cock before pulling away and standing up. “Come on,” he offered a hand to the perplexed man on the couch, “as much as I’m loving this, I really just wanna get fucked by you.”

After some extensive handwashing and some half-assed showering, Changbin found himself bent in half over his bed, with two of Jisung’s fingers inside of him. “I should just fucking edge you,” the younger man quipped with a smirk on his face, watching his elder twitch his fingers against the bedsheets, awkwardly scrambling for purchase.

“Please,” Changbin whined, “I gave you what you wanted, Sungie.”

“Yeah, you did.” Jisung slipped a third finger inside, biting his lip back as the upperclassman writhed and moaned underneath him. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t wanna see you suffer a bit as payback.”

Changbin gritted his teeth, turning his head back a bit to stare up at Jisung. “Fuck you, I told you what you were getting into. Hell, I warned you several times.”

“You had your fun,” Jisung bent over and nipped at Changbin’s shoulder. The teeth sinking into his skin caused the older man to let out a bit of a moan. “My turn, now.” He curled his fingers down, causing Changbin to drop further, letting his head collide against the mattress as he mumbled incoherently in approval.

“Yeah, I like that. You should keep your mouth shut more often, huh?” Jisung rocked his fingers back and forth a bit, then gradually started pumping them in and out of the man beneath him. “I bet you probably loved watching me cry out there, didn’t you?”

Changbin attempted to choke out an affirmation, but he was too lost in the feeling of how Jisung’s fingers moved inside of him to coherently respond.

“Figures,” Jisung tutted. “You’ve always been a weird one. I’m feeling impatient tonight, Binbin. While I’m annoyed you enjoyed making me cry, I’m tired of being hard.” He pulled his fingers out, then brought his hand to his cock, wiping some of the lube around it. Changbin opened his mouth to speak, but Jisung cut him off, slowly pushing his cock inside of the older man.

Instead of spouting off of a bold comment, Changbin lets out a throaty groan, gripping the sheets tighter. Jisung slowly pushes himself completely inside the upperclassman, a smirk growing on his face as he watches the man under him twitch. “You feel nice,” Jisung breathes out, moving his hands to both of Changbin’s hips, “you feel so nice. Want me to keep moving?”

Unable to form a coherent sentence, Changbin simply nods, and Jisung smiles. The younger man grips the hips in his hands tighter as he slowly moves in and out. The men exchange a myriad of lewd noises between them as they blend together.

“Jisung,” Changbin arched his back, tilting his head closer to the younger man. He didn’t have to respond for Jisung to know what he wanted.

The younger man shifted his hand from Changbin’s left hip up into his hair, running his fingers through the soft, damp, brown locks. It started off as a soft tug, then he quickly drew his hand into a fist and pulled back, eliciting a sharp cry from the older man.

This was Jisung’s favourite part of their interactions. Changbin liked to be pushed around a little bit after Jisung completed his dares. “Who’s gonna cry now, hmm?” He ruffled his senior’s hair around a bit, then tugged on it again as he thrusted in hard, stilling his movements. “Asked you a question, babe.”

“You can’t make me cry,” Changbin said, choking back tears. It was a bold-faced lie, they both knew that, but it fed into the moment.

“That a dare?” Jisung scoffed, then tugged at Changbin’s hair once more.

A whine escaped Changbin, eating away at his confidence. “Of course it’s a goddamned dare.”

“It’s always a dare.” As soon as Jisung finished speaking, he started roughly fucking into Changbin. The brunette tried to dip his head down and lose himself in the moment, but the blond held his head up by the hair gripped between his fingers. “I’m not gonna stop until I see you break, babe.”

“You’re gonna,” Changbin mumbled, “gonna have to try harder than that.” He tried to sound confident, but it was obviously false confidence. A few tears fell from his eyes, causing Jisung’s lips to curl upwards.

“Aww,” the underclassman mocked, “you’re doing a terrible job at faking it.”

Jisung let go of Changbin’s hair, letting the brunette’s head drop, then moved his newly-freed hand down to stroke he upperclassman’s cock. His stroking was a bit frantic, his thrusts becoming less and less controlled. “Want me to come on your back like always?” His voice cracked a couple of times as he kept moving.

Surprisingly, Changbin shook his head. “N-no,” he whined, “inside. Come inside me.”

“Really?” Jisung knitted his brows in confusion. That was something they had never done before, and the idea made his stomach flip. “If you’re being serious, I need to know, Bin.” He panted once before Changbin nodded his head.

“Just fucking come inside of me,” the brunette whined, “I’m so close and it’ll—”

Before Changbin could finish his statement, Jisung doubled over and let out a shuddering moan. He kept pumping the cock in his hand, but his movements were disjointed. Changbin shakily reached between his legs, wrapping his hand around Jisung’s, helping the younger man finish him off.

It took maybe two strokes before Changbin came on to his sheets. They would have to clean the sheets later, but that was fine. Hell, they could just sleep in Jisung’s bed, if they were really that out of it. Feeling the sticky, sweaty weight of Jisung atop him was worth it. They awkwardly laid there for a few moments, catching their breath.

“Hey, Jisung?”

“What is it, Bin?”

“No more fucking dares. At least,” Changbin sighed and rolled his eyes, “think them through before accepting them first, yeah?”

Jisung smiled, planting a kiss between Changbin’s shoulder blades. “I’ll consider it. No guarantees, though.”

“You just want me to keep fucking you after you complete a dare, don’t you?”

“Technically,” the younger man shrugged as he shakily rose to his knees, “I fucked you this time. But yeah, I want you to keep doing that. I wanna keep this up.”

“You’re so fucking dumb.” Changbin pushed himself up by his palms, his arms trembling a bit from all of the activity.

Jisung looked down at Changbin before pulling the older man back by the shoulders. “Yeah, but you like that about me.” Changbin opened his mouth to protest, but found his lips locked with the younger man. The energy between them as they kissed was different than their usual kisses. This was needier, more intimate and felt special compared to the others.

The older man broke away from the kiss first, for just a moment, looking down, then back up to make eye contact with the younger man. “I don’t want you to date anyone else.”

“What?” Jisung pulled back, blinking rapidly.

Changbin rolled his eyes, his expression softening. “You’re so dense, Sungie. We should be exclusive.”

Jisung shook his head. “No, no, I get that.” He smiled, awkwardly giggling at the same time. “I just never thought you’d be so cute about it.”

The brunette gritted his teeth and his expression fell into a scowl. “Don’t call me cute.”

“Fuck you,” Jisung laughed. “If you wanna actually date me, then get used to it.”

“You know what?” Changbin shifted his position a bit, letting Jisung’s cock fall out of him and cum drip down his legs as he turned. He grabbed the younger man by the shoulders and pinned him down to the bed. “Maybe I just will.”

They exchanged playful smirks with one another before they connected their lips together once more, kissing each other a bit more tenderly than they usually did.

“The boyfriend instead of the roommate,” Jisung quipped, bringing his hands up to Changbin’s face. “I like the sound of that.”

Changbin pushed a soft kiss to Jisung’s lips before pulling back with a smile. “Me too.”

[starman-trashcan]

Finally finished my gift exchange piece 😅

It’s for @8-fracturetea !!!

Here you are!!!

~~~~~~~~~

It had been too long since they’d had a nice day like this. The drive out was relaxing and they hadn’t come across any problems. The sun was shining, like pretty much every day, but it wasn’t nearly as sweltering as usual. Winter was Ghoul’s favourite time of year out in the zones, mostly because of the more bearable weather, but really, it was when there were better things to steal from the city because there was so much excess. The holidays meant more food and less time spent on business, which in turn meant chances at actually edible things in supply runs, and of course - what was probably the best thing - the patrols came out a lot less because exterminators had time off.

It looked like it was going to be the perfect day; the four had decided to go to the market to trade, everyone was in a good mood, and Ghoul actually had some things ready that should get them some pretty good stuff. So of course, Show Pony had to be there, ruining everything.

Ghoul was clinging to Kobra, and it looked like nobody else has noticed Pony yet. He hoped it would stay that way, but as soon as they turned around and saw their datemate and crush, it would all be over. He did what anybody would do, and distracted everyone, quickening his pace to walk at the front of the group and making conversation, despite how little he wanted to, so that nobody would turn around.

“Oh, hey there darlings!” Great. They’d seen the group.

He watched in objection as Party smiled and turned, and Jet, who had been chiming in to respond to Ghoul’s pointless conversation topic, stopped mid-sentence when Party’s index finger pressed against his mouth, shutting him up.

“Shhh… Look, Pony’s here too!”

“Huh? Really?”

Ghoul failed at restraining an eyeroll at how dumb the three of them were. Party and Show Pony had been obnoxious together for as long as he could remember since the two had met, and that, combined with Pony’s general dislike for him, was already too much to deal with, but recently, Pony had started flirting with Jet, and that was just a rotten cherry on top of the garbage sundae. At least he and Kobra were subtle and kept their love strictly to themselves. They didn’t ceaselessly bother others with it. Maybe it was just that he hated Pony though. Pony was annoying.

“Hey, Ghoul…” Kobra spoke quietly to him, catching up to lean up against him. “Let’s go see how much stuff we can get for our tech, huh? They’ll catch up with us later.”

“Uh, yeah, that sounds good.”

“You made a couple ‘a pretty nice bombs recently, right?”

“Yeah. I bet Burst is gonna be all over these! We’re gonna get such a nice haul!”

The two of them walked off smiling, close to each other because their arms were too full to hold hands.

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

“So, babes, what are you all here for?” Pony sidled up next to Party and peered into the box that Jet was holding next to them.

“Well, I’ve got whole buncha paint that I made recently, and that’s bound to draw in all the artists, ‘cause I was able ta get some real nice vibrant colours.”

“And how about you, Jetty?”

“Oh, uh, I… I’ve got uh… p-plants…”

“Pardon me if I’m not understanding, but can’t anybody get plants for free?”

“W-well I mean yes, I guess, but… uh…” he trailed off, looking embarrassed, and Party spoke up to help explain.

“He’s been working on medicines and herbal remedies. They’re all of his own creation based on his own knowledge, but he hasn’t had much chance to really show them off, so he’s nervous. You know how joys can be sometimes. We’ve got our traditions, and new things don’t always sit right.”

Pony nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Well, you have nothing to worry about, hon. We’ve got your back, and we ain’t gonna leave your side.”

“We aren’t? But… I need to trade my paints…”

“Fine. Then I’ll have his back, while you completely abandon him,” they teased.

“What? No, that wasn’t-”

“You’re fine, babe. Now, go on and do your thing, and I’ll take care of Starman.”

They hesitantly gathered their paints from the box Jet was holding and wandered off for the right stalls.

Pony turned to Jet and gave him their familiar smirk.

“You ready to go sell your wares?”

“It’s… it’s trading. Not selling.”

“Yeah yeah, no capitalism and all that, I know. I’m tryin’ to be funny, honey.”

“Oh.”

~~~~~~~

Kobra was enjoying himself a lot more than he thought he would. At first, the group getting separated seemed like it completely defeated the purpose of the trip, and that it would ruin everything. But getting to spend the time alone with his boyfriend was the best thing he could’ve hoped for. Both of them were so excited about their tech and they were getting an amazing about of useful stuff for it. It was almost perfect.

It wasn’t quite perfect though, because he could tell that the crowds and noise were getting to Ghoul. He knew better than to mention it directly, so he needed to help him feel better without drawing attention to it.

“Hey, do you wanna take a break for a bit, maybe get some food, find a nice quiet place to sit down and eat alone? It’ll be like a nice little lunch date.”

“What? Oh, uh, yeah, sounds good, I guess.”

He frowned to himself slightly. Ghoul was worse than he had first thought. Oh well, that could be fixed through peace and quiet and cuddles.

He led Ghoul away from the crowds, back to the car to grab some food, and then toward the main marketplace again, but with a bit of a change in route.

“Uhh… where are we going, Kobra?”

“It’s a secret.”

He smiled as Ghoul just shrugged, and led them to the back of everything, behind all the covered stalls and tents. It was noticeably quieter back there, but not so much that it was uncomfortable, just a constant low buzz of meaningless noise from the other side of sheets of fabric and panels of wood.

“Oh. This is nice,” he smiled. “I never would’ve thought of this. Are we even allowed to be back here?”

“Who cares?”

“Good question.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Sorry y’all, but I know when I’m being cheated.”

“Excuse me? My dear darling Jet here is no cheat. His trades are completely fair, and I am appalled that you would even consider him a liar!”

“This is just a bunch of plants. That’s not worth more than maybe a handful of batteries.”

“Forgive me for disagreeing, but you wouldn’t know something of value if it was right under your nose. Which it is! We will just take our business somewhere else!”

Show Pony started to lead Jet away but he whispered to them nervously.

“She’s the only one who has the parts I need though…”

“I know, just roll with it hon.”

“Hey!” The vendor called to the two of them angrily. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but you don’t get to try conning me and then walk away! And I most certainly will take no insults.”

“Maybe you should get out of that holier-than-thou attitude and hear us out then.”

“It’d be a lot easier to believe that your stuff is worth anything if that coward would speak for himself instead of hiding behind you without sayin’ nothing like some kinda city flocker.”

“What did you call him?” Party growled, having been coming over to join them at just the right time to hear.

“You heard me. He’s just following the crowd, not doing anything worthwhile except pretending that bein’ out here now is some justification for how loyal he prob’ly used to be to the city.”

“You don’t know nothin’ about him. He’s desert-born, you freakin’ neutral. Yeah, don’t think I can’t tell. You don’t get to judge true ‘joys you got barely no right even sharin’ the desert with.”

Jet finally spoke up. “Party, hey, it’s not worth it… Don’t start anything. I just want to trade, and if I can’t do that here, I don’t want any trouble for it.”

“Nonsense, darlin’,” Pony drawled, wrapping an arm around him. “Nobody gets to insult you like that. Or any of y’all for that matter. Not even Ghoul.”

Party cleared their throat and looked at the vendor with a fire in their eyes. “Now, miss… Would you like to apologize, or keep diggin’ yourself a bigger hole?”

“I ain’t apologizin’, even if he is a snowstorm.”

“Have it your way.” They cracked their knuckles.

~~~~~~~~~

Ghoul felt much better after getting something to eat and getting out of the crowd. Kobra always knew how to read him and help make sure he didn’t get too anxious, just like he always made sure Kobra didn’t get too lost in his own head or too carried away in a project.

He looked at his boyfriend with adoration, and curled up against him. Kobra smiled down at him and ruffled his hair in that gentle but silly way he always would, and planted a kiss against his now messier scalp.

“Thank you for being you, Kobes.”

“Can’t be anything else, Ghoulie.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

He curled up tighter and practically crawled onto his lap.

“Hey, calm down, you don’t need to climb all over me just to cuddle.”

He laughed softly and the two of them cuddled in companionable silence, just getting some time to themselves. Then Ghoul has an idea.

“Climb all over you, you said? Stand up, I wanna get on your back!”

“Ghoul…”

“Stand uuuupp…!”

Kobra relented with a sigh and kissed Ghouls cheek before standing up. Immediately he was practically tackled by his boyfriend trying to climb up and get on his back. Ghoul struggled a bit, but finally got a good hold. He pumped a fist up in celebration before realizing he had to keep a good hold and quickly moved to be more stable, but that much movement couldn’t be good. T was too late, the two of them were toppling over together and- *Rrriiiip*

Suddenly Ghoul was pinned beneath Kobra, and they were both lying face up inside a market stall.

“Ghoul? Kobra?” That was Party’s voice. He wriggled out from under Kobra as his boyfriend got up too, and looked up to see Party, Pony, Jet, and some vendor he didn’t recognize, who spoke up, sounding mad.

“You know these two?! That’s it, all of you, get out!”

He didn’t think that it was such a big deal, but as he studied the situation further, Pony had their confrontational smirk on, Jet looked nervous like he only did when somebody started yelling, and Party looked like they had been just about to throw a punch.

Pony nodded and reached to help Ghoul up, for some reason.

“Yeah, she’s right, let’s get outta here and head home. Now!”

They pushed Ghoul and Kobra out of the tent, following close behind, and all five of them ran to the car.

“That certainly was an exciting day,” Kobra laughed, eliciting a bubbling giggle from Party.

“You have no idea, bro.”

They were all smiling despite being kicked out of the market for today, except Jet, who seemed downcast. Ghoul laid a tentative hand on his shoulder, which was tense.

“You alright?”

“Guess so. Didn’t get to trade any of my stuff, so I didn’t get anything I needed, either.”

Ghoul frowned. He knew how hard Jet had been working, but he didn’t really know what to say, so he went back over to Kobra, who wrapped an arm around him in a nice, tight, half-hug.

“Oh, that’s just what you think, babe. But looks can be… deceiving.” They were holding up a basket of just the supplies he’d been trying to get.

“H-how…?”

“Snagged em as she was distracted with chasin’ us outta there.”

“You stole them?!”

“Hey, you should’ve rightfully owned them. She was just too thick to see that. I’m just givin’ you whatcha deserve.” They grinned and leaned close to him. “And you also deserve… this!” Pony kissed Jet’s cheek, right near his lips and watched in delight and mischief as he blushed and stammered, more flustered than he usually got around them.

What an interesting day indeed. He climbed into the passenger seat, holding Kobra’s hand that wasn’t on the steering wheel, and he shot an apologetic look to Jet as he was dragged into the backseat, squished between the two datemates, both of whom were looking at each other with matching smirks.

A very interesting day indeed. And he could tell it was only going to get more interesting.

[darkwoods-darkdreams]

Imagine you’re a thief (III)

Many moons passed. You eventually grew to accept your situation, though you still weren’t necessarily pleased. The elf was easier to get along with than several humans you had met, particularly city guards. He spent most of his time working, though he always made a point to check up on you every so often. During the first month, you tried to keep your distance. Unfortunately, the potion’s influence came in waves. You had been caught trying to rid yourself of the ache alone far too many times to count. Now, you had given up, deciding that it was better to ask him for help and get on with your day than spend hours in your room whimpering with your hand between your legs.

You started to earn your keep a few weeks after the incident. The elf told you that it was dangerous to have you around magic, since you weren’t accustomed to it. However, he let you take care of any tasks that didn’t involve spells and tonics. It turned out that, despite his poise, the elf was actually highly disorganized. He remembered where things were, but you found it impossible to search for things on your own. You sorted through everything in the study, including several shelves of bottles filled with ingredients from around the world. It took ages to get everything straight, but you found it much easier to find what the elf asked you to fetch for him.

You swept the main room, eyeing the stone guardian warily. It only spoke or moved when its master was leaving or returning the ruin, otherwise it remained dormant. You had considered running away several times, but you knew that it would probably chase after you if the elf was gone. Besides, escaping now would only make your life harder. The child inside of you continued to grow, your belly swelling outward. Your old dress no longer fit you, so the elf had given you some robes he had purchased during his latest trip. They fit you nicely, but it was still very obvious that you were with child.

You stopped, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand as you leaned the broom against the nearby desk. You had managed to get all of the dust and debris into a small cloth bag. It turned out that such a material was useful to the stone guardian. When it moved, bits and pieces of its body would end up breaking after frequent use. The elf could mend these breaks with the dust and a spell. You approached the stone guardian, prepared to set the bag down at its feet.

However, the ribbons of fabric tied around its body began to glow faintly. You tensed, knowing that it was waking up. You squirmed a bit. You didn’t have time for this. You had swept for hours trying to get everything clean, but another wave of lust was starting to make you dizzy.

“Yes?” The stone guardian asked.

You held out the bag, “This is for you.”

“Ah,” The guard took the object from you, “Thank you, mistress.”

You stared at it for a moment. It didn’t speak to you often after you first broke in, but it had never called you ‘mistress’ before. It probably sensed that you were carrying the elf’s child and had changed its opinion of you accordingly. You bowed slightly, deciding not to ask.

You left the atrium, entering the study where you knew the elf would be. He was sitting at his desk, going over some tomes and writing out notes. Apparently, he was working on a cure for a woman cursed by a witch.

The elf noticed you walk in, set down his quill and focusing his attention on you. He slid his chair away from the desk, beckoning you closer.

You scowled. He knew that you had come to see him because of the potion. Still, you moved toward him, “I didn’t even say anything.”

“There’s no need,” He grinned. His hands moved to your hips, hiking up your skirt, “I can tell just by looking at you.”

You scoffed, casting him a glare but not straddling him. Before, you would have been able to straddle him and do as you pleased until you found release. But your womb had swelled and you doubted that you would be able to get close enough to him, “Gvalch, I…” You hesitated, wishing you didn’t have to explain such a situation. Just thinking about how sitting in his lap was making you heated.

But he stood, guiding you out of the study. You grabbed his arms, aware that he was still holding your skirt and exposing you to the cold air. You shivered. He was leading you to his bedroom, but you didn’t mind. The bed was plush and the sheets soft. It was much more comfortable than getting bent over his desk, which he had never done, even when you practically begged him to fuck you a few days before. Instead, he had offered that you sit down, then knelt and put your legs over his shoulders. It wasn’t long until you were panting and blissfully satisfied that day.

“You don’t have to-“ Your words were cut short as the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. Your grip tightened on his arms to keep you from falling backwards. You sighed, “This is only going to take a few minutes. It would have been easier to stay in the library.”

“And what if I wanted to prolong things this time?” He pulled your dress from your form, letting it fall to the floor. He gently lowered you onto the bed, but didn’t climb on top of you. The elf removed his own clothes, something that was rarely done, considering how you were often too impatient.

Your stare wandered from his face, incredibly distracted by the rest of his body. This was only temporary, as you refocused on him when he didn’t come closer, “What are you waiting for?”

“My, you’re quite testy when you want something,” He teased, “Don’t worry, I’m just wondering how exactly I should help my little thief.”

Your brow furrowed, “It doesn’t matter, just do something that doesn’t involve standing there and staring at me,” However, when he smirked, your expression immediately faltered. You had clearly talked yourself into some sort of trap.

“Well, if you don’t have a preference,” He waved his hand, magic dragging you back on the bed so your head and upper back rested against the pillows. He tilted his head to one side, grinning, “Then it will be my decision to make.”

You didn’t move. You had quickly learned that the elf was more interested in teasing you out of fun rather than to make you uncomfortable. Whatever he had planned, even if it was his own choice, would be equally pleasurable to you.

He climbed onto the bed, gently moving you onto your side and settling himself behind you. It was unusual for him to choose a position that didn’t involve you facing each other, but you supposed that it was because your swollen belly got in the way. Still, you didn’t refuse, especially since it meant you couldn’t see the way his expression softened when you cried out his name.

His lithe fingers brushed your hair away from your neck. He kissed your jaw, his hand then wandering downward. It brushed across your stomach briefly, then smoothed over your thigh. You squirmed a bit, turning your head to voice your annoyance that he was taking his sweet time, only for him to lean over and kiss you. He repositioned your legs, entering you slowly. You pulled away for a moment, wanting to look away from him and keep things impersonal. His thrusts were patient, yet still held enough force to make you bite your lip.

You watched him for a moment, wondering what he got out of the agreement the two of you had made. Surely the sex was a benefit, but it wasn’t enough to justify everything. Perhaps it was guilt or-

“Cerbin,” His gaze flickered between your eyes and your mouth, as if he was debating whether or not to kiss you again, “You seem distracted. Would you like me to stop?”

“No-“ You answered immediately, without any hesitation. You felt your face heat up out of embarrassment, but you refused to look away from him, “Keep going. Please.”

He obliged, but took a moment to place his hand over your stomach. You had tried to avoid thinking about the child growing inside of you, but his touch was a glaring reminder. And yet, somehow, you didn’t shrink away. His palm resting on the swell and his thumb tracing back and forth across your skin let you gradually relax against him. It was comforting. If you had decided to leave his care, you likely would have been used by your fellow humans. But the elf had been a gracious host, given the circumstances and-

You moaned and gripped the pillow, digging your nails into the fabric. Your release had crept up on you, “G-Gvalch…” The familiar heat of the elf’s own release followed. You sighed, trying to catch your breath. Usually you rushed through such things, but letting the elf take his time brought an unfamiliar bliss to your body and mind. You leaned back against him, gasping quietly as he removed himself from between your legs.

“Are you alright?”

“Mhmm,” You nodded, enjoying the lingering remains of satisfaction still coursing through your body. But your mind cleared and you turned a bit to look at him, “Why do you ask?”

He smiled a bit, as if he had just stumbled upon something secret, “You usually don’t remain in my company afterwards.”

Your eyes widened slightly, realizing that he was right. You usually moved away from him and made some sort of excuse to leave the room. You glanced away, “Shouldn’t you be getting back to work?”

He laughed, pressing a kiss to your cheek. He got up from the bed, taking a moment to clean himself up before getting dressed, “I should, yes. But I have something to discuss with you first.”

You sat up, pulling the blanket to cover your form, “What is it?”

“I have to leave for a meeting with some of my colleagues,” He explained, “And I would like you to come with me.”

[thatfairyfangirl]

Part Of That World Chapter 8

Your eyes lingered on Bucky’s muscles glistening under the lights of the training room as Nat’s foot landed in your stomach. “Ughf.” It didn’t exactly hurt, but it definitely wasn’t comfortable as you landed on the mat. 

“You alright?” Nat asked short of breath as she lowered herself down to you, following her friend’s eyes to the former assassin sparing with Steve on the other side of the room before giving you a knowing smirk. “You seem a little distracted.”

“No I don’t...No I’m not. I uhh, I just had some hair in my eyes.” You protested as you pushed your blond and aqua hair from your face. 

“Mm hmm sure.” She said as she turned to the super soldiers. “Hey Steve, I need a break, what do you say to a coffee run?”

“Sure. Buck can you work with (Y/n) while we’re gone?” He turned to you, letting out a sigh as he watched your eyes sadden at the thought of being stuck training with him. “The more practice you get with those knives the better. Plus,” he turned to Bucky, “you getting some action against her harpoon might not be a bad idea either.”

The two of you just stood awkwardly as you were left alone for the first time since the halloween party. “So...Should we maybe talk about-”

“No.” You said sharply as you reached for the knives Steve had given you. “Let's just get this over with.”

“Alright…” He sighed as he readied to spar. “It’s just,” he dipped to the side to dodge the slash of your knife, “I’ve been wondering...” he dipped to the other side as you slashed again with enough firosity to make him think you might actually be trying to hurt him. “Did you know it was me?”

“Of course not!” You snapped as you both traded blows. “That was my one chance to get to know some people as an equal, you really think I would have wasted it on you?” 

As you attempted to punch him he grabbed your hand with his bionic arm, then the next with the other. “It’s just, Wizard of Oz is such an old film...Hell, it was the last movie I went to see before the accident. Is that really your favorite movie?” 

“Yes.” You replied as you attempted to pull your hands free. “Me and Great Aunt Pearl used to watch it all the time back in Maine. It reminds me of my childhood.” As you stood there at a stalemate he found himself looking into your eyes, heart racing. He thought about how the mystery girl from the party made his heart skip a beat with just a smile. How could this be the same girl?

~ ~ ~ ~

With a sigh you settled into your usual reading spot by the window looking down onto the streets below, barely colored with the few leaves in the city changing their colors. “Pretty isn’t it.” Bucky said with a half smile as he came close to admire the view of Central Park off in the distance.  

“It’s alright. But Maine this time of year is breathtaking. I’m thinking about going for a visit.” You said as you set Return of the King down.

“You’re still reading that book? Didn’t you start it over the summer?” Bucky half teased as he came to lean against the window.

You looked up to the ocean blue of his eyes, still finding it hard to believe this was the guy you had such a good time with at the party. As he leaned over you, you realized just how intoxicating his musk could be. He smelled just like he did the night of the party. “No, that was Fellowship. This is the third one.” You explained as you stood, worming out from between him and the window.

“Hey you two!” Steve called from down the hall, on his way to their rooms to look for them. “Shield came up with a lead on a possible Hydra base in the Rocky Mountains. Think you two can play nice long enough for a recon mission?” You both looked to each other before nodding. “Good, suit up.”

~ ~ ~ ~

You and Bucky let the auto nav system fly the quinjet as he did a last minute inspection on his guns and you did some last minute testing on your h2o condenser gauntlets. “So...Maine? Any plans for while you’re there?” 

“You mean outside of being away from you?" He couldn't help noticing much less disdain for him in your voice as you spoke. "Oh not much, maybe visit the marina dad kept his houseboat in.”

“You should go. It might help you cope with stuff.” He offered lightly as he prepared his weapons. 

You raised a brow as you looked over to him, the black leather of his uniform mingling perfectly with the metal of his arm and the dark tendrils of hair dancing over his shoulders. “What is this? What are you doing?” You asked suspiciously as you pulled your hair back into a tight bun, realizing you were close to your target. 

“It’s called being nice. You should try it sometime.” He answered with a smirk before the cabin of the quintet shook violently. "Shit!" He exclaimed as you both tumbled toward each other, arms reaching out instinctively to steady yourselves against the other. "The hell was that?!"

"You act like you've never been fired at before." Your eyes darted around the cabin. "Friday, get us out of the air!" The computer's voice was little more than static but she did as requested. 

"Well...so much for recon mission…" Bucky half chuckled  handing you your harpoon.

~ ~ ~ ~

Though the jet had been shot at you were glad to see it landed in one piece before managing to sneak your way inside. But, what you found in there definitely left you less than thrilled… The facility hidden deep within the mountains held a large tank, thankfully empty. But what sent the worst chill down your spine was the sheets of paper covered in sketches of Atlantean biology and calculations for just how much water they would need and how much sedation would be effective. "I think I'm going to be sick." You scoffed as you pieced together that what you found was a research facility and test lab for a crossbreeding program.

Bucky nodded in agreement, his eye not once leaving the scope of his gun, aim constantly moving, ready to shoot down anyone who stumbled on them. But no one did...the place seemed to be deserted. "I don't like this. We should have ran in to trouble by now."

Your eyes scoured the room. As much as you hated to admit it, he was right. "There has to be someone here...who shot at the jet?" You asked as you searched for any clues.

"Might have been an automated security system." He answered as he continued to look around. Spotting a map Bucky lowered his scope, a deep sense of dread growing in his gut. The map had colored pen marks  in seemingly random points in the oceans. But one spot he recognized...where they found you. "Hey...what do you make of this?"

Your eyes looked up from a journal filled with notes before you stepped closer. "Oh good god… " you muttered, recognizing each pinpoint as a different settlement colony. "How did they find them?" You asked in a worried breath before reaching up to tear the map off the wall.

~ ~ ~ ~

“So uhh...we have a problem.” Bucky announced with a scrunched brow as he turned back to face you.

“Oh god what?” You groaned as you came to lean over him at the cockpit. The gold and blue of your hair danced over his shoulders as your head dropped in defeat seeing the black screen that was supposed to be showing a map as you realized the hit you took on the way in knocked out the auto nav systems. "So? I thought you knew how to fly this thing?"

“And what good will that do if I don't know what way to point it?” Bucky's words spat out as he gave the computer a frustrated hit. You both knew well enough neither of you knew how to fix it. "Looks like you get that vacation you were wanting."

“Just radio the team for help.” You suggested, already annoyed with this as you reached for the com set. Nothing but static. “Oh you've got to be kidding.” You shouted as you threw the headset. “FUCK!”

“It's not so bad. They'll figure out something's wrong and come looking for us in a day or so.” Bucky offered as he got up searching the jet for the emergency rations.

“How well are you adapted to the cold?” You asked folding your arms, interjecting a healthy dose of reality into Bucky's unfounded optimism. “We are in the mountains in the autumn. As soon as the sun goes down it's going to start getting colder.” You informed him. “Get your priorities straight Buck.” You added before leaving the jet, disappearing into the wilderness.

Hours later you returned with a pile of wood kneeling down in the clearing the jet landed in. Bucky watched as you got a fire going. “How does a mermaid know how to do that?” He wondered out loud as he emerged with the blankets he found.

“Atlantean. And I didn't always live in the water… Dad loved to go camping a lot when I was a kid.” You explained as you took the blanket to wrap around you. Sitting by the fire your eyes drifted up to see the stars beginning to come alive in the mountain sky. Realizing how long it had been since you've seen them you let out a long sigh, studying each point of light.

“Man that's really something amazing.” He said referring to the soft smile and starlight twinkling in against your face as he sat beside you, leaning back on the blanket. It was nice to see you looking at peace for once.

With a growing smile you leaned back as well, your fingertips brushing slightly against his as your hand landed in the plush grass.  “Yeah...I've spent so much time in the water I almost forgot how beautiful they were.” You reached up with your other hand pointing to a cluster of stars. “That one is called puppis. It was always my dad’s favorite, he named his fishing boat after it.”

“Puppis? Why would you name a boat that?” He asked with a raised brow.

“Its part of a cluster that makes up the Argo. Its this ship from Greek Myth. Dad called it the impossible ship. The constellation moves westward but it sails stern first.” He watched your eyes go wide as you spoke. “Oh my god I'm an idiot!” you announced as you jumped up, the blanket fluttering from your shoulders.

“No objections here." He chuckled, watching you put the fire out with your powers. "Didn't you just get that going?”

“Yeah but I can get us home!” You explained as you scooped the blankets up.

“Did you suddenly remember Tony showing you how to fix the nav system?” He asked with a raised brow.

“Why? We have a working nav system.” You pointed upward. What sailor can't navigate by the stars? Once back on the jet he watched you slip into the co-pilot' seat as you helped direct him back to New York as you both sailed through the stars.

[myspideysensesrtingling]

You’re So Punny

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

WC: 3655

Warnings: maybe one bad word if you squint?

Notes: This is for @sweetlysilent 6k writing challenge!! Congratulations, that’s a HUGE number!!!! Holy cow. Thank you to @starksnack @spidermanstrash and @uselesspileofstressandsadness for helping me!!!!!! ILY ALL!!!!! Anyhoo, the prompt is bold. Kinda cheesy. Whatever. My first one-shot. Forgive me. Fluff galore. Enjoy.

Summary: Peter met you in academic decathlon practice and his way of wooing you is not up to Ned’s standards.

masterlist | taglist

“Peter, you have to quit. That’s so stupid!”

Shoulder to shoulder, best friends Peter Parker and Ned Leeds walked down the emptying halls of the Midtown School of Science and Technology on their way to Monday’s academic decathlon practice. Classes were done for the day and students not in clubs were clearing out.

“No way, man. She likes it!” Peter told his friend. There was a girl - not just a girl to Peter, however - on the decathlon team. She was a new student that year and to say that Peter had fallen hard and fast would be an understatement. In fact, he knew the instant he fell; it was when he heard her laugh.

“No, dude,” Ned plead, “she laughs because she’s nice and doesn’t want it to be awkward.”

Peter always felt nervous around new people. Though she was pretty, he hadn’t been any more nervous meeting her that first day of decathlon practice than he was meeting anyone else. But those nerves caused by meeting a new person were just enough to get Peter to tell a stupid joke. A stupid joke that made her laugh that laugh. That laugh, elicited by his nervous-rambling-driven joke, pushed him into the deep end.

“Ned, trust me. She’s going to like this one.”

Since the day they met, Peter spent time before each decathlon practice finding one joke he could tell to hear her sweet laugh again. Just one. Nothing much; he couldn't be too obvious. He  didn’t want to go a day without hearing it and seeing the bright smile that came with it.

The boys stepped into the library where the decathlon team met to study. Most of the group was already seated at their usual table; the only person missing was their teacher, Mr. Harrington. He was usually last and kicked off the meetings, but everyone knew Peter’s other friend, MJ, was actually in charge.

“Hey guys, decided to show up after all?” MJ prompted as Peter and Ned found seats at the table. Peter sat with Y/N on his right, as usual, while Ned sat across from him and next to MJ.

“We aren’t late; Mr. Harrington isn’t here yet,” Ned argued. While he continued bickering with MJ, Y/N leaned over to Peter.

“You’re not late; we haven’t done anything yet. Don’t stress,” she assured with a smile.

The brief yet sweet smile was just enough to tease the butterflies in Peter’s stomach. He nodded back softly; whispering a quick thanks as Mr. Harrington finally strolled in.

“Alright, guys. Let’s get going. Today is English and grammar day, right?”

“Yep, and I’ve got all the practice questions ready to go,” MJ responded, clearly more prepared than her superior. Every day after school, they’d study by breaking into two teams – one on each side of the table – and go through a mock competition for the subject of the day. They used flashcards for each question and even mocked the buzzer-pressing aspect of the decathlon. After going through all the questions, they’d spend the remaining time studying to fill in their gaps in knowledge. MJ handed Mr. Harrington the study questions and they quickly got started.

“What is an intransitive phrasal verb?”

Y/N’s hand slammed down on the table expecting competition, shrinking slightly when no one else did.

“Y/N?” Mr. Harrington prompted.

“An intransitive phrasal verb is a verb made up of a main verb together with an adverb or preposition that lacks an object.”

“Can you give an example?”

“Sure,” she leaned back in her chair in thought only a moment before springing forward. “They set offearly to miss rush hour traffic.”

“What? That doesn’t mean anything,” taunted Flash, a cocky boy sitting on the opposite side of Y/N from Peter.

“No, she’s right!” Mr. Harrington exclaimed, as surprised as anyone else to find out what the term meant. Everyone mocked Flash’s blind arrogance except Peter, who was far more focused on how smart the beaming girl next to him was.

Question after question was asked and answered, with each team responding to their fair share. Finally, Mr. Harrington reached the last card of the deck and, therefore, last question of the day before they’d break out to study.

“In William Shakespeare’s The Tragedy of Hamlet, better known as Hamlet,” Mr. Harrington read, “what are the names of the protagonist’s two acquaintances from the University of Wittenberg who serve as comedic relief throughout the story?”

Peter and Y/N simultaneously slammed their hands down only moments before MJ.

“Peter?”

“Rosencrantz and...and-” he panicked, suddenly blanking on the second character. Golderson?Ganderstan? He couldn’t remember and his team’s time was running out before the other team could steal.

“Guildenstern!” Y/N piped up to aid him as the other team sank into their seats with the weight of defeat.

“Nice teamwork, you two,” Mr. Harrington acknowledged as Peter took the opportunity to thank Y/N for saving him yet again. “Let’s take a quick break before we get to studying.”

“You nerds are annoying, I’m going to the bathroom,” Flash announced, seeking attention.

Peter’s eyes locked with Ned’s while everyone surrounding them shuffled. “If you’re American in the bathroom and American when you come out, what are you in the bathroom?” he teased quietly, drawing an eye roll from Ned.

“Wait, what?” Y/N asked, turning from her backpack hanging on the back of her chair to face the blushing boy next to her. The room fell silent as everyone looked to Peter, though he only saw her, staring at him as if it whatever he had to say was the most important thing she’d ever hear.

Ned groaned.

“If you’re American in the bathroom, and American when you come out,” Peter proposed, confident in his choice of this joke for the day despite his friend’s ridicule. “What are you in the bathroom?”

Her eyebrows furrowed as she broke eye contact and looked down in thought. Her tongue poked out the corner of her mouth, as it always did when she was perplexed. Normally the problems involved the quadratic formula or the laws of thermodynamics, but Peter didn’t care. Anything to see that face and hear that laugh.

She eventually looked up at him and shrugged her shoulders. “European,” Peter jeered, his grin initially met with silence.

He watched her eyes as the joke clicked, first opening wide with amusement as she failed to hold back a small snort. She then hung her head and chuckled to herself before finally leaning back and giggled, hand on her stomach as she tried to contain her outburst of laughter. A bewildered Ned stared at her; he loved Peter but couldn’t comprehend how another person could possibly find his friend’s joke remotely funny.

Peter didn’t care how. He didn’t care why. All he cared about was seeing her nose scrunch up and the corners of her eyes crease in her fit of laughter, leaning back in her chair as her feet kicked off the ground and she giggled, struggling for air, over a stupid pun. His stupid pun.

Tuesday was slated for geography questions. Everyone sat in their usual seats as Mr. Harrington pulled out the cards and got straight into asking questions.

“The assassination of one man and his wife is regarded as a major cause of World War I. Name this man, his nationality, his title, and the year in which he died.”

The slam of a hand on the table echoed throughout the mostly-empty library. “Archduke Franz Ferdinand from Austria-Hungary died in 1914!”

As usual, questions flew by. Peter answered some questions, Y/N answered some questions - earning one courageous high-five from Peter - Ned answered questions. Everyone got at least a couple right.

“In what year did Switzerland gain its independence?”

“1291!”

Peter’s eyes lit up at the mention of the keyword for his joke of the day while Ned’s eyes characteristically rolled. Once again, Ned was not satisfied with Peter’s flirting strategy nor the joke itself. Peter leaned over to Y/N anyway, snickering and whispering the joke in her ear.

“What’s the best part about living in Switzerland?” he prompted, leaning away. Her eyebrows furrowed in brief thought before she shook her head in response.

“I don’t know,” Peter answered, “but the flag is a bigplus.”

Again it happened. She pressed her eyelids closed, rocked her head back, and blew air out her nose before it turned into a full-on giggle that distracted the whole team. Peter repeated the joke for the group, earning no more laughs than Y/N’s, but he couldn’t have cared less. The joke fulfilled its purpose.

Wednesday arrived and Peter couldn’t help but feel like he was on a roll. She laughed harder than ever at his jokes the last two days and, upon entering the library and seeing her in the same spot as always with his seat open on her left, struggled to contain his adoration. He hung his backpack on the back of the chair and slid into it, glancing at her as she turned to greet him.

“Hey, Y/N,” he mumbled, voice wavering, “You having a good day?” A simple question, sure, but her eyes twinkled as he spoke to her.

“Yeah,” she responded shyly, corners of her mouth tilting up as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah Peter, I am, thanks. How are you?”

“Great,” he admitted as he spotted Mr. Harrington walk in. “Really great.” She has no idea.

“Marathons are measured to be 26 miles 385 yards. How many meters is that?”

Pencils squeaked against notepaper and fingers hurriedly tapped against calculators for only a moment until Y/N shouted out the answer.

“Forty-two-thousand-one-hundred-ninety-five!”

Mr. Harrington nodded, running out of praise to give his students as they answered nearly every question correctly. Flustered, he dropped half the deck of cards and frantically tried to pick them up. Peter jumped at the opportunity to talk to Y/N; Ned was appalled as usual.

“Hey, Y/N,” Peter whispered, poking her shoulder and leaning over to her.

“Hmm?” She raised her eyebrows and grinned prematurely, growing accustomed to Peter’s quick quips whenever there was a lull in studying.

“Why can’t a nose,” he paused to point at her nose; the tip of his finger hovering centimeters away from her face, “be 12 inches long?”

Her forehead creased and tongue stuck out the corner subconsciously. She pressed her lips together, frustrated with the fact she could solve complex math problems but not Peter’s silly riddles. Eventually she gave up; she always enjoyed the goofy grin on his face when he got to spoil the answer for her. “I don’t know, Pete. Why can’t a nose be 12 inches long?”

“Because then,” he teased, “it would be a foot.”

For a moment his heart sank as she simply stared back at him. No laughter, no smile, no expression at all. She could only mask it so long, however. Her nostrils slowly flared as she lost control, lips pressing together harder and harder. Her cheeks rounded as she fought the smile from breaking, but it was too late. She burst out giggling that signature giggle, that one that multiplied the butterflies in Peter’s stomach exponentially. She looked at him sitting next to her out of the corner of her eye before playfully shoving him to the side and dropping her head onto her arms on the desk.

“I can’t handle your jokes, Peter Parker!” she said, voice muffled in her sleeves. He pulled her back up by the shoulder closest to him, chuckling to himself and shaking his head as she sat upright again. She turned to him as Mr. Harrington started reading the next question. She somehow had a way of feigning annoyance while still beaming up at him. And Peter? He lived for it.

Thursday’s study session rolled around like any other. As Peter and Ned walked to the library at the end of the regular school day, Peter once again rattled off the joke he prepared.

“Today’s history. I’m hoping there’ll be a question about a dam or a fish.”

“Peter, this is really setting up to be an awful joke. Are you seriously using this random garbage to flirt with her? Dams and fish really don’t get people in the mood,” he said, finger quotes and all. “You know how to use dams to get her in the mood? You say, “Damn, you are so beautiful,” or something normal, for goodness sake!” Ned’s tolerance for Peter’s inability to simply talk to the girl he liked so much was dwindling.

Peter shrugged him off as the two of them entered the library. Mr. Harrington followed shortly after.

“What day is today?”

“Thursday,” MJ asserted, “but we’re going to need to practice with much tougher questions than that if we’re going to be ready for the decathlon in a few weeks.”

“I’m choosing to ignore you. Ok, first question,” Mr. Harrington started, “why was the Hoover Dam sometimes referred to as the Boulder Dam until a resolution was passed that officially declared it the Hoover Dam?”

With dams on his mind - and not joke ones - from his conversation only moments ago, Ned surged at the chance to answer the question. “Many people didn’t want to call it the Hoover Dam because they felt Herbert Hoover, the president after which it was named, was partly to blame for the Great Depression.”

Sticking directly to his playbook, Peter leaned over to Y/N while Mr. Harrington told Ned he was correct and shuffled to the next card.

“What did the fish say when he swam into a wall?” He asked, whispering in her ear.

“What wall would a--ohhh,” she sighed, having put together the pieces. Her lips widened into a closed mouth smile as she faced Peter, closing her eyes and pressing her lips together to keep the giggles down. Peter grinned expectantly, wondering if she really had the right answer for once.

She opened her eyes and they immediately locked with Peter’s. “Dam,” the both muttered softly, Peter sporting a broadening smile and her fighting - unsuccessfully, of course - to contain the giggles. She hung her head, stifling her laughter as best as possible. Peter reveled in the moment; he couldn’t even see her face but it was enough for him to know she was laughing and that he helped paint a smile on her beautiful face. He nudged her shoulder to get her attention as Mr. Harrington started to read out the following question; the last thing he wanted was to get her in trouble.

“What is one way the Europeans justified their land policy in North America in the context of taking land from Great Plains Indians?”

Peter marveled in the fact that somehow, though he had been distracting her the first half of the question, she found a way to be the first to answer it.

“Y/N?”

“They claimed the Great Plains Indians were nomads and therefore had no ownership of the land in the first place.”

Ned was right: damn, she was beautiful. Peter also thought she was brilliant, however, in every sense of the word.

On Friday, Mr. Harrington made a deal (with MJ’s approval, of course) to let everyone go early since the team had done so well all week. They just had to get through the review questions and wouldn’t have to stay and study. As the deck of remaining science questions thinned, Peter anxiously awaited a question involving the topic of his joke for Y/N. His knee involuntarily bounced like a jackhammer while he sat, his focus on the girl by his side but his mind drifting to places far away from the Midtown library.

“Two solid spheres of radius R made of the same type of steel are placed in contact, as shown in the figure.” Mr. Harrington slid a piece of paper with the diagram onto the table for the students to see before continuing. “The magnitude of the gravitational force that they exert on each other is F1. When two other solid spheres of radius 3R made of this steel are placed in contact, what is the magnitude of the gravitational force that they exert on each other?”

Y/N jumped in for what Peter felt like the thousandth time that day. Is there anything she doesn’t know? “81F1, based on Newton’s Law of Gravitation.” Flash was sick of this girl stealing his thunder and loudly sighed while rolling his eyes.

“Correct, Y/N. And Flash, I saw that. You can’t answer the next question,” he commanded, having had enough of Flash’s pouting. “Last one before the weekend. Which NASA mission in what year first put man on the moon?”

All Peter’s twitchy feelings channeled into an aggressive slap of his hand down on the desk. The other students, some trying to hit the table themselves, recoiled at the sound that now reverberated off the library walls. The other students raised their eyebrows at his sudden outburst, exacerbating his anxiety. As he surveyed the group, hesitant to answer, his eyes fell upon Y/N, whose eyebrows were raised but in a tickled sort of way; the corners of her mouth peeled up as she smiled as his goofy competitiveness.

A wave of calm flooded through him as the corners of her eyes pinched together. “Apollo 8, NASA’s second manned mission to the moon, sent astronauts Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin to walk on the moon.” He inhaled deeply as he finished his response, watching as her smile widened even further with his correct answer.

“Great, Peter. Good job, guys. Enjoy the study break and have a good weekend,” Mr. Harrington concluded as he exited.

Peter nudged Y/N as everyone was packing up their backpacks. He was greeted by her already-expectant face; it was as if it was preparing to smile and laugh just by looking at him. “Did you hear the story about the claustrophobic astronaut?” he asked her.

She cocked her head to the side and pursed her lips. Her eyes never left his; she searched them as if hoping to find the answer beneath their deep brown hue. “No, Peter, I didn’t.”

He grinned back at her. “She just needed a little...space.”

Her reaction was instantaneous; her head dropped back in laughter. Her chair leaned back with her, tipping just past its point. Her laugh faded out as she realized she was falling, but Peter was there to catch the chair without even moving from his own. Knowingly safe, she returned to laughing without even a second to pause. Peter pushed her slightly, drawing an eruption of even more as she lost her balance while she tried to pick up her heavy backpack. Finally, under control, she waved and walked out of the library just a few yards ahead of Peter and Ned.

“Dude, you’re so weird. She needed space?” Ned groaned. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Hang on Ned, I have to do something really quick.”

Peter grabbed his backpack straps and trotted up ahead to catch up with Y/N as they walked through the front doors to the outside of the school where parents picked up their kids. “Hey, Y/N,” he called, gently placing his hand on her shoulder.

She turned around, smiling as soon as she caught a glimpse of his face. His heart pounded in his chest but it was warm, so warm at the sight of her exceptionally silly yet elegant smile.

“Hey, Pete. What’s up? You find an extra joke to hold me over for the weekend?” She giggled, unknowingly making his heart pound that much harder as he scoured the depths of his brain for one more joke, the one that would make this perfect. And then it hit him.

“Uh, yeah, kind of, actually!” He cracked jokes all week but for some reason this one didn’t want to come out. It was just another pun, but this time a little more was at stake. “Are you...are you made of copper and tellurium?” He paused, recharging his courage to deliver the punchline. “Because you’re Cu-Te and...and I was wondering...if you’d like to go out sometime? On a…a date?”

Peter gripped the straps of his backpack tighter. So tight even, his knuckles turned white. He didn’t realize how sticky his palms were until this moment he waited for her response. She looked back at him, biting her bottom lip as a grin stretched wider and wider across her face until she succumbed to her usual giggle fit. Now biting her lip again, she looked down, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her right ear before bringing her gaze back to Peter’s hopeful eyes.

“Peter, I’m very flattered, but that is the worst joke I’ve ever heard,” she admitted, instantly falling back into snickering. “But to answer your question, yes, I’d love to go on a date with you.”

His eyes danced as if seeing the stars for the first time. “Really? I mean - sounds good, yeah, I’ll text you?”

She smiled again, charmed by his nerves. A girl that laughed at both his nervous wavering and his science puns? Peter knew he hit the jackpot.

“Sounds good,” she answered, eyes twinkling up at his. Her own heart swelling, she rested her hand on his shoulder and stood up on her tiptoes, leaning in to press her smiling lips to his cheek ever so softly. Peter stood paralyzed all the way until she leaned back onto her heels and turned to walk to her dad’s car waiting in the pick-up lane. She got in the car and typed something on her phone, then pointed from her phone to him through the window and waved as her dad drove away. Peter watched as the car disappeared around the corner, only brought back to reality by a quiet buzz in his pocket.

Y/N: Do you like science? Because I’ve got my ion you ;)

masterlist | taglist

[mearcatsreturns]

Hope for Dummies, ch. 5

There's not a guidebook to hope, but they could sure use one.

An end to waiting is just the beginning of...well, the rest of their lives.

Thank you for joining me on this fairly fluffy journey for Luka and Abby! I'll do the epilogue as soon as I can, but this main part of the story is done. And it has some smut, so be forewarned and/or excited.

You can also read this on ao3, all 7.5k words of it.

Valentine’s Day passes with little fanfare, and Abby buries herself in frantic, last-minute studying for her licensing exam. Neela already took hers, but graciously agrees to study with her anyway. Luka offers his assistance, but given that their attempts at studying tend to end in giggling and a lack of productivity, Neela’s the better choice. It helps that she doesn’t imagine Neela naked.

She works an early shift the day before, so she only catches Luka on his way in. He doesn’t see her yet, so she takes the opportunity to look him over while he’s not paying attention. He’d said he was buying a new suit, but she hadn’t expected...wow, she needs a glass of cold water.

Speaking of tall drinks of water, he finally sees her and brightens as he makes his way toward her.

“Hey, check you out, Mr. GQ,” she says, smiling broadly at him.

Blushing, he thanks her, then pulls her behind him into lockup. “Your test is tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yep. I’m going home now to study a little more and then go to bed at a reasonable time.” Or try to, anyway.

“You’re going to do great,” he says, reaching for her hand.

Abby lets him intertwine their fingers. “I’ll settle for passing.”

“And I hope you’re not settling for anything,” Luka replies, placing his on her other hand on her waist.

She licks her lips. “Not at all.”

His eyes follow the motion, and he hesitates for just a second before lowering his mouth to hers in a lingering, hard kiss.

When they finally pull away, breathing heavily, he says, “For luck.”

Abby just nods, whispering, “Yeah, for luck,” as she watches him duck out of lockup and start to walk away, though not before one last longing look at her.

&&&

She doesn’t know if she kicks its ass, but she does get her exam done. She just has to wait six weeks to see if she passed. It’s not like she doesn’t have plenty to do to keep her distracted from worrying about it between now and then.

Abby calls Luka a couple hours after she gets home. He answers nearly immediately, sounding breathless. “How did it go?”

She smiles. “Hello to you too.”

“You know what I mean, Abby,” he says, chuckling. “But really, how did it go?”

“I think it went okay, but my brain is mush and I don’t wanna think about it anymore unless I have to.”

“Fair enough.”

“How was your day?”

“Not too bad. There were a couple traumas, but we were able to save both of them,” Luka says.

“You didn’t get anything on your suit, I hope,” she replies, trying to keep back a giggle. God, what this man does to her.

“Hey, that was yesterday. I changed and wore my very boring normal clothes today.”

“Oh, there’s nothing boring about your usual clothes, especially when you wear those blue shirts of yours,” Abby blurts out. Her cheeks heat immediately.

He clears his throat, but his voice is still gruff and low. Jesus, that voice does things to her and should be illegal. “Oh, you like those?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Then maybe I should tell you that you can even manage to make scrubs look good, but my favorite is when you wear those lower-cut blouses,” he tells her, and her stomach clenches. Is she...tingling?

She tries to recover. “How shocking that you’d like the lower necklines I wear.”

“Mmm, it gives me ideas.”

Abby has a few ideas of her own, but first she needs a cold shower. And to remind herself that it would probably not be helpful to mention that she’s wearing his sweater and very little else.

“I...I think we should probably change the subject,” she finally says with genuine regret and frustration. Can it be graduation already?

Luka lets out a sigh. “Probably. Sorry.”

“No, I...I definitely encouraged you. In fact, I brought it up.”

She thinks he mutters something about her indeed bringing it up, and she smothers a laugh. Finally, he says, “Well, if you want to celebrate being done with your licensing, we could go out with Neela, Pratt, Carter, and Kem.”

“That sounds good. Susan and Chuck, too?”

“Yeah, I’ll invite them. Susan needs to stop giving me condoms, though.”

Abby cackles. “She does that to you too? Don’t pay her any attention, I think the pregnancy hormones are getting to her. She knows why we’re waiting.”

“Like I’ve said before, it’s worth it,” he says, and then she’s biting her lip and smiling for entirely different reasons.

She’s pretty sure she loves him.

&&&

Luka dreads the meeting ahead of them, but they have to get it over with and make their selections about matches.

It’s never one of his favorite things to do, but this year it’s just so damn awkward. Situations like these are what he was trying to avoid by pumping the brakes with Abby, but he supposes that even if they were just friends this might still be unpleasant. He just can’t be objective about her.

All the attendings gather in the lounge, Kerry included. After a short, brutal assessment of Lester, they proceed to Abby, and Luka’s stomach twists. So much is riding on this.

Kerry talks briefly about Abby’s qualifications, then opens the floor for discussion by the rest of them. She looks at him pointedly, and he squirms in his chair. Everyone is looking at him, so he finally speaks. “She has, uh, good clinical skills. Excellent ones.”

“She really does know her stuff, and patients love her,” Carter adds, though his lips are twitching.

Susan agrees. “She cares about people, and they can tell. Sometimes the only person who’s not sure about Abby is Abby, but she’s gotten a lot better lately.”

Is...did Weaver just give him a sly look or is he imagining it? He shakes his head and they move on, discussing Neela. Their opinions there are a little more split. Luka likes her, but he’s not sure the ER is the place for her, or if she even wants that.

Weaver hurries out of the lounge as soon as they’re done to head to another meeting, while the other three attendings linger.

Carter comes over and slaps his back. “Good clinical skills, huh?” He smirks before going out the door, leaving Luka with Susan.

“Yeah, do you have personal experience with her clinical skills, Dr. Kovač?” Susan grins at him and raises an eyebrow, and he can feel himself turning bright crimson.

“Well, what am I supposed to say? I...I’m biased when it comes to Abby, and it seems everyone knows it,” he says, ignoring her previous quip.

She gets serious. “Luka, we all love Abby. Not the same way you do, but all of us are biased. Carter still cares about her a lot, she’s one of Kerry’s few friends other than you, and she’s one of my best friends. We’re just teasing you, because we know your involvement makes you both better doctors and people. And you’re our friend too.”

“We...we’re not…”

“You’re not dating?” Susan snorts. “Yeah, Abby told me. For the record, while it’s very noble of you both, you’re involved whether you call it that or not. It’s not like either of you is actually single. You wouldn’t even think of dating someone else, would you?”

“No,” he says simply.

“Besides, according to Frank, you’re actually married. You’re committed to each other and don’t have sex. Ergo, married.”

Luka rolls his eyes, but he struggles to keep from smiling.

&&&

Luka nearly falls backward when Abby all but leaps into his arms, babbling excitedly. “I passed! I passed!”

Ah, her licensing exam. She’s been worried, even if she tries to hide it when they talk. As smart as she is and competent with patients, she knows standardized tests aren’t her forte.

He wraps his arms around her and leans back against the wall. “I knew you could do it.”

“Must have been that good luck kiss.”

“Or because you’re smart and work hard and know what you’re doing. But if you want to test again to see if it’s the kissing, I’m happy to try more.”

She bites her lip and her eyes brighten, and she says, “Well, we could try a celebratory kiss.”

He realizes at once he’s still holding her and that there’s an infrequently used exam room two doors away. It’s not like he has a pressing case right now; they can afford this time.

Later, he might wish he was more subtle, but for now, he doesn’t care. He just carries Abby into the room, not setting her down until he closes and locks the door behind him.

Luka licks his lips, then he doesn’t have a chance to think, to plan. Abby’s lips are on his, or his are on hers. It doesn’t matter, because all that matters is the feel of her in his arms.

It’s not long until the kiss begins to affect him (though truthfully, he’s been affected ever since she said they should kiss again) and he pulls her close enough that they’re pressed up against each other.

She’s kissing him and saying his name, and he tries to hold back a groan as she arches against him, but it’s no use.

He pulls back, and she whines in protest. Then he spins her around so that her back is toward him, and he slides a hand under the neckline of her scrub top. “Is...is this okay?”

“Just...don’t stop,” she says. Words turn into gasping when he reaches under her bra, and he can’t help but thrust into her backside.

He obeys, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses from her jaw down the slim column of her neck.

When he trails his other hand down her side and slips it under her pants and panties, she cries out, “Luka!” before clapping a hand over her mouth.

God, she’s so wet and responsive and she’s writhing against him. Luka loses the ability to think beyond her and him and the way they feel against each other. If only they could feel more skin, but god, she’s bucking against him as he moves his hands over her and inside her and it’s too much. It’s too much. As soon as she gasps, clutching at his arms and stiffening, he thrusts against her once more before losing himself.

Once he recovers, he becomes aware that (a) he just came in his pants like a teenager and (b) Abby is still slumped against him. The latter fact seems more important, so he brushes his lips against the top of her head.

After a few more moments of heavy breathing, she finally breaks the silence, “So, uh. We did that.”

“Mmmhmm. We did. Any regrets?” He prays she says no, because he can’t regret holding her, loving her, making love to her in any way he can.

“Not a one, but we’re...kinda messy. Literally. You probably more than me.”

He sighs. “Yeah. Ah, we can clean up in here, but if you wouldn’t mind bringing me some scrubs…?”

“Of course,” she says, turning and kissing him once more. As soon as she’s cleaned up a little, she reaches up and pats his cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

“Can’t wait,” he manages.

Abby returns in short order, holding a pair of scrubs in his size. Her cheeks are pink, but she smiles. “I, uh, there might be at least one person who has questions about why I needed such giant scrubs, but here they are.”

“Please tell me it’s not Susan,” Luka pleads.

She kisses him, just a quick peck, but the casual affection of the gesture is almost as potent as what they just did before. “It’s not Susan.”

“I get the feeling you’re not being exactly truthful.”

“Hey, you wanted me to tell you that. Besides, Susan is better than it being Carter.”

He groans and buries his head in her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her again, not caring about the scrubs getting crumpled between them. She reaches up and cards her fingers through his hair, and he enjoys just being with her for a few more seconds.

“I should probably get dressed. But are we okay, Abby? I know we said—”

“Oh, Luka,” she says, cutting him off, “I know what we said. And we should probably try to abide by that, but I’m also not going to let us beat ourselves up for this.”

The smile tugging at his lips overtakes his face. “Good.”

&&&

Abby is napping in the on-call room when she hears the sound of a throat clearing. She opens one eye, and seeing that it’s Luka, she blinks blearily. “Hey.”

“Good morning, beautiful. Or afternoon, but yes.” He’s smiling, and he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Everything okay? Do I need to get up?”

Brushing her hair out of her face, he says, “No, and I’m sorry to wake you, but I was going to get coffee before my shift, and I wanted to see if you want to come along.”

“Oh, sure. Just a sec,” she says, pushing herself up and straightening her clothes.

They walk over to the Jumbo Mart together, and Luka’s hand finds hers as they cross the street. Abby looks up at him, smiling softly at the sweet gesture.

After they get their coffee and pay, they head out walking. Abby’s done with her shift, she just knew she’d fall asleep on the train and miss her stop if she didn’t take a nap first. They don’t go far, just lean up against one of the brick buildings and sip at their coffee.

Luka breaks the silence. “So...has Kerry said anything to you about matching with County?”

“Uh, she hemmed and hawed, but basically said that if I ranked County as my first choice, I’m kind of a shoe-in. And I did.”

“Hmm, good. Given any thought to what you’ll do between graduation and starting your internship?”

Oh, Abby has several ideas, and all of them involve her and Luka being very naked together. One particular fantasy involves him bringing her breakfast in bed—completely in the nude, of course, or maybe just with an apron. It might be unrealistic, but a girl can dream.

Instead, she says, “Um, a little. Sleeping for a week, I hope.”

He laughs, but seems distracted. “Yeah. Ah, I was talking to Kerry today, and she gave me a week off right after graduation for some reason.”

“You...you didn’t request it?”

“No, but, ah, I was looking at the schedule and I wasn’t on it, so I asked her about it.”

“That’s kinda weird, even for her,” Abby says, looking up at him.

His cheeks are red. “She said—she said that she, ah, thinks it’s best I take some time off around when you might have...time.”

Oh. Ohhhhh. Abby feels her own cheeks flame brilliantly, but she can’t help teasing Luka. “So she told you to take a sex vacation, basically.”

“Only if it’s with you,” he says, chest shaking with laughter.

“Oh my god.”

“If you want her exact words, it was, ‘I don’t want to be around you and Abby right after graduation, and I don’t think any patients should be.’”

On one hand, she kind of wants to disappear or melt into the floor. On the other...a week. With Luka. “I’m not sure if I should thank her or just go die from embarrassment.”

Maybe she and Luka haven’t exactly been circumspect since finding out she passed her licensing exam. Maybe they’ve been caught making out in almost every room with a door in the ER, and maybe their “we’re not sleeping together” is wearing a little thin with everyone, themselves included.

It’s just...it’s been nice, in a weird way, not jumping into sex. They’d rushed into things physically the first time around, and that’s pretty much how it’s been since...ever. Luka said it’s the first time he’s waited and taken things slowly like this since Danijela, and Abby likes that there’s something, well—innocent isn’t the right word, but she can’t think of anything better. For once, their emotions are farther along than anything else. It’s getting harder and harder to wait though, and at this point saying they’re waiting is a little laughable.

They haven’t had sex, not really. There’s just been a lot of making out. And...more. In addition to the ER, there was that memorable time when Luka gave her a ride home after a shift they worked together and they’d ended up dry humping in his back seat like horny teenagers. That’s not even touching on what they’ve gotten away with at the hospital.

Okay, so maybe she can see why Kerry might have basically told her and Luka to take a sex vacation. It’s still embarrassing, though.

Shaking her head, she leans against him, and he shifts his coffee to his other hand to wrap his arm around her. “So I was thinking...what if after your graduation ceremony, we go away somewhere, just the two of us?”

“You want to get out of town? Travel somewhere?” she asks skeptically.

“Nowhere too far,” he adds quickly. Yeah, she can’t imagine either of them wants to spend a bunch of time driving or on a plane when...well, it’s been almost three years.

“Huh, maybe. Get away from Chicago and our responsibilities, maybe somewhere on the water?”

“Like a vacation.”

“Not like a vacation, an actual vacation.”

He kisses the top of her head. “Sounds good to me. I can find a place and book it, unless you want to choose…?”

“Nah, I trust you to find somewhere good.”

“Do you want to leave the day of your graduation, or maybe the next day?”

Abby considers their options. On one hand, leaving right after graduation sounds tiring and like...well, they’d have to wait to get to their destination. But if they don’t leave immediately, she’s not sure they’ll end up going anywhere at all. “Um, how about right after graduation?”

Luka smiles, clearly on the same page. “Perfect.”

&&&

One day. One day until graduation, and it’s driving Abby crazy to be here finishing up this psych rotation.

It’s been...freakishly good. Honestly, if she weren’t completely sold on being an ER doc, this would be fantastic. Somehow, everything with her family, with her history of alcoholism, makes this rotation engaging and very much her wheelhouse.

But she misses the ER and she misses Luka. She’s worked at County without Luka, and she can imagine being with Luka without the ER, but the two combined is just a no-go.

At this point, it’s less than twenty-four hours before they leave for their little vacation. Six days and five nights at some little cottage on the Lake Michigan coast a couple hours away, and she can’t wait. Fortunately, she doesn’t have to, not much longer, anyway.

The beach and Luka await, and her bag is packed. She even bought a new little bikini for it, though she’s hoping that clothing will be superfluous for the majority of the trip.

Abby shakes her head and heads back toward the elevator. She can daydream later, just as soon as the shift is over.

She’s almost at the elevator when someone grabs her wrist. Smiling before she even turns, she lets Luka pull her into his arms. She hooks her fingers into his belt loops and turns her face up for a kiss.

It’s just a quick peck, but it feels so good to not have to hide it anymore. Technically they should wait until tomorrow to be open about it, but Abby is very aware they’re not fooling anyone—not even themselves—at this point. She didn’t even bat an eye when Morris called Luka her boyfriend a few days ago when she’d been down on a consult...which she hadn’t realized until she’d realized Morris, Haleh, and Malik were all staring at her with raised brows.

“Ready for graduation tomorrow?” Luka asks, twining their fingers together as he pulls her aside.

Biting her lip, she nods. “Very much so. And I’m even 90% packed for leaving after.”

He smiles at her. “I need to finish that up, but I’m going home in just a couple minutes. I just wanted to say hello. And that I’m looking forward to seeing you at graduation.”

“Thank you,” she says, and then Abby can’t help it—she throws her arms around his waist. His arms slip around her, and they stand there holding each other until one of the residents from oncology clears their throat. Oh, right. They’re in the way. “Um, I’ll see you then?”

“I can’t wait,” he says, and she watches him walk away as she steps inside the elevator and the doors close.

The shift goes by quickly, and when she finally stops by Admit before heading out, and she’s surprised to find Kerry there waiting for her. Kerry’s not smiling, not that Abby can blame her with all that’s happened with losing Sandy and now trying to get back custody of their son, but she’s there with a large envelope that she hands to Abby.

Abby looks at her questioningly, and Kerry tells her to open it when she gets home. “I won’t be able to make it to your graduation tomorrow, so I wanted you to have this now. And have a good time on your trip with Luka.”

“Thanks, Kerry.”

“You’re welcome, Dr. Lockhart.”

&&&

Abby opens the envelope on the train home. In addition to a nice card and gift, it includes all the official paperwork for Abby’s residency. Abby chokes up a little; it’s so real now, even if she’s known for a while unofficially. She’s going to be a doctor of emergency medicine at County.

It hits her just before her stop. She’s done. She’s done with med school, and the only thing she’s waiting for is her diploma and the ceremony.

Luka isn’t her teacher anymore.

Luka isn’t her teacher anymore.

She hurries off the train and into her apartment, throwing the last of her things she’ll need for the trip into her suitcase. After a short pause, she grabs a few more items and tosses them into a smaller bag that she hoists over her shoulder before heading back outside her apartment. She only has to walk a block or two before she finds a cab.

As soon as she arrives at her destination, she pays her fare and heads up the elevator. She takes a deep breath, and just like she did almost a full year before, she knocks.

Luka comes to the door quickly, and when he sees her standing there with her purse and overnight bag, he licks his lips and wordlessly holds the door open for her, eyes wide.

Abby sets her bag down in the kitchen and looks around. He was clearly in the middle of doing dishes, but she can’t regret interrupting him.

“I, ah, I have some leftover Thai if you want it,” he offers.

She steps closer to him, close enough she can reach for him and toy with the hem of his tee shirt. “Um, thank you, but I’m good. I ate a sandwich before leaving work.”

He waits for her to continue, though he places a tentative hand on her hip.

“I—I realized that I’m done with med school. I mean, graduation is tomorrow, but I don’t have classes or rotations, my grades are in, I’ve got the internship. So, uh, no more teachers o—”

Luka cuts her off, placing his hands on her cheeks and kissing her breathless. Oh, thank god.

She wraps her arms around his neck and scrambles to get closer to him. He seems very on board, if the way he hoists her legs around his hips is any indication.

She’s so lost in the way his mouth, his tongue, his everything, affects her that she doesn’t register at first that he’s walked her over to the living room. Not until he bumps into the back of the couch and growls in frustration.

Abby doesn’t care, though, not even when she starts falling backwards over the end onto the cushions of the couch. She giggles, pulling Luka on top of her. The couch leans ominously for a second before he tumbles onto her, looking very put out.

She nips at his bottom lip, then soothes it with a gentle kiss. When she pulls back, Luka is sheepish. “Sorry about dropping you.”

“Does it look like I mind?”

Given that she’s underneath him, legs hitched around his hips, that telltale red flush spreading down her chest...well. He’s an idiot, but not about that. “No.”

With that settled, Abby tugs at the bottom of his shirt. He pulls it over his head and tosses it across the room. He palms her breasts through the layers of her clothes, and she whimpers in frustration. She needs to feel him.

Luka obviously understands, because he hurries to unbutton her shirt. When he sees that she’s wearing a front-clasp bra, he lets out a groan of his own before unclasping it with one hand. He pushes her bra and shirt off before lowering his mouth to her nipples, sucking and laving.

Abby moans, “Luka,” arching her hips against him and raking her nails down his back. He shudders in her arms, but helps her out when she runs her hand under the waistband of his sweatpants.

God, he’s not wearing anything under those pants, and soon he pushes them down his legs. She can feel him hard and hot against her, but there are too damn many layers, and she can’t—

Then he reaches between them and unbuttons her pants, and though she gives a whiny, breathy sigh when he pulls back, he tugs them off, managing to pull off her underwear as well.

He doesn’t waste time, just settles back between her thighs. Reaching down and finding her wet—so very wet for him—he kisses her hard, then lines himself up at her entrance and slides home.

God, he feels so good. She’s missed this so much, and now he’s inside her again. It’s been almost three years, but her body remembers his like it was yesterday.

“Fuck,” she gasps against his lips, and Luka seems to take it as a command, burying his head in her neck and thrusting into her hard and fast. When his rhythm starts to falter, he reaches between them and settles his thumb against her clit, and then it’s just a few more moments of frantic movement and pleasure before Abby tenses, cries out, and lets ecstasy take her.

Luka only lasts a few strokes more before he stills, spilling inside her with a groan.

He collapses on top of her, and Abby welcomes the weight of him against her, sweat be damned. When their breathing finally returns to normal, she laughs.

He pushes himself up on an elbow, still looking adorable and delicious and disheveled. Smiling, he asks, “What?”

“So, hello.”

“I guess we did kind of skip that part, didn’t we?”

“Mmhmm,” she says, giggling. He covers her lips with his again, this time slow and tender. He’s still inside her, and he flexes his hips against hers. He might have softened and need some time to recover before the inevitable round two, but she savors the feel of their bodies intertwined, flush up against each other.

Eventually he releases her lips with a sigh, brushing a light kiss against her forehead before finally pulling out of her and pushing himself to his feet.

Abby whimpers, but takes his proffered hand. They get up and clean themselves up a little before he reaches down and pinches her bare ass.

She yelps. “Hey!”

“I had to. You’re too cute.”

His grin is just so dopey and happy that she can’t even feign indignation. She melts against him into his embrace. “Dummy.”

“But you lo—like me anyway.”

“Very, very much. Especially right now.”

He makes a sound of assent, resting his chin on top of her head. Suddenly, he bursts into laughter, and she can’t help smiling against his chest. “What?”

“We didn’t make it to the bed. I had all these plans for us, ah, christening my bed, and instead we can barely make it to the couch.”

“I’m just glad we made it to the couch, honestly. Our knees or backs would probably hurt from the floor.”

“We’re not that old, Abby.” As if to prove his point, she can feel him beginning to stir against her stomach.

“We’re not. Shit, we should probably clean up the couch.”

He looks tempted to tell her to forget about it, but then he nods and kisses her cheek. “Okay, but then do you want to go upstairs?”

“Someone is eager,” she teases, though she starts heading toward the stairs.

“Yes. It’s been three years for us, and I’ve been...well. We’ve been ready for this part for six months.”

Abby softens and smiles gently at him, taking another step. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Be there in a couple minutes, draga,” he says, watching her make her way up, adoration in his eyes.

That feeling is entirely mutual.

&&&

Luka makes his way up a little while later, carrying her overnight bag and two glasses of water. He smiles at the sight of Abby tucked in the side of the bed she’d always favored, the sheets around her waist. He’s not quite ready to go again yet, but her breasts...well, he loves her and he certainly loves her breasts.

Setting a glass on the nightstand next to her, he goes to his own side of the bed, aware of her gaze on him. He’s torn between self-consciousness and preening, though when he crawls into bed and she immediately turns to wrap an arm around his waist, he settles for contentment. (Though it’s hardly settling, the farthest thing from it, in fact.)

“So what’s the plan for tomorrow? Since now I guess ‘see you at graduation’ doesn’t make much sense.”

She laughs and rests her head against his chest, and he pulls her on top of him. “Hmm. I tried to pack everything I needed for it, but if we could still stop by my apartment afterward for my suitcase, that would be nice. If that’s okay with you.”

“It’s perfect.”

“I seem to have forgotten pajamas, though,” she says.

“I promise you won’t need them.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Luka nods. “Yep.” He takes one of her hands that’s toying with his chest hair and guides it down to his cock.

“I see,” Abby says, wrapping her hand around him and squeezing lightly.

“Exactly.” If he’s a little hoarse, ah well.

Instead of trying to talk more, he kisses her deeply. He runs his hands all over her, and it’s not too long before she’s gasping against him and taking him inside her. She rides him slowly, leaning her forehead against his as they make love. Luka comes first, but she follows just a few minutes after.

Once they’ve straightened up and have gotten back to bed—he thinks they might actually sleep a while now—he turns on his side to face her, reaching for her hand.

“Do you need a snack or anything?”

“Well, unless you want to go again right now, I’m more tired than hungry,” Abby says wryly, squeezing his hand.

“Just wanted to make sure.”

“Thanks.”

“So.”

“So?”

“Did it live up to the months of waiting?” he asks. He hopes he keeps the uncertainty from his voice. He couldn’t bear it if she’s disappointed.

He clearly doesn’t succeed, because she takes her hand from his and pokes him in the chest. ��You can’t seriously need reassurance. That was...well, that was amazing. Both times.”

“I didn’t even use my mouth, and I know you like that—”

“Luka,” she cuts him off, “we have plenty of time for that. It doesn’t need to be perfect every time, either.” Abby takes a breath, then continues, “that said, this was still pretty perfect.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Luka smiles. “I think you’re pretty perfect.”

“I’m really not and I know you know the ways I’m not, but I’m glad you think so.”

It takes everything in him not to blurt out how much he loves her, but he doesn’t want to do that post-coital. She deserves more than that. She deserves romance and appreciation and just...everything. “Hmm. Well, I like you, perfect or imperfect.”

“I feel that way too,” she says, snuggling up against him. “And, Luka?”

“Uh huh?”

“I like the bed. Very nice and comfortable.”

“Good.”

“I’m pretty fond of the bed’s occupant, too.”

He doesn’t have an answer, so instead he just kisses her.

They drift off shortly after that, and though they make love once more in the night, any of Luka’s plans for sleeping in until they need to get ready for graduation are dashed by the ringing of the phone.

He sits up, blinking blearily. It’s definitely the phone. Abby wrinkles her brow and buries her head under her pillow, and Luka rubs his eyes, glancing over at the caller ID. It’s Carter. Huh.

“Hello?” He might not sound terribly polite, but it’s six in the morning, he’s off, and Abby is finally in his bed.

“I’m sorry to be calling so early, man, but—” Carter’s voice breaks, and Luka’s testiness fades.

“What’s wrong?”

“Is Abby with you?”

He pauses, before deciding on honesty. “Yeah.”

“I—good. I don’t want to say it twice, if she’s there and can listen in.”

By then, Abby is awake. She’s still frowning, but she sits up. Luka covers the receiver and asks if she can hear. When she nods, Luka responds to Carter, “Okay, she’s awake and listening too.”

“Yesterday, Kem and I...we ended up going to the hospital, and they had to induce labor. Our baby died. Stillborn. The cord wrapped around his neck, and…”

Shit. Abby winces and gestures for the phone, so Luka hands it over. “Hey, John. Luka and I will be there in a little bit, okay?” She raises her eyebrows at Luka, wordlessly checking that he’s willing to do go.

He doesn’t hesitate. “We will.”

Carter pauses, then answers wearily, “Okay. See you guys soon.”

By unspoken agreement, they get up as soon as they hang up the phone.

“Shower?” Luka asks. It’s not how he planned to make this request, but he doesn’t want them to roll up smelling like sex when Carter’s mourning. He might be too distracted to notice, but Luka has no desire to compound his and Kem’s pain.

Abby nods and follows him. It’s quick, and though they take turns helping each other wash, it’s more intimate than sexy. Abby kisses his chest before they turn off the water and step out to dry off, and he brushes his lips across her forehead after wrapping her in a towel.

Abby’s shirt from the previous day isn’t fit to wear again, and her blouse for graduation is too formal, so she borrows one of Luka’s. He aches for Carter’s loss, but his heart is a traitor and is just so warm at the sight of Abby in his clothes.

There’s not a lot of traffic, but it’s still 7:15 but the time they get to the hospital and up to the right floor. Jack Carter offers to go get them breakfast, and Carter just nods numbly at his father.

Abby is holding his hand, and she squeezes it quickly before letting go and going to hug Carter. Carter stands still for a moment before he crumples, and Luka’s heart breaks for his friend. He goes over and puts a hand on Carter’s shoulder, patting as gently as he can. He wants to hug him too, but he’s not sure Carter wants that.

Carter makes up his mind for him when he lets go of Abby and embraces Luka. Carter is holding back from sobbing, but just barely. After a few moments of Luka holding Carter while Abby murmurs soothingly and rubs his back, they make their way to the chairs.

It takes him a few minutes, but Carter composes himself. “I really appreciate you both coming, especially when—well, sorry for interrupting. But you should go home.”

Luka exchanges a look with Abby. Sure, much as they might want to be alone, they have the rest of their lives ahead of them, and Carter needs them right now.

“Besides, I don’t want you to miss your graduation. That is today, isn’t it?” Carter asks.

“We have time, John,” Abby says, and Luka places a hand on her knee, nodding in agreement.

Jack Carter returns then, bearing coffee. “They didn’t have any bagels, but the coffee’s fresh.”

Each of them grabs a coffee, Luka carefully passing one to Abby.

“I was just saying, Dad, how much I appreciate you guys all being here, but I think that we—we’re okay.”

Luka’s heart twists with pity and compassion. He and Kem aren’t okay, and they might not be for a long time, but hopefully they can bring each other some comfort.

“And, um...I think you guys can go,” Carter says, inclining his head toward Abby and Luka.

We can hardly stay against his will, Abby seems to say, their eyes meeting in another wordless exchange.

She finally stands, and Luka pushes himself to his feet after her. “Okay. You know if you—”

“I know,” Carter says.

Abby leans down and kisses the top of Carter’s head, and Luka reaches out and clasps his hand. They walk out of the ward, and Abby’s hand finds his.

He brings it to his lips as they step into the elevator.

She takes a deep breath, then asks, “You know that I—Carter is just my friend, my trying to comfort him wasn’t—”

“Abby, I know,” he interrupts, “I wish there was something we could do, but all we can do is be a listening ear for him if he wants it.”

“Yeah, it just...well, it sucks.”

He can’t disagree. They make their way to his car hand-in-hand, and as soon as they’re inside, he has an idea. He’s been keeping her gift in the car anyway. “Since it’s probably too late to go to sleep again before we have to get ready, you want to go grab breakfast somewhere?”

She smiles at him. “Sure.”

Luka takes her to this little breakfast joint he knows, grabbing the box from under the seat and sticking it in his back pocket. He doesn’t remember until they’re there being greeted by the hostess that this was a place he brought a lot of his conquests a couple of years ago. Shit.

Magda remembers him and lights up, especially when she sees the way he’s holding Abby’s hand. “Dr. K! We thought you forgot about us.”

“Not you or the potato pancakes, Magda. How is your husband?”

“Doing good, praise god. I’ll tell him you asked. And who is this young lady?”

Abby blushes, and Luka grins at her. “This is Dr. Lockhart, my girlfriend.”

“Not a doctor yet,” she says with a wave of her hand.

He looks at his watch and snorts. “Okay, you’ll be a doctor in like four hours,” he says, then grows serious. “I hope you know that no matter whatever else is between us, I’m so proud of you and all you’ve done, Abby.”

The color in cheeks deepens, but she looks at him with her heart in her eyes. “I couldn’t have done it without you and all your encouragement.”

He ducks his own head.

Watching this exchange, Magda softens. “This is good, and I’m glad you’re here. I’ll bring the pancakes, and you come back soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

As soon as they’re seated, Abby raises an eyebrow and asks, “You used to come here a lot?”

“Ah, yeah. When...well, a couple years ago.”

Understanding dawns. “Ah. So...with other women.”

Fuck, he hopes he hasn’t made a huge mistake bringing her here. Idiot, idiot. “Um, yes. Sorry?”

Abby giggles, and he frowns at her in confusion. “Sorry, Luka, you just looked so sheepish. You’re my best friend on top of everything else, and I know what you were a couple years ago. It’s fine.”

“It doesn’t bother you?”

“Not unless there’s a reason it should, but I’m pretty sure you introducing me as your girlfriend, us planning a vacation together, and well...everything else—it’s not like what you did with other women.”

“Not at all.”

“Then we’re fine,” she says, still chuckling. “Just...you should have seen your face.”

Finally, he grins back. “Abject terror?”

“Totally.”

Their food arrives quickly and they dig in. After all, they did work up quite an appetite. When they’re done, he clears his throat and reaches behind him for the box in his pocket that’s made sitting uncomfortable.

It’s a wooden box, larger than a jeweler’s box. Her brow wrinkles in confusion when he hands it to her. “Your graduation gift. Open it.”

“Now?”

“No time like the present.”

“Ha ha, very punny.”

“You liked it,” he says, laughing.

She shakes her head in amusement, then opens the box. Cocking her head to one side, she bites her lip. Abby looks at him inquiringly as she takes the shiny golden instrument out of its box. “A...a compass?”

“I know it’s corny,” Luka explains, “but it seems we always find each other.”

Abby swallows, looking down at the compass, then turning to him and reaching to cup his cheek. “It’s beautiful.”

He shrugs. “So are you.”

Taking a deep breath, she says, “Luka, I—”

Whatever she’s about to say is cut off by their server arriving with the check. He pays and they leave after saying goodbye to Magda. On the way to the car, she tucks her hand in the crook of his elbow, and he smiles down at her. God, he can’t remember the last time he was so happy.

Then he remembers the interruption. “What were you going to say earlier? At breakfast?”

“Oh, just...I’ll tell you later,” she says, squeezing his bicep.

He has a feeling he knows what it is, and now he really can’t help smiling.

&&&

They barely get her to graduation on time, having gotten distracted while they were getting ready. Abby had mentioned that her dark green shirt reminded her of Luka’s eyes, and Luka had put on that deep blue shirt she loved on him under the suit she’d admired a few months before. And, well, if they’d had to hurry to remove the clothing and then get it back on a while later, who could blame them?

Sitting next to a heavily pregnant Susan, Luka beams as Abby walks across the stage to receive her diploma. She smiles back at him, and he whoops with joy. Susan elbows him, a soft grin on her face. “So, you two, huh?”

“Yeah,” he says, “we’re going on a little vacation right after this. A little time to ourselves before she starts her internship.”

She pats his arm. “That sounds perfect. I’m happy for both of you.”

“Thanks,” he says with a grin.

After congratulating Neela and Lester, they walk off, hand-in-hand. He helps her remove her cap and gown so she won’t pass out in the heat, tucking her regalia into the back seat of his car. After they pick up her suitcase, they get onto the freeway out of Chicago.

He glances over at her as soon as they take their exit. She looks so...happy. He knows that’s not all due to him, and honestly, he’s thrilled for her sake that she’s accomplished one of her biggest goals. Suddenly—and yet not so, the words have been bubbling inside him for three years—he can’t not tell her. “Abby?”

“Yeah?” She reaches across the console to rest her hand on his thigh.

He places his hand over her smaller one. “I just...I love you. So much.” There’s silence, then he hears a sniffle. “Is...is everything okay?”

Her laugh is watery, and she wipes her eyes. “I love you too, dummy. That’s what I was going to tell you earlier at breakfast.”

“I beat you to it.”

“You sure did,” she says, rolling her eyes. But she’s smiling radiantly, so he lifts her hand to his lips.

Then he keeps driving forward, onward to their future. “Ready, Dr. Lockhart?”

“Ready, Dr. Kovač.”

[loveandcigarillos]

FDT

T’Challa x Black!Reader (ft. Shuri, Agent Ross, and Okoye)

A/N: Inspired by @brianabreeze and @wakanda-4evr with their T’Challa imagines and cannons. 

Warnings: Like 6 curse words.

“I like white folks but I don’t like you…”

Shuri and Y/N silently bopped their heads to YG’s lyrics as they busied themselves with their separate projects.

A visitor was on the way to Wakanda and each of them had presentations to make to the latest world leader to enter the once isolated nation. Usually they’d be excited to discuss their respective departments but today was different.

“Fuck Donald Trump! Yeah, nigga, fuck Donald Trump!”

“This song is so profound. Such poignant lyrics.” Shuri remarked with a smile causing Y/N to let a out a few chuckles. Before she could respond with equal amounts of praise for the Californian’s diss track to the leader of the United States, her husband walked into the lab.

Instead of being dressed in his normal traditional attire, he held two ties in his hand, studying the options to decide which one he would pair against his deep blue suit and white button down.

“My love, which of these would you-. What is this?”

“This is poetry!” Shuri answered increasing the volume as Nipsey Hussle's verse began. “Don’t you like it, brother?”

“Shuri,” he started with a smile. While his sister’s antics were funny, the song was inappropriate for the occasion. “while your friend YG’s music is rather poetic, this is not the time for this particular song.”

“Pick the kente one, baby.” Y/N answered in between laughing at her younger sister. She gently pulled the piece of cloth from T’Challa’s hands and positioned it around his neck to begin the process of tying it for him.

He gave her a thank you in the form a forehead kiss and turned his attention to his sister.

“You don’t like Mr. Trump, eh?”

“No, and neither should you! He shouldn’t even be here. Do you see the things that he says on Twitter?”

“I am not familiar with the platform. You run my account, remember?”

Shuri declined to verbally answer his question, instead showing him a series of tweets that were fired off at ungodly hours of the morning about matters that a world leader normally would not entertain.

T’Challa gave the tweets a curious look, not sure what he should do with the information. “Maybe he is just passionate?”

“Or maybe he is an idiot.” Y/N spoke up after doing the final adjustments on his tie and slightly lifting her body on her toes to kiss his nose.

“Do not tell me you have objections as well, uthando. I can not have you upset during this. You are set to entertain his wife.”

“And I will do just that. I will do everything in my power to support you. Still, he’s an asshole.”

“Listen to the outsider.” Shuri sneered.

Y/N playfully rolled her eyes and turned to meet T’Challa’s confused expression. “This man is not good. Do you know how he feels about nations like the one we are standing in right now?”

“I think the expression is ‘shithole country’?” Agent Ross answered strolling into the lab. T’Challa had requested Everett’s attendance to act as an advisor for the day. T’Challa claimed that it was because Agent Ross is an American but Y/N knew better. The King needed a bridge between himself and the white man he’d be greeting in mere moments.

Ross greeted everyone in the room with the customary bow before handing T’Challa the tablet with the afternoon’s pertinent information.

“Shithole?”

“That’s not even the worse part. He says he grabs women by the pus-“

“What Shuri was going to say,” Y/N said loudly enough to stop Shuri’s sentence. “,is that Mr. Trump frequently says inappropriate things. Be careful.”

T’Challa’s eyes shifted between the three of his advisors,wondering how they had allowed him to put his beloved country in such a volatile situation. If he had been privy to this information even a day ago, he would not have allowed this man within Wakanda’s borders.

Before he could inquire further, Okoye cleared her throat to get the King’s attention.

“My King, your guest and his wife are here. He is touching things and my desire to impale him to the wall is growing more and more by the second. Please, join us.”

Y/N placed one more kiss against his lips though he was too distracted to return it. She firmly grasped his shoulder to turn and push him towards the laboratory’s exit, giving Agent Ross a non-verbal cue to make sure that her husband would be okay. Everett gave her a reassuring look before following T’Challa to the main foyer.

“Are you ready, little sister?” Y/N asked while collecting the materials that she would need to make her presentation on Wakanda’s innovative education system.

“As ready as I’ll be. But, if he gets out of hand…” Shuri said trailing off and lowering her voice. “I’ve created a remote catapulting system that will send him flying all the way back to the Oval Office.”

The day was relatively mild once the group split off into their own jobs. Y/N spent much of her time explaining how Wakandan pupils matriculate at the nation’s post secondary institution though Melania did not seem to be paying attention. In fact, the dead look in her eyes translated to more of a lack of understanding than lack of interest. Her only responses were her unrelated questions about the Queen’s jewelry or about the decor in one of the palace’s sitting areas.

“You are American, no?” Melania asked abruptly, cutting Y/N off in the middle of her sentence. Though she was internally ticked off by the interruption, the Queen remembered her promise to her husband.

“Yes. I’m originally from Georgia but spent the latter half of my adulthood as the head of the education department at Teachers College, Columbia University.”

“We are very similar!” The First Lady answered reaching to grab Y/N’s hand. A swift movement allowed the Queen to escape the unwanted contact causing Melania to awkwardly clasp her hands in front of her.

“You were the head of an education department?”

“No...but we both married very rich men to get to get to where we are.”

“I…,” Y/N trailed off deciding whether or not she wanted to gather the woman walking beside her. “...sure. Of course.”

Her answer was given through gritted teeth presenting themselves as a forced smile. Before she could go on, T’Challa rounded the corner ahead of President Trump and Agent Ross clenching his eyes shut and rubbing his temples in tight circles.

When he finally opened his eyes, he was met by a sympathetic yet amused look from his wife. She new exactly how he felt.

“Back so soon, handsome?”

“Ay, beautiful, the two hours, 37 minutes and 14 seconds I spent away from you were far too long.”

T’Challa placed an innocent kiss on Y/N’s lips, simultaneously whispering ‘help me’ against her mouth sending her into a fit of giggles.

From the outsider's perspective, it looked like the newlyweds were harmlessly flirting. President Trump, not wanting to be outdone, made an attempt to grab his own wife. Mimicking Y/N’s maneuver earlier, she quickly dodged his advance, preferring to examine her nails for the 100th time that day.

“Uh, hi lovebirds,” Agent Ross said gaining the attention of everyone in the vicinity. “Yeah, Shuri says that lunch is ready. Shall we?”

“Ah, yes, lunch. I had my staff prepare a fusion of Wakandan and American dishes. I hope that they are up to par, Mr. Trump.”

“President.”

“Yes...President.”

The group proceeded to walk idly down the long corridor to the formal dining room, making small talk as they inched closer to the large doors at the end of the hallway.

“Shuri has the system prepared whenever you’re ready, T. I have the remote. Just say when.”

“That won’t be necessary, Y/N.” He laughed, slyly removing the small remote from his wife’s hand and intertwining his fingers with hers. “Only lunch is left and this day will be done.”

“More than enough time for you to make it up to me, hm?”

The two of them wiggled their eyebrows at each other, sharing a loud laugh while rounding the corner to enter the spacious dining room.

T’Challa pulled his wife’s chair out before making his move to the head of the table. Noticing that the president had already sat down before doing the same for his own wife, T’Challa graciously pulled out her chair earning another amused look from Y/N. She would tease him about that later.

“So little girl,” Donald said directing his statement towards Shuri. “What’s your name?”

He spoke to her in slow measured sentences as if she were a child that had not yet grasped how to properly communicate.

“I am Princess Shuri. You may address me as such from this moment on. Thank you.”

Muffled coughs and amused laughs were scattered across the dining room. Trump opened his mouth to speak again but closed it, instead preferring to address Y/N for the first time that day.

“Y/N -“

“Queen Y/N” She corrected, stealing a glance at a smiling Shuri.

“Right, Queen. Are you planning to produce a son for the King? I’m not sure how you people do it here but, in my country, a son takes over for his old man when the time comes. You want that for your husband don’t you?”

She opened her mouth to speak but felt a hand grip her thigh, advising her to let her husband handle this one. T’Challa could handle the microaggressions but would not allow his wife to be disrespected.

“When the time is right, an heir will be born. It does not matter the gender of the child. They will inherit the throne barring some unforeseen circumstance.”

“I see.” Trump answered. It was evident that he had more to say but decided to turn his attention Agent Ross instead. “What department do you oversee here? Must be big considering you left the greatest country in the world to come here.”

“Well, actually, I don’t -“

“He runs nothing in this country. Why do you assume that?” Y/N piped up. The entree had not even been brought out and the meal was already spiraling out of control.

“He’s an American. He came over here to help you people. That’s what we do.”

“You people, eh?” Shuri inquired. “Tell me, Donald, what kind of people are we?”

“This is adult business, princess.” He said, laughing. “Kids, I tell ya.”

Everyone one in the room watched in shock as the outsider took the back of his hand and lightly tapped T’Challa’s chest. All eyes followed T’Challa’s as he looked to the spot that had just been touched and back to the offender.

“Yep. I’ve made that mistake before.” Agent Ross said while shaking his head and sipping his water. “The nice bald lady won’t like that.”

“Kumkani wam, ndimele ndibeke isandla sakhe ngomkhonto okanye ngamazinyo?” Okoye had asked the King about the proper method to dispose of the target hand while staring at the now pale man.

T’Challa only raised his hand as a signal to stand down. He calmly removed the napkin from his lap and stood, causing everyone to stand along with him in anticipation.

“Mr. Trump, I believe it is time for you to go. Perhaps we can continue our conversation through an email? Allow my wife and I to escort you all to the loading hangar.”

Though his tone was pleasant, there was no mistaking the firmness in his statement.

The dignitary quickly stood up, making a move to shake his peer’s hand but receiving a blank stare in its place.

Y/N latched on to her husband’s left arm, discreetly turning to Shuri to give her the thumbs up.

The couples quickly made their way to the aircraft responsible for returning the unwanted guest and his wife back to the U.S.

Hasty goodbyes were offered before the older man and considerably younger woman were completely out of sight.

“You know, I feel bad for her. It must be hell having to wake up to that every morning.”

T’Challa let out a belly laugh while pulling his wife close to place a kiss on the top of her head. Once he had settled, he used his Kimoyo beads to reach his teenage sister.

“Shuri, play it over the palace speaker system.”

“Play what, brother? There are no announcements in the queue.” She replied confused at her older brother’s request.

“Play the song.”

A devious smile played at the princess’s lips before she emphatically pressed play on the board in front of her.

“Fuck, Donald Trump. Yeah, nigga, fuck Donald Trump!”

[kiruuuuu]

Look. Here’s the deal, @forever-smiley - I said I don’t do anything explicit for requests, but first of all I like you and your comments never fail to brighten up my day, thank you so much for that ❤ You’re a darling. Also, I didn’t know how much I wanted to write this until you requested it, so... I wrote it. And went overboard. A lot. As, uh, usual.

So yes. I hope you enjoy this, even if Smoke gets more than he bargained for! Also, as a side note, this can be read completely independently from Echo Chamber. (Rating E, absolute PWP with gratuitous bickering, ~6k words I wrote 6k for this oh my God)

.

“It’ll be fine, babe. Just trust me.”

The words, murmured against his ear as the second pair of handcuffs clicks closed around his ankles, do nothing to reassure Mute who is now incapacitated, mostly immobile while sitting on one of their chairs in the kitchen, fully nude. “You realise that’s probably the worst thing you could’ve said right now?”, he retorts sceptically, gingerly testing out how much freedom of movement he has – it’s not a lot though he can shift around on the seat quite a bit which he suspects is intentional. “Are you sure all of this is necessary?”

Smoke’s grin is nothing but predatory and he sinks down onto Mute’s thighs, kisses him and simultaneously takes his half-hard penis in his hand, starts to stroke it lightly while his tongue glides over Mute’s teeth, coaxing the first gentle hums out of him. Foreplay with Smoke is either non-existent or ridiculously drawn out – if it’s the former, Smoke ensures Mute is either just hard or prepared enough before they get to the main part, the undressing often neglected in favour of sticking something into someone as soon as possible, whereas the latter usually leaves him sopping wet with precum, trembling and wondering where in the world Smoke suddenly found that much patience. Today seems to be a longer session, even if the fervent snogging and firm strokes might suggest otherwise.

“Have you done this with other people before?”, he wants to know when they’re both trying to catch their breath in between kisses. The question is warranted, especially after that debacle with the really quite expensive champagne and the catastrophe that were Twitch’s tasers which turned out to be extremely effective in shutting Smoke up for a while yet not really suited for the bedroom. He’s unsure what awaits him today and can’t deny a vague sense of dread.

“Of course! They all bloody hated it”, Smoke replies cheerily and reaches for the lube. Well. That’s just great, isn’t it? Mute should’ve known better than to agree to any of Smoke’s wild ideas that usually precede utter chaos and admittedly magnificent entertainment. It seems that today, he is going to be the entertainment, however, and he’s not sure he likes it. Suspiciously, he watches his lover coat his fingers in the viscous liquid and wonders how he’s going to get tortured in a moment; he’s not familiar with the term he encountered earlier and Smoke explicitly forbade him to look it up. It’s probably just a euphemism for endless, unfulfilled teasing, touches that are too light and -

Mute sharply sucks air in through his teeth as Smoke grabs his now fully erect cock firmly and immediately begins jerking him off. It’s hard and simple, no flourishes, no unnecessary coquettish gestures, just a proper hand job that’s capable of getting him off in minutes, the stimulation from the slick slide enough to wipe the doubtful look off his face. His hips start bucking into the fast strokes and he allows himself a content moan but doesn’t give in entirely. Because Smoke, still clothed, is grinning at him wolfishly, drinking in his reactions – he wouldn’t be doing this if there wasn’t anything in it for him as well and Mute refuses to believe that merely watching him come all over himself is enough.

For the moment, he just enjoys the ride, revels in the fact that Smoke knows exactly what he likes, the tempo and strength perfect and he feels himself getting closer, approaching his climax and is not at all surprised when Smoke just stops. He uses the opportunity to calm his breathing, sink back into the chair and simply watch as his lover unbuttons his trousers and pulls out his own dick that’s just as stiff as Mute’s. “Might as well”, he murmurs as an odd explanation, “by the time I’m done with you, I can probably go again.”

Before Mute can object to the ominous statement, there’s a solid shaft sliding along his that picks up where Smoke’s hand left off a moment ago, a fist closing around their heads ensuring the necessary friction and Mute is back to basking in his arousal that’s slowly building up. As much of a shithead as Smoke normally is, he’s nothing but attentive when they have sex – attentive, creative, curious, experimental, affectionate, ridiculously hot… and he’s getting closer again, can feel the release nearing due to Smoke thrusting against him, only his cock and arms exposed but Mute is familiar with this sight, has had the little demon ride him so many times and he stops.

He senses a pattern, huffs impatiently and fixes the smirking imp with a level stare. “Is that what we’re doing now?”

“It’s what you’re doing”, Smoke corrects him gleefully, still stroking his own erection and leaning back on Mute’s lap to allow him a better view. “Have to – ah, fuck – prepare you a little, otherwise it’s no fun, innit?” He groans and it’s entirely irrational that the sight alone of a guy jerking off to him should arouse Mute to this extent but it does nonetheless, never fails to make heat rise in him. It happens often enough that he’s occupied with daily tasks and turns around only to find Smoke staring at him and fondling his boner; it’s made worse by Mute usually giving in and either ending up face down moaning into the sofa cushions or witnessing an ecstatic Smoke bouncing on his cock. He himself has a very healthy libido, courtesy of having focused almost solely on studying in his younger years, so now that he’s blessed with someone as open and enthusiastic as Smoke, he suddenly gets what all the fuss is about.

The weight is lifted from his thighs as Smoke gets up, still working his cock and Mute’s mouth waters at the prospect of Smoke allowing him to practise his blow jobs but instead, his lover pats his cheek and says: “Open your mouth.” Mute obeys, extends his tongue, too, and holds Smoke’s gaze for a moment before it unashamedly travels over Mute’s body, taking in his broad chest, restrained arms and legs and his erection that’s proudly jutting out, dark and glistening. “You’re so fucking beautiful, babe”, Smoke tells him with feeling, his hand speeding up, muscles tensing and then he comes with a suppressed moan, spurts out semen onto Mute’s face and chest, hits his tongue and cheek and lets it drip down on his abdomen, the liquid hot on his skin and bitter in his mouth and it’s fucking erotic, makes his dick throb and his hands clench into fists.

He swallows what he can, tries to lick the rest off his cheek and Smoke helps him with what he can’t reach yet the come on his torso stays, slowly running down his chest and leaving trails that quickly turn cool. “You’re like a dog”, Mute states, smiling up at Smoke who’s still panting, “marking your territory.” His lover’s expression slowly changes from bliss to amusement and Mute realises in horror what he just implied. “Oh God, don’t take that literal – I swear, if you piss on me, I’ll break your arms first and then make you lick it off.”

“You’re cuffed to a chair, the only arms you can feasibly break right now are your own.”

“Well, you’ll have to free me eventually.”

“Nah, not really. I can feed you now and then and suck you off twice a day to keep you happy.”

“How about you do that right now and forget about whatever it is you planned?”

“No chance. Maybe you’ll even end up liking it, babe.” Smoke wipes his hand on Mute’s side and effortlessly evades the knee that tries to hit him in retaliation before dragging a second chair closer, next to the one Mute is trapped on. “The most important thing is that you don’t come yet, babe. Got it? Don’t come. Tell me when you’re close or give me any other indication but if you blow your load, you’re going to regret it.”

It’s not an empty threat, Mute knows it, and so he merely nods and flinches slightly when a freshly lubed up hand encircles his dick once more, the gel cold on his heated skin. Once again, he’s being wanked just to his liking yet expects it not to last – which it doesn’t. Smoke pauses now and then, watching him intently and halting whenever he bucks into the tight grip or produces a particularly loud sound before continuing the stimulation. Mute tries to bite back his groans, to not react in order to trick Smoke into pushing him over the edge but his own body betrays him, his abs tense up, his thigh muscles show and his breath hitches, indicating to Smoke that he’s approaching his orgasm once more.

Eventually, Mute catches on to what he’s doing: he’s very carefully nearing the brink of Mute’s climax, testing the waters, checking how far he can go. He’s taking him there in baby steps, always pushing him a little further and it’s not like Mute hasn’t done this to himself before. Smoke doesn’t do it usually, not to him, since he either wants Mute to fuck him until he can’t walk or feel him clench around his cock while they come at the same time, and both kind of require Mute not to be on the verge of orgasm or else either of the two scenarios could be ruined in a heartbeat. Right now, however, Smoke can fully concentrate on edging him and it’s actually dizzying to be completely at his mercy, to be awarded his full attention. He actually doesn’t mind it.

Mute concentrates on the feel of his fingers, observes how they alternate between doing absolutely nothing and flying over his shaft, the glide smooth and lovely. Smoke is being exceedingly thorough, his confident movements making Mute’s legs twitch, a distracted smile adorning his lips and he even looks like he’s enjoying himself. “If you keep this up”, Mute murmurs and is interrupted by another wave of near-orgasm that destroys his ability to produce speech for a few seconds, “I’m gonna shoot at least twice as much as you.” The come on his chest has dried by now but even then, the trails are still visible.

“Sure you will”, Smoke responds enigmatically and speeds up. It’s unexpected, according to his pattern he should stop instead and it’s almost too much, pleasure blinds Mute momentarily and he almost allows it, almost gives in to the pulsing need for relief and almost lets it happen – but Smoke told him no and he trusts him, respects him regardless of all the stupid shit he does and so he gasps Smoke’s name and shies away from his hand, his lover getting the hint and halting his movements. Well, mostly. Because now the teasing begins.

When Mute edges himself, he does it in waves – gets himself close, waits until the feeling has subsided a little, then repeats. What Smoke does to him next is pure torture. His fingertips travel over the sensitive head, squeeze it now and then and make it twitch violently, rub over the sweet spot on the underside, press down on his hole and stroke over the shaft. It’s too light to produce enough stimulation but titillating enough to keep Mute in limbo, leave him hovering within sight of his orgasm but not bring him any closer. Whenever his lust threatens to decrease, a few quick jerks catapult him back to where he was and then it’s feathery touches all over again.

After just a few minutes of this, Mute’s muscles are about to cramp, his body is shuddering and his shoulders are starting to hurt from him fighting his restraints. The chains on the cuffs are clinking whenever he moves to finish the job himself, the metal biting into his skin painfully and his fingers grabbing at air. He’s learned not to buck into the cruel fingers after Smoke pinches the inside of his thigh the first two times he does it and so he merely shifts around on the chair and curses heartily. “Let me – rest, at least give me – oh God – give me a moment to – you little turd!”

Smoke chuckles to himself and leans in to kiss him during which Mute realises how fucking charged he is because he nearly creams himself when he feels Smoke’s tongue invade his mouth. He unselfconsciously moans into the kiss, distractedly feels his cock pulsing in the light grip, eager to share its seed but fated to suffer a bit longer. Pretty much everything Smoke is doing right now is the hottest thing Mute has ever experienced, he’s desperate and shaking and when he feels fingers twist one of his nipples, he accidentally bites down on Smoke’s lip so hard he draws blood and earns an indignant yelp. “Shit, shit, come here, I’m sorry”, he whispers hastily and licks the bright red liquid off, sucks on Smoke’s lip and tastes copper and that’s when he gets pushed over the edge.

He wasn’t paying attention to the hand in his crotch, barely noticed the grip tightening but felt Smoke’s absent-minded strokes in his fingertips that can’t have been more than instinct and then it’s too late. With a strangled sound, he withdraws from Smoke and directs his gaze down his own body where, inexplicably, Smoke’s hand has disappeared but his orgasm is happening nonetheless. Only it’s not worth the build-up. Something is wrong, instead of bringing sweet release, he experiences a fraction of the expected relief instead but it’s still pleasurable enough that he can’t help but moan at the sensation. Warmth pools low in his belly, the taste of blood is still on his tongue and he ejaculates almost… lazily, his dick pushing the semen out rather than spurting.

The whole experience isn’t bad but demotivating in a way, he could’ve had a much more satisfying climax that didn’t involve his come sadly dribbling down his shaft but he can complain later. It’s probably been long enough that Smoke can go again, so maybe he can convince him into letting Mute ride him for once, or make him come down his throat or allow him to come down Smoke’s throat and this is when Mute realises his erection isn’t flagging. Quite the opposite, the throbbing in his lower body is fiercer than before, demanding attention and stimulation and he’s still so fucking horny that looking at his lover makes his cock pulse. “James”, he says, worriedly, “that was one of the most disappointing orgasms of my life, but I can still keep going.”

Smoke’s eyes are twinkling. “Isn’t it great? I can keep doing this, fucking bleed you dry, babe, until your balls are empty.”

Oh. “You mean – it’s normal that I’m still hard?”

“Yeah. Until you have a proper orgasm, I can probably ruin -”

“That’s fantastic!”

His lover blinks at him, slightly disbelieving. “Wait – it is?”

“Hell yeah. I thought this was it, but if I can have as many as I want, bloody keep going, what are you waiting for?” Mute expectantly wiggles his hips, suddenly enthusiastic about this whole activity. It seems as if Smoke imagined this whole thing to go a little differently but to his credit, he’s not complaining, merely adds some more lube still and gets back to it. His smugness has disappeared completely and made way for vague bemusement that over time morphs into lust the longer he watches Mute.

Because Mute is getting into it now. His cock is sensitive and raw, just like after a normal orgasm, only now he’s still incredibly turned on – the result is an odd mixture of discomfort and pleasure with the latter quite easily surpassing the former. He welcomes it now, all of it, the satisfying pumps, the merciless teasing, the way Smoke makes him ride the edge; he shows his pleasure openly and doesn’t hold back. In a way, what he’s enjoying above all is Smoke’s fiery gaze that intensifies whenever he exposes his throat in a drawn-out moan, arches his back and displays his ribcage, rolls his hips into the gentle ministrations and tells him to stop if it gets dangerous. He’s ceased struggling against the handcuffs and holds on to the chair for support instead, eagerly spreads his legs to grant Smoke easier access to his crotch.

Again and again he almost finishes, flinches away or orders a pause and every time it gets a little harder to do so. The continuous stimulation is muddling coherent thought and enticing him to let Smoke jerk him to completion but he’s invested now, eager to test out this newfound knowledge, to find out where his boundaries lie. He wants to push his body to its limits and if that means he’s going to stay cuffed to this chair for the next two hours, then so be it. A particularly pleasurable twist of Smoke’s wrist has him growl contentedly and his lover’s eyes darken at the way he squirms under his touches.

“You’re so bloody sexy, babe”, he purrs and scoots closer to nibble at Mute’s throat, “you know what I’m going to do? When you unload, I’m gonna use it as lube and fuck the next one out of you.”

The suggestion sounds magnificent to Mute’s monkey brain but he huffs a laugh nonetheless. “You’re so nasty. Let me – mmh – have the honour, I can probably go on for a while.” He throws his head back on a sensational upstroke and stretches when he feels Smoke’s tongue on his pulse, his teeth by his Adam’s apple.

“Are you saying I’m not gonna have the stamina to satisfy you?”

It’s a predatory growl, full of threats and challenges and Mute is pretty sure at this point that Smoke either experiences ruined orgasms completely differently to him or just never had one at all. Because he’s seriously overestimating himself right now. “That’s exactly what I’m -” He cuts off and Smoke reacts too late, barely fails to withdraw his hand in time and another half-climax rushes through Mute’s body, forcing throaty noises out of him and making his lower half shudder. Now that he knows what’s coming, he can focus more closely on the sensations, his sperm being ejected, his balls drawing up, his abs contracting much weaker than usual. His nails are clawing into the wooden legs and his toes are twitching but he’s still acutely aware of his surroundings instead of lost in pleasure.

Not a bad feeling at all, still strange but he could get used to it. Panting, he watches Smoke stand up, scoop up his jizz and then awkwardly undress his lower half with the help of his other hand before reaching between his legs and seriously just starting to finger himself right then and there. Mute is more desperate than ever to finally come for real and so the view has him biting his lip in desire. His lover is rock hard again, strong legs displaying their muscles and the faces he makes, while bordering on slightly ridiculous, are a sight to behold. “That’s bound to get sticky eventually”, he points out in between heavy breaths and continues to be amazed at the fact that his own dick is unwaveringly stiff.

“Not if your cock pushes it all the way up”, Smoke retorts and somehow manages to keep a straight face despite Mute’s grin.

“Fucking nasty. You should be ashamed to kiss me with that mouth. Use more lube, you don’t want to end up sore.”

“You don’t want to listen to me complaining, more like.”

“Also you should uncuff me, I’m allowed to move now, right?”

“Definitely not. You’ll just end up carrying me to the bedroom and pounding me into the mattress.”

They beam at each other for a moment, full of mutual affection – Smoke has the rare talent to read Mute’s thoughts, intentions and moods like an open book, something no one else manages as reliably as him. He’s usually spot on with his assumptions about Mute’s true motives and now is no exception. “James, have I ever told you how much I lo-”

A mouth on his interrupts him, lips stretched into a smile and they keep snogging as Smoke settles on his lap again, Mute’s slippery erection between his cheeks. “Only a thousand times”, he murmurs against Mute’s tongue that’s apologetically lapping over the visible bite he left earlier.

“That’s not nearly enough”, Mute replies dreamily and, when Smoke wipes his hand on his chest yet again, adds in the same tone of voice: “I’m going to fucking strangle you, you gremlin.”

With a cackle, Smoke grabs his dick, sits up a little and slowly sinks down on it. It’s still extremely sensitive, so the deeper it buries itself in Smoke, the more Mute tries to squirm away, writhing with overstimulation while simultaneously relishing his lover’s scalding tightness of which he could never get enough. The slide is smooth and Smoke only stops once Mute is fully sheathed in him, both of them gasping and adjusting slightly, moving against each other experimentally during which Mute can feel the walls of Smoke’s insides gripping him tightly. He’s all the way back at the beginning again, his orgasm reset where his lust hasn’t and so the whole sensation is overwhelming to the point where he instinctively attempts to hold Smoke in place as soon as he lifts back up and lets Mute’s dick glide back into him, the handcuffs stopping him from doing so.

“You feel so good”, a voice purrs in his ear while he’s busy gasping breathlessly at the intense friction, “you’re bigger than usual.” And mercilessly, Smoke begins riding him properly with fluid movements that are nothing short of erotic, especially coupled with the wet tongue by Mute’s ear and the fingernails dragging down his chest. After the previous hand jobs, the abundance of sensations feels extreme and Mute needs a long while to concentrate on it all, experience it fully. Smoke is gripping him viciously, taking him deep with each motion and working him thoroughly – but there’s a flaw in all this.

He’s trying valiantly, speeds up, adds sloppy kisses and a little nipple play to the mix which Mute welcomes with loud moans and bucks of his hips. It’s indescribably hot and he’s amazed Smoke is showing this much focus, yet when he cards his hands through Mute’s hair, it becomes apparent he looks a little lost. “James, this is lovely”, Mute says quietly, “but I can’t come like this.” It’s not enough – after the expert wanking that never fails to get him off since he’s used to hand jobs being the only path to orgasm in his younger years, his cock needs more. And as exquisite as the whole thing is, as impressive and devoted, it’s simply not enough.

Smoke pauses, breathing heavily, and returns his gaze with furrowed brows. “Alright”, he responds, slowly pulls off Mute’s hard shaft and turns around, sits back down and lets the blunt head breach him again. Mute feels himself throb at the renewed contact, sighs in relief as soon as he bottoms out again and marvels at the beauty that is Smoke’s back while he takes off his shirt and exposes his pale skin to his admirer. Usually, they don’t take clothing off halfway if they get caught up in it, either they start out naked or sweat profusely still in uniform or normal clothes plus the apron Mute put on as a joke or their long pyjamas in winter – if either of them takes a pause in the middle to rip off some fabric it means it’s serious. Mute’s lips are curving into a grin.

“Do it”, he challenges and earns a dark look over Smoke’s shoulder, “make me come. Do your worst.”

And so Smoke does. It’s obvious he’s getting fucking serious now, immediately sets a fast tempo that he won’t be able to keep up all the way, yet he apparently banks on making Mute finish soon; he props himself up on Mute’s knees and offers a show additional to him slamming down his hips: the muscles in his back are dancing under his skin, his shoulder blades protruding and his spine a gorgeous concave. The noises that fall from his lips are magnificent, longing whines and badly suppressed moans. He feels amazing, as usual, hot and perfect and tight, not to mention the fact that Mute can basically watch his cock penetrate him over and over again after he scoots a little forward on the seat, can see it disappear inside Smoke and reach all the right places, judging by the way he twists in pleasure and gets louder at a specific angle.

Under normal circumstances, Mute would probably be gone already but it turns out that this whole thing is basically better than Viagra – he adores every second of it and gladly allows Smoke to tire himself out but once again, it’s not enough. He voices it once his partner has to take a break to catch his breath: “James, I love this. But -”

“Fuck’s sake”, comes the exasperated reply and Smoke leans back against him to reach for the keys on the table, not expecting Mute to grind into him for the hell of it, startling a whimper out of him that’s extremely satisfying, so Mute repeats the motion. What follows is an unnecessarily complicated endeavour to uncuff him without either of them stopping, Smoke pressing against him and moaning in bliss while attempting to somehow unlock the handcuffs at the same time. Mute loves doing this to him, reducing him to nothing but a bundle of nerves in the palm of his hand, at his mercy and uncharacteristically submissive.

Unsurprisingly, it takes forever until he’s free. Smoke rises on shaky legs, looking frazzled and defeated as he watches Mute massage some feeling back into his hands. “Just pick me up”, he says resignedly. He doesn’t need to say it twice.

Grinning broadly, Mute complies and carries him to the adjacent room where he throws the shorter man onto the bed and crawls after him onto the sheets, spreading his legs and pushing a pillow under his lower back in preparation, his actions efficient and practised. Smoke does nothing but observe with a sigh and Mute just laughs at him. “You were so not ready for this”, he states and pours more lube on his erection just to be safe.

“Was I ready for you to turn into a fucking sex fiend? Hell no, how could -” He stops speaking as soon as he feels the head of Mute’s dick on his hole and finishes with a gasp when it’s shoved into him all the way without stopping. Now that he’s not confined to the chair anymore, Mute takes advantage of this new freedom by finally going as fast and hard as he likes. Which is very. His cock is oddly desensitised and overstimulated simultaneously, he feels every centimetre of Smoke’s insides keenly, notices the ridge of his head catching on the tight ring of muscle but at the same time, he’s aware it’ll take a lot of this to get him to come again.

His thrusts start out brutal and only get worse over time, he has no brain capacity left to take Smoke’s pleasure into account as well, instead just holds on to his hipbones and drags him in to meet his movements, drives into him, seeking his own release. Smoke’s legs wrap around him and guide him a little until their owner begins trembling and mewling desperately, so Mute keeps the angle that seems to slowly make his lover go insane. Even so, the legs also attempt to rein him in, soften the snap of his hips and no, that’s not happening. This was Smoke’s idea after all, so he’s not going to go easy on him now.

Actually, it’s pure elation to finally let go and act purely on instinct, to only do what feels good to him – and pounding into Smoke feels brilliant right now. This, at least, is enough, his third orgasm nears at a steady pace, demands for no interruptions and continuous stimulation but with how willing Smoke lets himself be fucked silly, that shouldn’t constitute a problem. They’re both shining with sweat now, panting hard and chasing their climax, Smoke by holding on to the sheets so viciously his knuckles are white, by producing noises that barely sound human and by clenching around the shaft entering him pitilessly, Mute by making skin slap against skin, by reaching deep, by digging his fingernails into fair skin.

He doesn’t know how long he keeps it up, only notices his muscles protesting, his arms starting to feel as if they’re on fire, but Smoke is begging him not to stop now, face contorted in pleasure, hands pushing against the headboard so he can meet Mute’s thrusts more fiercely and he must be getting close, too. He’s using Mute’s name now, repeating it like a mantra and he’s so astoundingly beautiful that Mute doesn’t realise it at first when he orgasms without either of them having touched his dick.

When he notices Smoke rearing up with a moan louder than the other ones, clamping down on him, he belatedly takes hold of his neglected cock that’s sopping wet and strokes it in time with his thrusts, in time with him forcing the climax out of Smoke and watches, amazed, how he shoots sperm all over himself, even reaching up to his cheek, bucking into Mute with a disbelieving expression as he convulses around him. And no, he definitely wasn’t ready for this. It lasts a long time and Mute fucks him through all of it until he sinks back into the sheets, completely spent and slightly dopey. He looks content for all of three seconds when he realises that Mute is still not stopping. “Mark, the fuck, let me wank you if it’s still -”

“I’m so close”, Mute whispers and he is, he can taste it, he just needs a little more – the view of Smoke writhing under him did wonders for his lust and so he keeps slamming into him despite his weak protests that grow louder the longer he keeps going.

“Mark, wait, oh God, I can’t – you fucking tosser, I -”

It’s right there, he feels it in the tips of his toes, just out of reach and he only needs a little, needs Smoke to shut the hell up first and so he does the one thing that somehow comes to mind as a good idea: he scratches down Smoke’s sides, hard. It can’t have been worse than the fact Mute is continuously pummelling him with no signs of stopping but he earns an overdramatic ow! nonetheless as well as the intended effect: Smoke tightens around him, abruptly and fiercely and it’s all he needed.

This orgasm blindsides him with its ferocity, the previous ones in no way, shape or form comparable. It hits Mute like a truck at full speed, tosses him over the edge with such force he can’t even moan, stays completely silent and in awe at such an extreme sensation. He buries himself deep in Smoke and stays there, cock pulsing and throbbing with every spurt and there’s an edge to it; it’s bordering on painful as his body scrambles to expel even more semen after all of what he already ejaculated earlier. It’s sharp and sweet at the same time, has him gasp incredulously as he folds in half, feels his muscles contract as he rests his forehead on Smoke’s shoulder, shuddering and trying to push even deeper somehow, pressing their hips flush.

It subsides with spikes, the aftershocks making him jolt repeatedly and sending a few last waves of blinding pleasure through him as he tries to catch his breath. His heart is racing and he needs to make a conscious effort to relax his muscles, aided by a gentle hand in the nape of his neck, stroking him soothingly and already massaging some of the tension out. He’s suddenly overcome with fondness at this gesture, probably due to all the endorphins and the ecstasy and the fact he’s so stupidly in love with this man that he can’t even imagine life without him anymore.

“I’ve never seen you turn into such a beast”, Smoke murmurs into his ear before he bites at it playfully, “fucking savage. Am I bleeding?”

Mute carefully sits back up and gingerly withdraws his softening dick, brushing his fingertips over the abused hole and making Smoke wince slightly. “Here? No. But you are where I just scratched you. And you look like someone socked you in the mouth.” Blood is welling up on Smoke’s sides – not a lot but the bright red still in stark contrast to his light skin. Mute barely resists licking it off.

“Police brutality”, Smoke says gravely and makes Mute giggle. “Fuck, I can’t feel my legs. I kinda pictured this to go a little different.”

That much is clear. He probably expected Mute to end up begging, imploring him never to be so cruel ever again and he’d do anything, just please, won’t he allow him to suck Smoke’s cock. As much as he enjoys chaos, he prefers to be in control during sex. And… well. That didn’t work out as expected, did it? “You came hands free”, Mute points out with a smirk. “Don’t even pretend to complain, James.”

“I should’ve known you wouldn’t just take it. You’re a little shit who never does what he’s told.”

“I learned from the best.” He leans down for a quick kiss but Smoke holds him in place and presses up against him, smearing his come on Mute’s chest and merely grins when he gets punched in the side. “You’re such a knobhead. I seriously need a shower now.”

“Me too, but I’ll probably need your help. You fucked me boneless.”

Mute gazes down at him, at how dishevelled, exhausted and ravished he looks, and decides he hasn’t suffered enough. “You’ve had a ruined orgasm before, right?”

A deer in headlights look and it’s exactly what he thought – Smoke has no idea what it feels like, merely knows from experience how to do it and that people usually don’t like it, which is why he was so eager to subject Mute to it. “Yes”, he lies cautiously and slowly.

“How did you like it? Because next time, I can do it to you.” And though Smoke frantically tries to come up with an answer that would lead to him not having to suffer through one or two or several, depending on how sadistic Mute is feeling, he quickly realises that it’s a dead end: if he claims to enjoy it, there’s no good excuse for him to refuse and if he doesn’t like it, it’s even more of a reason for Mute to return the favour. He finally understands why Smoke wanted this so much, the prospect of making him squirm and beg is enticing – and if he has a similar reaction to Mute? Even better.

Smoke catches on when Mute simply laughs at his despair and rolls his eyes. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Hey, don’t worry”, Mute tells him sweetly and quotes him: “Maybe you’ll even end up liking it, babe.”

[devilishdewitt]

The 2019 Moscow Burlesque Festival

Oh my.

First things first, the most important part of any review I shall ever write:

~The Eternal Disclaimer~

It is hereby declared that this little nook of the world wide web shall be devoted to the praise & critique of the art of Burlesque, specifically in Russia.

Let it also be known that I am first and foremost a benevolent force, and every single criticism is documented solely for the purpose of evolution, growth and inspiration, darling.

Never forget - it is fantastic that the burlesque scene in Russia has grown so much in the last few years. Brava, ladies! As a fact and a statement, it is absolutely fabulous.

However, I volunteer to wear the heavy crown of expertise, having seen many a show in many a place, and having a keen eye for detail and a heart hungry for that wow factor.

I always come with an open heart, am quite easily entertained, and know how hard the craft is - I can overlook many a fault when there’s stage presence, charisma and that fire of passion.

Oh, and self-irony.

All is sickly without self-irony.

Now, onwards! To fabulousness!

The Moscow Burlesque Festival is an annual event that began in 2018.

It is organised by Lyalya Bezhetskaya, a legend of Russian burlesque (it is widely acknowledged that she is responsible for bringing the genre into Russia in 2006, after studying in London) and Alexandra (Leela) Zharkaya, who is a director and a writer.

The theme of the 2019 festival was “History of Burlesque/Feminine Sexuality through history”, 1899-2019.

The organisers have announced that they wish to move away from the usual classic structure of a festival in favour of a more theatrical approach - have a storyline, not just a succession of acts.

The place of action was the fabulous Moscow Hippodrome, specifically it’s “Astoria” restaurant.

My story shall be divided into three parts, beginning with

HEAVEN

What was great about this event?

First of all, THE VENUE. It was simply sumptuous. Everything, from the name to the location, every single interior (apart from the bathrooms, perhaps, but that is of little importance) was oozing with promise of glamour.

The stage was of an inspiring size and seemed quite well-equipped for such a performance. The waiters were an absolute delight - the uniforms and hair-styles were at times more exciting than those of the performers, and their kind and slightly sly attitudes made the prolonged waiting time fly by.

THE GATHERING OF THE GUESTS was also done well. The welcome hall featured a small number of stands (soft, simple, almost minimal lingerie, gorgeous accessories and a variety of headpieces). Though scaling down from last years bazaar, it was still dainty and delightful. The display of curious dresses proved to be a fruitful topic of conversation, and the champagne pyramid was a lovely touch.

THE LECTURE about the history of lingerie was superb - I could listen to Megan Virtanen all day long. It was truly splendidly educational and entertaining in the most classy, intellectual way.

It was quite curious to see the performers roam freely during the guest arrivals. To see their immaculate costumes up close…what a treat! Lyalya Bezhetskaya, mistress of the evening, looked particularly breathtaking, and her dignified opening speech was full of poise and class.

Also worth mentioning are the illustrations for the festival - the logo & the set of postcards are absolutely brilliant. The style of drawing is very elegant, and every single lady from those postcards is an inspiration!

Kitty Orlova’s Jazz Band accompanied all acts 1899 to 1959, and goodness me were they spectacular. The idea itself is absolutely genius and was executed with charming efficiency. Excellent musicians!

The Marshmallows, a retro-style singing trio responsible for the music break, are a gift to this world and to Moscow in particular. Impeccable singing, impeccable style, impeccable attitude. The dancers (The Jiving Rockets) that graced the stage during their performance moved with such ease, joy and class…that whole performance was a dream come true for this little retro snob.

As for the performances, I have my own holy trinity of divinity.

Katerina Sahara, Tamasinushka & Xana Martin.

Katerina was responsible for bringing the 30’s to life, and oh dear God it was extraordinary. To be quite frank, dear reader, it was everything I ever want to see in a classical burlesque act. Who knew that the goddess of twerk would embody a thirties diva with such ease? She did it like a natural - from the mood through the tight curl of her hair and to those eyebrows (which are very hard to pull off, darling). Brava, immaculate.

You might remember my main critique of Tamasinushka - self-indulgence without a shade of irony, a confidence that turns sour. Boy did she prove me wrong! Something clicked for her that night and the results were breathtaking. Could not take my eyes off her - she uncovered a tenderness and fragility that immediately elevated her to greatness. Appearing in the end of the show, she was The Ultimate Embodiment of Burlesque, one might suspect? (as you might understand, dear reader, it was not quite clear). Whatever she was, she was a feast for the eyes.

Xana Martin was a stand-out for me last year, and I couldn’t wait to see what she would do this year. She did not disappoint! Representing the 90’s, she brought her own fire and gorgeous skills and married them beautifully with the aesthetic. Queen of the Night indeed! You can see that she LIVES on stage, and that passion is contagious. Electrifying performer!

However, we do also have....

LIMBO

Regretfully, there was a bit of tension before the start of the show.

As guests were taking their places in the main auditorium, they were informed that a deposit must paid for the services of the restaurant. That is in every way to be expected and all tickets did specify that this will be the case.

However, an exact sum was demanded - and it was the same as the ticket price.

Many people have expressed their surprise and inability to pay the full sum (it was a slightly-higher-than-average price tag for most table seats).

It was Lyalya herself who came to speak to each confused customer, and once again, her grace and poise were on point.

However, the situation progressed and Ms Bezhetskaya appeared on stage, and began to address the issue without the aid of a microphone. The speech was a perfect example of passive-aggressive, we even got a treat of a threat - “the festival will not begin until everyone has paid some sum of money. Or shall we all just cancel it right now?”.

The situation had to be addressed, of course - but not by Lyalya.  A Queen must have her loyal subjects - her mastery lies also in the ability to delegate, to wisely guide and trust. Unfortunately, this incident brought the mood down (which could’ve been resolved with a good warm-up!) and it seemed to stiffen Lyalya herself up - somehow all her numbers seemed impeccably rehearsed, but rather lifeless. And I don’t mean in an ethereal, dreamingly detached way - unfortunately, I mean in a distracted way.

Also, let me tell you about a lady that I find to be incredibly captivating -

 Kitty Orlova.

She is a vision and a titanic talent, but her presence went somewhat amiss.

She had two acts in the very beginning of the show, singing and undressing.

The first was the opening song explaining the premise of the story, the second one was her being a museum statue that comes to life.

Orlova is star material, but it feels as if she wasn’t given a chance to shine.

I couldn’t help but wonder, why is she in a creative union with Bezhetskaya? I’m not sure it does her justice.

The story that was chosen for the narrative of this event was a clear echo of last year - Lyalya’s fiancee comes to see her perform, is shocked by the fact that she’s undressing and breaks the engagement. She answers by cursing  him - I mean, literally casting a curse - he shall fall helplessly in love with performing beauties only to be ignored by them.

The curse will last a 100 years.

Which leads us straight to….

HELL

How did Zharkaya & Bezhetskaya, the infamous duo, sabotage a nearly foolproof idea?

I’m afraid that style plays a crucial part here. Style, or lack of thereof.

However, style is an extremely touchy and subjective topic, so I shall begin with more objective points.

1) Lack of proper introduction, aka NO WARM-UP.

If you are a seasoned admirer of the art of the tease, dear reader - or, in fact, if you’ve been to a single proper Burlesque show - actually, to any live performance of anything ever — you know that the relationship between audience & performer is crucial. In Burlesque this connection is especially vital, as a good cheer elevates both the (perhaps somewhat awkward) spectator and the performer (who by their nature crave reaction, it is their stage fuel).  

So when the audience at this so-called festival received NO warm-up whatsoever, what followed? Awkward silences. I heard and saw a few single enthusiasts let out an occasional cheer-and-clap, but they were met with icy stares of misunderstanding from the frozen, confused crowd.

2) No act introduction.

I find this especially surprising, since Miss Lyalya herself specifies on her Facebook page that amongst the things of outmost importance to her is the way she’s announced. “The right presentation creates the required, necessary aura around any performer, but especially - the Queen of Burlesque”. (She does specify that the title has a tinge of irony, even though it did not shine through on this particular night).

The ladies simply appeared on stage, accompanied by change of background projection and a scene with the male protagonist (the cursed one).

In the very end, the actor did attempt to introduce each performer, but was drowned out by the music…clearly the sound engineer was as confused as most attendees.

As there was no programme, the only way to find out who you saw on stage was either to come up and ask or use the internet.

Both are bearable, but still - the fact that there was no proper announcement is simply disrespectful.

3) Every story told through male presence.

The actor (Maxim Loginov) was on stage most of the time.

What was he doing? Ogling.

Ogling.

Honestly, for what purpose?

This is 2019, ladies. Surely the story of feminine sexuality can be told without the aid of a male protagonist.

Perhaps if it were done more tastefully, it would work better, but here it simply looked clumsy.

Which naturally leads us to the two main problems.

First of all, it was not a festival, and not a burlesque one, either.

Was it a show? Of course!

But clearly the premise of creation was not that of a festival - which is perfectly fine, just don’t call it a festival, darling!

There is a reason why the classic approach became a classic - because it works!

A festival is a showcase of talent, a wider view on a topic that unites those who might feel the need to be in opposition. It’s a place of connection, expansion and exchange.

And this grudge-holding/envy-drinking/unhealthy competition air in the community is not doing any one any favours.

Furthermore, most of the acts had nothing to do with Burlesque.

Pregnant tribal dance by Armata Hari? Captivating! But what’s it got to do with Burlesque?

Attitude walking and whip-handling by Fetish Mari? Juicy! What’s it got to do with Burlesque?

Half-naked & lazing around high on a hazy stage? My Tuesday morning, honey, but what’s it got to do with Burlesque? (and what a waste of the playful genius that is KittenTits McGee!)

Prancing around in your own space-age fantasy? Well, why not, but what’s it got to do with Burlesque?

Expert blade skills by Tamara Skarzhinsky? Breathtaking! But what’s it got to do with Burlesque?

Mia Zarring, a sumptuous DJ? Fantastic!  But what’s it got to do with Burlesque?

Can this show exist? Of course it can!

If it were simply “the exploration of female sexuality on stage, 1899-2019”, it would be a completely different story. A variety of genres would be welcomed!

But what’s the point of calling an event “The Moscow Burlesque Festival” and not giving Burlesque itself enough attention?

However, even that is not the biggest issue I had with the event.

I’m afraid that he ultimate description for this creation would be two words.

Tone. Deaf.

The line between vulgar and vivacious in Burlesque is a tricky thing, but it does exist.

It was simply quite poorly written, and some creative decisions were plainly crass.

From the aforementioned man (the actor is perfectly fine, it’s the circumstances he was put in and the way he was directed that’s problematic), a white Josephine Baker number (with the talents of the brilliant Ellisha Fox completely misused. He is surely NOT an accessory to Leela’s cold dancing), to Lyalya’s army number which shocked me quite horribly. War as entertainment? Throwing a grenade at the audience? I understand the playful, metaphorical subtext that was, perhaps, (hopefully!) intended, but it looked vulgar.

But nothing was as vulgar as the final kiss between producer and director…completely uncalled for, painfully serious, it had the aesthetic value of pretentiously cheap, lifeless porn.

Rueful.

Although, what can you expect from a director who blatantly announces this in her festival promoting video:

“I am an actress of eccentric burlesque. Do you know what eccentric burlesque is? It’s when during my act I will have sex with men...women...leopards...bananas...and so on. Come.”

Needless to say, this crass formula has nothing at all to do with Burlesque.

Oh good Lord, and that poor stage kitten’s styling…for what sins must she suffer so?…

It goes without saying that we should have an array of different styles and approaches, and comparisons are a sickly business. However, a painfully clear parallel comes to mind almost instantly.

While Pavlova declares “Down with the patriarchy” with elegant defiance, Bezhetskaya seems stuck within the limits of her disastrous “School of Burlesque” online series (shockingly vulgar, and not in an exciting, tingly way).

I’m afraid that events like this are the reason why so many people still associate the fine art of Burlesque with vulgarity.  ✶✶

THE FINALE

But there is a solution. In fact, a glorious one.

The creation of a truly splendid festival - in the full sense of the word.

Russia is blessed with an extraordinary kaleidoscope of burlesque enthusiasts.

Unite Pavlova, Gajndr, Shpiller, Bezhetskaya and put on a remarkable feast of talent.

How’s that for a spectacular challenge?