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whiskeyskin · 5 months ago

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Different kind of Intimacy

Premise: After Astarion's confession at Moonrise, you decide that your usual style of feeding just won't cut it any more.

• Astarion x gn!Tav • Mild rating •

Reader POV, fluff, conversation about boundaries set, sweetness, understanding, softness, Astarion feeding, despite female in the inspo picture no mention of gender, love, security, intimacy, doped out Astarion

2.3k words

Shoutout to @ladyofthecreed for this beautiful piece of art for @aevallare! How stunning is it? 🥹💜 And thanks to @crepsley for the tag 🙌

This is a little different than my usual smutty style but I saw this picture and felt inspired to write something a little softer for our boy ☺️

•°•°•

"You can feed on me tonight, if you'd like." You offered with a smile.

"I was so hoping you'd say that." He lilted back to you.

You took a breath to speak again and stopped.

"Yes, my sweet. What is it?" He questioned, with a curious tilt of his head.

After the incident with the Drow at Moonrise yesterday, Astarion had confessed some deep feelings and troubles he'd had.

After he'd admitted his growing feelings for you, despite it starting out as a manipulation, he'd stated very plainly that he didn't want anyone to think of him in terms of sex but that he still wanted to be with you.

So, you'd suggested that you'd become friends first, instead of lovers. That you would still be together but wouldn't have sex until he was ready, if he ever would be.

He'd obviously joked and tried to lessen the mood with a flippant remark but you'd learned him well enough to see he was appreciative of the gesture.

You'd pulled him into a hug, and after his inital shock, he'd held on so tightly he had been reluctant to let go.

He'd offered his hand to hold yours and a silent bond was made between you.

You'd been thinking on this development between you this last day since your conversation together. Pondering on ways to make him more comfortable, to give him more autonomy within the relationship.

Astarion had been very sweet and attentive throughout the day. Like something had settled within him, like something had slotted into place.

He'd stuck very close by you, while carefully adventuring through the perilous Shadowlands.

During battle he'd taken a more protective and defensive role around you, instead of stealthy and offensive. Several times throughout the day, he had slid his hand within yours and lightly squeezed - completely unprompted - just to feel the warmth of your skin.

He'd also spotted something that would be valuable to you in a fight and gifted it to you; you didn't ask how he'd gotten it, even though you could probably guess.

And now, it was time to settle down for the night, he'd dragged his bedroll to rest next to you. Producing a small potion from his pack, you assumed he was probably already hungry and needed to feed, hence your invitation, but you needed to discuss this first.

"I've been thinking, about what you said last night, about not thinking of you in terms of sex," you started, his face pulled into an unsure expression, "It's nothing bad, it's that I've been thinking about how you feed. It's quite, sexually charged. Especially the way you feed. It's urgent and rough and-"

"-Rough? I-I thought I was being gentle. You've not said anything since that first night. I-" He sounded hurt, afraid he'd been causing you pain. You hushed his worries.

"That's not what I meant, I'm not making an issue of it, I promise. It's not something to be sorry for, it hasn't bothered me until now. I thought it was all part and parcel of the experience; foreplay, if you will?" You shrugged.

"I mean, you'd feed, get hard and then we'd usually fuck. But now I believe we need to re-think our approach." You explained further.

"It's not that having sex wasn't out of desire for you. It's-it's complicated to explain," he signed with a furrowed brow.

"I told you, that it's not that I'm not attracted to you, trust me," he smiled wickedly, you shook your head and went to speak but he cut across you to continue, "You are wholly different to ones I've seduced before. This was of my own voilition, for one - although out of necessity as transactional protection but - things have changed. I've changed. You've made me see what I'm capable of. You've.." he paused, swallowing and looking around the vicinity for the right words, "You've encouraged me. Had faith in me. Shown me kindness I've not felt in two centuries. I care for you in a way I thought impossible, but I don't know how to be with someone, without reliving the past.. But I desperately want this to be real, truly real." His claret eyes bore into yours, pleading and sad. You slowly raised your hand to cup the side of this face.

"This is real, just because it's not a sexual relationship, doesn't mean it's not real." You smiled, reassuring his doubts. He closed his eyes and leaned into your palm. Your heart squeezed as his cool cheek pressed further into the warmth.

"The act of a vampire feeding on someone has been made inherently sexual. It's been fetishised, and so in turn, has the whole vampire thing. Which works to the vamp's advantage. I can't blame the people for it. Being bitten, being fed on is an intoxicating experience." You couldn't help but shudder at the memories of you both pressed together.

"For me too," He breathed, his neck tensing, "The feeling of feeding has no match."

You smiled softly and sighed, "Like you said, 'There's nothing more desirable in the world than a vampire'." You both pursed your lips in bitter resignation.

"So, to remedy this, we need to unsexualise it going forward," you continued, "Before feeding was all teeth and rubbing up against each other like animals. Now, it's going to be slow and intimate. Not sexual intimacy, true intimacy."

"It's different to the enemies you drain on the road, or in battle. It's you and me, and that's special. We need to make it special." You smoothed the cool touch of his cheek under your thumb.

He swallowed and sat up, intrigued, "What did you have in mind, my dear?"

You certainly had had some ideas.

"Well, you've tried both of the 'best' places to feed from; the jugular and the femoral," you announced, gesturing to your neck and inner thigh, "But I was thinking of the wrist? It's a pretty neutral place to feed from."

"Sounds reasonable. It's certainly a slower feed than the neck, or thigh." He agreed with a head tilt, "Although they are an awful lot of fun." He said through tilted gaze and a dangerous grin, his hand gliding up your thigh to caress it.

Your stomach flipped from habit, but you squashed it down.

"Stop it," you chastised him with a gentle nose boop. He scrunched his face and let out a small, high chuckle. His hand relented to your knee, thumbing the seam where he'd stitched a hole for you.

"Feeding will be more about taking the time to connect with each other, without sex. It'll be slow, patient.. calming." You let out a long, cleansing breath and blinked slowly, to emphasise the point.

"Well, then. Henceforth, I shall drink from your wrist when you're resting." He gave a tilted nod.

"Um, no. I was going to suggest feeding before sleep. I'd like to be present with you. Truly present with you. Not groggy from sleep, or blissed from sex. I'd like to be with you."

He looked taken aback, but interested, "Alright then.. feeding before rest," he said, testing the idea on his tongue. He seemed to measure it acceptable before asking, "Could I.. request something of you.. while I feed?" He asked, his words measured.

"Of course, darling." You answered enthusiastically, glad for his input.

"Would you.. play with my hair?" He requested, a little sheepishly, "I-I find it. It's not a sexual thing, before I always hated it but.. when you do it-it's.. comforting to me. I-I don't know why."

Your heart swelled and your eyes began to gently fill at the surprisingly sweet request.

"Of course, I will." You smiled, blinking back unexpected tears.

Astarion smiled back and took a faux breath and huffed it out in expectation.

"So, shall we, my dear?" He flourished a hand for you to lie down.

"We shall," you nodded, "How do you wish to do this?"

"Lying down would be fine." He suggested.

"If that's what you'd like." You began unfolding your leg from the crossed position to stretch it before laying down.

"Wait.." he stopped, then looked up through curious eyes, "What about this?" He asked, as he gently laid the side of his head down on your thigh.

You beamed, "That's nice.. wait-" You scooched a little more, "Lay on your back."

He did as he was told and shuffled around so the back of his head lay fully on the cushioning meat of your crossed leg, the other extended alongside his body.

You gazed down at him laying contentedly in your lap, "How's that?" You asked.

He manoeuvred himself to rest more squarely, testing the feeling, which he seemed to agree with.

"Comfortable."

"Which wrist?" You offered both in the air.

"Wrap your arms around, and I'll feed from your non-dominant one."

You leaned down more, rounding your spine so you weren't sat so upright. You cradled his head with your arms and let your wrists hang loose.

Astarion took your hand and wriggled himself within your arm's embrace, then looked up and smiled at you. Your own broadened across your face.

"Is this alright?"

He nodded, paused then crooked a finger at you.

You bent down a little more and he brought his fingers to tenderly grasp your chin and pulled you in for a delicate kiss, barely anything in comparison to others you had, but filled with a warmth and softness that hadn't been there before.

"Thank you." He breathed, "For thinking of this, for respecting my wishes."

The breath was stolen from your lungs and your chest ached. You couldn't deny it aby longer. You were in love with him.

You didn't reply, you simply pressed a kiss to his forehead, "Eat up."

He paused again, looking like he was about to say something but decided against it. He took your hand and carefully pulled up the sleeve, before bringing it to his nose to inhale deeply.

This was a little ritual he liked to do, like a fine wine; you have to smell the bouquet.

He chastely pecked several times at the thin blue lines on your inner wrist, before slowly sinking his fangs and drinking deeply.

The pain, while still present, was surprisingly minimal. Much less sharp than his usual snapping bite down on your neck, or inner thigh.

You rest your other arm on his chest, but quickly his other hand grasped your hand and placed it on his hair.

You grinned to yourself, "My mistake, sorry dear." You admonished yourself, giggling, while beginning to weave your fingers into his loose curls.

Astarion mumbled against your skin, something sassy no doubt, but it was hushed by the sensation of his hair being twisted between your deft fingers.

He moaned into your wrist; it wasn't with reverent pleasure, it was in contentment.. ease..

You stared down at the beautiful pale Elf laying in your lap, feeding gently on your life force. His ears were lightly wiggling as he drank, latched onto skin.

You stifled a laugh, he was like a kitten nursing milk. It was too adorable. Of course, you'd never seen this angle to witness it before. It was beyond endearing.

He looked so peaceful with his eyes closed, slowly drinking his fill of your blood. His body language relaxed, instead of poised to pounce. The pace of his pulls against your wrist laboured and suckling.

Seeing him like this, calm and steady, instead of scared and jittering, unlocked a compartment of your heart you'd fervently kept closed off from the world.

Gods, you loved him.

You loved him so much you ached.

Your heart physically panged to see him so blissfully unbothered and relaxed.

You brushed his hair out of his face, and twirled it between your fingers. You smoothed his locks like petting a contented animal, and wove fingertips under the length, to massage the base of his skull.

Each movement illiciting a gratified sigh, his body sinking lower and lower into your lap.

After a while, your head started to feel woozy and your extremities were starting to go cold and numb.

"Astarion?" You whispered, gently rubbing your hand on his chest and tapping twice with your peace fingers, "That's enough, love."

He stirred, dazed from feeding. He clamped his two fingers on the puncture marks, as you reached for the healing potion from his pack to pour over them. A small drizzle and the marks were healed.

You took a steading breath and swigged the rest down to help with restoration of blood before a spell from Shadowheart in the morning.

Stoppering the empty bottle and placing it on the ground, Astarion's weight still lay heavy on your lap.

His lips and teeth dyed the colour of you, as he smiled dopily, eyes remaining closed.

You sat with him in the moment, returning to weave his white curls between your fingers. The vague warmth of your blood coarsing through him transferring back to you through skin contact.

Astarion let out a serene and easy sigh, his eyes heavy as he tried to open them.

"That felt.. very different." He whispered, almost like he was breathless.

You kissed your fingers that waited on his chest and pressed them to his temple. He kissed the air back at you, body still heavy and exhausted.

"I don't know how to describe it. My body feels heavy, but light.."

The light pulse of your blood through his dead veins was present again under the pads of your fingers.

"I assume this new feeding technique is a success then, dove?" You inquired, keeping your voice low.

Astarion swallowed thickly, the stain of blood still on his teeth. He licked his lips lethargicly, "Most certainly. I feel.. completely.. utterly.. totally.."

"I hope the end of this sentence is a good one." You teased at his lack of composure.

He let out a sharp exhale of amusement through his nose, "It is.." he muttered.

You smoothed the line of his jaw, careful to not touch his sensitive ears. You smiled at the recent memory of them twitching as he fed.

"Did you know your ears wiggle up and down when you feed?" You asked in soft merriment.

"I did not.." he replied, flexing his eyebrows slowly.

"It's very cute."

"I am not cute." He tried to exert, with not much conviction, "I am a terrible creature of the night, feeding on helpless victims. I am a monster. I am not cute." He posited in feigned outrage.

You gazed down at the soft, tortured, beautiful soul in front of you and quickly blinked back the tears that swelled.

"No, you're not my love.. and I promise one day you'll see yourself the way I see you." You beamed at him.

Astarion squeezed your had three times, you repeat it back. You take a shaking breath in and blow it out, smiling.

A different kind of intimacy.

•°•°•

Yo.. down here.. fancy some more? 👀

#astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x gn!tav #astarion x you #astarion x reader #bg3 fluff

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rafesaddiction · 10 months ago

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It's still not cheating when he's your best friend – Rafe Cameron x Reader (Part 2)

See here for part 1

Summary: You're excited to see your favorite band live. But a fight with your boyfriend threatens to cancel the trip, until someone you don’t expect to see, saves the day: your best friend Rafe Cameron.

Concept: best friend, only nice to her

Warnings: mdni! – smut, fingering, public, (kinda) dubcon, cheating (reader cheats on boyfriend), hints at a toxic relationship, name calling (reader is called slut), protective!rafe

Word count: 3.1k

a/n The past weeks have been really hard for me due to health issues. But I've finally been able to write again. I had fun writing this and I hope you won’t be disappointed reading it. Please let me know your thoughts.

Taglist @dream-pink @dope-trope-105 @rafeinterlude @baby19sthings @yootvi @aaronhotchswife @lilo7sworld

He almost ruined it. For months, you had been looking forward to seeing one of your favorite bands at the beach festival. The day before the concert, your boyfriend told you he didn't want to go and he didn't want you to go either. You had a fight that started over something stupid and ended with him accusing you that you just wanted to go to the festival so you could run around naked and fool around with guys, like the slut you were. You cried when he stormed out and shut your dorm room’s door with a bang. You cried all night.

Your boyfriend was supposed to be the driver. And now on top of all the personal pain you were feeling, you had to explain to your friends that you no longer had a ride to the festival. Neither you nor one of your friends owned a car. You tried to get your parents' car, but they needed it themselves. In the group chat you discussed all kinds of possibilities, until one of your friends wrote that he had organized a car. Everyone cheered at that, and even you, despite of all those tears that kept running down your face, were relieved that you and your friends could make the trip. You not only wanted to see the band play, more important to you was to get out with your friend and forget about the argument you and your boyfriend had.

Your friend also mentioned that the car's owner would join us to the festival, to which everyone naturally agreed and was excited. You even promised to bake cookies for the mysterious hero.

But you didn’t expect it to be him. You could have guessed because that friend also went to high school with you and they had been friends then. Still, it was kind of a shock and you froze when you saw a familiar car on the parking lot next to the dorms. The Cameron family SUV.

You hadn't talked to him since that one night. That one night that should have never happened. That one night that had been the best night of your life. That one night when you had had the best sex of your life with your best friend, Rafe Cameron.

Rafe wasn't much of a texter, but he had texted you. You had written six different replies and never sent one. You had wanted to write him or call him several times. Like last night when your boyfriend had made you cry again. Suddenly you were very aware of how you must look. Your eyes all puffy from the crying.

Rafe was at the back of the car, loading bags into the trunk with the friend who had invited him to this trip.

He hadn't seen you yet, his back was turned towards you, and you were glad about it, because you didn't know what to say, didn't know how to feel. So you were more than relieved when one of your friends arrived shortly after you, pulled you in a hug and decided that you two could already get into the car which was much cooler than standing around in the burning sun, while you could leave it to the guys to load your stuff into the car.

You sat in the middle of the backseat, your friend to your right. She started chatting right away and you felt somewhat relieved that she didn't comment on your boyfriend's absence nor your puffy eyes. Shortly after, the rest of your group arrived, you were six altogether, and luckily the SUV was really comfortable – more comfortable than your boyfriend's old minivan.

Rafe got into the driver's seat, and for a moment, he looked at you through the rearview mirror, before you turned your attention to your friend, as you felt your heart skipping a beat at that moment. You were unsure whether you saw a smile flash over his face, and you didn't dare to look again to check, afraid your face might reveal too much of your inner turmoil.

Though the drive took several hours, time flew by quickly. You had been right. It was good being with your friends and having fun. Everyone was in a good mood, the music was good, there was lively chatting and laughter, there was drinking and snacking, and even stupid car games were played. You might have been a little quieter than usual, but no one seemed to notice – no one except Rafe, who again and again looked at you through the mirror, but never directly spoke to you.

The parking lot of the festival site was already quite full, but Rafe managed to find a good spot for the car. When you got out of the car, you stretched your arms and felt the sun on your skin. It was a very hot day and the car had been nicely air-conditioned. Since it was so hot and the festival was on the beach anyway, your friends and you decided to just wear your bathing suits. You got out of your jeans shorts and shirt, as you were wearing your bikini underneath. You saw Rafe take off his shirt, and one of your guy friends commented that he should put it back on as it would make them all look like total wimps compared to him. There was laughter and Rafe smirked as he casually flexed his chest muscles. It was true. Rafe did look fitter than most guys. It wasn't too much muscles, but he was big and looked strong. Sometimes you thought he looked too good to be real, like a statue of some Greek god… Rafe had caught you staring at him and you quickly averted your gaze, feeling heat crawling to your face.

Since everyone was hungry, your friends and you decided to get some pizza and drinks, and after that more drinks. Everyone was relaxed and had a good time. You smiled a lot – except when you looked at your phone and saw the notifications. Your boyfriend had sent you several texts and voice mails. You didn't open them, you had already seen in the preview window what those texts were about. Obviously he hadn't calmed down. If anything he was even more angry, even more hurtful in his messages.

When looking at the phone, you also saw the time. The band you wanted to see was about to play soon. You asked your friends to go with you closer to the stage, but no one really wanted to move. They said you could hear the music perfectly well from their current spot, besides the booze was here. To that everyone cheered and raised their cups. Everyone but Rafe.

“I’ll go with you.”

“You don't have to. You can stay here, enjoy yourself. I'll just go on my own.”

“Quit that bullshit,” he said and came closer, he had put his cup away. “I'm going with you. So you won't get lost in the crowd. Besides, I know how much you want to see your third favorite band live.”

“You remember,” you gazed up at him, who stood now directly in front of you. You had to shield your eyes since the sun was shining so brightly, but you could definitely see a smile on his lips.

“Of course, I remember,” he said in a low voice, almost whispering and you couldn't help it, you gasped for air.

The smile on his lips turned into a smirk as he continued, “How could I ever forget you dancing to that one song for like all of junior year, hm? You're gonna do that dance again? Wouldn't wanna miss that.”

And he started moving his hips and his arms in a weird clumsy rhythm, imitating what was supposed to be you dancing. It looked ridiculous and you had to laugh.

You punched his shoulder. “Stop that. That's not how I dance.”

He kept on moving in that awkward way and you tried hard to stop laughing – suddenly feeling lighter and more relaxed than you had in weeks – since that night.

You crossed your arms in front of your chest and pushed out your lips, pouting, but couldn't fight the giggles, as Rafe tried some elaborate pirouette which caused him to stumble, but he stopped, directly in front of you. All of a sudden he was calm and there was something so soft in his features which you knew he rarely ever showed anyone.

“Let's go,” it was almost a whisper, then he added in a louder voice. “We don't want to miss that song and that dance.”

You punched his chest, your hand almost hurting as it hit the hard muscle – and felt his hot skin. But you let him take your hand and lead you from the group of your friends who were engrossed in some conversation of their own. His strong hand holding yours felt good, it felt right. Rafe was your best friend. He was the one you trusted most, he was the one who made you laugh, no matter what.

Rafe walked towards the stage and tugged you along with him. When there were more and more people around, he pulled you close to his body. Still holding one of your hands, his palm touched your back as he walked behind you, keeping you very close. He made sure you didn't get lost in the crowd. His body shielded you from anyone bumping into you or spilling their drinks on you.

The place got more and more crowded and he had to slow down. You turned your head to look at him.

“This is okay,” you said.

Rafe frowned as he looked at you. “No, it's not. We're going to the front row.”

“No, Rafe, this is totally okay. I can see enough from here.”

His frown deepened. “No, you can't. You're too tiny.”

At that comment you frowned. “I’m not tiny. You're just a giant,” you said and wanted to punch him with your free hand, but you didn't have enough space to move your arm, so you just ended up placing your palm on his chest. Feeling his hard muscle, feeling his hot skin, and his heart beating. He placed his hand on yours and your breathing hitched.

Rafe held you even tighter to his body as he proceeded to walk to the stage. His strong arms held you, protected you. And despite all these people around you, you only felt him, his presence, his closeness, all around you. Your skin tingled where it touched his, and that tingling grew stronger and became something else. Something that went so much deeper. And you felt a too familiar pulsing in your core.

Some people complained and pushed and shoved, but one look at Rafe’s face and stature and they made room for you and him. He really managed to secure a spot in the front row for you, right in the middle and you got the perfect view of the stage, standing directly behind the first barrier. Only a few feet of empty space separated you from the stage. Rafe was standing directly behind you, his hands to both sides of you, resting on the rail, his arms caging you in – shielding you.

You wanted to turn and thank him, but in that moment the band entered the stage and started playing their first song. You were captivated by their performance and the great atmosphere their music created. There was cheering, singing, dancing all around you. People were pushing and shoving, but you only felt a fraction of that as Rafe's body pressed closer to yours. He was shielding you from all the crowd's wilder movements, while you could enjoy being part of this experience safely.

You even danced a bit, your back rubbing against Rafe's front. When you craned your neck to look back at him, you saw him grin. And you felt a grin on your own face.

The set list was great too. They played all your favorite songs and the lead singer managed to put some kind of spell on the audience when they played a couple of slower songs. Or that spell was just on you, and not caused by the singer, but by something or someone else.

You leaned back a little, your head resting against Rafe's broad chest, feeling his heart beat. You closed your eyes and your hips swayed to the slow rhythm of the song. Your skin touched his skin. And you didn't mind the thin film of sweat covering his body from the heat of the bright sun and the crowded place. You smelled his scent so intensely, it made you almost forget where you were. It just made you feel.

Your eyes opened, your upper body leaned forward, resting your arms on the barrier. You watched the singer putting all his emotions into each and every note. Goosebumps crawled over your skin. But it wasn't from the singer's raspy voice. Rafe's hand touched your hip. Your back arched a little as your butt was pushed back. You gasped. Rafe's hand rubbed over your butt cheek, you felt the rough palm, the long fingers, the cool metal of his ring on your skin. The touch was light, too light, too gentle, too soft. Your mouth opened, but all sounds were drowned by the music and the noise of the people.

His fingertips, just his fingertips, tenderly touched the back of your thigh, moved to the inside of your leg. They moved up and one finger rubbed over the fabric of your bikini bottoms. It was like scratching and you flinched, but that didn't make him withdraw his hand. Instead, the finger pushed harder, pushed to part your folds, pushed to tease you, while the layer of clothes still was between you and his digit.

You felt heat rushing through your body, neither caused by the sun nor by the heat of the people moving around you. You did not perceive any of them. You just felt him, while your eyes were directed at the band on stage performing their emotional song.

Rafe’s finger moved along your slit with pressure. Through your bikini panties his fingertip was able to find your most sensitive spot at once and he began teasing it mercilessly. No one heard it, but you were sure, Rafe felt that you were moaning. You felt a growing need that threatened to take over all your senses. As if he knew that, felt that, perceived that, Rafe pushed the fabric aside – tantalizingly slow. And his fingers found you wet and yearning for his touch. A mewling sound escaped your lips as a finger pushed inside you. You felt your walls clench around the digit. And you felt Rafe tense behind you and you were sure you heard a groan.

The song had changed, you only now realized, its rhythm was faster, wilder. And so was Rafe's touch. His finger thrust into you, stretching your tightness, pushing deep, making you squirm. Your hands gripping the metal of the barrier for support. Your legs started shaking as Rafe added a second finger and began fucking you with his digits. He curled them inside you and your head went back to your neck as you moaned shamelessly. He pulled his fingers out completely, just to push them into you even deeper. Again and again.

The song grew louder, harder, fiercer – and so did his finger-fucking you. Your body trembled, your voice was hoarse and you were whining now. He pushed you further and further, closer and closer to the edge.

Then, all of a sudden, he leaned over you – maybe he was pushed by the crowd jumping about, maybe he needed to feel you closer too – and you could feel his hardness press against your back. You pressed your eyes shut as your climax hit you, hit you hard. The wave swept you away and carried you to another place, where all you did was feel, feel this, feel him.

His fingers fucked you through your orgasm. He had wrapped his arm around you, was holding you close to his body, and thus was also keeping you from falling, since your legs were shaking and you feared you no longer could trust them to support you.

Slowly he pulled his fingers out. And even though you still felt echoes of your high, this also left a feeling of emptiness inside you. A longing that was always there if he wasn't inside you.

You felt his breath close to your ear and heard him say something, but the music drowned his words. You turned your head, looking at him with hooded eyes and saw him lick his fingers.

The rest of the concert felt like in a haze. Rafe kept his arm around you, holding you close, while you watched the band play but could only listen to his heart beat, as your body was still shivering.

When the show ended, people started moving and Rafe took a step back to give you room to turn around to him.

“Thirsty?” he asked you, and you just nodded, not trusting your voice.

His hand on your back, Rafe guided you through the crowd back to your friends, and you had to admit to yourself that you wouldn't have found them on your own.

Rafe ordered something to drink for you at the nearby bar while you stood with your friends. One of them commented that you were glowing and that you looked totally blissed out. You touched your cheek and felt the heat, and felt that smile on your face. She asked if the show had been that good and you replied that it had been amazing. Your voice was hoarse and she suspected it was from you singing along with the band so loudly all the time. You didn't comment on that, just felt another wave of heat going through your body. As you turned, your eyes met Rafe's. A little smirk on his lips as he put a cup into your hand and took a swig out of his own.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron smut #rafe fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #drew starkey #outer banks #obx #dark rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe fic #smut fic #rafe x y/n #rafe x you #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks smut #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x you #rafe fanfic

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novantinuum · 10 months ago

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Steven's Breakdown Was Inevitable From the Very Beginning

I feel like the thing that fucks me up the most about Steven Q. Universe and how well conceived he is as a character is that the fundamental building blocks of why he reached his breaking point in SU: Future were laid out as clear as day in the span of legit only the first four episodes of the original show. The writing was literally always on the wall that future him would struggle with matters of self worth and identity in relationship to the others around him.

Let's take a look:

Gem Glow

"Awesome! What are these things?"

Foundational Trauma #1: Steven's home is always either under threat or actively being wrecked by antagonistic forces/beings, and he constantly copes with this by pushing down his fear in favor of a curiosity and silver linings based mindset.

Look at his initial shock when he opens the door and gets tackled by one of these things, and then his response when one of them spits acid:

The kid's freaked the hell out about all this, and while I do think there's a part of Steven that genuinely IS curious about what these lil critters are, I think he's subconsciously using that curiosity as a way to distract himself from his own fears and anxieties. This is Steven actively learning how to ignore the deeper problems in favor of emoting a facade to the others in his life that he can totally handle himself in scary situations like these.

The underlying reason why is incredibly apparent, when you look at the example from the next episode-

Laser Light Canon

"I don't know what a magic lady like her ever saw in a plain old dope like me..."

Genuinely- from the bottom of my heart- I think the above quote from Greg is a moment where his own insecurities around the Gems actually rubbed off on Steven.

At this point in time, Steven may be living with the Gems... but he hasn't started to harness any of his powers at all, so in his own head he might as well be the same as his dad- another human, just one who happens to have a gem! But the way Greg talks about himself... given Steven was living with him in the van for years before moving in to the beach house, he had to have heard negative self-talk from his dad like this before.

And then there's the rest of the Crystal Gems... always speaking of Rose with such reverence as if she were an all-powerful goddess... and Steven can't help but look back at himself, and his gem that won't work... the gem that the others still identify as Rose's...

"Your gem-! You have Rose's gem!"

And maybe he starts to wonder if- without any working powers- he's just a plain ol' dope like his Dad, too.

"Please work... Unlock! Activate! Go! Please-!! Everyone's counting on you, you can't just be useless!"

Foundational Trauma #2: Steven has Rose's gem, and as such, is constantly living under the silent expectation to live up to a standard that he simply cannot ever hope to achieve, because he doesn't KNOW her and he never will.

I want to highlight one of Steven's expressions while his dad is talking about Rose- look at that sad look. My god, I just wanna hug him. This is the expression of a child who has already come to terms with the fact that his only relationship with his mom is through the rose tinted stories that other people tell him about her.

Cheeseburger Backpack

So. Steven has learned so far that he needs to push down his feelings and emote a false veneer of cheer and bravery even when he's afraid, because the rest of the people in his life have expectations and hopes for him due to the legacy of his parentage and he can't bear the thought of letting them down. (And in a sad way, at this point "letting them down" literally just means... being an ordinary human boy. I believe Steven at this stage of the show is flat out scared to be human, because to be human is to fail at being a Gem, and no amount of love and sacrifice in the name of humanity in the seasons to come could've ever saved him from the fundamental fact that the wedge between him and this whole half of his being was already drawn long before the events of season 1 even started. But I digress.)

Let's see where we go from there. Let's check out Steven's first "mission." Or as Pearl puts it about 35 episodes later, his first "test."

"Yeah... they can't all be winners."

This episode is tinted with a little bit of tragedy for me on rewatch, because I genuinely do think the Gems handled the situation as well as they could've. They were supportive of Steven's successful ploys, and (for the most part) responded with grace when he majorly blundered and left the Goddess Statue at home. The main problem, however, is that Steven has already developed a bit of a complex about impressing the three of them-

Foundational Trauma #3: Even when they claim otherwise, Steven has convinced himself that affection from the Gems is transactional, and that when he messes up he's not truly a part of the Crystal Gems.

Of course we the audience know this isn't true- I mean, hell, Amethyst even said as much in episode one after her slip-up ("and you're fun to have around, even if your gem IS useless!")... that the Crystal Gems wouldn't be the same without him. But Steven... the poor kid is a complicated little guy living a complicated life, and whether they intended it or not, the language used they've used around him thus far has not backed up their attempts at fully embracing him, human parentage and all.

Thus, Steven just spends the entire episode wracked with anxiety trying to find creative non-power using ways to make the mission easier so he can convince them he's useful to have around.

Look how nervous he gets even when all three of them are visibly and vocally supportive of his presence here:

This is the face of a boy who feels like he's under constant judgement and scrutiny from those around him.

Blessedly, viewing this episode in isolation, he experiences a brief moment of mental respite where he finally accepts the Gems' encouragement and agrees that his ideas 'can't all be winners,' but this lesson does not stick for him moving forward. A shame, really.

Together Breakfast

"What's the matter, Steven?" "I wanted us all to have breakfast together, so I made Together Breakfast! But everyone keeps leaving..." "Oh, that's nice..."

Taken in context with what we've learned already in the last three episodes, Steven's desperation to spend quality time with the Gems here and his sadness that they keep leaving him alone doesn't just exist within a vacuum. He spends the whole morning watching them shuffle in and out of the temple, or come back from missions he wasn't invited on, and with the disastrous result of the LAST mission he went on probably fresh in his mind it's not hard to understand why this bothers him.

Foundational Trauma #4: Steven internalizes that the price of "not being useful" is that the Gems actively ignore him, meaning that the only way to guarantee their attention is to work as hard as he can to become a stronger member of the team.

I know this screenshot is usually used as a lighthearted meme, but I wanted to include it because I think it's a good example of how Steven's intense desire to impress permeates every facet of his personality at times. Just LOOK at how desperate he is to make Garnet laugh at his joke, to be the one that's at very least "fun to have around," as Amethyst put it in episode one.

The Gems do eventually drop what they're doing to spend time with Steven by the conclusion of this episode, but this only comes after Steven shows his growing strength and "proves" himself by saving their butts from the breakfast monster.

If he successfully gained their attention in literally any other way he might've come away from this episode with a different lesson, but no. Instead, his fears were proven true- the Gems value strength and utility, and if he's not exhibiting that, then what use is he to them?

These fears of his can be seen weaving throughout the foundational fabric of the entire show, but I think Steven lays out what he sees as his "stakes" in the clearest way possible in the episode 'An Indirect Kiss.'

"But- if I don't have powers, then I can't hang out with Amethyst, or Garnet, o-or Pearl, and- I-I can't go on missions!"

And these same insecurities even rear their ugly head as late as the movie.

"I can't believe this... for the first time in years, everyone's in danger, everybody needs me, and- I'm useless!"

Powers = Utility = Worth = Other's love, for Steven. Everything is transactional to the end, which is a hilarious double standard he's set for himself when he's made his reputation as the kid who always listens and encourages and gives others a chance to change, no matter their messy history with him.

So let's recap and restate those foundational traumas from Steven's perspective.

One: The only way to cope when your life is constantly under threat is to bury the damage and pretend to be fine.

Two: Everyone expects you to live up to the standards of someone you're not.

Three: The Gems only love you when you're of use to them.

Four: If you ever stop being useful, the Gems won't want anything more to do with you.

In sum, Steven's habit of burying his feelings for the benefit of others was there from the very beginning, not just since 'The Test.'

Those unreachable standards he felt so daunted and intimidated by all his life were the ones set by Rose, at first... but over the course of the series, the dynamic of this shifted. As Rose's influence fell into the background, Steven's rose into the front. And so it's with great irony that- by the time of Steven Universe: Future, the expectations this exhausted, worn down teenager is fighting to once again achieve are the ones HE set for himself. Many of young Steven's selfless actions during the war are quite admirable when analyzed in isolation, but almost none of them are sustainable. He set himself on fire just to save the world, but teen Steven is genuinely unable to see this for what it is yet- as a tragic sacrifice of his own childhood. You can't burn your own ends for others forever, not at all. His breakdown was simply inevitable.

When it comes to the interconnected beliefs three and four, these are exactly why the ultimate confrontation at the end of I Am My Monster HAD to be one fueled by selfless love. Steven is at his absolute lowest at this point- he's everything he fears he's become, trapped in a form that's nearly incapable of reason. He's big and angry and spiky because that's a part of the facade- because a part of him WANTS to scare the Gems away, wants to be left alone forever, believing this the fate he deserves as price for his misdeeds.

In this form, by his own definitions he is NOT useful to the Crystal Gems at all.

But they don't care.

Because it never WAS about Steven's 'usefulness' to them, they simply love him for being Steven.

With this in mind, the conclusion of Steven Universe: Future wasn't just a salve to teen Steven's immediate struggles, it was a salve to the foundational insecurities that have been plaguing him his entire life.

And hopefully... from this point on... his family's shows of love and encouragement will be enough to finally convince Steven that he's more than worth their time...

No matter what path the future leads him on, and no matter what form he takes.

#su #su future #steven universe #su meta #my post stuff

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hoshifighting · 5 months ago

Note

Heyy I love reading your blog, smut specially. I think no one write this better than you ehehehe.

So, how about pussy drunk mingyu, who's have not get to eat you out for a long time as reader's finals week is going on, so when he get the permission to finally get down. He is all giggling and happy as he fucks reader with his tongue and fingers.

Idk it just sounds cute and yet very endering for me

mingyu giving oral, after you spent weeks studying nonstop

a/n: thanks a bunch for checking out my blog!! it's dope to know that I'm giving u a good read 🥰🥰 💋

warnings: smut, pussy eating, fingering, clit stimulation.

the past few weeks had been an intense blur of textbooks, highlighters, and endless nights spent studying for your finals. mingyu, ever the supportive boyfriend, had been by your side through it all. his knowledge seemed limitless—physics, mathematics, arts—he was good at almost every subject. whenever you felt overwhelmed, he knew exactly where to find the best study sources and would send you video classes from youtube. those short videos packed all the information you needed in just a few minutes, saving you precious time.

mingyu's help had been invaluable, but he wished he could do more. every time he glanced at you, he saw the tension in your shoulders, as if you were carrying the weight of the world. he would always offer you a massage, sometimes suggesting more intimate ways to relieve stress. but your anxiety about the tests made sex the last thing on your mind, and he understood. he was patient, always reassuring you that it was okay, that he didn’t mind waiting. he knew what it was like to be a college student, after all.

finally, the day of your last test arrived. you walked into your apartment with a big smile, clutching the exam paper that displayed your high score. the moment mingyu saw you, he lifted you into the air, covering your face, neck, and shoulders with kisses.

“you did it! i’m so proud of you!” he exclaimed, his eyes shining with pride.

you laughed, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. “i couldn’t have done it without you, mingyu. you were my rock.”

setting you down gently, he looked at you with a mixture of love and desire. “you look exhausted, baby. how about you take a warm bath to get rid of all that tension?”

you nodded, feeling the stress of the past weeks starting to melt away. “that sounds perfect.”

as you turned to head to the bathroom, mingyu leaned in and whispered in your ear, his breath warm against your skin, “i’ll be waiting for you in the bedroom, to get rid of every single bit of tension.”

a shiver ran down your spine, and you bit your lip, feeling a spark of excitement. you grabbed a towel and rushed to the bathroom, eager for the first time in weeks.

the warm water enveloped you, washing away the last remnants of stress. you closed your eyes, allowing yourself to relax completely. after what felt like an eternity, you stepped out, wrapped the towel around yourself, and headed to the bedroom.

mingyu was waiting for you, as promised, lying on the bed with a look of anticipation. he smiled as you entered, his eyes raking over your form. “feeling better?”

you nodded, dropping the towel and slipping into bed beside him. “much better.”

his hands were warm and gentle as they began to massage your shoulders, working out the knots of tension. you closed your eyes, leaning into his touch. “you have no idea how good this feels.”

he chuckled softly, his breath tickling your ear. “i think i have some idea.”

you raise an eyebrow, teasingly. "and what would that idea be?" you ask.

mingyu smiles, a glint of hunger in his eyes as he lays you down on the bed, gently opening your towel to reveal your naked form. droplets of water still adorn your skin, catching the light. his gaze intensifies, and you can sense that your eagerness is growing.

without warning, mingyu's warm mouth descends on you, his lips and tongue immediately finding your clit. your mind goes completely blank, all the stress and information from your studies vanishing in an instant. your eyes roll back, and a gasp escapes your lips as he expertly alternates between flicking and sucking, his tongue dancing with precision.

mingyu has always been greedy when giving you oral, and tonight is no exception. his eyes never leave your face, studying every reaction. he knows exactly how to break you, paying attention to the way you tremble when his tongue flicks a little faster or the way your moans turn to broken whimpers when he sucks your clit into his mouth.

you expected some preliminaries, like kisses on your thighs or gentle licks, but mingyu goes straight to what he knows you need. his intensity leaves you breathless, and you can feel yourself getting wetter with each passing second. mingyu isn't a man of quickies; even with oral, he takes his time to give you the full experience. his mouth is relentless, and just when you think you can't take any more, he adds his fingers to the mix.

his middle and ring finger slide into you effortlessly, and you barely notice the initial stretch. he pumps them in and out slowly, matching the rhythm of his tongue on your clit. your back arches, and you grasp at the sheets, feeling everything twice as intensely after so long without release.

mingyu's mouth works in tandem with his fingers, and you can feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter and tighter. his tongue and fingers play you like an instrument, and you can't hold back any longer. the wave of pleasure crashes over you, and you cry out, your body trembling as the orgasm breaks through you.

mingyu doesn't stop, his mouth and fingers coaxing every last bit of pleasure from you until you're completely spent, collapsing back onto the bed with a contented sigh. he moves up to lie beside you, a satisfied smile on his face.

"feeling better?" he asks, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead.

you nod, breathless and blissful. "much better."

he kisses your forehead tenderly.

mingyu smirks, clearly pleased with himself. "by the way, what's the formula for newton's second law?" he asks playfully.

you stare at him, completely dumbfounded. "huh?" your mind, still foggy from the intense orgasm, struggles to recall the subject you've been studying for weeks and the exam you just took today.

he chuckles, enjoying your reaction. "just messing with you," he says, brushing a kiss across your forehead. "i'll let you recover. you're too sensitive right now."

you let out a breathless laugh, and you can still feel the effects of pleasure. "yeah, i think we need to take things slow for a bit," you agree, knowing it will take a little time to ease back into the rhythm of the constant sex you two usually enjoyed.

mingyu pulls you into his arms, holding you close. "no rush," he whispers. "we have all the time in the world."

707 notes · View notes

sweetiesicheng · 3 months ago

Text

vernon - movie night

word count : 560

every week, you and your upstairs neighbor have a movie night together. he's a film student, so it isn't surprising. vernon likes to write movie reviews, and he also likes to have a buddy with him. while he has great friends, he likes when you come by since he thinks your opinions are interesting.

after meeting each other in the elevator one day, the movie nights have been going on since last semester. it's been a lot of fun, even if you have to share your dinner with vernon. how has he lasted this long on eating bread all the time?

—

[ vernon ]

coming over?

[ y/n ]

i'm making dinner. be

up when i'm done.

[ vernon ]

cool.

—

you put your phone down and finish cooking your dinner. you grab a container and pack your food before throwing the container into a bag along with some snacks.

when you're ready to leave, you open a window and climb out of your apartment and onto the fire escape. you slide the window closed again and climb up to the unit above you.

"did you make some for me?" vernon asks when you make it up. he's standing by the already opened window inside his apartment.

"if i didn't, then you'd eat bread again," you reply as you hand him the bag. "i brought snacks too," you add.

"oh nice," he replies and opens the bag to peek inside while you climb into his apartment. "my professor said the movie is a good one," he mentions while going to the kitchen.

you slide the window closed. "hey, as long as it isn't scary, i'm down for any movie," you reply.

you join vernon in the kitchen and plate the food you cooked. vernon brings the plates over to the coffee table while you make yourself a cup of tea. once you're done, you sit down on the floor and start eating your dinner with vernon while the movie starts.

—

"thoughts?" vernon asks you as the credits start scrolling. he lets them play since there’s music playing and small clips that appear along with the credits.

you shrug, "meh."

"what? really?" he questions you, clearly surprised by your answer. "that's it?"

"i mean, i feel like it was a pretty average movie. i'm not a movie buff like you, but it's plot was pretty standard. the character development was better than most though," you say to vernon.

"but even if the plot was standard, everything surrounding it was good. i think everything around it made it better," vernon replies. "and come on, that scene in the factory was pretty dope."

you think about the movie some more. you hum, "okay, the factory scene was cool but think about everything else, vernon. i can think of like five other movies that remind me of this one. as i keep thinking about it—"

you don't get to finish your sentence. why? because vernon had leaned in and kissed you straight on the lips.

when he pulls back, he sits back on the couch with a grin while you sit there gobsmacked.

"did you kiss me so i would stop dissing the movie?" you ask him after a few seconds.

he chuckles, "maybe, but more because you looked too cute," he says to you.

"...just go write your discussion board..."

"can i kiss you again?" he asks.

"...yea."

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roo-bastmoon · 5 months ago

Text

The Best Revenge...

Beloveds, I'm just gonna say this now to get it out of the way...

Over the next two to three months, we can expect the cult and shooters to kick up a huge fuss over the Are You Sure series. I mean, protest trucks and hashtags and hate trains and all the rest. It's already starting to get nasty.

So let this Dope Old Person give y'all some unsolicited advice:

Let the toddlers have their tantrums. It's all they are developmentally capable of, anyway. Just let them have their meltdowns and writhe all over the floor.

You know what would be better than clapping back or getting into arguments? Just responding with sheer, naked, unbridled joy. Just delighting in every precious moment of that show. Make it very, very clear that such content is absolutely seen, understood, and welcome.

Spam antis with gifs and clips. Squee all up and down the timeline. Never shut up about how awesome it is. If some asshole comes after you or Jikook, just act like they asked you to fangirl with them and only respond with ample evidence of Jimin and Jungkook smiling and giggling and enjoying the hell out of each other.

Spread the love. I think Jikook would like that.

Don't get down in the dirt and start slinging mud. Don't bring up other members. Don't write haters paychecks by paying them with your time and attention. Do not waste energy arguing with screaming toddlers. Let them cry themselves out. They have to learn to self-regulate.

Meanwhile, SQUEEZE every last DROP of fun and happiness out of Are You Sure and let Jikook's undeniable bond speak for itself. Focus on giving it a warm and celebrated debut, without any distraction.

Let them keep being jealous.

We got something worth holding on to.

Love, Roo

#jimin #jungkook #jikook

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hayleythesugarbowl · 5 months ago

Note

hey I love ur fics, can you maybe do like a Trevor evarts headcanon? Or a Spencer Agnew fic that takes place at the Shourtney reception.

Marry Me || Spencer Agnew x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • smosh masterlist ⋆˚｡⋆୨୧⋆

summary: after seeing shayne and courtney tie the knot, you are worried that you’ll never find a love like theirs. that’s when you start to see your best friend spencer in a new light

word count: 2.4k

warnings: none

a/n: ok first of all i know everyone and their pet rat uses this pic but i couldn’t help it this photo of spencer does things to me 🫠 second of all, i loved both of these ideas and so i had to write them both!! trevor hcs to come stay tuned 🤭 i took some inspiration from that one friends ep in london for this iykyk so thanks mondler. enjoy!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Spencer, if you were a guy you’d marry me, right?”

“First of all, ouch.” Spencer clutched his chest. “And second of all, what?”

“I mean, is there something un-marryable about me?” You asked, taking a sip of your drink.

You didn’t know what was bringing on all of the sudden thoughts about being married—or not being married.

Well, that was a lie. You did know.

You had just watched two of your best friends get married earlier that day. Shayne and Courtney were perfect for each other. You were so happy for them and you loved being happy for them.

But now, as you leaned against the bar at the reception, you couldn’t help but worry that this would never happen for you.

You’d had lousy, short-lived relationship after lousy, short-lived relationship. Up until you met your last partner, who you’d dated for a year and a half.

It was the first long-term relationship you’d had—with someone you thought you could end up marrying.

That didn’t turn out exactly how you thought it would. You’d broken up last month.

You’d always thought the fact that you’d end up with someone for life was a given. It just happened. It had to. But now you weren’t so sure.

“I don’t think so,” Spencer looked you up and down, his voice bringing you out of your thoughts. “People settle all the time.”

You whacked Spencer on the arm. “Very funny. But when I end up as an old cat lady living in your basement, it won’t be.”

You and Spencer had been best friends for as long as you could remember. It was him who’d gotten you your job at Smosh and introduced you to all the people you were surrounded by now.

“There are worse fates. Cats are dope and I’ll always run the ac.”

“Spencer,” you whined. “I’m serious.”

“Yes, (Y/n), I’m sure someone out there would love to marry you,” he said. “Now can I go now? I heard there’s a La Croix tower inside.”

“I wish,” Shayne said, walking by and overhearing. “Courtney ixnayed that idea a while ago.”

“Not until I get my wenching hour!” Courtney stated, catching up and stopping to kiss her husband.

“Congratulations guys,” you called as they kept walking, mingling with more people.

You wanted that. Not the La Croixs or whatever Court was talking about, but a relationship like theirs.

A best friend who knows everything about you and who would do anything for you. Someone who you spend all of your time with, not knowing how you feel about them until you do. And then getting to know them as a partner and becoming intimate with them in a new way.

Getting to love them in a new way.

You groaned, turning to Spencer. “Do me a favor? If we’re both single when we’re 40, let’s get married.”

“Woah, what makes you think I’m going to be single when I’m 40?”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah ok fine, I’ll marry you,” he agreed.

You sighed and Spencer took a step closer to you, putting his arm around your shoulder.

“Hey, you’re going to find someone,” he said sincerely, “You’re kind and funny and beautiful. Lots of people would be lucky to have you.”

“You’re just saying that,” you waved him off.

“I’m dead serious,” he said, turning so he could look you in the eyes. “You’re one of the best people I know. Any guy who doesn’t love you immediately is on something.”

You looked into his eyes as he comforted you. He looked like he really believed all of the things he was saying to you.

This suddenly felt…different. As Spencer pulled you in for a hug, wrapping his arms around you, you couldn’t help but…

No. This was Spencer. He was being a good friend, this was normal. Why now should you be…

But you couldn’t keep the thought from creeping into the back of your mind. Spencer…

You may have had a tiny crush on Spencer when you had first met. Who wouldn’t, you had thought. He was funny and cool and had killer tattoos. But once you’d become friends, all of that attraction had turned into friendship and you hadn’t thought of him that way since.

Until now…

You pulled away from Spencer’s embrace slowly.

“You’re going to get married, ok? You’re a catch. And if not, then I’ll be happy to marry you at 40. I’ll start picking out my tux tomorrow.”

You smiled, thinking how sweet Spencer was being.

“Now, let’s talk about how many cats you’re going to have in my basement, because I max out at eleven.”

And just like that the spell was broken. This was Spencer, your best friend. Who was always teasing you and making you laugh and definitely wasn’t someone you were romantically interested in.

Right?

“And if I had my heart set on twelve?” You asked him, carrying on the joke.

“I guess I could make an exception,” he shrugged. “But only because I love you.”

Your heart leapt and you tried to tell it to shut up. You and Spencer had told each other you loved each other several times. So why now did it just encourage your thoughts.

Just then someone a few yards away called Spencer over.

“Hey, I’ll catch up with you later,” he told you. “Try not to marry a stranger while I’m gone.”

And then he left you to your musings. You didn’t like Spencer, not like that.

You blamed it on the wanting a relationship like Shayne and Courtney. And you had just been worried that you were never going to find anyone, and Spencer had comforted you.

Maybe you just felt grateful, that was all. Grateful that your best friend was there to cheer you up.

But you couldn’t picture Spencer calling you beautiful and then wrapping his arms around you without feeling all warm and fuzzy inside.

You imagined actually marrying Spencer. You had said it mostly as a joke and partly so you could have a backup in case you really were alone forever.

But now, the more you thought about it, the thought of being married to Spencer, sharing everything and being together for the rest of your lives, didn’t seem like just a backup.

Oh god. Maybe you did have feelings for Spencer. Maybe you always had. You tried to think back on your relationship, looking for signs.

You’d always felt close to him. Closer than you were with anybody else. Maybe it had always been him and you just hadn’t seen it in a while.

You began walking, desperate to be away from your thoughts and needing the distraction of moving.

You looked up just in time to realize you’d almost run into Amanda and Angela.

“Hey guys,” you said, “Sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“Been there!” Angela leaned in for a high five and you looked down at the drink in your hand.

“Oh no, it’s not—I’m not drunk,” you said. “I just have a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

“Ooh, wedding tea!” Amanda exclaimed. “Spill.”

You sighed. What was the harm in telling them. “You ever suddenly realize you might have feelings for your best friend even though you’ve never thought of them like that before?”

“Isn’t that why we’re all here?” Angela gestured around her at the wedding festivities.

“That is pretty Shourtney coded,” Amanda nodded her head, before whispering to Angela, “Did I use that right?”

Angela patted her on the shoulder.

“I’m not talking about Shayne and Courtney,” you said.

“Then never,” Angela said

“All the time,” Amanda said at the same time, thinking. “Wait who do you—Spencer?”

Angela hit her in the arm.

“I mean, Spencer?” She said much quieter that time.

“Maybe,” you whispered, not being able to stop the smile spreading on your face.

“Since when?” Angela asked you.

“Like ten minutes ago?” You answered. “But in a way maybe I’ve always known? I was telling him all this stuff about how I was worried I’d never get married and that I was going to end up alone and he was so sweet and reassuring and now I can’t get the thought of him out of my head and…” you groaned, trailing off. “And now I don’t know.”

Angela and Amanda shared a look. “We have to,” Angela said.

“Angela, we promised,” Amanda chided, shaking her head.

“But c’mon,” she gestured at you. “We have to say something.”

“Ok guys? I can still hear you,” you told them.

“Right, sorry.” Angela said. “It’s just—”

“Spencerhasacrushonyou,” Amanda spit out.

“Dude!” Angela threw her arms up.

“Sorry,” Amanda bit her lip.

“You knew I wanted to say it,” Angela mumbled. “But I get it, not the time.”

“Back up,” you got out, “What?”

“Spencer really likes you, (Y/n),” Angela said. “We’ve known for a while now. In fact, I’m pretty sure everyone at the office except you has known for a while now.”

What? You couldn’t believe your ears. What they were saying didn’t make sense. There was no way Spencer, your best friend, had had feelings for you this whole time.

“No,” you said, taking a step back. “You guys are crazy.”

“Yes,” Angela agreed. “But not about this.”

“Ask him yourself,” Amanda said.

“Yeah, and you know, just don’t mention that we were the ones who told you,” Angela shrugged.

Were you really going to do this?

You took a deep breath. What would you even say?

Hey, a little birdie told me that you have a crush on me and I, as of very recently, have feelings for you, let’s see where this goes?

“Hey, Angela,” Amanda suddenly stated loudly. “Look, it’s that guy!”

She pointed in the opposite direction and Angela’s eyes brightened. “Oh, I love that guy!”

You turned around, seeing that Spencer was approaching you.

“Thanks guys,” you muttered sarcastically.

They both hurried away and Angela winked at you as they passed. You rolled your eyes.

Spencer came up behind you. “Damn, you don’t take a shower for like one day...”

You laughed. “No, they just had to run. Saw some guy, apparently.”

“(Y/n), what’s up?” Spencer looked at you. “You kinda look like you had some of that punch inside.”

He made a face.

“You have feelings for me?” you blurted out.

Arguably, you could’ve handled that better. You didn’t even mean to say it, but upon seeing Spencer it had just kinda slipped out.

Spencer’s expression turned into one of shock. He fumbled for words. “I, um—I don’t—who told you?”

Is what he finally settled on.

“Because if it was Angela, I swear—”

“It doesn’t matter,” you told him. “What matters is, is it true?”

Spencer sighed. “Wow, um, I definitely didn’t mean for you to find out this way—or at all, for that matter—but yeah. The eleven cats are out of the bag. I guess I have feelings for you.”

“For how long?” You mumbled, still in disbelief even though he had just confirmed it. This night was a roller coaster of emotions.

“For as long as I can remember,” Spencer rubbed the back of his neck. “Since the moment I met you.”

You let out a breath. You didn’t know what to say.

“But its no big deal!” He hurried out. “I’ve gone years of being your friend without you ever knowing. I’ve gotten kind of good at it. Since you obviously don’t feel the same way, can we just pretend this never happened and go back to the way things were?”

“No,” you said slowly. “No, I can’t do that.”

“Yeah, well, I guess this does sort of ruin our friendship, huh?” He deflated, looking at the ground. “I completely understand if you don’t feel comfortable with—”

And that was all he got out before you kissed him.

He looked surprised for almost two seconds before he wrapped his arms around you slowly and kissed you back.

He was hesitant at first, as if he wanted to make sure that you wanted this as much as he did.

But as you let your lips give him encouragement, he kissed you harder, more intensely.

He kissed you like he had been waiting years for this moment.

“Wow,” you breathed, pulling away gently. “That was…different.”

“Yeah we don’t usually do that,” Spencer agreed and he sounded as breathless as you felt.

You both started laughing.

“But I’d like to keep doing it,” Spencer added.

“Yeah,” you smiled at him, “yeah, me too. I guess I owe it to you, you have been obsessed with me for years.”

“Obsess is a strong word!” Spencer held up his hands in defense. “I prefer unrequited pining.”

“It might not have been entirely unrequited the whole time,” you confessed, grabbing Spencer’s hand.

You heard someone—or, multiple someones—cheering and you turned to find Shayne and Courtney looking in your direction.

“Finally!” Courtney shouted, laughing with the small crowd that had gathered around them, witnessing what just happened

“Time for all of us to cash in on our office bets,” Shayne said. “Who had 2024?”

“I sure didn’t,” Amanda said, a few feet away from the bride and groom. “That was not on my 2024 bingo card.”

She turned to Angela, who didn’t even look her way as she said, “Yeah, you used it right.

You laughed, looking at Spencer before turning back to everyone else. “Sorry, this is your wedding and here we are making out!”

“The more the merrier!” Courtney called.

“Wait a second, you’re not about to propose though are you?” Spencer asked. “Because we still have a while before 40.”

You giggled. “You totally just spoiled it! I didn’t even get to pull out my ‘marry me’ sign.”

But he was right. You had time. To see where this went, to explore this new relationship. You couldn’t wait.

You’d known Spencer as a friend, your best friend. And now you’d get to know him as a partner.

“Bold of you to assume I would say yes,” Spencer answered.

“You would’ve said yes,” you teased, nudging his shoulder.

“Not if I beat you to it.”

Spencer got down on one knee, grabbing your hand.

“(Y/n) (Y/l/n), will you make me the happiest man at this reception—barring Shayne—and go out with me?”

You laughed at the fake proposal. “Yes, Spencer. I will go out with you.”

He stood up, kissing you softly.

“I’ll be expecting another one of those in 10 years,” you said.

“I’ll be counting down the days,” Spencer smiled.

Amanda walked passed you then, shaking her head as she thought aloud.

“First kisses,” she muttered. “Never gets old.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ ahh i hope you guys enjoyed this!! like i said, trevor hcs coming soon. watch out for another spencer fic in the works!! 🎀🍒

#spencer agnew #spencer agnew x reader #smosh #smosh imagine #smosh fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #reader insert #x reader

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therealcocoshady · 29 days ago

Note

U know this videos of Eminem Concert Core on Tik Tok? I keep thinking about it but with us (Reader/YN) that has the same personality as him and embraces his strange with her own strange

(Part in bold: Famous audio on my country's tik tok translated badly; i dunno how this audio is on english)

Em: I think it's going to start raining.

Reader: I doubt. I'm wearing a red panty for lucky

Em: Me too

Reader: You are in a red panty?

Not a request or anything, just an idea that popped up in my mind (but if u write it /j)

Ugh, you have no idea how much I love this. These eminemcore videos on TikTok live in my mind rent free. Please allow me to elaborate on how dope it would be as a concept 🙊

Most of the time, especially nowadays, he appears calm and composed and public. Three decades and 16 years of sobriety after getting his start, he's not as chaotic as he used to be. He's not as quick-tempered, not as angry and erratic. But the way he lets his goofy side come out, on stage and behind the scenes, you just know that it wasn't just the drugs making him wild. If anything, being sober makes him a better agent of chaos.

He's stated in interviews that, sometimes, him being high or wasted would make his mean and angry side come out. Now that he is sober, people around him probably don't fear his bad temper as much. However, sobriety doesn't mean he has become any easier to put up with. If anything, he is just as insufferable. Maybe even more so, now that he has more wit, so his jokes and the playful jabs he throws at people are even more creative. You can just tell the weird, sometimes intrusive thoughts in his brain win, sometimes, and he's just happy to let them.

Now, some people would think that, as he gets older, maybe he'd calm down (no) or that he just needs to find himself a lady who keeps him grounded. After all, maybe he's been single and alone with his weird brain for too long. Imagine their relief when he says that he has, indeed, met someone who makes him happy (finally). Only for the relief to be short lived as they finally meet her and realize that he really has found his match. Not only does she put up with his antics but she's just as freaky. Weird humor. Crazy ideas. Pranks. The things Marshall says that leave people puzzled, because they don't seem to make sense... She gets them. When he makes an obscure reference, she gets it too. And they really don't know if they should be happy for him or scared that it's actually a sign of the apocalypse. 🙊

Or, imagine that Reader meets some of his friends. Maybe she's just moved to Detroit, or they meet at an event/party. And as they get to know her, they can only think about how much of a female version of Marshall she is, in the way that she is unapologetically weird and freaky. They really like it, though, because it makes her really funny and entertaining. She's really cute, too, and overall, they agree that she'd be a great match for him. They just don't know if they should try and play matchmaking or act in the best interest of everyone's energy levels and try to keep them away from each other. 👀

#eminem #marshall mathers #slim shady #eminem x reader #eminem imagine #eminem blurb #eminem drabble

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therealslimshakespeare · 8 months ago

Text

Masters of the Air Fanfiction

Requested: yes…Virgin!Gale + Maureen/Gale bonding

Universe: Friends in the Crucible (pacific au)

Summary: “Get laid, Buck.” Doc Egan prescribed with his peculiar brand of deathly serious compassion, “Hell, I’ll write you a prescription for it, if it soothes your conscience, but I’m serious. Serve your jitters better than any syrette or Amphetamine.”

Warnings: all the sex! 18+.|| both tender and feral || Doc Egan being a unorthodox but loving menace, a theme of ptsd and body tremors/insomnia -poor Gale is going through it after a whole war, drug mentions, erectile disfunction, Maureen is aggressive but everything’s consensual, usage of the word “Jap”. Graphic descriptions of Gale’s virginity loss, male overstimulation and an amusing amount of thought given to Bucky’s existence during the act … im sure that won’t lead to anything when Maureen returns to base and reports to Egan about it, right? Hahaha of course not, that would be craaazy

Word count: 10k

“Buck, come on now, it’s not a prison sentence, it’s just a little time off.”

“I don’t need time off.” Gale reiterated, a panicked sort of fierceness creeping into his tone as his appeal now stretched into something longer than the usual flippant favors Egan was customarily so eager to dole out.

“Those hands suggest ya do.” John gave a not unkind glance of sympathy at the twitching fingers rattling on the armrests of Cleven’s chair.

12 rescue missions in 15 days. Flying upwards of ten hours each. He’d done worse before, but then again, that had been when he was fresh, younger, less banged up from the head hitting the cockpit wall.

“Sending me to go watch flamingos and contemplate sand or some shit isn’t gonna make me steadier.” Gale very much feared his gripes were beginning to sound like begs, “Don’t send me off like this. Don’t.”

“Petrified of flamingos?” John hummed, glancing down at his chart as if contemplating making a note of this new malady, “Maybe if your dad had taken you to a zoo once or twice as a kid you’d not be scared stiff of the prospect.”

Cleven stared back at him with the most hurt eyes John had ever seen. He balled his own fist up to remember the rightness of his point, even if he’d delivered it about as clumsily as a marriage proposal at a funeral. “The hell would you say something like that?” Buck whispered, not even angry, just utterly lost.

“Buck, I’m just sayin’ -inability to slow or be alone, it’s classic symptoms of battle fatigue.”

“I don’t wanna sit on a beach when I could be helping, I’m perfectly capable of still helping! You know it!”

“But you can’t sleep.” John circled back to where this all began, with Gale asking if there was anything to knock a fella out when 82 hours of insomnia wasn’t sufficiently exhausting.

“Give me something, you’re a doctor! Goddamnit, John!” Gale finally broke, voice raising and fists clenched.

“Surgeon, technically.” John gave him a wane smile, “And I can’t dope up an active pilot.”

“Just an active surgeon.” Gale sneered, tit for tat on the insults.

John nodded grimly but murmured, “The day Gale Cleven becomes John Egan is a day this whole operation can pack up and go home.”

“So you're being the better man,” Gale scoffed, “-sending me to watch flamingos.”

“I’m not givin’ you shit.“ he confirmed, “Unless it’s an assignment.”

“Will it keep me outta the flak asylum?”

“If you comply to all the regulations, maybe.” Egan shrugged.

“Go on?”

“Get laid, Buck.” his friend prescribed with his peculiar brand of deathly serious compassion, “Hell, I’ll write you a prescription for it, if it soothes your conscience, but I’m serious. Serve you better than any syrette or Amphetamine.”

“That’s your ultimatum?”

“No, no, my ultimatum is that you go on a little sabbatical with one of my nurses, she’ll keep an eye on you and you can make yourself useful, helping her unload heavy shit at the aid station they’re setting up at Peleliu. My recommendation is that when she comes into your room at the end of the day and drops her knickers, you lay back and think of Wyoming.”

Major Cleven had thought of a million and one ways to bribe or ally the prospective nurse to his side of the deal once he knew which unfortunate female Egan was going to pick for this deplorable detail. Calling his friend a pimp and a bastard had done little good, threatening malpractice and a hardness of heart towards Gale’s own principles -even less. So Gale figured when the time came he’d just gently turn the well meaning comfort gal away and maybe pay her off to lie that they’d done it: for his hand’s sake.

After all, if she was willing to do this, was she even a nurse or was she someone Bucky dressed up in Red Cross arm bands like some sleazy fantasy? Gale didn’t think any of the nurses he’d encountered would be willing to go along with such a sordid “assignment.” Sure, some of them were -carefree. Indulgent. Easy, as the men sometimes called them before getting a stinging cheek that proved them wrong. But they were a proud bunch and they had earned it.

Rolling a toothpick in his cheek, Buck pondered these things while sat on the bench of a Goony Bird waiting for his nurse to hop into the cargo hold with him and off they’d go to Pelilu. The situation was made worse by the suspense of who it might be and the insulting foreignness of being on a plane but not piloting. It made Gale feel an odd sort of feeling close to self pity that he hadn’t felt in ages, not since he was a kid and the nostalgia of it wrung him out of all energy. He made himself sit on that metal bench motionless as the heat index rose on the tarmac and made up a fun little game involving trying to see if he could get his hands to stop tremoring for five seconds straight.

So far he’d lost his own wager each time. He told himself if he could make it to five seconds then the nurse Bucky had sent would be a gray haired matron and this really was just a sabbatical to lift boxes and breathe ocean air and get Gale to laugh at himself.

Then Maureen Kendeigh climbed into the hold and squeezed past their cargo of medicine crates and plopped down right next to him, leg bumping his and breathing like a race horse. “I have jogged here the entire way from administration.” she wheezed, tugging at the collar of her shirt where her glistening throat was bobbing in thirst. “Sorry I’m so late, Major. Am I late?”

It could have been Bucky sat next to him: the choice of phrasing was so familiar, the damnable ability to force forgiveness for tardiness with a single smile so predictable. Gale found dread knotting his stomach at the realization it would be her, even as a warmth spread all over him at her sweet presence that had the odd effect of steadying his hands despite the panicked fuzz of his brain at her proximity.

Oh he didn’t want this. No, no, no. He’d like to think of Maureen very much apart, apart from anything but her heroism, not her wide spread stance on the bench beside him or the idea of her dropping her knickers and making him think of Wyoming. He preferred her very much not attainable in the deeper ways and very much not what he saw himself with when all this was over. Whatever she and Doc Egan had was between them and he’d held it up like a shield to keep himself in check, a boy's code of honor about not encroaching on his friend’s girl. Even if said friend didn’t have the decency to make said girl “his” girl.

But to have Maureen dished up to him on a platter by John when John must have suspected some of Gale’s appreciation for her professional merits -it was somehow worse than any dressed up floozy or the easy new intern. He’d not be able to pay Maureen off without insulting her. Or outing Egan’s intent. Maybe she didn’t know. What if Gale spilled the beans and she was as harmless as himself? What if—

“God, Major, did you sleep at all?” Maureen’s steady fingers were gripping his expressionless face and suddenly turned him towards her, one thumb swiping a tender crescent in his under eyes.

Gale’s eyes seemed to forget blinking was a thing, they grew wide and stayed wide at her inspection and the sandy wind blowing in from the tarmac stung at them as they dried out. “No,” he found his voice and it came out more winded than hers, “you’re not late.” he lied.

Once they get to the island, touchdown and unload, there’s then three hours of driving around the pitted old warzone to the aid station. There’s more foliage the more they go, less mortar pitted earth, but the increasing tropical paradise surroundings put Gale on edge. Maureen drives them to their unexplored destination as confident and recklessly as Bucky would, little surprise there. Gale can’t help glancing at her with unabashed amusement for the way she keeps her pistol propped on top of the steering wheel with one grip, facing out like a top turret for their hood, while keeping the map balanced on her thigh.

He cradles his own BAR with loose arms, ready to use it. Sure they secured the island months ago, but still, not infrequently some Jap comes out of his hiding hole, a cave, or whatever fucking tree he resides in and surrenders. Or, conversely, some of them have charged with guns blazing or sword drawn, deciding to go out and a bang of glory and take with them whichever hapless American happens to be nearby. That Emperor worship shit ain’t happening on on Gale’s watch, and so Maureen gets to drive -she didn’t have to beg like that, he was going to let her- and he shoulders the duty of keeping his eyes peeled for the next bush becoming animate and running at them, pulled pin grenade in hand.

“Some relaxation.” he jokes as their jeep lurches into another crater. If it’s not the bomb pits it’s the massive roots crawling over the smashed earth the Marine Corps call a road.

“It’s a reverse strategy!” she informs, grin wide as a shark’s and Gale could almost draw a little pencil mustache above that top lip and pretend it’s Bucky torturing him thus -hey, that might be a good mode of thought to keep everything strictly professional- “Like when nothing else works, you kick the broken thing.” Gale politely ignores the urge to argue about being broken, that’s not her point… he hopes, “You’re all shook up,” she goes on, voice raised to be heard over the rev of her driving, “and calm hasn’t worked, so why not shake you up worse?!”

He squints at her, fully aware he isn’t being chummy like she is trying to be, knowing he’s being a stick in the mud but he’s dying under the uncertainty, chafing under the pretense. Does she know? Or does she not? Five times today he’s resisted the urge to slap her chest like he would Demarco’s and ask her levelly, man to man, if she knows. “If this doesn’t work then what?” he asks anyway, sober as hell despite the comedic jostling and even Maureen’s joviality dims in the face of his dour mood.

“Then we’ll have to get real unorthodox.” she replies, allowing something close to annoyance at his attitude to seep into her own expression and Gale refuses to pull his eyes off her.

Do you know? He wants to ask.

“Stop scowling at me and watch for Japs.” she snaps at him so suddenly and so heated he genuinely spooks and turns his body back towards their horizon.

It’s worse than he thought. Worse than he imagined on the times he lost the bet with his hands and let his mind go somewhere besides a practical joke from Bucky and a gray haired spinster nurse as his companion. The aid station is on the edge of the new camp, far off enough to be genuinely secluded from both sights and smells of the navy station. It’s a tiki hut, thatched roof and swinging mesh door and lovely little veranda and palm trees and waves lapping up the back steps.

It looks like the sorta place people advertise for honeymoons and Gale stares at it with a 100 yard stare once Maureen grinds the gears to park.

“Jesus.” he knows his mouth is curling in disgust and beside him Maureen huffs in disgust with him.

She jumps out of her side of the jeep, not a shred of amusement left on her face. Gale sits and stares and listens to the roar of surf and the clinking of the cooling engine.

“Not bad.” she grunts under the burden of a crate which Gale should be lifting if he could just make his legs work and his mind obey. “But I bet it’s gonna be a bitch to keep the gnats out though, so much foliage around.”

Her hips sway like a tantalizing pendulum when she jogs up the bungalow stairs, her waist somehow accentuated by the way her arms are lifted to keep the crate hoisted on her strong shoulder and Gale has the perfect seat to watch it. How did he never notice the lines on her before she was doing hard labor? Then he recalls, she’s mostly been in flight suits around him, he’s never seen her paired down to collared shirts and belted pants. How’d he never notice the lines on that gi-

“Don’t make me drive this thing in the surf to wake you up.” her slap on his listless forearm rouses him to realize she’s back out at the jeep, standing beside him looking at him as he sits here catatonic like the mental case he’s showing symptoms of being. “And take your jacket off, you’re gonna get overheated being so formal.”

“Are you in on it?” he snaps suddenly as she grins at him over his first crate. He can’t tell if she’s mocking him or not but he’s damn tired of it.

“In on what?” Her face falls.

He can’t do it. He just can’t do it and he hates himself for being such a coward. “This.” he chooses vagueness and it tastes foreign and awful on his tongue.

“It’s a week out of the cockpit in paradise, Cleven,” Maureen’s own expression holds back no disdain for his pissy attitude, “man the hell up.”

What Maureen, Gale and five other technicians had loaded into the jeep and it’s buggy in the course of two hours, takes the mere two of them close to four to unload. And that’s even with Gale keeping a rapid pace to his work like a sweating maniac, feverishly wanting to stop thinking for once. His jacket and shirt are thrown over the chairs that are actually provided as furniture in the place and Maureen’s tie lays discarded on the accompanying desk. The rooms are bare but there’s two beds in the bedroom with crisp sheets that have only a bit of pollen dusting them and there’s a desk, as mentioned, three chairs in the main room and Maureen insists they can use crates for a table.

The back room is for the actual medical aid, and Maureen insists nothing gets moved into it until she can sanitize the whole place. So they stack the boxes in the main room and in the bedroom and when the sun gets lower they’re relieved to find there’s some dubious provisions for electricity in the place.

“I can get it to work.” Gale decides as Maureen tries flicking the light switch ten times as if to see if the bare bulb will grow a will of its own and turn on for her. It reminds him so much of Bucky’s brand of idiocy that Gale almost forgets himself and reaches out to swat her hand away from the futile flicking.

“Ok, then you do that while I keep unloading.” she insists, “Won’t be able to do anything if it’s pitch dark in here.”

So Gale drags a chair over and begins to fiddle with the wires tacked to the ceiling, risking electrocution so Maureen Kendeigh can see her way around as she tromps past him again and again in the same path with yet another crate.

He’s good with his hands. Excellent, in fact, judging by how one bulb flickers then stays steady, then another and another until the inside of the bungalow is aglow with cozy light: enough light for Maureen to appreciate his sweat soaked singlet and the way it rides up his belly when his arms are up and how it’s bright enough for her to scrub the exam room effectively when laying in a room with an insomniatic Gale Cleven gets to her at 3:00 am.

As it surely will. God! -the man is as impossible as he is beautiful, and while she doubted she’d manage it with him before, the sheer amount of fury she feels towards him right now leaves no doubt. She’ll shake him up. Like a Fuckin’ Martini. And he doesn’t have to like it, probably won’t, but they’ll both feel better after. “In on it” -he’s got the gall to ask but not the balls to spell it out, she can’t abide a quasi gentleman and so far Gale Cleven’s been nothing but the genuine article. Until now, now when he can’t accept certain human things about himself like fatigue or attraction, and he takes it out on her with a sullenness belonging to a much older man.

Maureen’s fine with that, she thinks as ogles the glowing golden skin of his sheened shoulders on one of her passes with a crate, she can take her mad out on him, too. And she’s got a lot of it. More than John Egan was ever able to lick away.

By 15:00, and some change to the second hand, Gale Cleven was still awake. Little surprise there, not to him, but even though it didn’t matter he found himself thoroughly annoyed and taking it out with a lethal glare at the vague gray ceiling, lit by a massive moon over the ocean. Wire and chairs but no curtains -an oversight about the furnishings. It wouldn’t have mattered, he knew that, and still the racket Maureen was making put his teeth on edge. It wasn’t Benny’s snoring or John’s drunken mumbling but it was a consistent *swoosh, swish* of industry that had Gale feeling a mixture of guilt and determination to keep lying here while she scrubbed.

It had not occurred to him she might’ve needed this break, too. Such as it was, effective as it was not proving. He knew she’d seen some combat in the beginning at Manila, maybe even worse than Iwo but long hours doing what she was doing now, where she was doing it, was no joke.

The urge to get up and help her was strong but then, so was the crippling fear of being around her in the dead of night and inviting any more of the bossy familiarity she’d tucked him into bed with. A magnesium capsule! She’d made him take three of the maternity horse pills and told him to calm the hell down as if he didn't have ample reason to be on edge with her laying a foot away on another bed, stripped down to her cotton slip. Of course Gale would cite war horrors if anyone asked why he couldn’t sleep but to be frank, he wasn’t sure why he wasn’t managing it these days and it had started awhile ago. Before Maureen Kendeigh glowed sweaty and luminous in the moonlight while gripping his cheeks and puckering his protesting mouth and plopping pills on his lolling tongue.

Thinking of it made his face flame with embarrassment for such a childish resistance. But god, her nursley familiarity sent a cross signal to his brain each time she helped herself to his flesh and no amount of berating himself while sweating in these rough sheets could dislodge the reaction. Closer to fifteen hundred than was remotely chivalrous, Gale threw off his sweat soaked bedding and tromped into the glow of light outside their bedroom, shuffling blearily into the little exam room. He faltered for a brief ten seconds at the doorway watching her undulating movements with sponge in hand and knees on the floor, white slip clinging like a second skin from the sweat.

He felt the sudden medical urge to lick her like the cattle back home lick at the salt block, a strange way of quenching thirst. Was ninety two hours without sleep considered genuine grounds for insanity? He felt like maybe he should be keeping a diary of these fevered thoughts to report back to John and see if he needed to get turned in. This wasn’t horniness, this was salt cravings. Yeah, yeah that’s what it was.

“You hypocrite.” he felt emboldened to tease and his voice came out rough and lower than even he expected, the disuse of laying there for ages taking a toll.

Maureen looked up like she’d been spooked herself, a slip and stall of her scrubbing, hair hanging about her face so unprofessionally he realized he’d never seen it in such…disarray. “Oh, the baby’s awake.” she grinned back and he felt an indulgence settle in his gut for her he didn’t know existed, “I see my magnesium capsules were a cure all.”

“Oh yeah, knock a horse out.” he agreed derisively.

“Your eyes are droopier.” she found a silver lining and as if reminded of the grit in them, his large fists came up and rubbed them meanly.

Like a little boy, she thought, watching him in the harsh light of the bare bulb, warm wood all around him the same color as all that sweaty skin and those skivvies hanging onto the lithest set of hips she may have ever seen. Looked as if one deep breath of that lean belly and the fabric would be goners, slipping down to the floor dramatically like a woman’s pantyhose in those unfortunate comics where that’s always occurring just when she wants to cross a busy street. Maybe if she could make him belly laugh-

She wished she knew how. She wondered if he knew how.

“Got another Sponge?” he asked and she was reminded why she liked him so much.

“Top crate, there, left, there that one.” She directed him with jerks of her chin until he was at the right one, “I’m using antiseptic.” she warned.

“I know,” he answered, dropping to his knees beside her and making use of her bucket to dunk his sponge, “smell’s been givin’ me a headache.”

Maureen’s mouth twitched at his tired grumpiness, more endearing now he was still putting effort into being near the caustic shit and the way his golden hair flopped on his forehead with his scrubbing movements. If his hips were that fluid, that rhythmic in cleaning a floor, how much more could she teach him to be—“Yeah, I’m sure it’s the anti-septic giving you a headache.” she snarked.

They ate sandwiches he’d gotten from the navy camp’s mess on the back porch, letting the sea water lap at their feet. A little stale but it was a much needed breakfast and Gale brought fresh water back, too, and a report that they were nice fellas and entirely too undressed for her to ever go see. That suited her fine, they’d be a pest if they knew a woman was up here and personally speaking she only needed one man for company, crate lifting, and doing the job well. And she rather had her heart set on it being Gale Cleven. Especially now she got to stare at him under the bright morning sun with a tropical breeze and more skin on display than at a swimsuit contest. He’d put on a singlet, as if to mark that a day had begun even if they hadn’t slept the night, but that was promptly sweat soaked and tiny nipples were pebbling under it from the breeze.

“Did they ask if a nurse came with you?” she pressed him between bites.

“Yeah.” he swallowed his bite thickly and licked at the mayo collecting at the corner of his mouth with typical precision, “And I lied.”

“Well, well,” she cooed, making him roll his eyes, “how’d that feel?”

“I have lied before.” he balked.

The look he gave her was both thunderous and remincent and she repented that line of questioning, used to distinguishing in her patients whether a wound was from wartime or stemmed from childhood. “Well who’d you say came with?” she asked.

“A technician.” he mumbled, blushing for some reason.

“Mm, someone nice and hairy and stinky-“

“Stop.” he begged.

“-not anyone they’d wanna meet.”

“I did it for you!”

“-if that makes you sleep at night, Cleven.” she humored him and like lightning, the back of his hand had flicked out and thumped her on the sternum, hard.

“Shit!” Maureen clutched the place, more in surprise than pain although he’d walloped her good and well.

“Shit!” He parroted in mortification, holding his hand like it was an offensive weapon.

“What was that for?” she laughed, “Do I remind you that much of Benny? Are you missing him that bad? Is that who you pretended was with you up here? Huh? Huh? Benny Demarco, now that’s a beauty to hide under a bushel-“

She was crowding him in on the steps and he was teetering towards falling off, too alarmed at his own outburst to trust his instincts now to shove her off without causing harm -and she knew it. She pressed her advantage and crawled over him with her teasing comments about Demarco until his long body had bowed so far away from her’s it was levitating and then toppled predictably into the surf.

“Fuck it’s cold!” he wheezed out as the embrace of the old pacific drenched him and rolled him about at her feet for a few delightful moments before he got his footing and rose, shaking his hair out of his eyes and grabbing for the steps.

“Sea bathing was in doctor Egan’s regimen.” she informed remorselessly before extending a merciful hand to help him up. He was slippery and shiny as an eel coming up and the grip of his hand was as strong as she expected. And still she found it intoxicating, the duality of him as he stood there pouting and bitchy over being cooled off. “Stay right there baby, I’ll get you a towel.” she patted his chest, right where he’d smacked hers, and went inside.

“I’m not your baby.” She heard him holler to her through the door-less porch. “I’m not your baby.” he reiterated vehemently but lower again when she came out with the towel.

“Yes you are.” she argued, “For this week you’re my baby, whether that’s a literal infant or not is your choice -and don’t start arguing, you’ve got to stop it, no one’s making you do a damn thing.” she insisted, hand raised and his mouth closed satisfyingly as a result, “You’ll be my baby. I know you already had a baby, no? Our baby? Shared her with ten other men, that’s generous of you-“

“-Ensign!-“

“-so I’m not gonna be your baby. You’ll be mine and you can find me something to be for the week.” she watched closely as recognition of her logic began to dawn and settle on him, “I could be anyone. I could be Benny Demarco, for instance. If that’s who you wanna lay next to.”

Gale didn’t speak for a long while, eyes off to the side watching the surf lap at the steps and she was still standing there, holding his unused towel. “Who do you want me to be?” he asked finally and his grave perception just about winded her in its raw honesty.

“You.” she replied honestly, “Whichever version of you made it here with me.”

“An infant -a baby.” he scoffed and she was suspicious those eyes were watery. And too delayed for it to be from the salt.

“My baby.” she replied, “Never had one before.”

“With respect ma’am, that’s Bullshit.” he argued in a fierce hiss, “I know you have, with John and -and-“

“I’ve been somebody’s,” she clarified, “but I think I’ve grown out of that. You’ll be my baby, huh? It’s not marriage, Cleven, it’s a week in paradise and hopefully some shut eye, too. So do you want me to be Benny?”

Those watery eyes let one single tear go trickling down his pink cheek alongside the rivulets of ocean water dripping from his hair and Maureen had never felt a single thing heat her up quite like it. “No,” his chuckle was thick and he sniffed, “not Benny. Maybe uh, God, I dunno, I’ve never had anyone.”

“Then we can make it up entirely.” she was pleased by the idea of not being a stand-in, although god knows she and John could sympathize more about the need for that than anyone. “We’ll be castaways.” she suggested, sitting back down on the porch now the confrontation was dwindling and in full confirmation of her suspicions, he sat again beside her without fuss.

“Marooned.” he disagreed, chin resting on his hands and a boyish tug pulling up the corner of his lips. “Something insane you did landed us here.”

“Mm, took liberties with the captain's daughter, perhaps?” she teased, daring to run a finger along those golden shoulders and collect a few salt drops. He shuddered under her but stayed put.

“I’m not playing fair maiden for you.” he retorted but his eyes were fond.

“Mm, I’ll believe it when I see it.” Maureen was still impossible and Gale felt his gut burn in a bizzare sort of drive to prove her wrong. He’d hardly ever felt this even with all the jokes from the boys, not even with all the temptations from the girls, it just hadn’t seemed something that needed proving. Every flea and salmon could do it, he never doubted when he got married he could manage it credibly enough.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jones.” his voice sounded like he’d come to a decision and Maureen squinted at his profile until it clicked.

“I’ve never been married before.” she observed breezily.

“And I never planned on being married for just a week.” he replied.

“Isn’t there a film about this?” she asked, “Cary Grant gets stuck on an island and he marries his castaway but then they get rescued and there’s a first wife?”

“Yeah, I think so, actually.” he thumbed at his bottom lip in contemplation and Maureen found it endlessly distracting, along with the bird song and the ocean crash and the sunshine.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jones.” she agreed then, settling back on her elbows to stare up at the sun and let it add a few freckles, “And when it’s over and you’re rescued, I’ll be the better woman and let Our Baby have you.”

“You’ll always be the best of women, Maureen.” he sounded like the admittance took every fiber of his resolve to say, but she’d heard it before in his voice weeks ago when she was patching him up.

If a tear slipped out the corner of her shut eyes and down a sun warmed cheek, she wasn’t going to make a deal of it, not until she felt his finger catch it tenderly before it dropped from her jaw and rolled it back up.

She felt her lip wobble traitorously and perhaps there were more tears planning to follow and betray her but the shivering shock of his full lips, pressed to her bare shoulder, stemmed the flood. Maureen held her breath and kept her eyelids sealed, an orange glow of sunshine behind them as all her senses attuned to the drag of his caresses up to the juncture of her shoulder, the press of his body next to her on the porch boards, the suspenseful absence of his hands. They were soft as marshmallows, those lips, and a stray tip of his tongue caught her clavicle as he worked his way up a path that almost seemed premeditated, as if he’d thought of doing this a million times but held back. Now he allowed himself and the assured intimacy of his mouth made her body heat soar almost beyond her endurance as he crept up her throat and onto her cheek.

A kitten lick to that tear track down her cheek and Maureen was whimpering from something else entirely, breaking ranks and turning her head to gaze at him, nearly stunned by how close he was, how alive, how beautiful, how blue. There were his hands now, one propped beneath her shoulder, the other cupping her cheek. Her lips were tingling with anticipation by the time he’d lowered his face far enough and brushed her mouth with his.

Maybe he’d done his fair share of kissing the girls back home goodbye, or maybe it was a talent given along with this impossible lips, or perhaps she’d wanted it so long that the final having of it sent Maureen spiraling with something oddly like obsession.

Kissing was enough for the longest time, the shore sounds and the squawking of ocean birds and the feel of Gale Cleven laying more and more atop her as his tongue met hers and danced. She scratched the back of that tanned neck like she dreamed of doing a dozen times, little scritches to his hairline that had him sagging against her kisses to the point of crushing.

She allowed herself the liberty of running her hands along his lean sides, taking in the graceful taper of his waist, the dip of his back, the sopping wet waistband of his briefs. She wondered if this is how men feel with a young girl, when there’s so much loveliness one wants to maul it and mark it and watch it respond. Anything to make him moan again into her mouth, wrenched and helpless and appreciative of her all at once, anything for him to hump his hips against her thigh in a manner so mindless he didn’t seem himself at all.

When he pulled away, dazed and winded from his own exertions, he seemed to have left behind all his inhibitions, stark need written on his face and only some doubt of what he was allowed yet remaining. “Are we gonna?-“ he trailed off, raspy voiced and trembling with suspense.

“Going to what?” she couldn’t abide it any longer, his demureness, “Say your mind, Cleven.”

“Do it.” he let out with a wince.

“Well I don’t know, Mr. Jones, you tell me. Are we gonna?”

Gale huffed and threw his head back, trying to regain some sense of mind, lip savagely pulled between his teeth. “Yeah. We are.” he decided.

“Then finish your sandwich.” she patted his waist and pushed him off.

“I can’t!” he begged with a groan from where he’d spilled out on the porch like a boneless dummy. “Not now.”

“You’re gonna need it, the water too, trust me on this.”

“Are we gonna -make love? Or go for a forced march?” he protested but lifted the canteen to his lips anyways when she gave him a look and proceeded to drink it dry.

“How would you know the difference?” she teased and he had the good humor to roll his eyes. If all went according to Egan’s plan, they oughta hibernate for twelve hours of sleep afterwards and she wanted him hydrated and ready for that. Maureen had a plan of her own, which certainly might lead to such a sleep, but it also involved not getting off that boy for love of God or money until he was as useless as a wet rag and the impertinent gnawing between her own legs was replaced by a good ache.

Cleven was staring at his sandwich remorsefully, “I can’t get this down, Maureen.” he declared with sudden finality and then, without preamble he threw it into the sea. “C’mon, Mrs Jones.” he held out his hand for her as he stood up, something close to an excited grin taking over his face.

He was so confident now, having come to a decision, and Maureen found herself naturally bending to his direction, placing her hand in his large palm and allowing him to haul her to her feet as gently as a dance partner. “We’ve got a bed.” she reminded blissfully into another kiss, anchored to his face by the persistent hands snarled lovingly into her salt tousled curls: this hair Maureen, this hair drove me mad.

“And we’re gonna use it.” he agreed, walking her backwards up the porch until he feet were skidding over the threshold, his tongue still sucking her own.

She stopped him there with a hand to the willowy plane of his belly, a regulated, principled woman to the last, and snapped the still soaked waistband of his drawers. “Off, you’ll make the sheets wet and sandy.”

Their sweat would accomplish dampening them enough in this muggy heat, they didn’t need sand and ocean water to boot. Maureen ducked beneath his arm and went back out to grab the discarded towel.

“I don’t want a trail of drips on our clean floor.”

Gale smiled softly at the usage of “our” -it felt right somehow, to share things with her. They’d been at it for some time, it came naturally like it had with Bucky and the few other boys who he knew would be something special and unlike anything else after this. It was a little bittersweet to know he was living the best days of his life, right here and now, enviable, irretrievable moments of raw connection slipping away with each drip, drip, drip onto the threshold. It was a heartache in the making and it was a spur for the moment. Back home they’d never understand, and any old observer would see nothing unique, but Gale could allow himself the rightness of sharing just one more thing. Why not cement it fully, irrevocably, as the closest brush he’d ever come to with another soul- he’d asked himself the same with Bucky, knew it was already an established fact.

Maureen’s lips were warm where they pressed to his back, the space between his shoulders, towel held to his waist. “You’re not shy of me, are ya, baby?” she whispered in his ear, thumbing at the still worn briefs.

He could feel himself this past hour hardening and softening, so many times in the space of so many minutes he was dizzy with it, the way his brain would have the upper hand and then, suddenly no, it all rushed south. Which now left shyness as the only real excuse for the way he burned and shrank and burned and shrank in turn at each of her touches.

“You gonna give me the towel?” he asked instead.

“Once it’s safe to do so.” she replied primly, in her familiar nursing voice, and he hated the shudder that tore through him. She stepped under his arm again, around him and into the house, and stood in the shade of the it with the towel spread invitingly, tauntingly. A whole yard and a half between then and she’d decreed no drips past the threshold. Gale’s cheeks burned as did his eyes, smarting with brimming tears from an odd frustration he’d only ever felt over a botched mission, an anger at not being able to bomb his target and make it worthwhile, a petty frustration he always felt before the cold rage of lost men fully registered.

Futile tears: Gale yanked the skivvies down and stepped out of them efficiently.

Maureen wasn’t smiling at him from the shade anymore, not even a smirk, she looked hungry. She looked like Bucky, taking in “a view.” Gale didn’t know ladies ticked that way -or maybe they didn’t, maybe only Maureen did. The blush in his cheeks ran down his chest and spilled onto his belly and his fists clenched without thought.

“When the man of the house,” Maureen was reciting some inane pamphlet she no doubt did not heed or else they’d never be here, “respects the whims of the lady in small matters, he will find the lady more submissive to issues of larger stake such a-“

Gale made a dash at her, to shut her up, and she fled from him to the bedroom, feet smacking on the hardwood and cotton slip fluttering up her thighs -his towel with her.

“I want you bare.” he told her when he had her, struggling in his arms before the bed, a lush friction where he pressed tightly behind her.

“Then sit,” she sounded genuinely breathy, trapped to him and he had never heard her like that before, it made him want to hold fast, “and I’ll make your dreams come true.”

It was just a slip, no garters and no braisere or girdle, yet still Gale sat himself on the bed and Maureen bit her cheek to keep from laughing at the modest way he deposited the towel on his lap, covering what she’d been eyeing and thanking her luck for. A cock as pretty as his face -now if she could just make it stand up fully.

“You ready?” she deferred to him as she stood there before the bed, being looked on with all the reverence and trepidation of a goddess by this seated acolyte.

“Please,” he nodded furiously, “please show me.”

It felt a little wrong to expose oneself in front of such an angelic being, curtainless windows throwing in the sun on him all golden and untouched, white scratchy sheets and white draped towel making it a bower of innocence for a brief moment. It also felt right, to throw off everything but what they’d been born with. Off went rank, obligations and expectations, as easily as dragging the slip over her head.

She tossed the article of clothing behind her for good measure -and dramatic effect- then noted with satisfaction the bleary eyed comprehension of her charms from Gale Cleven where he sat with his mouth hung so slack he was liable to drool.

“Incredible.” he muttered, husky and a little slurred, his hand raising without his own volition to beckon her closer, a plea, command.

Maureen swayed on her feet, nearer and nearer until she was standing above him, between his parted legs and she shuddered as he laid that broad palm on her hip and dragged it up her side in an admiring swath, thumbing at her belly and catching her ribs in his hold.

“Those flight suits of yours, they don’t…they don’t let show the half of it.” Gale declared, mesmerized, face hovering closer and closer until his lips were pressing against her flesh, right under her sternum, his forehead pressed to the underside of one pendulous breast, nuzzling as he became aware of that, bunting like a calf at her breast with his face, gone silly with access.

“Whadda ya think?” she giggled, the silliness of Gale Cleven gone stupid over making yams jiggle being the exact sort of thing that made life worth living, and being a woman exquisitely satisfying.

“They’re so goddamn soft.” he moaned around a bit of the underside, still hadn’t worked his way to a nipple. He seemed too preoccupied with their give and bounce to make a more calculated use of them. Maybe if men hadn’t been told what to do with them, they’d do what Gale Cleven was doing and rub their face against them and let them rest on their foreheads. There was a charm to this ignorance as he licked the salty sweat from their undersides with a surprisingly brave tongue.

The clumsy misuse was oddly effective for Maureen, what Gale lacked in skill he made up for in unstudied appreciation and nothing got her quite so ready as being appreciated to the point of foolishness. Her first conquest had been a boy at school who hadn’t minded tripping in his track shoes, day after day, to try to catch up to her on her bicycle, just to give her a flower or trinket. He was laughed at for his devotion until he broke the school track record next year, and Maureen was sure to remind him of her role in his success. They’d soon found a mutually beneficial reward system and Maureen had adopted that attitude as a maxim for the future, her dates and conquests may have been many but each of them in their own way had been appreciative -or else she was jumping out the window, damn the twelve foot drop out the dormitory.

No one, however, had looked quite so gifted by her mere existence as Gale Cleven did while he clutched at her hips and smushed her flesh between his hands like it were some fine dough and he was an artisan.

Discreetly, and it was easy to be so with his face buried in her bosoms, Maureen glanced between them at the tool she had such hopes for and found it, unsurprisingly, twitching and dribbling against his thigh, half hard but flapping about like a fish on dry land, the discarded towel no match for its movement. He’d need a hand, literally and metaphorically, and as she raked her nails through his blond curls and directed his slick mouth to a nipple, she felt him sag even further into her hold. Maureen weighed her next step carefully, trying to tamp down her own wants. She’d need to be sure but slow, careful not to spook him, or antagonize or embarrass.

She wondered if he even realized the same banged-up-head condition that sent him out here was most likely responsible for the jitters that kept him flopping. She wasn’t so conceited as to assume he’d not bedded a woman yet out of mere dysfunction, Cleven was a man of principle and strict notions regarding how the world should be, and he wasn’t one to build those notions on passing medical conditions.

“You like ‘em?” Maureen teased him, shocked at how hoarse her own voice had gone in the interim.

“Gonna make a home in here.” he mumbled in the affirmative, slack grin molded to the valley between them, blue eyes wide as the skies outside peering up at her.

“Got a job for you, baby.” she murmured, thumbing at the scar on his cheek.

“What’s that Mrs. Jones?” his voice alone made her mad with need, as did the saucy turn of his mouth so wonderfully foreign she didn’t know how she’d control herself until he was ready.

“Need you to lick a little landing strip, right here.” she ran her finger along the somewhat tacky skin between her breasts, sweat and his sloppy kisses having partway done the job already.

“What for?” Gale asked, hushed and curious.

“You’ll see soon enough.” she recalled how effective her nursing voice had been on him, and pulled it out now it seemed beneficial.

She had been right, with only a hesitant spark of aggravated defiance, Gale dipped his head and stuck out that pink tongue, lapping a swath up between her breasts as directed, flaming eyes locked on hers as she shivered from the breeze on spit slicked flesh.

“Again.” she told him, and his hands came up to hold her breasts apart as he did it again, and again and once more under his own direction until it was shiny and messy and his nose was gleaming, too.

“What’s it for?” He demanded once more, pink cheeked and swallowing hard as his mouth had dried out from his efforts.

“I told you, silly,” she replied casually, “it’s a landing strip.” and with as little fuss as possible she got to her knees before he’d registered the absence of her standing above him. “Gale, let go of the damned towel.”

She held in a laugh of delight at the tortured color he had grown to, veins running like so much ivy up and down him and a vibrant pink tip that matched his lips. Maureen wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to look him in the face again without thinking of this drizzling little pink mushroom.

“You oughta count your blessings, Gale Cleven, it was a close call, my coming along at all.” she informed him soberly while his mind visibly vacated his body at the repeated sighting of his sputtering cock emerging from between the pillowy press of her breasts, “It was pretty touch and go there for a bit, I was quite sure in fact, that Bucky was gonna help himself to this assignment.”

“Maureen!” Gale thundered, except his usual imposing ire was much diluted by his quivering belly and hoarse voice.

“What?” she brushed off his scandalized displeasure with a grin, feeling cocky herself as he hadn’t flagged on her in minutes and was beginning to gush in earnest, “Bucky loves the beach.”

“Sure, Maureen.”

“In the end he decided I had what it takes.” she went on conversationally, ignoring the inhuman sounds that came out of him when she casually spit on his tip, the better to work her lips around him, “These.” she clarified, pressing her breasts to his thighs as she wrapped her mouth around him and sucked.

“Fuck, hell, Maureen! Sorry, sorry, oh fuck!” -not even Gale Cleven had expected his hips to fly up that hard and fast, knocking on the back of her throat.

She laid her hands on his squirmy hips and did her best impression of a Listerine gargle round his tip, which sent a shudder through him so strong she thought he might’ve climaxed already.

“Maureen, Maureen come on, get up here, please.” now he yanked at her hair, desperate for once and that was a pleasure to hear.

“What baby?” she pulled off him.

“Gotta kiss you.” he told her firmly, and hauled her bodily up by her armpits, rolling her under him in the bed.

Kisses -sure, Gale, kisses.

He was moaning atop her, wiry and flexing his hips against her, wriggling to get between her thighs and she let him, hungry and expectant when he slotted easily in place. He pressed his lips to hers ardently, then reared back in shock at the taste of his own precum in her mouth and on her lips.

“Salty.” he whispered as if to himself before licking his lips and going back for more. “What do I need’to do?” he whispered urgently against her mouth as she rocked against him and he rocked back until they’d frustrated each other thoroughly with mere caresses.

“Put it in, my baby.” she whispered back.

“First though, don’t I need to-to do- something? Something first?” he could barely think straight but he’d heard enough talk about this, about gentlemen and the necessity of some form of chivalrous preparation. The way discipline and intuition set apart an average pilot from an excellent one. Bucky had talked a lot about getting girls ready, making them squirm, revving them up, for all his apparent disinterest during the topic, Gale had been listening.

“You’ve done it already, Mr. Jones.” she giggled, reaching between them to drag him more firmly through the wanton swamp he’d made of her. “I’m ready, I’m so ready.”

“Oh fuck, s’wet.” he mumbled the obvious before willingly letting her guide him in, his body following her tug like his cock were a leash.

“Jesus,— Gale!” Maureen choked as he bottomed out in a sudden plunge, shocked at the stretch despite the gauging of his size. “You’re so deep, oh baby you’re a big one aren't ya.”

“You ok?” he whimpered, shuddering on top of her again and again at the incomparable feeling of being inside another’s body.

“Oh yeah, yeah I’m fine,” she gasped, “Hurts so good, you can move, baby.”

“You’re so warm.” he sounded close to worshipful he was so drunk off her, and Maureen spared a moment to smirk at the fate of man: come tearing their way out of a woman to begin their lives only to spend the rest of it trying to and needing to get back in.

He did try to move, she’d give him that. And while Maureen was more than half expecting it, still, it was mildly comical to see the confusion flash across his blissful face right as the buildup was snatched from him and he was suddenly shaking into the real event before he knew it, betrayed and euphoric all at once. The muscles in his belly and back and neck seized and his hips lunged in a series of uncoordinated pumps and she could read the panic in his eyes right before they rolled back -a begrudging admittance that this was nothing at all like the steady predictability of his hand.

“That’s it baby, that’s my baby, feel nice, huh?”

Gale didn’t answer her, too occupied whimpering with a taut throat and jaw clenched so tight he could snap a hinge like that. He was shaking worse than before when the spasms subsided and the tiniest pressure to his sweat slicked neck had him buckling to lay pressed against her, half senseless from the force of his release.

Maureen had always loved this part of sex, the pliable, bewildered, smushed man atop her like she’d sucked his soul out, when he’d rendered it up to her so willingly, so desperately, forcefully even, chasing his own eventual weakness. Long limbs aligning on top of hers, the hot pants of winded breath against her breasts, the hands listlessly holding on wherever that had last tried to grip and control her. The view from above with Gale Cleven was something additional, beautiful and glistening with bronzed swaths of sun exposed skin and the pale whites of his thighs and ass making a perfect little outline of absent shorts, his golden hair tousled beyond salvaging and that luscious mouth, drooling like a babe’s.

“So this is what Bucky’s been talkin’ about.” he mumbled into her breast, cheek smashed and enunciation shot to hell.

Maureen laughed in disbelief, “Thinking of him even now? Really, he’s going to be impossible if we tell him.”

“Just sayin’, now I know.” he defended, lazily rubbing his partly softened cock inside her with a shimmy of his hips that was quickly followed by an overly sensitive mewl.

“You don’t know anything, Angel boy.” she insisted and Gale raised his head at that, sour that she’d still contradict him after thirty seconds of vigorous pumping. “Let me see your hands.”

He had some trouble recalling where he put them but eventually he found them under her hips and withdrew them from their warm shelter to present them, warily. “Well, damn.” he muttered to himself, somewhat shocked by just how badly the shakes had worsened. “Looks like that treatment backfired.”

“More of a dose dependent case, I’d say.” Maureen corrected and circled each wrist with her hands and brought them up to her lips to kiss.

Gale’s face smoothed at her softness and a shy smile lit up his bleary eyes while she felt a twitch of his spent cock deep inside her, swishing about the mess he’d made like a dog’s tail after getting pats. “You have the most beautiful hands.” she informed him earnestly and balls deep inside her she watched as one single innocuous compliment sent him scarlet with a blush. “And they’ll be yours again soon.” she promised.

His gentle expression and bright red cheeks crumpled rather suddenly and before either of them seemed to expect it, fat teardrops had escaped the blue of his eyes and rolled down the crimson flesh of his face.

“Goddamnit.” he cursed hoarsely, in an absolute rage at himself, regaining his hands from her grip insistently to bring them up to his own face, hiding from her behind harsh fists that rubbed at his wet eyes like he could grind the grief and weariness out between his knuckles.

Unbalanced as he was without hands to support him, and legs gone jellied from his fast fading pleasure, Maureen chose to capitalize on it as a nurse would a brief state of insensibility to move a patient to a cleaner cot. Remorselessly she pressed at his shoulder and lifted their still joined hips until he tipped over, rolling onto his back beneath her. “We’ll have none of that.” she told him with loving adamance from her new perch, prying his hands away and pressing them to the sheets beside his head. “The hiding, I mean.” she clarified and he looked all of hardly past twenty laying there with wobbly lips and wet eyes unobscured, “I’m a very great proponent of crying,” she went on conversationally which confused him more but kept him too preoccupied to stifle his tears, “De-sanguination is still a highly esteemed practice, you know, it means to drain the body. One type of draining often triggers the other.”

“You gonna start bleeding me?” he asked wryly.

“Oh, maybe, you’d look so pretty all streaked up.” she teased and ran a sharp thumbnail over his pinned wrist.

Well, that got him hard again. Fascinating.

“You know what’s got your hands like this-“ she whispered softly, “-probably the same reason you flop, too.”

“Huh.”

“Pretty common.” she assured.

“Quit tellin’ me I’m common.” He growled, tickling her sides and she grabbed his hands, pinning them again playfully.

“Nothing common about you, sweet baby.” she swore, leaning down to kiss him and enjoying the way he met her strongly, surely, “Gale, can I move?” she asked, half strangled by the taut string of need coiled in her belly, tugged to madness by the bulk of him still resting limply inside.

“Move?” he was perplexed.

“I’m going to die if I don’t get some friction.” she whispered, somehow shy to admit that in the face of his innocent bewilderment, “God -please tell me someone has informed you women finish, too?”

“Bucky says they clamp up so tight you can’t help but blow.” Gale recited dutifully, “Which is what just happened, right?”

Maureen grinned wide and wicked before dragging her hips up till he was barely in, then plopping down into the cradle of his hips, making him let out a “oomph.”

“Maureen?” he questioned, half knowing already he had been mistaken but hell, to go again? “Maureen- I’ll die if we go again.”

“What a way to go.” she muttered, her pace atop him increasing as did the tortured gasps tumbling from his lips. His spunk was making terribly wet, lewdly sloppy sounds of suction each time she slammed down on his cock and the visual of her exerting herself on top of him was something so blatant and jiggly he could hardly endure the visual feast of it.

“Shit, shit I can’t-“ he growled while his trembling hands latched onto her hips in a grip that was anything but dissuading. “Maureen.” he begged her for…he knew not what.

“Come on Mr. Jones,” she clasped her hands around his face and aligned their noses, rubbing like a kiss with each movement of her lower body, “you’re not one to leave your missus needy, I know you’re not. Not when you’ve got such pretty hands-“

-a shudder from him.

“and a clever tongue-“

-a whine from him that sounded close to a wounded dog’s it was so lasting.

“-or a tool this capable.”

“Maureen.” he groaned.

“Baby, my baby.” she begged, “You’ve got what I need, come on, take me apart.”

Like he trusted himself for the first time since they began this endeavor, she felt his body bow up beneath her, his arm flexing strongly across her hips, his legs braced beneath her and a heavy hand clutching her neck, then he was driving up into her with a wild abandon she only ever hoped was simmering beneath that cool exterior. When she finished he hadn’t stopped, and Maureen found herself crying out like a feral thing into the hollow of his clavicle as the brutal pummeling went on, satisfaction drug out of her over and over in harsh ruts.

“That more like it?” he panted the harsher he grew, a hand around her jaw pushing her face away from his so he might see the damage he was doing.

“Yes, yes oh baby, yes!” she swore through clenched teeth, it had been too long and each blissful peak only aggravated her further, made her hungrier, that and the fact he was so proportioned as to be a constant delight just shy of pain, “Hell Gale, do ya hear us?” she gloated, propping herself back on his thighs to watch the shiny pink of him flash in and out of her wet sheath.

Mesmerized, Gale didn’t reply, but he dragged a hand up her belly and felt for the way it tensed at each intrusion, the span of his fingers an incredible thing across her skin. “Can’t believe you can take it, easy as that.” he marveled, his thumb straying and pulling apart her petals the better to watch.

“Thumb it right there.” she directed gently, reaching down to move his calloused finger over her bud, right above where he split her apart, “That’s it, ya feel that too, huh?”

“Fuck you’re tight.” his voice cracked and his eyes shot wide again.

“Are you -?”

“Maybe.” there was a wobble of blissed uncertainty in his voice until she stopped her movements and he let out a sob before he could catch it. “Maureen, please.”

“Please what, baby?” she was chuckling at him, pushing his hair off his sweaty forehead, “I let you-“ he pleaded, still thinking things worked that way, “-now I need, please Maureen...”

“Oh you can.” she assured and his face lightened but his eyes stayed wary, “But just know, I won’t be stopping.”

“What?”

“You remember how that feels, don’t ya baby?” she reminded, gently pushing him to lie back and beginning their movements anew, “So good you can’t stand it, so messy and easy for me, so tender and much for you?”

“Jesus.” he wheezed, his lean belly caving in with his heavy pants, but she felt him throbbing inside her and his pupils were large as saucers, “You’re as mean as Bucky.” he whined, voice gone high in panicked pleasure.

“Thank you, but really I’m not.” she laughed, gently thumbing away an errant tear that rolled down his cheek. “Not quite.”

“Maureen, please, please you’re too pretty!” he begged nonsensically even as his hips began to snap into hers, invigorated and forceful.

“Hold it Gale, try to hold it.” Maureen gasped, staring down at the prettiest face she’d ever seen as his brow began to furrow, “Or don’t, all the same to me.”

“I’m gonna flip you.” he swore and a few seconds of inaction passed, marked by the slam of her hips down onto his, and she thought he didn’t mean it until she gave him a daring look and suddenly she was careening backwards, head jolting against the sheets and body laid out firmly beneath him.

“Goddamn.” she swore at the way he hadn’t dislodged an inch during the whole maneuver, suddenly pressed just as deeply as before, his hips working like a piston and his hands tight and strong on her neck. “Goddamn baby. Oh goddamn that’s good.”

“S’good?” he begged her to repeat, some dizzying natural force propelling him harder and faster and needier.

“You’re so good.” she was adamant as she hung about his neck and locked her ankles in the small of his back. “You’re so good I’m - I’m -gonna-“

“What was that about holdin’ it?” he hissed, smile cocky and smug.

“Bull ain’t out of the gate yet Cleven,” she cautioned but her hips had begun to lift of their own accord, a tremble taking hold of her, “But I’m close, I’m, i'm real cl- oh God!”

“Come on sweet Maureen, wanna make ya -wanna do it for ya. Give ya what you need, Mrs Jones.” Gale’s hoarse and sweet nothings poured hot and breathy in her ear and Maureen found herself locked and gripping him before she knew it, moaning into his neck as he moved in and out, in and out as she’d only ever dreamed of.

When she cracked her dazzled eyes open again he was panting above her, the clink of his dog tags gently bumping her chin with each sway deeper, lashes batting in a golden flutter as he too began to lose himself, slower, more drawn out and yet every bit as desperate as the first time.

“Look at me baby, look at me when ya do.” she pleaded, gently gripping his chin as his mouth fell open in a series of little noises of effort that went straight to her belly grown hot and molten with the feeling of him spurting inside.

“Ugh, ugh, ugh,” Gale was working atop her in pained delight, lips so smeared and face so sweaty he looked like he might melt at any minute, “thank you, oh fuck, thank you, sweet Maureen.” he chanted low and dreamy, again and again until he drove in once more and stayed.

Those clear blue eyes fagged in an exhausted ecstasy, his head dropping impossibly further with each ragged pant until his face was barely hovering over her breasts, neck bent and forhead slowly pressing into the swell of them. His forearms gave out and those hands of his stayed trapped beneath her shoulder blades.

“Sleep Angel baby,” Maureen coaxed, hand cradling the back of his dear head to her breasts, feeling a low lazy peace settle over her at the feel of his dead weight plugging her up and the lovely wringing out she’d just endured, “let’s just sleep, dear boy.”

Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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fortjester · 1 year ago

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okay i was thinking about that post you made about what random house citizens are thinking and you know what would seem so suspicious? the state of the corpses (or lack thereof) that the houses receive back. the missing bodies, the cremated remains, the gruesome ones seemingly attacked by a monster, or perhaps even most suspicious, one body killed by a rapier to the thought. like im sure at least some of this info leaks to the general public and im sure to theories are intense.

Fourth House Tisis Reps getting Jeannemary "crucified on a bed" Chatur and Baron Isaac "colander boy" Tettares's bodies back like:

like they'd be used to getting fucked up and weird remains back, sure, but from the First House?? from the Lyctor trials?????

Imagine being the poor Third House guy who has to break the news that Ianthe's ascended but Coronabeth, the Crown Princess and heir is in fact dead but no you're not actually going to get any remains oh why? there was nothing to salvage :) so sorry for the inconvenience. you just KNOW they had a week of mourning. you just KNOW it was the topic of choice at every party for MONTHS. crazy theories. most people do believe she got eaten and are enthusiastic abt telling you.

Hi Trentham officials :) here's Lieutenant Dyas's remains. mhmm. yes, she did get turned inside out, what a bummer. We Could Not Recover Captain Deuteros's Remains. Everyone running the mile for the next fortnight is like "i mean yeah, judith was a chickenshit, stuck up nepo baby *spits* but uh, how can there have been NOTHING TO RECOVER??"

Would not wanna be the person who has to write down "mysterious post-mortem incision to large intestine" on Abigail's autopsy report. Yeah, no clue what happened at the First House but i do think it was a kind of Jigsaw Trap and unfortunately us Fivers are fucking weaksauce competitors who die first and get used as CHESTS

We already vaguely know abt the Sixth's response to getting pieces of a shattered skeleton and Cam's empty coffin (as fuckin if she wouldn't leave an equally dope corpse) (also shout out to whatever psychometrist studied Pal's bone fragments for a few hours before looking up and having to say that the explosion came from inside the Palamedes, must've been a tough gig, dude), but now i am thinking abt Rhodes recieving two urns and also this severed head :). that sucks. pressing F to pay respects to Mia and the kids, they deserved better than that.

truly believe the Eighth house had a distinct crisis of faith after recieving Colum and Silas's bodies. what the fuck else could you do. Silas was very clearly stabbed with Colum's sword and Colum has no eyes now. That does not bode well at all.

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toyaslove · 27 days ago

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HIII!!

I’m glad I can FINALLY request anything😭

Many writers have closed requests and there was no hurt -> comfort content of PJSK chars. Soooo… I’ll ask something

May I request for Toya and Akito (separate) with a depressed!gn!reader? Like the reader tries to commit suicide but Akito/Toya stops them?

Pretty pls~

A/N: HIIII SO OMG I LOVE UR REQ mainly cuz i already tried that 4 times lol... btw, there IS hurt to comfort pjsk fics, u just gotta search ^^ (I read all Toya fics around tumblr and there are some hurt to comfort :P) SOOO tysm for ur req I love it

Tw!!!!: Suicide, self-harm, cursing, ANGST

Pls look at the tw... (double checking)

Toya Aoyagi & Akito Shinonome (separately) x GN!Reader

Tags: Come get your summer pancake ginger:~ @mccnstruck , @maxident-xx , @miya-akane , @sentientsoil , @akitosheart

Come get your winter coffee addicted~ @sentientsoil , @miya-akane , @akitosheart

S-icide attempt

Writing style: story

(Again, check the tw's)

秋–くん🔥

It was late at night. Everything was spinning. You couldn't feel nothing, but despair, angst, sadness. Actually, did you feel anything? Was there anything in your heart right now? You couldn't cry, you couldn't feel anything. You were doped of medications, such as antidepressants, to not have these stupid thoughts, but whatever they were trying to do, they weren't working. Maybe if you went to a psychiatrist they would double your dose, wouldn't they? You thought of this. But... what if you don't need to spend more money on these? What if... you disappeared. Just. Did it. Why feel more pain? Why make your friends suffer while you're alive? It will be quick... Of course, everyone would be sad with your absence, but it would be less than a life-time, such as you bothering all of them daily... it will be less painful for both sides, won't it?

With this thought, your wrists dripping a red tone liquid, you look down your feet. You're on the 12th floor of a building, you look down with fear, cars and vehicles are passing in the road, but it won't stop you. You're shaking...

Then, the only thing you see is darkness. You close your eyes and you're ready to give a step forward, putting one foot on the air. You flinch when you hear a voice coming from behind you, a despaired and panting voice.

"What the actual fuck are you doing?!" – A familiar voice screams, a ginger figure appears in the rooftop, making you fall behind and gasp. The person was holding a messy piece of paper, the sight is familiar, your suicide letter.

"Are you crazy?! You know you could have died there!!!" – Akito speaks in despair and anger. He looks at you with a painful and worried expression, with a bit of rage. He sits in front of you, taking both of your hands in his.

"I... I just didn't want to... bother you anymore. All of you. I'm sorry" You speak in pain, you break down in tears. Akito, as he sees you in that state, frowns more, but his rage disappears. The only thing he does is wrapping his arms around you, as tight as he can, as if you were about to vanish (well somewhat you were (IM SORRY)

He's not really good at words, so he demonstrates his affection that way. But... maybe today he'll open an exception...

"Dang it... never do that anymore... never again. I don't want to lose you, please... I love you way too much for that to happen."

Akito speaks in the most caring tone he could. You have never seen him this affectionate, around anyone. Never ever. You can hear muffled and quiet whines coming from Akito while you hug him.

"If... if it will make you that way, I won't try it again..."

In the end, Akito didn't leave you for the whole night, focing you to accept him at your place... he can't handle you wanting to do this.

冬弥♥︎ (俺の彼氏) ❄️

You couldn't handle it. Everything was so tough. Everything. You couldn't breathe, it was hard. How are you going to do it with so much pressure? So much stress? You feel unlovable, you feel empty. Who would care if you died? I mean... they would cry for a while, but... later they would forget you. They always do, don't they? Your friends, family, people you care for... they all have a first place, and it was not you. You're just alive to bother, you're just letting people down, your presence was a nuisance, everyone only invited you to go out out of pure obligation. They didn't care at all. So, why would you keep being a weight to them? A pain on the ass? You feel so stupid, so helpless, so miserable. Everything is going wrong to you in your life, you see no future... so, why move forward to suffer more when you could just end it all? The pain would go away, your friends and known people would be happy after a while in the end... it would be less weight to you and to everyone else.

You keep thinking and thinking, all of this. Everything. Everything was so awful. You look at the train rail, waiting for it to come. You see a soft light at the end of the tunnel, it was arriving... you position yourself in the rail, close your eyes and wait. It will be quick, you thought to yourself.

It was arriving... it was closer and closer... your heart was beating fast out of fear and anxiety, but you knew it's going to be ok. Everything... Everything...

Seconds before the train passed in the rail where you were sitting, you felt a strong grip on your wrist, pulling you out of the rails. You could feel the drift from the train passing behind you. You open your eyes, to find a sight of a split-haired boy, looking at you with tears in his eyes, panting.

"W-what were you trying to do..." he speaks with his voice shaking and stuttering. The known sight of Toya, but different... you have never seen him this sad, this despaired, this scared... His eyes were watery, and his cheeks were also wet. He grips onto you and hugs you as tight as he can. You can feel his body shaking. Tears start to form in your eyes when you realise what's going on around you... Toya... what you tried to do... everything... he was holding your suicide letter tightly.

"What... what did you mean by... 'I won't be a bother anymore. It will be one less weight to your life'... What... what made you think that? You were never a weight, never. Did I do something for you to think that way?" – Toya speaks pulling away slightly from the hug, tears roll down his cheeks, he holds both of your hands tightly.

You shake your head, you speak quietly and painfully "I couldn't handle life anymore... I'm sorry... you haven't done anything wrong. It's just me... I think the meds weren't making effect, or my depression just got worse-"

Toya puts a finger in your mouth, he looks at you with empathy and pure care

"You don't have to apologise or explain yourself... just, promise you won't try this again... or this..." – Toya speaks, he takes your wrist in his hand, showing your scars, some of them fresh and some of them old.

"I care about you deeply... I don't want to lose you. I don't... I love you way too much to let you go"

He holds both of your hands tightly, as if you were to vanish within seconds. He wraps his arms around your waist and strokes your backs back and forth, a soothing and gentle motion.

"If... if that's the case... I'll try my best to also show you how much I care about you"

Toya, after that, will try his best to take smiles from you. Whatever if it's giving you gifts, hugging you, using words of affirmation, or making silly jokes, he will try his best. He also bakes a lot for you, your favourite things (and they're really, really good. Toya always think so much about you, he does his best to bake the best desserts and cook the best food for you ♥︎)

Later on that night, Toya brought you to your place and you two stayed in, playing games or doing anything that would make you happy and enjoy yourself. He will ask you if you two can cuddle, he would always ask if he could touch you in any situation~

Always remember... Akito and Toya will always be there to love you and care about you <3

They would never let something like this happen to you, you're too precious to them

Always have this in mind <3 stay safe

A/N: HELP ME I'm sorry if this got a bit too... uhhh... personal... cuz like I started adding some reasons to the reader's attempt of suicide, I had to think of smt and i ended up putting some of my feelings 😭 i hope u like it, stay safe guys <3 ty for sending me reqs and for the last 121 notes :P

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sourbites · 26 days ago

Note

do u write for jason? if so could you do a story where reader is a roadie on the damaged justice tour and she and jason get super close and eventually they both go to a party together and hook up ??? thank u :)

Whiskey and Coke

thanks for the request anon! this went a little off the rails (i got too excited by their dynamic, whoops), but i hope i did your vision justice! i hope you enjoy :)

The party wasn't as fun as promised.

Maybe that's because you're one of the few people here who aren't doped up on stuff. Honestly, even the beer is kind of awful. An after-party in the San Francisco area comes with a little prestige these days, but so far, it's been a drag. You weave through crowds of people, trying to get to the bathroom. You catch snippets of people's inebriated conversations. Some of the sentences you catch are quite amusing. You recognise a few half-lidded faces, too, some of your fellow crew members. Looks like you'll have to do most of the heavy lifting tomorrow, considering these princesses would rather spend tomorrow morning hurling up their three, four, or five shots of whiskey.

"Here to keep me company?" Jason dimples at the sight of you, his blue eyes catching on the warm lamplights throughout the main floor.

"Here to get away from you, actually," You joke, stepping towards him. Some band is in the corner attempting to play good music, and God, do you wish someone would turn their amps down. You lean closer into his bubble of space, trying to hear him better. Being around heavy metal concerts all the time hasn't been easy on your hearing. You know Jason's probably having a worse time of it than you, considering he's actually up there onstage.

"Told'ya you couldn't handle partying with the big kids, didn't I?" He riffs off of you, grinning. Jason's really good at bantering, and you know he likes it. He doesn't get many opportunities to do it with the other guys.

His body heat rolls onto you, also carrying over his scent. Clean, a little boozy and earthy. "So," You scooted closer, shuffling, dipping your voice into the warmth between the both of you. "What're you doing wandering around? Your prom date ditched you again?"

He laughs. Or chuckles, low and genuine. You catch a peek at his teeth, splitting his lips on a smile. "Just trying to find a drink."

You roll your eyes, amused. "They didn't set out any wine for his grace?"

"Doesn't seem like it," He frowns, his brows knitting together. God, he looks like a kicked puppy.

"How evil." You shake your head, sighing heavily with disappointment. Your breath ghosted down his clavicle, standing the hair on his neck up from the sensation.

Transfixed, Jason turns his shoulders sideways, leaning closer to you, arms brushing ever so slightly. Just giving you a taste. A mouth-watering taste. "I know." He agrees, wetting his lips. He watches you. Adjusts his pockets. "How'd you feel about cheering me up?"

⸻

Your hiding place is a loveseat in one of the powder rooms. Extravagant, yes. You wanted to go to the balcony, but the lingering thought of alcohol and heights not mixing well steered you otherwise.

Jason's knuckles brush your palm as he passes you the bottle of whiskey-coke you're sharing. The syrupy foam fizzes down your throat like butterflies in your stomach. Eat me, drink me, love me, it seems to say. Or maybe that's what you want to hear. The ceiling lights are warm and dimmed low, caressing the highlights of his nose and cheekbones. The bustle of the party seems to disappear behind the impenetrable, locked-from-the-inside door.

With the exchange of your drink, Jason leans closer into you. He tries to be subtle about it, hiding under the excuse that he doesn't feel like stretching every three seconds. But the way the drink sloshes in the glass tells you he uses a little more momentum than he needed.

"Y'know," He begins, propping up an ankle to rest on his knee. He turns to face you. You mirror his actions, falling into the plush cushion. "I'm really glad you decided to tag along tonight. It'd be an awful night without you."

Your heart stutters in your chest. Suddenly, looking into his pretty blue eyes all sincerely, is too overwhelming. You drum your fingertips on the cool glass neck of the bottle. "Is that why we're hiding in the ladies' powder room right now?"

He chuckles, interlacing his fingers that rest on his lap. His head tips back just a little. The warmth of the light catches on his brown hair, scattering through the strands like copper. "Exactly, honey. You're the only person worth being 'round right now."

You gulp, nervous. You mask it as thirst and take a sip of coke. Because you're nice, you give Jason the bottle. One hand curls around it. He places his mouth where yours was. His throat bobs as he gulps it down indulgently, his eyes forward, lashes fluttering. Fucking hell. He's got that cherub-sweetness like he can do no wrong, and yet, he indulges in every morsel of bought-in-bulk coke like it's not the ultra-processed, caffeinated caramel syrup he's savouring.

You could sit like this for hours. You just might.

Trying not to be weird, you try to think pure thoughts. "So why don't you just go to your hotel? Call it a night, you know?" You suggest.

Jason licks his lips. They shine in the light. Practically underlined. Looking so sweet, so delicious, peachy pink...

"Don't feel like it. I actually kind of like it here with you. It's really serene, don't you think?" He gives you a smile. Pushes the base of the bottle into your palm.

"Guess it's not about where you are, but the company you're with." You speak into the rim, barely sipping it. Just holding it makes you want to drink.

"Yeah." He agrees, speaking so softly that it unwinds that iron ball of anxiety within your guts. Spurred on by your silence, Jason talks again: "But seriously. I'm really glad you're here. You're a cool roadie."

You set the bottle down on the cold tile. You sit back up laughing. "Weirdo... Trust you to get all mushy at some random's party." You weave your words through giggles that bubble up your throat.

"Ow, watch it!" Jason places one hand over his heart. The other holds onto your knee. The heat from his palm sinks into you, tingling up your thigh. You hope your shudder was subtle. You suppose not, based on the way he tightens his (still gentle) hold on you.

Chasing the feeling that doesn't leave you feeling quite human, you lean into him. When your chest expands with an inhale, you brush against the side of his arm. He doesn't want barriers either it seems, because he moves that arm to drape over the edge of the loveseat, opening the metaphorical floodgates for you to pour into him.

"Cheer up, you big baby," You murmur, too aware of the suddenly tender atmosphere that you have no intention of shattering.

Jason gives you another gentle grin, reaching up to swipe your hair away from your face. No more hiding. You keen your cheek into his warm, sinking into his flesh. In the strangest way, Jason is familiar enough that you confuse him with the security that comes with being home. He is the threshold you cross where your shoulders finally relax and you lay on the warm frame of his chest.

Your fingertips are like an ocean against him, the shore. Constantly reaching and running away. You find purchase into his shirt and stare up at him, fascinated. You're stuck treading a thin line between wanting more and knowing that this should be more than enough. The question that seems to echo through your skull is, Should this feel so nice?

His fingertips brush against the edge of your jawline. "Can I kiss you?" His breath ghosts across your face, sweetening the air around you into something so hot you physically feel yourself melt.

With a brave inhale, you tip your weight forward. Both Jason's hands hook around the small of your back; your hands slide up, rounding out around his shoulders. It feels a little clumsy with the alcohol, a little intimate with nothing but the sounds of soft, hitching breaths in anticipation. The first thing you notice is that he's tense. And so warm that it feels as if he envelops you.

Mouths meet. In a slow, deliberate connection, all balmy and soft. Jason pours out a sigh, holding you by the hips, your breath shortening and closer to getting a taste of what heaven is painted of. It is between his lips, tucked under his tongue, and it glows and reaches down within you, tugging out all that bad and leaving you weightless, breathless, speechless. But not loveless. Your bones feel warm. Eyes closed to see that haze of colour behind your mind, your eyelashes flutter dreamily against the swells of your cheeks. Jason is just as hungry. Your hearts pound the same song. Beating that old hymn: I want, I want, I want. He breathes it into your lungs. A want that is sweet. It goes down your throat in a fiery burn.

Quite easily, Jason's lips slip down to kiss your chin. You giggle.

More than once, you'd imagined this. How Jason would cup your sides so cautiously as if he fears you'll spill out of the gaps of his hands. You've always wanted to unfold him from his seams; read the roadmaps of his skin. The idea is always the same: he'd scoop you into his chest and kiss you where it hurts — until it hurts. That part is very important in the scenario.

His kisses pool in your collar. His soft, wavy hair ghosts across your skin. "Is this okay?"

All the strength you had is turned into a weak, pleading nod. "More than okay." You confirm with enough clarity to surprise even yourself. He hums a bluesy purr, your personal siren song. That feeling— of bewitchment, fascination, so much want that you struggle to choke it all down, it soaks into you, beginning to take root.

You're rucked into his lap, your legs folded on themselves, kneeling around him. Something within you gives.

Jason's hair is in your hands, cupping the sides of his face, where you kiss him. On his cheek. Nose, lips, chin, throat. Jaw. Lips again. You don't know for how many nights you will be allowed to feel him like this. Maybe this is the only time. Anything could happen. You know that. The air around you is so intense that he quivers. Cock twitches in his jeans.

He makes a really hot noise: a rumbling, low groan of satisfaction. Still trying to be gentlemanly, he keeps his hands on your waist, though his fingertips itch to venture lower. Something within you squirms. You want more, more, more, always more, always hungry — starving for him. Jason excites you with his whole being. There's something wild beneath him that he's reluctant to peel away for you to gorge on.

You figure he'd stop you if he didn't enjoy this. And maybe that whiskey had more of an effect on you than you had originally suspected. Eager hands fumble beneath his shirt. Spurred on by you, Jason twists his fingers into the hem of your shirt. He glances up towards you, reading your expression.

Despite all the heat climbing in the locked room (and the fact that you can barely think through the smog of overflowing need in your brain), goosebumps prickle down your spine once you're shirtless. You kiss him again, grazing your teeth over his lower lip. Your hunger is entirely for him. Worn palms smooth up your spine, dutifully tracing along the methodical dips in your vertebrae. Jason rests a hand at the base of your neck, his fingers breaching into your hair from the back. With an open mouth, he glides his breath and the flat of his tongue over the swell of your tits still in your bra. You suck in a breath.

"Is this okay?" Jason immediately asks, again, caressing you as if you're something fragile. Something to be worshipped. You squirm against him, cagey, wanting the gritted sugar-sweetness of teeth and lips and tongue against you again.

"Jason," You begin, shifting restlessly, sat rigidly on the muscled curve of his thigh, "I appreciate it's the respectful thing to do — to keep asking — but come on." You urge, wanting to drag him down into the hazy smog with you. "Do whatever you want to me. I want it."

He wets his lips, no thoughts behind those swoon-worthy eyes. Then he grins. Pollutes any semblance of critical thinking left between you.

Clothes are palmed off. Gathered down or to the side. Pried from bodies as if it's suffocating.

Jason's hands guide your thighs closer, his jeans undone. The cold metal of his fly bites into you. You grasp at the carved-out shape of his bare shoulders, then tip your head back to take in a good breath. He slowly peels your panties away and off to the side, sticky with your ever-flowing arousal. A soft sigh escapes you. Jason leans to your neck. He presses his lips to your throat — wet and tingly with insistence. Those kisses snowball into something greater, climbing up to your jaw, glistening white teeth trapping your earlobe between his teeth. You tremble, pelvis pressing into his. Rough denim licks at the insides of your thighs, too close to your aching cunt for you to resist a shudder.

You coyly bump your hips forward, wanting to rock on him. You can feel the heat of his cock through his strained boxers. Your brows knit together.

"You wannit, don't you, gorgeous?" Jason hums. One hand scoops yours up from his shoulder, guiding it down to rest on the curve of his bulge. Overzealous, emboldened by the last dregs of liquor swirling around within you, you palm him. He grunts, which melds into a smoky chuckle that gets you giddy.

"Go on," He urges, "Take it out, baby."

You have to pause, because what the fuck? That is easily one of the hottest things you've ever heard. And the worst (or best) part is, you know in a few weeks from now, Jason will say those exact same words to you again. You'll be in front of the instruments, probably around a fellow roadie or worse: one of the members, and Jason will enquire about his bass. You'll point it out to him. You know, down to your very atoms, he'll give you this pant-dropping, sweetheart smile, and nod his head towards it, and utter the exact same words. Take it out.

Regardless, after you come back to planet Earth, you comply. You need both hands to gingerly unwrap him from his boxers. Hot and cock-heavy, he bites down on his bottom lip to keep from squirming. For a few moments, you just sit on his thigh, your legs bracketing his sides. His blushed tip leaks pearlescent precum, smearing onto your abdomen as it stands proudly tall. You have to swallow the drool in your mouth because he's handsome and funny and talented and honourable, and as if that wasn't enough, he has to have a pretty dick that's so deliciously girthy it has you wanting to squeeze your legs together.

Jason's palms scrape up your back, bathing you in heat, soaking up every naked inch of your skin that he's allowed. You fist his cock, the side of your hand connecting against his base. You inch down onto him, enveloping him in tingling, syrupy heat. He sinks into your cunt, you roll your hips experimentally across his lap, which is slick with you at this point. The moan at the top of your throat stutters out. Jason watches your pussy slowly take him in, swallow him whole, coaxing him with squeezes and velvet heat. The only word on his mind is pretty.

With his cock putting tender stars in your eyes, you let Jason guide your head to the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder. Your cheek smooshes into his trapezius muscle. He kisses your hairline, and you think you hear him cooing at you, but you barely hear anything over your own squeaks and the squelches of eager cunt falling into a rhythm that echoes off the tiles, no matter how hard you try to ignore said obscene sound. Your heart is thumping in your ears — it physically aches, sitting heavy against your ribcage.

Each time you press into him until his hilt is snug between your puffy sex, the air is rolled out of you, leaving you with nothing but breathy, high-pitched uh uh uh's as praise to feed him with. He makes do just fine, palming the soft globes of your ass, bracing his boots on the floor. Both strong arms curl around you, squeezing you into him.

The more you exchange inhales and exhales, moans and grunts, praises and compliments, the more something washes over you. A realisation. You'd been dying to feel this for weeks— months, even. You wanted his hands on you, you wanted to knit your bones over his, you wanted him to come teach you a gentler way to say your own name.

"Jason," You plead into the warm curve of his throat, muscles in your thighs burning, your hips wobbling against him. Your voice ripples through him, rides him hard.

He gathers all the breath in his lungs. "I gotcha, honey," He rumbles out. He locks you to him, lazily drawing the molten ache of your cunt flush against his base, stuffing you full of him. So full there's no room for slick, which bubbles out through the paper-thin seams of your tight-as-a-fist, pulsing sex in pornographically gushing dribbles, which seep and gather at the beginning of your ass, and his aching balls.

Your head is spinning. Moans leak out of your mouth. Jason half guides you and half bucks his hips up into you. Your chest bounces with each motion. Your eyes flutter closed, not unlike the way your heart trembles. Jason scoops you into his arms, and rocks you against his lap with so much velocity and viciousness that the tempo pounds within you, skin rippling on impact, and it's so powerful that you're genuinely stunned. As if he's been taking you apart brick by brick, and only now are you realising you are nothing but a wooden foundation of where everything once was.

With clammy skin, you bleed into him, breathless and crying praises around a frenzy of filthy moans. Your eyes roll around in their sockets, brainless with every bit of bliss that's bestowed unto you by each bite of Jason's cock bumping into your cervix. Your back arches, the soft shape of your tits pressing into his chest. Only skin separates your breaths. He could've gotten off on the sounds of your noises alone. But then he'd miss out on the tremble of your eyelashes, the wispy hairs that stick to your sweat-beaded temple.

You blur into him, the long muscles of his arms pin you by the hips into his own, taut with effort, just like his thighs. The sloppy, indulgently messy thrusts are fizzling into something breathtakingly good. It feels natural. Like home. Jason whispers how beautiful you are, how well you're taking him, how you're so sweet and so soft, and just like that, you're under his spell. Your orgasm bubbles up until it tips over.

You've got the moon in your eyes— just a bright flash of firey white that drives you mad with the craze of your tight heat squeezing and gushing and, and...

Jason's thrusts stop, his cock stilling inside you, yet he still persists. Pushing into you like there's any more unclaimed territory. You writhe. He cups the back of your head, stroking his fingertips into your hair. You can hear his heart pounding in your own ear that rests on his chest. His skin is as sweaty as yours with the effort, he smells so natural and salty. Your mouth fills with drool. In a long, unintelligible groan, Jason hits his high: filling what's left of your fucked-raw cunt with wave after wave of hot cum that you're half-sure leaks between the both of you. Probably got on the seats, too.

Those stars swirling in your head dissolve into tingles down your spine. You feel comfortably numb, proud of that satisfied ache deep within your belly. Jason, eager to continue his gentlemanly streak, rubs an open palm up and down your back to soothe you. His mind is put to ease as he feels your upper body expand with breath, shrinking with an exhale.

"Should've done that a long time ago," He murmurs, just wanting to speak to you. Although you have miles to go before you can crash at your hotel bed and dream. Probably about this exact moment.

You hum lazily in agreement, the low sound rolling and vibrating around in your throat. "If you want..." He shifts around, speaking up again. "We can, uh, make a habit of this...?"

Your chin rests on his collarbone as you look up at him through your lashes. Light bounces and reflects off of your eyes. You look almost impish. "Sure, farm boy." You grin.

#anon ask #requested fic #jason newsted #jason newsted smut #jason newsted x reader #jason newsted fluff #metallica #metallica fanfiction #metallica smut #metallica oneshot #drabble #jason newsted x you #souryaps

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