#I tend to wear my hair to the side - a bit further than I draw it - but it does fall in front of my eyes

[ru5t]

FIRST IMPRESSIONS MEME A meme for first meetings and introduction threads, or a ‘What you will notice about my muse’ cheat sheet. Copy from template meme: x , don’t reblog. 

GENERAL APPEARANCE

Sex: Feminine. Notes: afab and has never encountered a reason not to just go with that, though really she doesn't strongly feel pressed about presenting as any particular gender, like. She's Tech. It's sort of a non-thought? Gender is a performance and she is the show's tech crew.

Race: Caucasian

Complexion: Fair and freckled; holds a little color, but even now she's more likely to freckle further (or even burn) than tan very deeply. Pale girl struggles. (At least she's not as pale as Vi-)

Height: 5'2"

Build Type: Slight. Other / More Details: In terms of physical development, she fell behind in her preteen years for a variety of reasons (but mostly because of interference/side effects) and never caught up or reached her full potential. She's not frail, but she'll never be particularly strong, and she struggles to put on any mass, muscle or otherwise (also for many reasons but mainly because of that interruption in her growing years.)

Hair: Varies a little from a shorter bob (close to her chin) to kind of medium (touching her shoulders) with choppy layers and a slight wave texture Color: Naturally red; it was lighter when she was younger, almost more strawberry blonde, and got darker as she got older, into coppery, rusty shades. I tend to draw it orange because it suits her but I do technically think it has mostly been natural lately, because of her smuggling efforts/fake city identity. Style: She wears it up a lot to get work done, often putting it into a ponytail or sometimes a big jaw clip or with a hair stick. Lots of smaller clips for the many little flyaways. When not working she generally leaves it loose, because having it up for long periods tends to give her a headache or make her head tender

Eye color: Hazel Notes: Often described as curious, sharp, and/or seeing. A little wide-eyed vibes, too, sometimes.

Scars: Quite a lot of little ones, largely work-related (burns and cuts on her arms and hands) and from that whole survival thing. Some more notable ones include: one through her right eyebrow, one on her outer left arm, the Many on her outer left thigh, and the entry and exit wounds on her upper back and chest respectively. It's probably worth noting that before her reeducation she had different scars, including one through her bottom lip, which were 'scrubbed', so anyone who knew her before would probably note she looks different, even if they couldn't exactly place why.

FASHION

Fashion Style: A little tomboyish at times. She's got some clothes purely for functional reasons when dealing with bigger scale projects, and the rest of the time it's very... early thousands punk-y/grunge girl, spiky updos and all Notes: In terms of silhouette, think like Linds.ey Lo.han and her on-screen friends in Freaky Friday - actually kind of just early thousands Lindsey most of the time? Avril La.vigne(!). Early thousands P!nk a little bit. Whichever of those Mary-Kat.e n Ash.l.ey movies is the one where they have this vibe.

Typical Clothing: More fitted tops, t-shirts and tanks, paired with looser bottoms that are usually cargo-pants in spirit if not literal application (pockets!!! a must-have.) Sometimes she has a jacket or secondary loose layer over top, sometimes she does not. It's not usually Noticeable with a capital N I don't think but there is a pattern/fact of her shirts never touching her neck- they either have some kind of dropped collar to begin with or she will alter it. She dabbles in clothing theft, but usually more for sleepwear than every day. Loves a good giant shirt for sleeping.

Color Palette: Maybe like.... orange, green, pink? A dash of teal and yellow? All over the place if we're honest. The more regular note is: stripes. She wears a lot of striped tops in particular- she's owned no less than three different orange striped shirts. Her pants, if only because she likes the cargo style, tend to be the more neutral part of her outfits, ranging around in khaki and dark greens, dark blues, grey- you know. Cargo pants colors. She's owned at least two pair of camouflage colored/patterned pants, one of which she cut into shorts at some point (and the second pair to replace the first lmao)

Jewelry & Piercings: Her ears are double pierced on the lobes; she tends to wear studs in the higher/second set, and likes dangly bright charm earrings in the lower/first set. She had a septum piercing at one point but I don't know if it's still there. She does not and will not wear necklaces (though may occasionally pull her goggles down and leave them there, while she's working. Mostly they go up on her head though.) She likes woven bracelets, and anything clicky-clacky (but not jingle-y) like wood and plastic. She picked up the habit of wearing 'bad luck beads' from a certain someone.

Tattoos: N/A

Other Information: Gloves! Fingerless. Sometimes practical but more often a fashion/cultural thing, the patterned useless kind. Headphones sometimes, and welding goggles of some kind, I haven't settled on a particular style. I'm still not sure I'm committed to the cat ear helmet, but. Potentially there is also the cat ear helmet sometimes (<- which would not be in that color but that is soooo the vibe, the energy, if she does have one)

EXPRESSION

General Facial Expression: Fluid and ever-changing, even when she's otherwise placid. It would be incredibly heart-on-her-sleeve if not for the fact that her expressions and moods don't match the way you'd expect. (In fact, it often counterintuitively serves to obscure what she's thinking; people generally have a hard time reading her expressions (and sometimes body language). More information does not always mean better clarity.)

Default Body Language: Much the same as her expressions, though a little more traditionally matched. Small for scared, fidgety for nervous, tall shoulders for angry. The problem is more that she doesn't really seem to have anywhere to settle. There is no default, only wherever she's at that day.

General Movements: Cautious and guarded. A hand-talker, though she's often known to keep herself strictly contained in unfamiliar settings— she's typically an incredibly high self-monitor, constantly aware of where she is in a space, how much of it she's taking up, if she's in the (apparent) way, how close people are to her, etc. etc. Thus, she gives off this sort of... tightly wound energy. Like she wants to go big, but won't commit. When at work on a project she's very nimble and clever, generally confident, almost a whole different vibe: she's great at tiny fiddly machines and wires.

NOTABLE FOR RP

Presence: In person, usually pretty innocuous. She's colorful yeah but in home setting that's the norm, so she doesn't generally stand out in a crowd. She mostly just wants her own space, but with her wandering expressions and habit of talking to herself and the occasional little tic, some people are put off and/or rude to her. She also... doesn't necessarily Miss social cues, but will fail to initiate them first, or the way people expect. She's just... a bit odd. Has some crazy currency. Over the transmitter she's an absolute menace and regularly antagonistic to anyone who gets on her nerves even a little.

Appearance: Always at least a little wild looking— her hair messy, her clothes crooked. She (accidentally) ends up with tears in the knees of her pants a lot. A little like... you know how people dress after they develop a personal style but before they get it in their head to be self-conscious about being "put-together"? It's kind of like that. There's an energy and a vibe just not necessarily a huge amount of polish — things she likes, rather than outfits she puts together for people to look at. Also, with all her workshopping and tendency to bump her elbows and scrape her knees ... a little bit spicy kitten feral. A dash of mad-scientist. Odd little bug.

Scent: Ignoring the obvious notes to be made about people in apocalyptic-esque settings (although I really think. Personal HC disclaimer or whatever but I think it's not that bad, broadly speaking. No-showers georg probably exists but... there is a city actively manufacturing things, and a thriving smuggling scene, and an entire trade system, and sort of prairie-culture more than apocalypse wasteland, you know? it's more about conserving the safe water than not having the access to the necessities, I think. Dry alternatives are probably popular. ANYWAY-) I think anything else noticeable might be... a little bit of a (good) cat-smell, because of how much time she spends with Glitch+how often he's sitting standing or laying on her.

Voice Description: Honestly I have never had a particular association other than knowing she talks fast.

Accent: (This was presented as a "yes/no" question and I am here to say: Everyone Has An Accent.) More information: There's a kind of... zones accent? That isn't formally plotted out but just sort of developed as we were writing. It involves lots of dropped consonants + some Spanish influence and rapid-fire sentences ft. all that slang. To me it's always seemed almost... American South in terms of vibe? But that might be a biased take on it. I don't know that it necessarily sounds that way, like with the same vowel placements, but it reads that way to me.

Speech Mannerisms: Sort of wobbles between some natural leanings and just a little bit of putting-on — she tends to exaggerate her 'zone accent' a little bit when she's feeling either superior or inferior or if she's just trying to make a Point of something. Naturally a chatterbox, though it might take her a bit to warm up (and sometimes she also goes entirely nonverbal). Time alone during years she should have been expanding her social skills led to her talking to herself out loud a lot, and sometimes she forgets people like to be able to respond. If she gets snapped at or fussed at specifically for talking a lot/too much she's incredibly likely to A) snap back and then B) become a lot more stiff and/or outright refuse to speak with a person anymore. Practices being brave about things she doesn't want to say by saying them AllinOneBreathWithNoSpaceAndVeryVeryQuickly

Anything else to add? People who think they have her figured out off a first impression and go on to try and predict and/or direct her behavior typically set off several alarms for her, and always fuck it up one way or another. This is largely lefftover from the way her mother treated her. I know what specifically sets it off, and how to avoid it but don't like to announce it because then people. try to Outwit it. and it annoys me.

[sysig]

Trying all sorts of different tools for arts

[rebrandedbard]

The Chain

Slightly horny drabble. Geralt has a thing for Jaskier’s neck and a chain he wears around it. Reverse bath shenanigans. Non-explicit.

WC: 1900

-

Geralt had noticed it on many occasions: on hot days when Jaskier opened his chemise a little wider than usual, when Jaskier stripped for a dip in a river or tub, when he stripped for the night and bundled himself into bed. It was unusual considering the ornaments Jaskier usually hung himself with, shiny rings with etchings, engravings, and gemstones. But these were for parties and grand affairs. Day to day, he did not primp and preen like a peacock with a fat purse. He wore only his signet ring. It was a tool as much as an accessory, though it was still something with detail.

The thin chain around his neck served no purpose. It was not silver, nor iron, which at least would offer some barest form of protection. It had no enchantments. It could not even be said to bring luck. It was dull, unfashionable, and did not have so much as a single charm hung from it. It was just … there. A short, barren chain wrought of plain steel.

Perhaps it was the fact that it was so plain, so thin, flimsy, and pointless that drove Geralt to distraction. At the very least, Jaskier might put something on it. If there were a locket or a pendant, something for the eye to focus on, that would be enough. But leaving the chain bare only seemed to draw attention to Jaskier’s neck itself. It was … a handsomely long neck. When Jaskier turned his head, the muscle stood out in an attractive line. Objectively.

Geralt wished he’d put something on the damn chain. Before he volunteered his own teeth to the task. It was a fantasy that had come to him one night. Jaskier had a rather distracting habit of nibbling the ends of his shirt laces. The chain was too short for him to reach. But Geralt could. And he nearly had before he’d come to his senses, leaning too close into Jaskier’s space. He clumsily reached past Jaskier to collect his empty bowl from the ground, floundering for an excuse. That had been a week ago when they’d been out in the woods. He’d had plenty of space then to breathe and forget about it.

But now? He was suffocating. Trapped in their little room above the tavern, Jaskier stripped of all his things, sighing as he leaned with his torso above the line of water in the bath, his head dangling back over the rim, neck elongated, exposed, and Geralt saw that damn chain glisten in the firelight. Jaskier had even taken off his ring, but the chain remained.

Jaskier hummed pleasantly, a damp washcloth over his eyes. “You’re awful quiet, even for you,” he said. He lifted the washcloth from his eyes and smiled at Geralt, catching him staring. “Cat got your tongue, witcher?”

Geralt looked away immediately. “I was just thinking,” he grumbled.

“Is that something you’ve learnt to do? Oh, I’m so very proud,” Jaskier teased. He dropped the cloth back over his eyes and put his hands behind his head, sinking further into the water. “Do indulge me. Pray tell, what has those ancient, rusty gears clinking and turning tonight?”

Geralt glared at him, the effect rendered less than effective by the washcloth. “Nothing,” he said. He finished unbuckling the last of his armour and sat to clean it. There was nothing to wipe away but dust. Even so, he was looking for an excuse to stay. To linger. Or perhaps to distract himself, having little else to do but turn in for the evening.

“Hm, that’s the Geralt I know. But come, some thought is rolling around in that head of yours; I heard it clink against the walls just now when you did your curious little head tilt. Won’t you share it with me?”

“You’ve been soaking for nearly twenty minutes,” Geralt replied. “You haven’t even begun to wash up and the water will be getting cold.”

Jaskier waved a hand at him. “So it can be reheated. A little snap-snap of Igni and I’ve got another half hour of relaxing ahead. Besides, cold water is good for the skin.”

“You’ll keep me up all night tending your water if you had your way.”

“Ah, if I only could have it my way,” Jaskier sighed. “I’d have you tend to me hand and foot, hanging on my every word. What fun! Providing hot water would only be the start; I’ve got a long list of things I’d do.” He chuckled fiddling with the chain, twisting a length of it between his fingers where his hands supported his neck.

Geralt tracked the motion with rapt attention. He cleared his throat began to pack his armour up after all. As he walked behind Jaskier, he plucked the cloth from his eyes. “You’d better hurry up and wash. I’m not reheating the water for you and I know you hate when the water gets cold, never mind what good it does your skin.”

He dropped the cloth back down on Jaskier’s face with a wet plop and Jaskier slipped back with an indignant yip, splashing beneath the water’s surface. It was a satisfying sound.

Jaskier wiped his face clear and wrung the cloth out again. He huffed and began to lather the cloth with soap. “Always so gruff,” he complained. “Here I help you selflessly scrub monster guts and foul muck from your hair day in and day out, but you can’t even be bothered to heat up a little tub water to warm my icy bones. By rights, you ought to at least return the favor once in a blue moon. I’m not asking you to scrub me head to toe—I only think a little reciprocation would be nice.” So saying, he scrubbed his face and ears, rinsed, and patted around for his oil.

Geralt sighed. Depositing his armour, he turned back to the tub. He scooped up the oil and pushed away Jaskier’s hand. “Fine,” he said. “Sit up.”

Jaskier beamed at him. He wiped his eyes and turned around. “Will you really? Surely I’ve fallen asleep, dozed in the hot water, and tumbled into some fantastic dream. Who is this courteous stranger before me? You couldn’t possibly be my witcher. My witcher would never!”

The hairs stood on the back of Geralt’s neck, tingling at those words. My witcher. Jaskier said them so often, so casually, and yet they never failed to get a rise out of him.

Geralt turned Jaskier’s head roughly. “Face forward or you’ll get soap in your eyes,” he said.

“O-o-o, so forceful. Always straight to manhandling with you.”

“Give you something to handle,” Geralt grumbled.

“What was that?”

Geralt poured a bit of the oil on his hands. “I said it smells like sandal. Sandalwood.”

Jaskier settled once more against the rim of the tub and tilted his head back. “Got some new supplies. Do you like it?” he asked.

Geralt did, but then he liked most of the scents Jaskier wore. They complimented him. Not that he would ever dignify that with a response. Instead, he simply began to massage the oil into Jaskier’s hair, working his way from the crown of his head down, fingers lightly scratching his scalp the way Jaskier often did.

“Oh, that’s heavenly,” Jaskier sighed. He leaned into the touch, his eyes closed as he relaxed beneath Geralt’s ministrations.

Up close, Geralt had a perfect view of the chain. He watched it shift as Jaskier spoke. The chain reflected the flickering light in an almost hypnotic fashion. Slowly, his hands worked down to the nape of Jaskier’s neck, still massaging as he stared, his mind drifting. Jaskier made an odd little rumble in the back of his throat. Geralt massaged the place harder, hoping to hear that sound again.

“Soap next,” Jaskier said. He passed the cloth to Geralt, not bothering to open his eyes.

They’d never said anything about soaping or scrubbing, but Geralt was in no position to refuse. Not with Jaskier’s neck angled so enticingly, and here, the perfect excuse to reach out and touch. He lathered soap in the cloth. In a moment, it was touching the side of Jaskier’s neck. And yet …

“Your, uh. Your chain,” he said.

Jaskier cracked one eye to look back at him. “Oh. You may remove it. Just be sure to put it back when you’re done.”

Geralt swallowed and set the washcloth on Jaskier’s shoulder a moment. He reached for the chain, only to find no fastening in the back. He had to turn it, had to watch the drag of it against Jaskier’s skin as he searched. The chain was warm and wet and it was difficult to get a solid grip on the clasp when he at last had found it. But it soon came free.

He hesitated. Now that he had it, where could he put it? There was no stool, and it felt improper to put it on the floor. He looked at Jaskier, wondering if he might offer to hold onto it, then he was again distracted by the line of his neck.

He’d been wrong. After wearing the chain so long, it was now, perhaps, more indecent to see his neck without it. Geralt watched a drop of water roll down the side of Jaskier’s neck and felt the impulse to chase it with his tongue. To prevent himself from following through, he succumbed to another impulse which might go unobserved and placed the chain between his teeth.

Jaskier hummed once more as Geralt’s hands returned to their task. It was meditative, Geralt discovered. He moved the cloth in small circles, covering every inch of Jaskier’s neck twice. He cupped water in one hand, let it trickle down and wash the suds away. With gentle fingers, he flicked away a stray bubble, his touch lingering only a moment more to appreciate the soft skin beneath. And then he was washing Jaskier’s shoulders, his hand dipping only a little to feel the breadth of his chest.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said.

But Geralt was distracted. He was busy running the cloth once more between Jaskier’s shoulders, running the tip of his tongue across the links of the chain.

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeated. He reached back, raised a hand up to run along Geralt’s cheek. His fingers touched the end of the chain, slipping against the corner of Geralt’s mouth. He tugged it, pulling it link by link from between Geralt’s teeth. And then Geralt felt something warm and wet lightly touch the opposite corner. A kiss. Just barely.

Geralt’s breath caught in his lungs and his eyes fluttered shut. He felt Jaskier’s teasing touch disappear, fingers curling beneath his chin and sinking once more beneath the water. He opened his eyes and saw Jaskier smiling back at him, the chain dangling in his hand.

“The bath is getting cold,” he said, a salacious tenor to his voice. “Feel like warming me up?”

And before Geralt could answer, Jaskier had a finger curled around the silver chain of his medallion, pulling him in.

Jaskier smirked up at him. He took the washcloth from his hand and replaced it with the chain. “I’ll wear yours,” he whispered, “if you’ll wear mine.”

And now Geralt indulged a new fantasy. Yes, Jaskier’s chain needed something after all, he decided. It needed only one simple ornament to make it complete.

It needed a wolf.

[tommyspeakycap]

Hi love, I adore your writing so much! And as you just asked for some ideas/concepts here’s mine for Jack Grealish from prompts list 2: fluff #11 where he’s asking her (she’s his best friend) to go for a walk cause there’s so much going on in his life and he just needs to talk. fluff #36, angst #31 and a happy ending please? Basically a Best friends to lovers thing as I’m a sap for that…thank you!! xx

Fluff #11; “I know it’s 2 in the morning but do you want to…”

Fluff #36; “because I fell for you, isn’t it obvious?”

hope I did this justice for you!

Fell for you

“Jesus god,” you grumbled with hands aimlessly palming across the mattress for the blaring sound of your phone from its place charging somewhere on the bed. Your next move is an elongated “Ahhhhh,” sound, fatigue still holding tightly onto your body in a way that seals your eyes shut even as you try to shut off the sound your phone was deafening your with. In a wakened state, you might’ve noticed that it was your ringtone that had interrupted your sleep. However as tired as you were you ruled it as your alarm right away and moved yourself into seated position with the duvet still wrapped tight around you and your eyes still shut.

You were suspended in that space between being asleep and being awake, still sitting up when the offensive sound came screaming through your phone once again.

This time, your eyes snapped open in fright and the fatigue-blurred letters of Jack Grealish’s name popped up across the top of your screen.

“How is it morning already?” You protest down the line, a heavy sigh passing your lips to follow. Jack’s chuckle can be heard through the line, “It’s not.” He replies simply, prompting you to pull your phone away from your ear to hold out in front if your face.

02:17am

“Then why on earth am I up?” You mumble, a question more posed to yourself than the man on the other end. “Wait, why are you up? And why are you calling so early?”

“I’m outside your door.”

“You’re what?!” You throw back your duvet and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You’ve hung up the phone already by the time you reach the front door at a tired shuffle. His hair is tousled when you see him, like he’s been running his hands through it over and over, you imagine that he has. He does that when he’s stressed. You have to squint against the street lights and his car headlights outside, still on as it sits running on the street. “Can we go somewhere?” He asks, his voice as desperate as his eyes look when he speaks, begging you to agree. Not that he would need to beg. You’d do anything for that man. Even if it did mean dragging yourself from your bed at 2 in the morning.

“Course.”

No question, no pressure. He loves that from you. He knows you’ll ask him later and when the time is right you’ll force him to tell you of course. Now is not that time yet and you’re nowhere near awake enough to do so much anyway. “Let me just grab my-“

“I have a hoodie in the car and your shoes in my boot.” He cuts in, tugging your arm gently out the door of your house. He knows you better than any other person in this world, so he knows full and well that there’s not much you are going to do in the way of protesting when you’re so soon out of sleep. He’d often teased with layers of worry deeper beneath that he genuinely worried for you living on your own. You open the door to people far too easily, and he will not fail to bring that up sometime tomorrow. For now, he steps into your doorway where you had stood moments before, grabs your keys from the cabinet and pulls the door closed behind him with a click of the latch locking behind him.

The cold paving stones beneath your feet make you shine in protest, shifting your weight between each one to ease the chill. In was in that cold that you look down and make the realisation, or rather come to remember the fact that you don’t have any pyjama bottoms on. “Jack!” You yelp, “I’m not wearing trousers!” You suddenly feel very exposed and rightly so, standing outside your home suddenly very awake in only a long claret and blue shirt that only extended down to the middle of your thighs. “Eh?” He whips around, “You what?”

It’s only now he really takes you in with rosy cheeks from embarrassment, your hair messed up from your sleep. His frantic eyes soften and his heart stops thundering in his chest finally. The sight of you there calms him. You’re there. Right there. His (y/n) is right there in front of him.

“What’s the rush, Jack? Is everything okay?”

Your gentle words and tired eyes bring him back to the ground, the flurry of his racing thoughts only now finally calmed. He often acts on impulse, but you are always able to slow his brain down a few paces. His sits heavily, "I know it's two am but...do you think we could go somewhere. My heads fuckin'... I don't even know." He dips back down to run that hand through his hair once again. His words stoke a bit of a worry in you, head tilted to the side in question. Jack doesn't tend to be the kind who gets himself panicked and all wound up like he has right now. That's more your half of the friendship. You did the worrying, he did the easygoing.

"It's okay, Jack. Of course. Come on then, let's go." You nod your head and he goes around the back of the car to get the shoes and socks he promised you. You very nearly choked up a lung when he presented you with a brand new Balenciaga box. "What the fuck, Jack?" You all but wheeze out, head whipping towards him climbing into the passenger seat.

"Got you a present 'cause I'm leaving soon." He shrugs with a jaw-dropping ease. You list open the lid and inside sit a pair of sliders that cost nearly £400. You physically gawp. "Oh my god."

"What?" Jack asks, drawing out of his parking spot on the street, "Heard you telling your mum you needed new sliders for the summer, do you not like 'em?"

His nerves would be clear in his voice if you hadn't been in such a ferocious level of shock. You're glad you weren't eating anything because it surely would have choked you to death. Of course you had seen Jack wearing brands like Balenciaga, Gucci, Versace and the likes, but you had never owned such an expensive piece of clothing. "I mean of course I love them, J but I meant from Primark or bloody amazon, you shouldn't have spent al that money on me." You protested, but Jack really pays it no mind. In fact, the suggestion that you don't deserve everything luxurious that this world has to offer offends him more than it does anything else. You should know that you deserve everything good that this world can give and he has the means to actually give that to you. He'd count himself an absolute fool not to.

"Gonna pretend you didn't say that." He mutters, eyes kept carefully on the empty road ahead of his car. Your eyebrows are furrowed, a part of you brain still very much trying to a) wake up and b) process the expensive of the gift he handed to you so casually. "Not arguing about it either." His voice cuts you off the second you open your mouth to speak, shutting down your protest before it even leaves you.

As the fatigue of your sleep wears off, your mind continues to be just as boggled as it had been the moment his name popped up on your screen at 2am, if not more boggled now.

"You're acting so weird, Jack. What the hell is going on with you today?" Your insistence is careful with your pressure. It's enough to try to open him up but not enough to make it sound like a confrontation. Neither you nor Jack like confrontation especially with each other. The words make him chew on his lip as he careens the large white range rover through a turn that leads up a gravel road that crunches beneath his tires. The stops when he's met with a with a large gate that prevents cars but a little slot for people to walk through. Jack leaves his door open when he leaves the car with a curtly mumbled "Stay here" as he does. He pushes open the gate with ease before he gets back in the car and follows the path up the hill further.

He stop abruptly in a very small gravel car park without any parking lines to abide and steps out, slamming his door behind him like he absolutely always does; you swear that man couldn't be quiet if his life depended on it. Which was another reason why you were so surprised by his silence. You clamber out after him with that same fear of falling flat on your face that always fills your mind each and every time you leave his car. But Jack is where he has been every time you step out the Range Rover since the first day he got it; standing by your door to hold your hand so you can jump out without a trip onto the gravel beneath. He shuts the door behind you and hands you a spare pair of his loose fitting track pants.

On an average day you might've teased the reason he hasn't worn them was because they wouldn't have squeezed the life out his legs. Today wasn't one of those days, so you slip them on without a word. Followed up by his way too big for you socks and the brand new black slides. Even wide awake, this confuses you to no end. Jack was never quiet and never elusive. He was boisterous, loud, open and confident.

The second you turn around, you realise why he brought you here.

The view of the stars, the sky completely clear. There wasn't a street lamp in sight. The moon provided the kind of spotlight hue that you kind of thought only existed in the enhancement of Hollywood movies. "Woah," you breathe, words stolen by its beauty.

"Yeah," Jack laughs, "Now you know how I feel every time I look at you."

You head turns to him so fast it sends your head spinning a little, or maybe that's just the shock of his words. You couldn't tell.

"What?"

He shrugs his shoulders, scuffing his feet along the gravel to meet up with where you stand. But he freezes before he gets the chance.

"Why are you wearing that?" He asks, a very sudden cold change in his tone that actually makes your body feel colder. "Wearing what? This?" You gesture to the claret and blue shirt you had thrown on in a haste to get to him standing at your front door a short while ago. You turn to see his unhappy scowl and the firm discontented cross of his strong arms. "Yeah that," he grumbles, "And where'd you even get it." He adds with a flare of his nostrils. He looks adorable angry like this, like he's trying so hard to look angry when his emotions lie truly elsewhere.

You look down at the shirt with furrowed brows, before you shift your shoulder forward, crane your neck and pull the material around to view the back as best you could. "What's wrong with it?" You ask finally, attempts to defy the natural state of your body failing to allow you to see your back.

"It's Ginny's." Jack states as if its the most obvious thing in the world. You just look at him bewildered. "And?"

He huffs as he takes a few more heavy steps up to you, looking like he had a lot of things to say without any way of being able to get them to coordinate from his brain to his lips. "Why do you have Ginny's shirt though?"

You breathe a little bit of laughter at him, shaking your head softly. "it was just a joke. I saw him after a match waiting for you so I jumped out at him and pretended to be a fan for a video and he signed it and gave to me as a joke. I just threw it on when you showed up at my door in the middle of the night. Wasn't exactly a fashion statement."

Jack still grunts in dissatisfaction at your answer, refusing to meet your eyes. "You have plenty of mine to wear though, don't need his." His argues in a disgruntled grumble. You raise and drop your arms down by your side with a sigh. He was really testing your patience now. "Hm, last time I checked you couldn't give me yours anymore because your ex didn't like it." You protest with a wag of your finger, making him turn his head downwards with something like a shudder running through him at the mention of her name. "Yeah well there's a reason she's my ex innit." He mutters under his breath.

"What the hell is the problem with you today Jack?" You exclaim, his eyes jolting to you in surprise. You don't often snap.

"First you show up at my door in the middle of the night and drag me out of my house and then you won't actually speak to me and now you're picking a fight about John M fucking Ginn?" You snap, the anger and confusion he had stirred up showing in your emphatic hand gestures that only come out when you're telling him a passionate story or going off your head at him. "He's your best mate, why would that even bother you?!"

"I'm sorry, I-"

"I'm not done, Jack!" You yell, holding out a hand. "You haven't even spoken to me all week. I found out you made the England call up on fucking twitter Jack, twitter! And your mum told me about you dumping your girl and I can't even get through to you and now you're buying me gifts and bringing me here? I don't know if I'm coming or going here Jack, you have to give me something. We're meant to be friends." You voice breaks on the last syllable and a lump forms in Jack's throat that he can't just swallow away. Any pain, any hurt and any slight sadness of emotion that appears in you shatters his heart. He thought that was a normal reaction until two weeks ago when he realised it only happens to him when its your upset he witnesses.

"I'm sorry." He says, his voice thick and wavering with the same level of emotion. "I really, really am." He stands right in front of you now, so close you're basically chest to chest, faces merely inches apart.

"And I'm scared." He admits, sending a pang through your already aching heart. "Scared because I'm leaving and I can't take you with me." His words tickle your lips as they leave his, clouds of air puffing above the two of you as his hot breath meets the cold night air. "You've done it before, J. It'll be fine." You soothe, hands gently raising to reach up and brush the hair out of his face. His let's forth a content sigh of relief at the feeling of your touch. "That was before though." He confesses with a slight shrug. He watches that furrow sow itself back into your brows.

"Before what?"

"Dance with me?" He suggests, his arms finding their way around you with ease, much less fumbley than you remember from your high school prom. Your head tilts in that adorable confused way that makes a grin form on his cold lips.

"Why?" You query, eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion. He laughs softly. "Because the music is slow and the sky is gorgeous and because I love you."

Before you get the chance to recognise, process or even understand what he said, he's swaying you around the gravel under the stars.

"Because you what?" You squeak, your eyes desperately searching his as you look for any reason this might be some kind of a joke or one of pranks that makes you want to throttle him. He just smiles at you with those crinkled eyes and the love shining right there in his eyes for you to see. Your stomach flutters like the teenager you were when you fell in love with him. His lips dip down to capture yours in the best kiss that your being has ever felt, his hands ringing your hair, stroking down over your cheeks with those warm hands of his.

"Because I've fell for you, isn't it obvious?"

[2jaeh]

FREAKS THE PREQUEL : TAEYONG X TEN X READER 

genre: smut, humor

warnings: poly themes, alcohol, some drug use, threesome, oral M and F receiving, semi-public, fxm, mxm, just a lot of smut related tags tbh

word count : 11,8 K 

AUTHOR SIN

Everyone had heard of you but where did the story begin ?

This is the prequel to FREAKS (Jaehyun x reader) a story of why the entire campus were almost certain that you Taeyong and Ten were in a poly affair. 

A/N: before anyone asks I will be doing a part two of Freaks w Jaehyun, I needed to get this part out first! Also commissions are open on my fiverr and let me know in my inbox what you think of this series! 

0. Prequel 

1. Freaks pt 1 

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You always wondered what it was like to fit in. Whether people rarely stared, that It didn’t matter what music you listened to or how you dressed as long as you followed the quota you were good. But four months into university made you quickly realise that it wasn’t easy making friends as people made it out to be. Being in the art department, you took notice of a few people that met your requirements but after an exchange or two the conversation fell flat and it would feel like you were back to square one.

You sat your sketchbook down on the wooden table situated at the back of the fine arts classroom and slumped into the chair waiting for class to begin. Your eyes watched every person that sauntered through those indigo doors. Hippies, wannabe tattoo artists, rich kids who took art just to prove they’re cultured, and the ones who weren’t worth remembering.

“Today we will explore life drawings so pull out the items I asked you to collect and partner up with the person seated next to you” your lecturer clapped his hands as the classroom filled with shuffling of seats and small greetings.

You turned to your left and noticed a black haired boy with a mullet cut passed out on the desk. You had seen him at a few parties but you’ve only exchanged less than a sentence with him.

Grabbing your pencil you poked his exposed arm until he groaned and stretched his arms out in front of him yawning, “Are we done already ?”

“We just started, and were partners” you faked a smile and shifted your desk closer to him.

“Oh shit sorry, you’re y/n right ?” He asked, his voice was soft and friendly. His cat-like eyes blinked cutely as he adjusted his loose shirt and turned his body to face you, “you were at Jungwoo’s party last week.”

“Oh yeah I was” you chuckled scratching the back of your head, “You…are Ten Lee, I remember your strip club design project. It was pretty awesome”

Ten’s eyes lit up at your words and you felt a sense of warmth emanating from him. It felt genuine unlike most people on this campus and you couldn’t believe it took you this long to even talk to him.

“I tend to see how far I can go before the faculty calls my parents in” he snickered and began pulling out his drawing equipment from his overly decorated tote bag. You mimicked his actions and in turn pulled out the items your lecturer had asked you to collect. Personal trinkets he said, three items that you think represented you.

You looked around at the nearby desks and noticed a lot of the same items placed on everyone's desk. Candles, AirPods, tea boxes, vinyls and anything else you would find on ‘art hoe Tumblr 101’. You annoyingly rolled your eyes as you looked down at your own equipment.

A rusty old key you had found in your room, the cigarette butt of the last one you smoked since you’d quit, and of course the grand finale, an anime figurine of a woman with boobs bigger than her head. Perfect.

“Hentai is…..your identifier ?” Ten stifled his laughter as he grabbed the figurine from your desk and closely examined her clothing, or lack thereof.

“I actually stole that from the store my ex worked at but yeah we can go with that, what is yours ?”

You watched Ten remove the items from his bag and your eyes widened at one item in particular, “dude is that a vibrator ?” You questioned and Ten grinned, holding up the palm sized gadget and switched it on briefly before turning it off and flinging it on his desk, “yeah I identify strongly with it” he shrugged.

“How exactly?” You quizzed him as the boy, still poker faced, played with the rings on his fingers.

“Vibrators pleasure people, and I do the same, there's no lore to it y/n”

“Good to know I guess” you pressed your lips together and you felt Ten tug on your arm until his lips were against your ear,

“You wanna skip and try it out in the bathroom ?”

———————————————————————————————————

You had no idea what the fuck was going on but within minutes you and Ten were walking down the hall to the nearest bathroom after he explained to the lecturer that the two of you had to hand in a business assignment a couple doors down. Ten pulled you into the girls bathroom and looked under each stall until he realised you two were the only ones in here.

“What the fuck is happening right now” you walked hand in hand with him into the last stall and leaned against the cold tiled wall.

“You about to get one of the best orgasms ever that's what” Ten bit down on his lip cheekily and found the slit of your floral skirt and pushed it to the side, revealing your black laced panties on full display for him.

As Ten’s fingers slowly began making its way to your core you smacked his hand, causing him to look up with wide eyes, “What ?”

“At least kiss me first, how am I supposed to get in the…mood?” Ten chuckled at your words and raised his hands amusingly, “Okay Okay I didn’t think this would be a whole ordeal”

You rolled your eyes and pulled Ten by his neck into a deep kiss that actually surprised the both of you. Each side was filled with lust as your tongue moved against his and fought for dominance. Ten pressed his body against you roughly, earning a moan from both of you once you felt your bodies connect in the most passionate way. Kissing him was different, It completely changed the way you looked and felt about him. He went from being the cute cat boy in your class to probably one of the sexiest people you had ever met. Ten roughly bit your lip and smirked into the kiss when he felt your nails dig into his shoulder. He quickly used the opportunity to slip his hands in-between your legs which you politely parted for him and ran a finger over your core.

“Oh shit” you breathed against his lips as he moved the material out of the way and slipped his finger inside with ease. His finger moved slowly in and out of you while his lips were still attached to yours not missing a second of that mouth-watering kiss. You had no idea when his finger was replaced with the vibrator but the sensation made you break away from the kiss and throw your head back in ecstasy, not knowing when was the last time you even felt like this. The combination of Ten’s wet kisses on your neck and the vibrator completely destroying you, it was happening. The orgasm of the fucking century was approaching. You would like to believe that you were only at your breaking point because you hadn’t hooked up with anyone in a while not because Ten was this good. But he was. He was fucking amazing and this was just a taste, just an introduction to him.

Ten increased the speed of the vibrator until your legs were shaking and clasped his hand over your mouth to prevent the whole department from hearing you coming undone.

“Fuck..” You sighed, holding onto his shoulders for support as you tried catching your breath, “yeah the whole pleasure analogy between you and the vibrator….I get it.”

“Glad to be of service” Ten stuck his tongue in his cheek and began neatening his outfit before hooking arms with you and walking out of the bathroom. You already had no intention of going back to class anytime soon so the two of you ended up wandering the halls of the pristine campus, hoping the day would pass away.

“Y/n” you heard a voice call from behind you, not your favourite voice in the world.

“Fuck” you sighed and turned around, watching the tall black haired man make his way over to you. You watched a cocky smile spread across his face as he came over, his tall frame standing over you and Ten.

“What do you want Jinyoung ?” you asked, raising your eyebrow at him and folded your arms.

The boy bit down on his lip and moved his hair out of his face, “I just came to say hi y/n do you have to be so rude ?” He scoffed and raised his eyebrow at Ten, “got a new boy toy ?”

“What Ten and I do is honestly none of your business” you responded coldly, Ten immediately putting two and two together and stifled a laughter before smiling up at Jinyoung,

“Oh you’re the ex boyfriend ? Is this the one who finishes in 10 seconds ?” Tens words caught you off guard causing you to let out a chuckle and Jinyoung to shift uncomfortably in his spot. He tried his best to stay composed but his red ears told a different story.

“That’s probably someone else, you know she’s been around the block” he licked his lips and folded his arms across his chest.

“Anyway do you want something ? We gotta go back to class” you rolled your eyes and rested your head on Tens shoulder.

“Come out with me tonight, you know I always get guestlist to varsity parties” Jinyoung said and Ten waved his hand in front of his face startling Jinyoung, “I have plans with her, so maybe next time” Ten pulled you down the hall before Jinyoung could get in another word. You couldn’t help but turn back and take in his dumbstruck frame as the two of you furthered away from him and headed back to class.

“We have plans ?” You asked as the two of you slipped back into your seats and Ten propped his legs up on the table and leaned back,

“Yeah there’s a party at that guy Wooyoung's place tonight and we’re going” Ten stretched his arms above his head, “wear something sexy so I’m not standing out.”

————————————————————————-

Of Course listening to Tens words and knowing the kind of closet you were working with it wasn’t that hard to not stand out. You opted for a cute little baby blue mini dress that was tight enough to show off your curves and a pair of holographic combat boots. Your favourite part was always getting to match your eye make up to your outfit. Drawing on an intricate design that accentuated your big round eyes almost made you doll-like.

You retrieved your phone and noticed you received a text from Ten, who had already updated an outfit pic on story. A very low buttoned down black shirt and black shiny pants that had a fucking garter around his leg ?

Yeah he was hot and the both of you knew it.

You grabbed the last of your things and made your way downstairs to Ten who was waiting at the dorm house entrance. Unconsciously biting on your lip you were welcomed by his slender figure posted up against the fence with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He looked straight out of a movie.

“God finally….holy shit you look hot!” He whistled and pulled you into a tight hug before pulling you into a kiss and grabbed your waist. The kiss was indeed surprising even though earlier that day he was practically fucking your brains out.

His lips were soft and sweet, laced with a hint of the menthol cigarette from earlier. Ten finally pulled away and he gave your ass a cheeky squeeze before handing you his half burnt cigarette,

“Let’s have a wild fucking night then shall we ?”

Taking the cigarette from him you took a drag and blew the smoke up into the air forgetting about your sobriety and watched it disappear in the night sky, “let’s go.”

The night was cold but quite a few people were all over the residence roads, making their way to various parties or down to the bars where the rowdiness had already begun.

“Shit I really should’ve brought something to pre drink” Ten sighed and pulled out his phone.

“Who are you texting ?” You asked, trying to match his quick footsteps as yall began nearing the busy part of the street.

“Yuta, you know that tattoo guy ? He always has a bottle on him” Ten explained as you followed him into a narrow corner and saw a group of people gathered at the steps of the building.   You noticed a few people from your department hanging around but the most noticeable person was in fact Yuta Nakamoto. His long black hair, pierced ears and tatted up body was hard to miss. You got a tattoo from him once and it almost ended with him making out with you on his work desk.

But that was a story both of you agreed to forget.

“Ten and y/n, weird combination but I’m not really surprised, what’s up ?” Yuta grinned and handed Ten the bottle of vodka while pulling you into a quick hug.

“Yeah it’s called matching each other’s energy” Ten winked at you and took a shot of vodka straight out of the bottle before handing it to you. You eyed the clear bottle up and down knowing your kidneys were screaming at you right now but fuck you hated walking into a party without a slight buzz going. You took the bottle and took a shot before wincing at the bitter taste and the fiery sensation that was now running down your throat. “You ready ?” Ten grinned holding out his hand and you placed your hand in his, nodding a thank you to Yuta and his friends before entering the chaotic party.

There were people of all kinds inside. Some from your department, some from God knows where. All you could see were lingering eyes on you and Ten as you stepped inside. Some people made it obvious that they were staring, hoping that maybe you’d strike up a conversation with them. Others just peeked and gossiped amongst their friends as they stared at the outfits that you and Ten adorned.

“What else do you expect from people who sleep around with drug dealers” you and Ten overheard a girl say as the two of you made your way over the kitchen for drinks.

“Drug Dealers ? Geez that’s the first” Ten scoffed and sifted for a cider in the cooler.

“None of that bothers you does it ?” You smiled, intrigued as the cat-eyed boy barely noticed a few people checking him out from behind the counter.

Ten handed you a drink and leaned up against the counter taking a sip of the cold liquid before shrugging,

“Why should I let it bother me ? It’s not like their lives are interesting that I want to fit in with them, I mean their lives revolve around talking shit about me” Ten giggled and took another sip of his drink.

His confidence was extremely attractive and his words resonated with you. It made you wonder if maybe you thought too much about it at times even though you didn’t care to conform to society norms of an average varsity student. Hanging out with Ten for just one day already gave you more life, more energy than anyone prior in your university. Ten wasn’t hesitant to show you that he felt the same way either. To him it was fate that he had sat next to you earlier today because he finally found someone worth keeping his attention.

“There’s something about you y/n I just feel like we get each other” he scratched his head and looked over at you, “it’s so easy just hanging out with you without feeling so fucking drained.”

“I feel the exact same way, like don’t get me wrong I like hanging out with the likes of Yuta and that guy Hendery in our class, but it’s different with you”  You grabbed Tens hand and he squeezed your hand tightly,

“Here’s to tolerating only each other.”

You and Ten toasted and downed the last of the cider before heading to the dance floor filled with people who either despised you or wanted to be you.

As the two of you danced it felt like the room was moving in slow motion, the mixture of the smoke filled room to the loud music and alcohol in your system made you feel euphoric. As you danced the night away, you had no idea when you and Ten had separated on the dance floor but a sudden tug on your arm snapped you out of your daydream to face a harsh reality.

Jinyoung.

“Please leave me alone” you groaned as he wrapped his arms around your waist and placed his mouth against your ear,

“Baby I’m sorry when are we going to put all that shit behind us ?” He groaned, slipping his hands to your sides and squeezed gently.

“You cheated on me asshole did you forget ?” You shrugged out of his grip and pushed by the bodies of people trying to make your way to the backyard for fresh air.

The small garden was filled with people having intimate conversations and someone throwing up in a bush at the back. Normal house party shenanigans.

You rolled your eyes when you noticed Jinyoung had followed you out already trying to put his hands on you once again. “Would you stop ? Why don’t you run after the girl you had in your bed when we were together” you spat and headed for a bench.

“You know what, keep resisting, that’s why your ass is sitting here alone” Jinyoung retorted and pushed his way back into the party.

You groaned and sat on the empty seat far away from the party, finally able to hear yourself think and breath in fresh air. You were about to slip back into a calmer state when you felt someone drop in the seat next to you and as your thoughts expected it was Jinyoung, it ended up being a boy you had never seen before.

“Hi, sorry I didn’t mean to startle you” the boy said, his big round eyes sparkled under the night sky. His body was petite like Ten but he was broader in the shoulder department and had the most innocent face you’d ever seen.

“Oh it’s not a problem” you replied, still taking in his striking features. The boy brought a small metal flask to his lips and took a shot before offering the drink to you,

“It’s tequila” he smiled and you mouthed a thank you before shooting back a bit of the drink and handed it back to him.

“I’m y/n….I haven’t seen you around before” you quizzed as the boy set down his flask and ran his fingers through his blonde hair.

“I’m Taeyong, I’m actually new here” he replied and wet his lips with his tongue, “I’ll start in the art and design department on Monday.”

“I’m in that department, well welcome to hell” you grinned and held out your hand. Taeyong grinned and took your hand in his and gave you a firm handshake before scooting closer. As much as you convinced yourself he had the most adorable and innocent face you’d ever seen, there was a hint of mischief in his eyes.

“I just came here to get drunk and get laid but like everyone’s looking at me weird” Taeyong goofily laughed and you joined in, “can’t help you there, I’ve been in that position for a few months now” Taeyongs eyebrows raised at your words and jumped to his feet, holding out his hand for you to take,

“We both have nothing better to do so let’s get wasted.”

You and Taeyong set up a couple shots and downed everything in one go, not bothering about anyone around you or what they had to say. Taeyong was hilarious, his face was animated as he talked which made you laugh, something about him drew you in like a moth to a flame.

The two of you went from casual talk to dancing together and you didn’t mind the closeness, especially when he danced so fucking well against your body. You had no idea when it happened but Taeyong had spun you to face him while the two of you danced and your bodies were practically merged together as Taeyongs lips inched closer and closer until you felt him practically getting dragged away.

“Yo what the fuck man” Taeyong shouted as Jinyoung had a fist full of Taeyongs shirt and escorted him outside. A few people pushed past you to see the commotion before you processed what the hell had just happened.

Making your way through the curious crowd you watched as Taeyong and Jinyoung squared up in the middle of the garden for everyone to see.

“What the hell are you doing with my girl, man ?” Jinyoung shoved Taeyong who stumbled back, the alcohol not helping his balance in any way. You rushed toward them as Taeyong found his footing and pushed Jinyoung right back, he was definitely way stronger than he looked.

“Jinyoung I’m not your girl you moron” you snapped and tried to stand in front of Taeyong before things got any worse.

Jinyoung scoffed and took a step forward, challenging you but you stood your ground even though your head was spinning from the amount of alcohol in your system.

“You’re defending this nobody ? Y/n you’ve really hit rock bottom now haven’t you ?” Jinyoung said, loud enough for every person to hear. This was one of his traits that you hated most.

Gaslighting.

When Jinyoung knew he had lost you it resulted in insults, manipulation, making you feel like you needed him more than he needed you. But it never worked and it drove him insane.

“Hey it’s not her fault she decided to drop the dead weight in her life” Taeyong shrugged and took a step forward, “don’t worry I’ll make sure she gets satisfied in any way she wants.”

Before you could even respond Jinyoung swung at Taeyong, hitting him right in the jaw before two other men stepped in and held him back. You rushed over to check on Taeyong who instead of showing signs of anger or pain, was laughing.

Laughing with a bruise on the side of his jaw, unphased by what had just happened. Jinyoung muttered curses as the guys dragged him away from the garden and the crowds of people finally dispersed, unsatisfied with the lackluster of the fight.

“Are you okay ?” You sighed helping him up and took him to the side of the house where it was more secluded from the public. You shone your phone light to get a better look at his bruise and Taeyong winced at both the sudden light and the throb from the hit.

“I’m fine I’m fine, it’s really okay” he chuckled and leaned against the wall pulling you with until you were inches away from his face.

You had no idea why, especially considering you just saw him get hit in the face, you leaned in to kiss him. Whether it be the alcohol or the adrenaline from the fight you just found Taeyong to be so goddamn hot in this moment. Taeyong moaned into the kiss as he slipped his tongue into your mouth and massaged circles on your lower back. Your lips moved against his slowly and passionately, smirking into the kiss when he bit down on your lip cheekily.

“God there you are”

Your kiss quickly broke when you heard the high tone of Tens voice and he made his way over to you and Taeyong.

“What the hell happened, I heard that idiot Jinyoung was harassing you again and-“ Tens eyes turned to Taeyong against the wall and pointed to him with his index finger, “who the heck is this ?”

“Uh this is Taeyong, he helped me with the Jinyoung issue” you scratched your head and Taeyong half waved at Ten before clutching his jaw.

“Uhm okay” Ten pressed his lips together, “let’s go back to my dorm I’ve had enough of these Neanderthals...Taeyong you can come too.”

————————————————————————-

The three of you finally arrived at Ten’s dorm in silence. You and Taeyong shifted awkwardly in the middle of Ten’s bedroom, not knowing exactly what to do. Looking around you noticed Ten had an eye for interior design. His furniture was quite outlandish for a dorm room yet it was surprisingly homey.

“God please sit or do something you guys are making me uncomfortable” Ten groaned, kicking off his boots and discarding his shirt. Taeyong opted for the office chair near Ten’s desk and you took a seat at the very edge of Ten’s single sleeper while he lay on his back next to you on his phone.

“You guys like sushi ? I'm feeling for sushi” Ten hummed scrolling through a food ordering app completely oblivious to the awkwardness that still sat in the room.

“Sushis good” you nodded,

“Yeah I don't mind either” Taeyong added but winced when he felt the sharp, still very prominent pain in his jaw.

“Ten you got an ice pack or something ?” You sighed, jumping off the bed and rummaged through Ten’s mini fridge. “Yeah right at the back” Ten replied, still trying to place his order for the late night meal. You retrieved the ice pack and knelt down in front of Taeyong who smiled shyly as you placed the ice pack over his swollen jaw. Taeyong silently thanked you for your kindness and applied pressure to his jaw as you decided to take a seat beside his chair, to make him feel a little more comfortable in your friends bedroom.

“Okay” Ten threw his phone aside and sat up to look at the two of you with inquisitive eyes,” yall gonna tell me what happened here ?”

“Well I lost you on the dancefloor and Jinyoung found me” you began, Ten already rolling his eyes at the sound of Jinyoung’s name,

“I went outside and Taeyong approached me, he’s going to be starting at our department on Monday and he didn't know anybody, so I offered my friendship in a form of alcohol and having a good time” you smiled and Ten scoffed.

“Jinyoung saw you guys just drinking and decided to rearrange his face ?” Ten raised his eyebrow, he definitely knew there was more to it considering the two of you were sucking each other's faces off in a dark alley.

“Okay so we were quite close, and honestly does Jinyoung need any other reason ? He wanted to punch you this morning” you groaned.

“Yeah but I was literally fucking you in a bathroom stall with my vibrator y/n”

Taeyong’s eyes widened at Ten’s words and looked between the two of you frantically, “Wait you guys are together, I mean hooking up ? Why did you kiss me ?” he questioned while Ten just laughed it off and turned on his bluetooth speaker.

“Chill, we're not together you can have a little relationship if you want to” Ten smirked, stretching his arms above his head, “honestly if you wanna hook up now I like watching.”

“God shut up, and none of us want a relationship. We just got there to have fun and Jinyoung ruined everything” you groaned, leaning your head back against Taeyong’s leg as he finally returned to tend to his bruise.

“All this aside do you guys mind if I hang out with you ? you’re honestly the only fucking normal people on this campus” Taeyong pouted and you and Ten shared a quick glance before grinning from ear to ear.

“Okay he’s cute I get it” Ten sighed and held out his hand to Taeyong, “I'm Ten, y/n and I only started hanging out this morning, neither of us have close friends on campus and frankly everyone finds us annoying, welcome to the club.”

Taeyong smiled cutely and shook Ten’s hand, setting down his ice pack and got to his feet, “Well i'm Taeyong, I too don't give a shit what people have to say about me, I like doing whatever I want with whomever I want and I'm pretty sure after tonight people aren't gonna like me either, so I guess i'm in.”

Before you could even say your part to this little club initiation your phone began to blow up with message alerts and story updates from practically everyone on campus tagging you in a specific video.

“What the hell is going on ?” you frowned as you opened instagram and noticed that the account that everyone was tagging you in was a burner account with a few videos and two pictures. Ten and Taeyong stood on either side of you as you opened up the first video and noticed that it was taken in the hallway earlier that day with you and Ten linking arms. The second video was at the party, you and Ten dancing with each other and the video cutting to you and Taeyong dancing together. The last video on the account was a blurry video of you and Taeyong making out and Ten walking in, with the ending obviously being the three of you leaving together.

“Why is this account posting videos of us ?” Taeyong asked, noticing that he too was tagged by people who he didn't know at all. Ten pulled up the account on his own phone when the account refreshed and a new post appeared, this time it was text only.

“It's probably Jinyoung I’ll just call him and-”  You were cut off by Ten grabbing your phone and tossing it on his bed, “dude what the hell ?” you protested but Ten silenced you with his finger.

“This is garbage right ? like what do our lives and how we live it got anything to do with any of these assholes ?” Ten bit down on his lip and looked between you and Taeyong, “They are so obsessed with us, wondering if the three of us are fucking right now ? really ? well let's give it to them.”

“You want the three of us to fuck ?” Taeyong quirked his eyebrow, his large eyes still hazy from the party.

“I want them to believe we are!” Ten grabbed Taeyong by his shoulders and looked back at you, “any publicity is good publicity. We get to be ourselves and we get to piss people off for free.”

“Would be pretty funny to see all of this blow up in Jinyoung's face honestly” you agreed, and Ten’s face lit up before moving his attention back to Taeyong, “What do you say pretty boy ?” Taeyong scratched his head and shrugged, “All this pretending and I don't get any action here ? doesn't feel like a win at all” You tried to hold in your laughter as Ten groaned at the blonde boy’s words and held his face between his hands before pulling him into a kiss, you watched Taeyong’s tense shoulders finally drop as he leaned more into the kiss and wrapped his hands lightly around Ten’s waist.

Ten pulled away and swiped Taeyong’s lips with his thumb, smiling at the doe-eyed boy, “we will have to make it convincing right ?”

“Okay im in” Taeyong smiled brightly and the three of you held hands in the middle of the bedroom, sharing mischievous glances with each other, anticipating the fucking whirlwind of chaos that was about to hit the campus.

“Good, well I guess the only thing left to do is upload our first post of the official poly club” Ten smirked and pulled the both of you onto his bed. Ten sat in between you and Taeyong and turned on the video mode of instagram stories. First he showed his face then turned to you, pulling you into a soft sensual kiss before moving to Taeyong next to him and did the same. After breaking the kiss with Taeyong, Ten nudged you to move over to the other side of him, putting you right onto Taeyongs lap. Ten focused on the two of you as you lifted Taeyong’s chin with your index finger and bit down on his lip, slightly pulling, teasing him as he brought his hand up to wrap around your neck. Ten zoomed in as you and Taeyong shared a very scandalous kiss for everyone to see. Your tongues darting in each other's mouth while the music drowned out your subtle moans.

“Done!” Ten chirped and uploaded his story, making sure to tag the burner account in every single clip. There was no going back now and every moment of this escapade excited you. The comfort you felt around Ten and Taeyong was something that you’d been craving for a long time. As cheesy as it was to say, and especially since it was only Day One, they felt like your soulmates.

“Man I fucking love this campus” Taeyong threw his head back and groaned while you and Ten burst out laughing.

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Monday quickly approached and as soon as you and Ten stepped on campus all eyes were on you. It gave you an incredible sense of confidence and you had no idea why. Heads turned with every step, everyone was whispering as the two of you walked hand in hand through the hallway keeping your head up high and not giving a shit about anyone. Taeyong was waiting for you guys at the end of the hall, adorning a buttoned down printed shirt and ripped jeans that snatched his waist in the right way. Taeyong was leaning against the wall with a lollipop in his mouth and dark sunglasses while everyone who passed him did a double take.

“Hey babes” he smirked and placed a kiss on your cheek and Tens before joining your walk towards your first class for the day.

It was so surreal going from everyone ignoring your existence to every single person watching the three of you, anticipating what was going to happen next. You found your seats in the middle of the lecture, giving everyone the best possible view of course. The professor cleared his throat to get everyone's attention and Ten tried to stifle a laughter as the people who stated they didn't give a shit about you guys clearly paid a lot of attention now.

“Give them a show bestie” Ten whispered in your ear before gesturing to Taeyong who sat on the other side of you, slumped down in his seat with his legs spread apart deliciously. You nodded and slowly reached over to Taeyong, caressing his thigh and he bit down on his lip while keeping his eyes on the lecture slides in front of him. You noticed two guys shuffling behind you and one pulled out his phone, waiting to record the next escapade of the campus’s new favourite stars.

You danced your fingers up Taeyong’s thigh and inched closer to rest your hand on his crotch as his breathing hitched. Leaning forward you made your movements less suspicious to the professor and everyone around you except the camera that was now focusing on your actions. Taeyong sunk further in the chair awaiting for you to quit teasing him and touch him where he needed you most. You obliged to his needs and palmed him through his jeans and you heard the guy behind you curse under his breath as you began rubbing Taeyong’s member. It felt so fucking powerful to do whatever you wanted after being so cautious on this campus for so long. The ironic part was all that shit about you being notorious on campus was a fucking lie. No you weren't a saint but you were not sleeping around every other day since you hated about 90% of the people that attended the university. Now with that burner account claiming to know more about your sex life than you did, what was holding you back now from doing what you wanted ?

Taeyong undid the button on his jeans and pulled down his zip enough for you to slip your hands inside his pants with ease. A gasp from Ten made a shiver run down your spine, coming to your senses that you were giving Taeyong a handjob in the middle of a 10am lecture.

“Shit he's walking up” you chuckled and pulled your hand out of Taeyong’s pants and quickly pretended to be involved in your studies as the professor began walking around the room. Taeyong groaned loud enough for most of the front row to turn around and look at him in annoyance.

“Is something wrong Mr Lee ?” The professor raised his eyebrow as Taeyong quickly redid his pants and hid his prominent boner from his professor.

“One of the questions is a little….hard” Taeyong groaned while you and Ten covered your mouths trying to hide your laughter.

The professor shook his head and went on his way as you and Ten watched Taeyong struggle with his boner for the next thirty minutes of the class. Finally the lecture wrapped up and as soon as the three of you made your way to the hallway you felt Taeyong tug on your arm and began leading you into the girls bathroom, into the nearest stall. A few girls in the bathroom frowned at Ten sauntering into the bathroom straight after, setting down his bag on the counter and began fiddling with his hair.

“Uh this is the girls bathroom ?” a girl snapped, folding her arms and made eye contact with Ten through the mirror.

“So what ? I saw a vag before love, and just because i'm a guy doesn't mean I want yours” Ten shrugged and the girl cursed and stormed out of the bathroom. Meanwhile your mouth was practically merged with Taeyong’s as he pressed his still very hard member against your stomach and nibbled on your bottom lip.

“Was giving me blue balls for thirty minutes worth all of that ?” Taeyong growled as he grabbed your ass roughly, causing you to moan in his mouth. “I'm sorry baby let me make it up to you” you purred and dropped to your knees while Taeyong braced himself against the ceramic wall for what’s to come.

You undid Taeyongs jeans and pulled it down along with his boxers, allowing his member to spring free still hard as ever. You looked up at him, eyes big as you began stroking him slowly before spitting on his tip in order to lubricate him.

“Fucking hell” Taeyong yelled.

A girl on the outside jumped at his words and looked back at the stall then looked at Ten, who was just waiting on the two of you.

“Exam season huh ?” Ten pressed his lips together as the awkward girl quickly dried her hands and rushed out of the bathroom as soon as possible.

You began bobbing your head on Taeyongs member, fully taking him until he reached the back of your throat causing you to gag. Taeyong marveled at the way your plump lips wrapped around his tip, he couldn't help but grab your hair and slowly pull you off him just to take in the sight of your messed up lipstick. You gave him a cheeky smirk before locking your hands behind your back and giving him full control of his movements. Taeyong took full control, his dark eyes narrowed and he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth before thrusting inside of you at a rapid pace. You felt your throat burn at the way he fucked your mouth rapidly but it turned you on so much that you waited until he finally came inside your mouth and you swallowed every bit of him. Taeyong pulled you to your feet and kissed you passionately, his tongue tasting remnants of himself.

“Thanks baby” Taeyong cooed in your ear before exiting the stall, stuffing himself back into his pants while a few girls looked at him absolutely horrified. You followed him, neatening your hair and washing off your mouth and borrowed a lip balm from Ten.

“Had fun you two ?” Ten smirked, leaning against the sink as you and Taeyong made yourself a little more presentable before making your way out of the bathroom. Upon exiting the three of you  noticed the two guys who were filming in the lecture room quickly run after you.

“Don't we get the ending to what went down in the lecture room ?” the one boy snickered like an immature school child as his friend kept the camera on the three of you making your way out of the art department block,

“She swallowed, the end” Taeyong threw his arms around both you and Ten leaving both boys dumbstruck at his words.

You playfully nudged Taeyong who just shot you a cheeky smile as you made your way to a little bench under a willow tree. This was where you usually sat on your own, when you didn't have the energy to socialize with the rest of the art students. Now, it felt a little more complete with Ten and Taeyong accompanying you.

“So my lovelies there's this afterparty happening after the final football game of the season next month” Ten said twirling his ice coffee in his hand as he took in the afternoon sun.

“What do you have in mind ?” you crinkled your nose as you sifted through your unappetizing salad in a box.  

“Okay so you guys heard of Onlyfans right ?” Ten looked between you and Taeyong.

“That site that pays for nudes and shit ?” Taeyong quizzed and Ten nodded brightly and leaned in, “I was thinking let's capitalize a bit of this leading up to the party” Ten responded and pulled up an invitation on his phone,

“The afterparty is being held at Jinyoung’s frat house, him and his idiotic friends are making people pay in order to decorate their football recreational room or some stupid shit like that.”

You took a closer look at the invite and rolled your eyes at the ridiculous pricing, as if their parties were worth going to anyway. Jinyoung was incredibly full of himself and he knew a lot of people worshipped him on campus thanks to his parents being higher ups and the poster boy for the football team. Going for his pride, knocking him where it hurts would be fucking bliss.

“We open an onlyfans, nothing too scandalous but it's gonna get people interested enough to pay forward and we use that cash to host our own party on the same night, free entrance of course” Ten continued and already started setting up the OnlyFans account.

“We should make the party crazy as hell too so nobody would resist coming over” Taeyong added and began going through his contacts, “there's this guy called Seungyoun, he’s a fourth year and knows that DJ from that enigma club from downtown.”

“That's perfect, and we will get Yuta and his tattooist buddies to do temporary sets for us, also my friend Chaeyoung in fashion can help with decor” Ten squealed, already messaging whoever he can.

“My friend Hendery has...uh happy pills if you're interested” you mentioned, knowing that everyone knew Hendery on campus for selling shit, not strong stuff but able to keep you going for a good amount of time.

“Yes! Anything to create hype and watch those preppy idiots sit in an empty house come game night” Ten replied and showed off the OnlyFans page he attached to his instagram account.

“Okay, so what now ?” Taeyong’s large eyes looked between the two of you.

“Now” Ten threw his phone in his bag and got to his feet, “we go back to my dorm and take some naughty pics.”

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“I don't think my ass looks good in that” you whined as you got off Taeyong’s lap and took a look at Ten’s camera viewfinder. Taeyong grumbled, sitting in nothing but leather pants on Ten’s office chair, “your ass looks great trust me” he smirked and reached to pull you back onto his lap.

“Come on, just a few more then you can take pics of Taeyong and I” Ten pointed his ring light where Taeyong had a grip on your ass that adorned very pretty pink lingerie. After a few more angles and more compromising positions, Ten finally got what he needed and handed you the camera,

“Make us look cute” He winked and pulled Taeyong to his feet.

“What are we gonna-” Taeyong’s words were cut off by Ten shoving his hand down his pants, “okaaaay” Taeyong pressed his lips together as you began snapping pics of the two of them.

They were so beautiful to you. Every picture you snapped looked better than the last and they needed no direction at all, just enveloped each other with their ridiculous sexual energy, filling the room with their pheromones.

“Done, you guys look sexy as fuck” you purred earning a kiss from Taeyong who was obviously horny from the entire ordeal, but when the fuck was his dick not hard.

You felt yourself being tugged away and Taeyong whined when Ten handed the camera to him and pushed you down to lie on his bed. You felt a shiver run down your spine when Ten positioned himself between your legs and moved his body down until his face was level with your core.

“Taeyong, stand above y/n and shoot down from this angle” Ten instructed to which Taeyong obeyed and his shadow casted over you.

Ten leaned in and kissed you softly on your mound as the room echoed with the camera shutters and your deep breaths. You desperately wanted to run your fingers through his hair but you’d only ruin a perfect shot. It was agonizing but you had to stay still while Ten had his way with you.

Ten moved the piece of fabric to the side and peppered kisses all along your inner thigh and around your core. You were unable to see his face thanks to Taeyong hovering over you but you pictured that smug smile spread across his face as you restrained yourself. You sucked in another deep breath when you felt his tongue dart out and take a slow lick before placing his mouth on your mound and ate you out like an expert.

“Fucking hell” you sighed as you felt his tongue inside you, exploring every part imaginable. You could tell the scene was getting to Taeyong too, as he stood there one hand on the camera and the other hand on his hardened member, watching Ten eat you out.

“Did you get the shots ?” Ten suddenly said, pulling away from your core as you squirmed out of protest.

“Uh..yeah I did,” Taeyong muttered, still staring down at your legs spread wide apart and his member practically screaming through his restricted pants.

“I hope you're not planning to wrap this shit up right now Ten” you groaned, reaching your hand down to your core in order to finish what he had left off.

Ten snickered and slapped your hand away, “of course my lovelies, I never quit a job halfway.” Ten gestured for Taeyong to stand next to the bed while he inserted a finger in you, causing you to moan his name out loud. As you got accustomed to his finger you managed to sit up a little and watched as Ten rubbed Taeyong’s boner through his pants. God you had never been in a situation like this before. How the hell did you get so lucky, meeting two men willing to fuck you and each other.

Ten entered another finger inside you as Taeyong undid his pants and Ten’s mouth was pressed against Taeyong’s member while pumping his length. Taeyong’s eyes were on your figure as he moaned when Ten took him fully in and his fingers were now destroying your core.

“God im so close” Taeyong whined and Ten slowly took his length out of his mouth and looked up at him and then down at you,

“I think you should cum on y/n, she wants it” Ten licked his lips and looked at you with hooded eyes.

“Y-yeah Taeyong….just do it” you squirmed as Ten’s fingers slowed down, holding you back from your orgasm.

Taeyong uttered a few curses and Ten quickly returned to pumping his member until he was at his breaking point. Ten removed his hand from Taeyong and gave you his full attention, attaching both his mouth and three of his fingers inside of your core. Taeyong stood over you with dark eyes as you reached out to run your hand down his exposed thigh.

Taeyong grunted as he released, you felt the warm liquid all over your stomach and breasts while Ten was still recklessly fingering you until you had one of the craziest orgasms of your life. You couldn't process when Taeyong had pressed his lips to yours and Ten had left to get tissues for the mess the three of you made.

“That was some content our viewers missed out on” Taeyong sighed, still trying to catch his breath. You chuckled and went over to the bathroom to quickly shower off the mess and returned in Ten’s oversized shirt, taking a seat between the two of them in bed.

“Okay I uploaded a few previews and linked the onlyfans subscription link” Ten announced as he uploaded three of the explicit versions on the paid side of Onlyfans, “we will get a notification when someone has subscribed and our earnings are on this page.”

The three of you sat, mouths dropped open as you watched subscription after subscription start to fill the page. The comments were flooding in too, and someone even left a hefty tip in a matter of minutes. Ten switched to the earnings page and the account was already sitting at a triple digit.

“What the actual fuck” you gasped as more people began visiting the page and your followings on instagram began skyrocketing.

“This was way easier than I thought it was” Taeyong marveled, also noticing many people start dming him on instagram.

“Well Jinyoung and his goons wanted a party, well here’s the party of the fucking century” Ten smirked and hi5ed the both of you as absolute chaos ensued all over social media in real time.

Just like that in the next couple of days the three of you were watched by the entire campus. It was like Jinyoung wanted. To show the campus that you were notorious, and nobody should get involved with any of you. But that's where his plan was flawed.

Every single person on the campus besides his legion of preppy followers were obsessed with the three of you and craved more. Despite the onlyfans pictures containing no nudity, people still subscribed, they still tipped, they would do anything to see more.

It was in the middle of the afternoon and Ten had confirmed the account had garnered enough money for the party. It had been about three weeks since the very first post on the onlyfans account and now the account stood at a staggering 850 subscribers, each paying for the monthly subscribed content plus tipping generously from time to time. In the midst of all of this the three of you were also preparing for the party that was going to be held on the big day. Taeil, a friend of Taeyong's, allowed you to use his frat house for the event since it would look good for student rentals later on. Yuta and his friends prepared alcohol and a temporary tattoo station to appease drunk girls to get matching tattoos and frat boys to bet their friends to tattoo a dick on their faces. Chaeyoung, Ten’s friend from fashion completely transformed the house into an instagrammable masterpiece, channeling one of those fancy hollywood parties that nobody could ever get into. Seungyoun, the fourth year who was friends with a lot of musicians and DJs from downtown spread the word on campus radio, letting everyone know about Ten’s huge announcement that was about to happen Tuesday afternoon, 2:30PM.

“Alright you thirsty hoes, I see you all made it” Ten said into a karaoke microphone he found from God knows where. Ten got up on the table in the courtyard, standing in front of a huge crowd of students who quickly gathered ready for the grand announcement that was the talk of the town for the last week now.

“We would just like to say that we're so grateful for all your support on our….craft and in order to honor that, were going to host the best party of the fucking semester” Ten shouted while people cheered from the front all the way to the back of the crowd.

“If you look at the link under Ten’s instagram bio, it should take you to a little preview of what’s in store come saturday” Taeyong explained, leaning into the mic while the crowd murmured in confusion.

“Saturday after the big game ? Isn't Jinyoung having a party that night ?” someone in the crowd said followed by more confused chatter.

“That's right, I am having a party after the game” Jinyoung said, moving through the crowd accompanied by two of his frat members and sneered at the sight of the three of you,

“What ? Are you guys planning an orgy or something for your onlyfans ?”

“If you want to suck my dick all you gotta do is ask Jinyoung” Taeyong mused and a few people giggled while Jinyoung shifted uncomfortably and gritted his teeth.

“Listen, you freaks are not having a party on the same night as me” Jinyoung spat and took a step forward, “save yourself the embarrassment of nobody showing up and cancel it.”

You approached him slowly, chuckling darkly as he watched your fingers dance up his arm and up to his jaw, caressing his cheek, “Sweety are you threatened ? You're afraid everybody is gonna ditch your little frat party and come to mine ?”

Jinyoung tried keeping his cool while you stared up at him, playing with him like a little toy in front of everyone to see.

“Are you afraid if people come over i'm going to hook up with everyone who gives me attention ?” Jinyoung avoided your eyes when you recited the words he wrote about you on that burner account. You smirked up at him when you noticed how he still wasn't man enough to own up to his actions.

“Well, our party is FREE by the way” you continued, stepping away and now addressed the crowd in front of you, “So if you’d rather go over to Jinyoungs then go ahead, but if you wanna come play with us…”

You walked up to Taeyong and gave him a sloppy kiss as he grabbed your ass in front of the entire campus to see, “we will see you Saturday night.” The crowd cheered and Jinyoung growled, taking one more glare at you before storming off with his frat boys away from the cheering crowds.

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It was D day and everyone who helped with the party gathered in the kitchen, drink in hand and took a final glance back at the rager that was mere minutes away from opening up.

“I can't thank you all enough, actually I did, with all that onlyfans money” Ten stuck his tongue out and Seungyoun whistled while everyone clapped.

“No but seriously, thank you guys….revenge never felt sweeter” you smiled and Hendery put his arm around you as you leaned into him, “if nobody shows up well more for us!”

“Cheers, freaks¨" Taeyong yelled and Ten nudging him in his abdomen,

“Really ? I'm pretty sure Jinyoung’s little nickname for us isn't a compliment” Ten rolled his eyes playfully.

“Its a compliment to us, fuck it im a freak and proud of it” Yuta raised his glass, and a few others joined in.

“Fine Freaks club it is, cheers everyone!” Ten raised his glass and everyone clinked glasses before downing their respectful drinks.

It wasn't long before people began pouring in, it wasn't a large number but it was still something. Most people were from the music and arts departments, and you noticed a few girls from your business lecture drop by as well.

“You think the rest all went to Jinyoung ?” You bit down on your lip as you and Ten monitored the crowds of people while having a drink.

“Maybe ? doesn't matter though, our party is way cooler” Ten shrugged and threw back his drink, “but if you really want me to pull one last move hey just say the word.”

You looked over at the black haired boy and frowned while a cheeky smile spread across his face and he pulled out his phone. You watched him text a few paragraphs and slip his phone in his back pocket before returning to his drink.

About 20 minutes later Taeyong emerged from the crowd to join the two of you in the kitchen, a confused look spread across his face.

“What's wrong ?” you quizzed him.

“Some of those basketball guys are here, they brought over like fifty more people” Taeyong pointed to the entrance and you and Ten watched the guys who the campus worshipped next to the football team enter the party, followed by their fangirls and whoever else wished to be in their presence.

“What the heck did you do ?” your eyes widened as the small party now turned into a whole fucking campus rager.

“Oh I told Johnny Suh that I'd give him a lap dance in front of everyone if he came over with his friends” Ten smiled, waving at the tall brown haired boy with a goofy grin spread across his face.

“Johnny Suh ?! as in the captain of the varsity basketball team ?” you were still confused as to how and when Ten had started talking to one of the most popular guys on campus.

“Yes him, now if you would excuse me, I have a deal to seal” you and Taeyong watched Ten down his drink and make his way over to the lounge where Johnny stood excitedly.

Ten spoke to the DJ and the DJ had the crowd clear up the center of the room while everyone exchanged confused glances as to what the hell was about to go down. Ten placed a chair in the middle of the room and pushed Johnny’s large frame down until he was seated, legs apart and that goofy smile never leaving his face. His teammates whistled as Ten used a piece of cloth to cover Johnny’s eyes, and took off his belt in order to retrain his hands behind his back.

“I gotta give it to Ten, he sure knows how to put on a show” Taeyong wrapped his arm around your waist as the two of you watched Ten fuck around with the captain of the basketball team.

The room was filled with flashing lights, everyone recording the moment as Ten gave Johnny the lap dance he was promised. Johnny slumped in the chair allowing Ten to grind into his hips, and you're pretty sure if the music wasn't so goddamn loud the whole campus would've heard Johnny moan in Ten’s touch. Ten ended it off with a cheeky kiss and untied Johnny, whose face was absolutely red as all of his friends cheered them on, all of them attacking him with hi5s.

That definitely sealed the deal, because after a few uploads of the clip, almost everyone was at your party and Jinyoung’s was most likely empty right now. The party was so big that people were on the street, everybody having the time of their life.

“We did it” Ten threw his arms around you and Taeyong as you stood on the balcony, overlooking the party from above.

“Yeah, we really did” you chuckled and sighed deeply, “I wish I could look at Jinyoung’s face right now.”

“Oh you didn't see ?”

You and Ten turned to Taeyong as he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his gallery. You and Ten burst out laughing when a video of Jinyoung sitting in his empty estate with a few of his preppy friends looking absolutely miserable.

“Fuck thats brilliant” you leaned your head on Ten’s shoulder, completely satisfied with how the night turned out.

“Hey you guys wanna go back to my dorm ? I'm kinda over this” Ten yawned and placed a peck on your forehead.

“You wanna leave your own party ?” Taeyong scoffed, shoving his hands in his pocket.

“This” Ten gestured to the three of you, “This is my party, let's take it back to my room.”

You and Taeyong both obliged and without anyone knowing the three of you escaped the party and made your way over to Ten’s dorm room hand in hand. Upon entering Ten threw off his shirt and kicked off his boots and Taeyong did the same, the two boys grabbing alcohol from the mini fridge and set them up on Tens desk.

“Oh by the way I have something” your words had both the boys turn to face you and you held out your hand, holding three small blue pills,

“Hendery gave them to me, Its not that strong and the high will only last for an hour or two but fuck its good way to end the night off right ?”

“I'm in” Taeyong grabbed the pill and handed you a drink, the three of you washed the pill with beer and Ten switched on a playlist before joining you and Taeyong on his bed.

“I know we've only known each other for like 2-3 months now but I fucking love you guys” you sighed, running your hands through your hair and looked between the two boys.

“This group, us, was the best thing that ever happened to me” Taeyong replied, “you two whores mean the world to me.” “Very sentimental Taeyong” Ten chuckled before reaching out to caress your cheek, “I love you too babe, both of you, were soulmates, if like the devil decided to link people together or something.”

The three of you chuckled and the laughter quickly switched to Taeyong rubbing Ten’s thigh and looked over at you with dark eyes. You had no idea if it was the drug, or the alcohol but there was a desperation within you. Grabbing Taeyong’s face, you pulled him into a sloppy kiss, and quickly switched to Ten, giving him the same energy as Taeyong pushed your shirt over your head and sucked on your exposed skin.

Ten unclasped your bra and massaged your breast as Taeyong kissed the other, each boy stimulating you in the best way possible. Taeyong growled and tossed you onto your back, pulling your skirt off and began sharing a passionate kiss with Ten who was already down to his boxers.

Once Taeyong pulled away from Ten he moved on top of you, grabbing you by your throat and rubbed his hips against your core, the friction sending you into a frenzy. Your thoughts were so focused on Taeyong you had no idea when Ten had got on his knees beside you and began kneading your breasts and rubbing his length with his free hand.

“Who do you wanna fuck first ?” Taeyong growled in your ear that made you so wet you had no fucking clue who you wanted, you just needed someone inside of you at this moment.

“I think it's fair if I go first, I've waited long enough” Ten smirked and switched positions with Taeyong who jumped off the bed to get rid of his pants.

You watched Ten’s dark eyes take in your body, and his beautiful body looked so fucking alluring under the dim lighting of his bedroom. Ten rid you of your soaked panties and wasted no time in inserting two fingers in your wetness.

“Baby girl has been waiting for this for a while huh” Ten purred while Taeyong grabbed your jaw, pulling you into a kiss before making you sit up enough for his member to meet your lips. Just as you took Taeyong in your mouth Ten had already replaced his fingers with his member and began thrusting into you at a rapid pace.

“Oh fuck” you groaned as Taeyong guided your movements on his member with a fistful of your hair. All three of you were so in tune with each other, rough when needed to be and delicate straight after.

As Ten fucked you he leaned forward enough for Taeyong to bend down and meet his lips, the two of them sharing a dirty kiss while they fucked you senseless. Ten pulled away from Taeyong and rammed into you until you came all over his member. “Come on open wide” He mewled and pulled you up and shoved his length in your mouth until he came, making you swallow every bit of him.

“Get on top of me” Taeyong demanded and you did as he said, climbing on top of him and sitting on his length. Taeyong let out a groan, finally feeling you around his length and you felt Ten sit behind you, his hands cupping your breasts as you bounced on Taeyongs member.

“You think you can take both of us ?” Ten whispered in your ear and his request somehow made you wetter than you already were. You had only tried it once, but never in a situation like this. You quickly nodded and Ten caressed your body, leaving sweet kisses all over shoulder and neck before jumping off the bed to rummage in his closet.

Taeyong, not knowing or caring what was going on, carried on slamming himself inside of you, his nails digging into your ass as you rode him like a pro.

Ten returned with what you assumed to be a bottle of lube and bent you over slightly, making sure his touches were careful and delicate. Taeyong finally caught on and slowed his pace despite almost being at his orgasm, in order to make the process easier for you.

“If it's too much just let me know” Ten pecked your cheek and inserted a finger inside your ass, the new sensation was odd but extremely satisfying. Ten continued lubing you up while Taeyong stroked your thighs and made sure your body was relaxed in their care.

“I'm ready, just do it, I want to feel both of you already” you whined and both boys cursed at your words, each anticipating this new experience.

Ten inserted himself and gave you a moment to adjust to him and Taeyong, before slowly moving his hips, keeping his touches light.

“Oh God that feels so good” you moaned as Taeyong picked up his pace and the both of them began fucking you at the same time, something you always wished would happen eventually. Ten returned to his roughness and bent you a little more, allowing Taeyong to lean up and capture your lips, his tongue entangling with yours as the new position only got him back to chasing his raging orgasm.

“Fuck im gonna cum” Taeyong groaned, slightly mad that he couldnt hold onto this feeling any longer.

“You wanna cum inside her mouth ?” Ten asked in between his grunts as he felt himself also reaching his second orgasm.

“No I wanna cum in yours” Taeyong replied darkly, and Ten’s thrusts stopped abruptly to look down at Taeyong.

“Well...fuck okay” Ten finally said and pulled out of you, allowing Taeyong to move to the side of the bed while Ten flipped you on your back and inserted himself in your core. Taeyong stood on the bed for Ten to get better access to his length as you screamed Ten’s name who was quite literally destroying your core at this point.

Taeyong yanked on Ten’s hair causing him to slow his thrusts and you watched the delicious sight of Taeyong slipping his length into Ten’s mouth and Ten swallowing every bit of him. It was quite possibly the hottest thing you'd seen in your life. Ten wiped his mouth as Taeyong slowly pulled out of him with a groan he returned to slamming his hips into yours. “I'm so close Ten” you groaned as Ten crouched over you, allowing you to wrap your legs around his waist as he brought both of you to your climax and let out a huge sigh when he finally came undone with you following shortly after.

“How much money do you think we would've made on onlyfans for that ?” Ten breathed as he collapsed in the bed next to you and Taeyong crawled on your naked body, resting his head on your chest as the three of you tried to catch your breath.

“Probably enough to drop out” Taeyong hummed, his eyes drooping as he made himself a little more comfortable.

“Yeah but hey it's time to end the notorious onlyfans account now don't you think ?” your eyes shifted to Ten who nodded at your words and got up and grabbed his phone from his desk,

“Tae-Ten-Y/N onlyfans era has now come to an end, thank you everyone who tuned in” Ten said, falling back into bed and showing the account that was now deactivated.

“Kinda surprised you are willing to end the onlyfans era Ten, this doesn't have anything to do with Johnny Suh now does it ?” Taeyong raised his eyebrow and you also joined in, looking at the black haired boy with curious eyes.

“Maybe,” Ten sighed, rolling his eyes as you and Taeyong mimicked kissing sounds, “Ugh anyway, they have a game next week, I want you guys to come with.”

“Fine, i’ll ask Johnny how it felt to taste my c-”

“Shut up Taeyong.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ONE WEEK LATER

“I have no idea what the hell is going on but Johnny is so hot” Ten sighed as the three of you sat in the bleachers of a varsity basketball game.

“Athletes are not my type these days” you shrugged taking a bite of your corn dog, watching Taeyong play some game on his phone.

“Oh shit they're almost there” Ten pulled you to your feet as the crowd all stood up around you cheering on the varsity team as the time began running out. You watched Johnny run across the court and throw the ball to a boy with chestnut coloured hair, and upon receiving the ball, the boy threw the ball straight into the hoop at the last second, taking his team to victory.

“Fuck….who is he ?” you gulped, as his teammates carried him on their shoulders and his lips curled into a tight grin, showing off a beautiful set of dimples.   “That my dear friend” Ten patted your shoulder, “That's Jung Jaehyun.”

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

shelter me from winter’s bite

Everyone’s doing a hypothermia fic so I figured I may as well contribute. It’s one of my favorite tropes.

title taken from Brian Czyzyk’s poem “Hoarfrost” (he’s my favorite young queer poet and you should check him out).

tw: hypothermia, angst with a happy ending, whump with a happy ending

---

“Do you always have to be so damnably loud?” Geralt growls, glaring at Jaskier from across the small room. 

“My apologies for existing,” the bard snaps back. He’d only been rearranging his pack, looking for something reasonably clean to sleep in while his clothes were laundered by the innkeeper’s lovely wife. “I’ll try to do so more quietly from now on, good sir.”

Geralt huffs out a breath in passive-aggressive annoyance and Jaskier bristles. 

“Oh well, then. C’mon witcher, I know you want to say it!”

“Say what?” Geralt asks. His voice is low and threatening. He’s ready to play the game and by god he’s going to win this time.  

“It’s practically your motto at this point,” the bard hisses through his teeth, angry and bitter and tired. Geralt sees victory. Sees some peace and quiet on the horizon. “Say it!”

Geralt does as he’s told, like any good witcher would: “Fuck off, bard.”

“There it is!” Jaskier laughs joylessly, throwing up his hands. He pulls on his doublet and boots and heads for the door. “If you want me gone so badly, Geralt, then I will go. I’ll get out of your lovely white hair and leave you to mope in peace.”

“Fucking finally,” the witcher snarls, turning away. He doesn’t see the genuine hurt in Jaskier’s blue eyes as the bard quietly closes the door rather than slamming it. He doesn’t hear the quiet sob that rips its way out of Jaskier’s throat as he stands very still, shocked and suddenly exhausted all the way to his bones. He doesn’t smell the salt of his bard’s tears as he slips silently down the hallway and out into the late autumn night. He doesn’t notice the snow starting to pile up on the windowsill ahead of season.

He’s too busy being a self-flagellating moron to notice any of that.

---

Geralt is woken in the middle of the night by a commotion downstairs. He can hear several loud, panicked heartbeats and one very quiet, very slow heartbeat beneath all of those; it’s achingly familiar but the half-asleep witcher can’t quite call its source to mind. Geralt listens as the innkeeper barks out a series of sharp orders: “Meredith, you get to the kitchen and make some strong black tea! Florence, fetch a pail of warm water and two or three towels from the laundry. Josiah you lazy lout, get into the attic and fetch some blankets! The poor lad has gone blue all over!”

The witcher peers into the hallway and catches the skinny stable hand, Josiah, racing for the attic staircase. “What’s going on?”

“A farmer from the next town over was on his way over to help a friend’s sow give calf and he found-” the lad pauses to suck in a great gulp of air and launches off again “-and he found that friend of yours lying in a snowbank, muttering nonsense and shivering like a leaf. The poor fool didn’t have a cloak on him or anything, just a doublet and walking boots! He’s near-dead!”

Geralt curses and makes for the stairs, taking them two at a time until he reaches the main floor. There are voices coming from the kitchen and he follows them as if in a dream, his feet moving without aid of his conscious mind. “Jaskier? Is it the bard, Jaskier?”

“Are you the great brute what kicked him out?” the innkeeper’s wife asks, crossing her arms over her ample chest and narrowing her eyes. Geralt falters. 

“No, he- he left on his own, in a huff.”

“Wonder who could have started the huff,” the woman rolls her eyes. This isn’t about his status as a witcher, Geralt knows; this eye roll was made by a woman who knows a lovers’ quarrel when she sees one. Except that this stupid little spat might have cost Jaskier his life.

“Where is he? May I see him, goodwife?”

The woman points to a table in the corner, which has been cleared of cooking implements and cushioned with a heavy bearskin. Jaskier lies atop the brown fur, his skin frighteningly pale, his lips and fingers tinted a slight blue. Geralt rushes to his side and takes one of the bard’s stiff hands in his own. He brushes a stray lock of brown hair from Jaskier’s forehead and nearly recoils in shock from the temperature of his skin. Even colder than his hands, which are already dangerously frigid. If Jaskier cannot play his lute-

Geralt doesn’t even allow himself to finish the thought. Instead he works on rubbing small, careful circles onto the back of the bard’s hands with his thumbs, warming the skin in tiny increments: “Shh, you’re safe. I won’t let you go.”

The bard remains unmoving, heartbeat fluttering weakly, lungs barely drawing breath; Geralt fights back an overwhelming sense of panic, trying to recall whatever training he’d received at Kaer Morhen concerning freezing humans. 

“Do you mind if I take him upstairs and tend to him myself?” the witcher asks.

“Can you take care of him?” the innkeeper’s wife replies. 

Geralt bows his head, shame licking like flames up and down his bent spine, and nods. “Yes, Ma’am. I have dry clothes for him in our room and I was trained extensively for emergency situations such as this, all witchers are.”

“Alright,” she narrows her eyes. “But he’d best be alive come morning.”

“I’ll happily turn myself over to the village elders to be dealt with accordingly should the bard come to any harm,” he vows. Her eyes widen minutely and he can read the surprise in her body language, but she remains relatively calm. 

“Any further harm, rather. Alright, then. I’ll have my husband and the girls bring those supplies up to your room for him. We’ll be glad to go back to sleep.”

“Thank you for your kindness,” Geralt bows formally. She blushes despite her irritation with him and waves him away. 

“Take your bard and go, witcher, before I change my mind and spend all night caring for him myself out of motherly pity. Go.”

Geralt hefts Jaskier into his arms, heavy bearskin blanket and all, and hurries up the stairs to his room. He will not let Jaskier come to any further harm. Not by his hand. Not by his word. Never again. 

---

Back in their room, Geralt quickly undresses the shivering human, peeling away what few damp layers there are with growing disappointment. Jaskier hadn’t been prepared for a walk in the snow at all! Although, to be fair, it hadn’t seemed that cold earlier in the evening and the snow had been sudden and heavy. 

He wipes Jaskier down with a warm cloth and slips one of his own clean shirts over the bard’s head. He tries not to let his gaze linger on the way Jaskier’s shoulders don’t quite fill out the dark material. Or on the way his dark, wiry chest hair peeks out through the open laces at his throat. The witcher quickly shuffles him into clean smallclothes and wraps him in a thick wool blanket. 

They sit curled before the fire and Geralt holds Jaskier against his chest. He hums with his voice like gravel, grating out one note after the other in some attempt to soothe the bard’s aching body. Jaskier shivers and shakes violently in the witcher’s strong embrace, his eyes clenched shut with the cramps that wrack his frame as his muscles return to their normal temperature. Geralt feels like he’s holding a porcelain doll and keeps his grip deliberately loose, tight enough to comfort but not restrain.

“G-Geralt,” he groans. “Hold me, please.”

The witcher squeezes his arms more confidently around the bard’s middle, burying his face in Jaskier’s soft hair and breathing deeply. The warmth that usually emanates from his busy human body is gone and his chamomile-honey scent is buried beneath a layer of damp cold; it feels wrong. Terribly wrong. Geralt murmurs against his temple, begging the younger man’s forgiveness: “I’m so sorry, Jaskier. Gods, I’m so sorry. Will you ever be able to forgive me? I’m a fool, you know. I’m a fool witcher who never says anything important until it’s too late. I’m so incredibly sorry, my love.”

“This is a very good dream,” the bard sighs, smiling despite the pain. His eyes open, bleary and addled. “Like I was having in the woods, but better.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow and Jaskier seems to understand the unspoken question, even in his current sorry state.

“The real Geralt would never be so gentle with me, dear heart. You must be a dream, sent to me on my deathbed to ease my passage into the afterlife. There’s no other explanation for your sudden displays of tenderness.”

“It’s... It’s really me,” Geralt affirms. He runs his hand up and down the length of Jaskier’s spine, “I’m here, Jaskier. Can you ever forgive me for being so stupid?”

“I forgive you for being stupid ever other day, dear witcher. It is of no consequence to me.”

“It almost was,” Geralt frowns. “I nearly- I almost-” 

Jaskier’s arm raises weakly and his too-chilly hand presses to Geralt’s cheek. “I shouldn’t have stormed off like an idiot. I shouldn’t have kept picking the fight. We both fucked up, alright? What matters is our second chance. We got to have one, Geralt.”

“Hmm.”

“Am I wearing your shirt?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?”

“Yours were all being laundered and this one was clean and it had been in my pack near the fire so it was already warm and-”

“Did you take care of me all night?”

“Hmm.” Geralt sighs after his hum and glances away for a moment. “What did you mean about... about the dream in the woods?”

“Oh. Well, when I was very cold and things were hazy and slow, I dreamed that you were there with me. Everything got very fuzzy and warm for a little bit, and when it was warm you were holding me like this and giving me little kisses. It was... nice. Even though I knew I was dying because you were being so soft, so considerate; saying things to me you’d never say out loud in real life.”

“I love you, Jaskier. I will try my best not to lose my temper needlessly,” the witcher swears. “You don’t deserve it.”

“Can we still cuddle like this?” Jaskier asks, leaning his weigth against Geralt’s firm chest. “It’s so nice to be held.”

“Of course. Anything you want. I’m not going to waste my second chance by treating you poorly. Not for another second, my beloved bard.”

“B-beloved?”

“Hmm.”

“Oh, well then I’m definitely still dreaming.”

Geralt lifts Jaskier into his arms and carries him over to the bed, which is piled high with their extra blankets. He tucks Jaskier into the nest against the wall and lays along the outside of the mattress. He presses his lips to the bard’s, reveling in Jaskier’s returning warmth, and smiles. “I’ll prove it’s not a dream. Every day.”

“Sounds nice,” Jaskier yawns, snuggling into the witcher’s arms and settling down to sleep. 

“It will be.”

[darling-i-read-it]

Wash Up

Geralt of Rivia x reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: nakedness, wounds, men at bars, cuteness

Author’s Note: I just finished this show and i just am in love with this man thats that you know what i mean. I really liked this fic too so I hope you guys do as well! 

Summary: Geralt returns from a few days away from you 

Genre: fluff

Song: rivers and roads by the head and the heart 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

(not my gif)

The town scuffled around you. It seemed that the world moved around at a high pace. Your world moved so quickly. As quick as the strangers around you, spilling and knocking over drinks while laughing with friends. Jaskier sat beside you at the corner of the bar. He had out his loot, mulling over the next song that he wanted to write. 

You had a pint of ale in your hands as you watched and waited.

“Is advantageous to pretentious?” Jaskier asked. You turned to him and raised an eyebrow, shrugging.

“I think that it works. How are you going to use it?” He showed you the piece of parchment where there were scribbled lyrics and notes. You looked it over and nodded idly. “Not too pretentious.” 

“Geralt will think it’s too pretentious,” he pointed out, hesitating to put down the word amongst the others. You shook your head and turned to him, away from the town gathered around you. 

“Don’t actually listen to anything Geralt says. He, himself, is too pretentious,” you promised. Jaskier shook his head.

“Easy for you to say. I don’t think he’s spoken an ill word of you ever.” You rolled your eyes and took a small drink of your ale. 

“We’ve had our fair share of fights.” 

“And they usually end with me not getting a good nights sleep. I wish you would warn me next time so that I could get a room far away from both of you,” he muttered. You chuckled lowly.

“Sounds like you need another drink to get those creative juices flowing, huh Jaskier?” You stood up and ruffled his hair. He swatted your hand away but he was smiling. You and Jaskier had grown close. You didn’t act like you hated him like Geralt tended to do. You were a nice balance between the two of them, such happiness matched by such bitterness. You had known Geralt much longer than Jaskier but he seemed to add some laughs to the relationship. 

You walked over to the bar and put down your empty cup. 

“Two more please.” 

“On me.” You turned over to the man who had just approached. It was not Geralt which surprised you. Geralt had been away for a couple of days. You had been itching for him to return. He left you to watch Jaskier which you thought was stupid. He liked to tag along and you were useful in a fight. Geralt was picky much too often.

“Thank you but I’ve got it,” you told the stranger. He shook his head. 

“Two for a girl like yourself?” he questioned. You shook your head.

“The second one if for my friend over there,” you said, pointing over to Jaskier. He was messing with the strings and singing quietly so that only he could hear.

“What kind of woman are you to be stuck with a bard like that?” You scoffed.

“I don’t think that’s any of your business sir,” you promised. The bartender gave you the two drinks and you gave him a nod goodbye. You got barely three steps away before he grabbed your arm, spilling the drink all over you. You let out a small gasp, looking down at the dress he had ruined. You were lucky you had left your armor in the room. 

The people closest to you turned to look., Jaskier looked up and stood when he saw you were in distress. He crumpled up his paper and put it in his pocket as he walked over. 

Geralt got there first.

You raised an eyebrow and your mouth opened in surprise as you saw him. He put himself between you and the man who had troubled you with his advances. He was covered in the guts of some monster, from head to toe. Jaskier got to you and you handed him the full cup. 

“For you,” you said, smiling. 

“You didn’t have to-”

“I wanted to.” Jaskier nodded, giving you a happy grin. Geralt however, was not done with the man.

“She told you it was none of your business and then you ruin her dress. I suppose you have the money to pay for it,” he said stiffly. The man realized who Geralt was and put his hands up in surrender.

“I didn’t realize she was a witcher's property,” he said. “My apologies.”

“I’m no one’s property. Now the money for my dress,” you said, pushing past Geralt. Geralt let you move past him. You stood your guard against the man. 

“I have no money to spare for a rag you may wear once.” You nodded, slowly, stiffly. You turned to Jaskier who was slowly sipping his drink.

“I’m sorry dear,” you said softly. He handed you the drink before you had to ask. You turned back around and sprayed it in the man's face. It dripped off his beard and onto his clothes that looked nothing more than the rags he spoke of. He reached for his dagger but Geralt stepped in front of you once more. 

“Call it even,” he said. The man looked at the sword draped across his back and how he was covered in the guts of a monster that was likely much harder to kill than the stranger would ever be. The man nodded, letting out a sigh. You turned to the bar and raised a finger.

“On the house,” the bartender said, shaking a bit at the sight of Geralt. You took it with a kind smile and handed it to Jaskier. 

“Voila,” you said with a smile. “The drink has returned.” He laughed and shook his head. Geralt grabbed your arm gently and you nodded. “Keep ‘advantageous’.” Jaskier nodded as you walked out of the bar. He had always been so fond of you. A kind soul that was locked in life with a witcher. It made for good songs.

You and Geralt walked out of the bar and then wordlessly up to the place that you were staying. You were drenched in ale and he was drenched in guts but you did not speak. You reached the room and he disappeared wordlessly into the small closet. You walked into the bathroom and started to draw a hot bath. It took a few minutes but Geralt returned to you, a change of clothes for the both of you. He put them down on the counter and walked over to where you sat, beside the bath, your fingers just barely touching the water as you tested its temperature. 

At the sight of you, peaceful, Geralt eased. It had been a hard monster to kill, harder than most. He had wondered if his travel home was going to be delayed or not but he made it just as night fell. You put your head against the side of the bath and he started to undress. 

You had seen each other naked countless times before. There was no sense of awkwardness anymore to it. He gestured for you to take his hand and you did so, standing up. He turned you around gently and slid the dress off of your shoulders. It fell very carefully onto the floor. He did his best not to touch your body with his guts covered hands. You took off the rest of your undergarments and by the time you were finished with that, Geralt was in the bath. 

You sat behind him, grabbing a sponge and ringing it out. You started to wash the guts off him slowly. He eased into your touch, relaxing. 

“What happened while I was gone?” he asked gruffly. You shrugged.

“Nothing eventful. I would have liked to go with you.”

“Well then who would have washed me up.” As the grime started to ease away you noticed a new scratch on his back. You brushed your finger over it lightly. 

“I would have avoided this growing scar,” you whispered. You kissed it gently, lips lingering on his skin. He took your hand off of his shoulder where it lay. He brought it to his lips and held it there, closing his eyes as he kissed your palm. 

The door to the room opened. Geralt's eyes opened quickly and he turned to see who was disrupting his peace. 

“Y/N?!” Jaskier yelled. You chuckled lowly and sank further into the water, ringing out the sponge. 

“Busy!” you yelled back. You heard his walking stop. 

“I thought I told you to warn me!” he pouted. You placed your head against Geralt's back and smiled lightly.

“Go away Jaskier!” Geralt yelled gruffly. You hit him gently.

“We’ll be out before you go to bed!” you called. He seemed to be okay with that.

“Fine! Be quieter!” he yelled and the door shut again.

“Why make promises you can’t keep?” Geralt asked you, voice back to a softer tone. You put down the sponge and he turned his head to the side to look at you.

“I’d rather he leave us thinking we will be back soon.” 

“You’re too nice to him.”

“Kindness is free you know.” You grabbed his hand and placed your head on his shoulder. You moved down and kissed his skin. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” 

He turned his head and kissed the side of your head.

“We aren’t going to be back before Jaskier goes to sleep are we.” 

“Not a chance.”

[princeanxious]

An idea I’m drawing stuff for:

Okay so g/t sanders sides au idea but where the tiny people are actually mini android/cyborgs made to accompany people /if they want to/ as companions to humans that can connect to technology and the internet. (Medium-big sized ramble under-cut)

They arent nessesarily helpers, but they can help humans w/ technology issues if they want(and there are lots of human laws in place that prohibit forced labor and captivity from this new sentient race, but as you might guess, just bc there are laws doesnt mean everyone follows them or gets caught breaking them) the rest of the world is kinda up for development but i can tell you these tiny android people sometimes come with additional features such as tails w/ audio jacks/place where the tail would go to insert an audiojack, eyes and fingers that glow, ear type varients depending on what time they were born/created, have as many bendable joints as a human, but their legs and feet are naturally a bit thicker/wider both for balance and more room for technology in their tiny bodies.

Theyre a very intermingled mix of liveform and android(and are probably best explained as just. Straight up aliens to planet earth), to the point that theres no actual way to seperate tech from bio-matter. And theyre so tiny that trying to seperate the two on such a small scale is still scientifically impossible at this current time. Damage and wear/tear to their body can heal quickly with enough energy, rest, and time, but losing body parts can be nearly detrimental to their health if said parts cant be reattached quickly. They are not strong enough to regenerate a full limb.

It’s not an immediate death if they lose a limb, but its very much an emergency due to how spread out their bodily function sensors are in their tiny bodies. Losing a certain leg can mean losing complete mobility of both legs and balance, or losing certain patches of memory, losing a certain arm can mean losing the ability to balnce well, or go nearly sensory blind(meaning they can see things, but no longer feel them that well.) the tail is the only bodypart that is not immediately detrimental to their health, just their lifestyle. Their tail is their only way to directly connect to the online world without assistance. Without it, they rely on adapter prostetics that wear out over time and need to be replaced on occassion.

That being said, in this au, Roman, Remus, and Janus are tinies in this world. Roman and Remus are twins, and both suffered an injustice of experimentation that involved one of their legs each being removed, and being reattached(successfully) to the other’s body, as a test to see how similar twin tiny’s bodies are and if the similarities assist any in surrogate limbs attaching successfully. Theyre rescued and rehabilitated amd rehomed together before anything more was done to them, but they live life knowing they have eachothers leg and function as if said legs are really their own, and it connects them in a very odd way that they cant really explain.(it comes w/ a bonus of being able to send messages to one another, but a con of being able to see a portion of the other’s memories, be it mental, or physical muscle memory)

They live with a group of humans, Logan, Patton, and Virgil, who are aware of their situation and have welcomed them into their home to live normal tiny lives. Patton and Virgil are brothers, and Logan is their childhood bestfriend. Remus tends to travel w/ Logan the most bc Logan isnt bothered by Remus’s constant hyperfixations on dark and grusome things.(they hold alot of convos abt dark literature and anatomy, and astronomy. Remus finds Logan’s voice soothing on his semi-irratic stream of thoughts, and talking abt astonomy helps sooth Remus to sleep the fastest.) Roman clings to Virgil mostly but passes inbetween Virgil and Patton pretty frequently depending on whose at work. (Virgil and Roman bicker about everything under the sun, but it’s still healthy for them. Virgil keeps Roman’s ego in check and Roman helps Virgil gain more confidence in things, especially things in public.)

Janus is.. well, he was born.. defective, in a way. No ones really sure exactly what happened, if there were dificulties in his development, or if his existance was fused semi-incorrectly with another while in the preverbial womb, but he is born with his body being partially down the middle on one side with another set of tiny genetics, leaving 1/4th of his body from one side of the head to just below the same side’s ribs to be a different skin & metal plating color. One eye glows gold, the other a bright milky white, the same going for either hand w/ his finger-tips on the same sides. Pure snow white skin, plating, and hair is unnatural, and its theorized to be a permanent glitch in his physical coding seeing as the ‘other tiny’ that had yet to combine correctly would not have developed any physical traits until birth to mimick a combination of it’s parents, it’s physical attribute coding would remain dormant and thus not addapt with the rest of the body.

This leaves Janus visually different, and physically different. He has his own two legs and tail so that part of his body functions normally, but the arm that is inter-functionally dormant leaves him with terrible balance issues(thus leaving him to require a cane) and his on the same side that is similarly dormant leaves him functionally blind in said eye and deaf on said side.

He’s developed an extremely defensive personality because he refuses to be pitied for something he was never in control of. He’s plenty independent without help and beyond grouchy. Has been known to bite humans who try to help him but wont listen to him, hard. He’s never been allowed to live a normal tiny’s life because the parents he was born to gave him to humans to ensure he lived, then got retroactively babied since. His foul temper has lead to a difficulty in the homing process, and the humans are almost about to give up on him when Virgil walks in one day, curious about homing a third tiny to help stabalize the twins antics and frustrations born from there only being the two of them.

Janus is just as foul at first as he is to everyone who approaches him, because he fully expects pity. Instead of Virgil moving on in rejection/dismissal of the rude behavior, Virgil just chuckles in amusement. “Oh boy, you’re fiesty huh?” “Have to be, lest people think they can do and think whatever they want about me. Better to give them my worst so they don’t get any god-complex over my disability, right?” And Virgil relates, and isnt hesitant abt mentioning his own struggles w/ how rudely people treat him w/ his general anxiety disorder and chronic depression.

Virgil manages to convince Janus take a chance and come home w/ him. And then Janus meets Patton, and things go so much better than anyone expected them to go. I mean, they get worse before they get better, but the getting better is so much further than any resulted backtracking. Janus likes Patton, and is uber protective of him. No one knew Patton to bicker much, but oh boy, does he bicker with Janus, often abt taking care of one another. Its all out of love and care, and its honestly jarringly sweet. (Patton gets Janus hooked on chocolate chips, and may or may not bribe him with a bottle-lip full from time to time if it means making Janus relax.)

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

Prompt # 19: Addiction  

@sicktember Alternate prompt #4: Stay

Title: Unexpected Developments Part 2

Fandom: Pride and Prejudice

Find Part 1 under prompt # 8. Mr. Darcy is sick in bed and miserable. Elizabeth is trying to look after him, but his bad mood gets the better of him and tempers flare. Will sweetness or stubbornness win out in the end?

Elizabeth Bennett was the only guest at Netherfield who wasn't in bed with a cold. The virus Jane had caught riding to attend luncheon with Caroline had spread around the whole house, but it seemed Eliza was immune. Mr. Darcy had been the last to fall ill, and Lizzie had discovered him sneezing in a corner over a day ago while she remained perfectly healthy. It was fortunate she had discovered him though, for the servants were rushing hither and yon at the beck and call of their ill master and his sister, and poor Mr. Darcy would have been overlooked completely if Lizzie hadn't taken him under her care. 

Lizzie, for her part, was glad Jane's cold was much improved from the days prior. Since Jane needed little tending now, she had given Lizzie her blessing to give most of her attention to Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy, for his part, was very accustomed to having a houseful of servants to do his bidding, and was little accustomed to being ill, strong and virile as he was. Because of these things, he was not the easiest patient, though he truly tried to make an effort to curb his frustration and not take his misery out on Elizabeth. Her lack of symptoms clearly perturbed him, however.

"How is it you are still in perfect health while I and everyone else are laid up with this beastly chest cold?" he griped that afternoon while Lizzie fussed around, tidying up dishes and rags from his bedside. If Lizzie wasn't accustomed to his voice by now, she would have had trouble understanding him, for his nose was stopped tight with congestion, and his voice raw and weak from coughing, rendering him nigh unintelligible. 

She giggled to herself. "Well you see, I believe I've already had this cold, for in the week prior to Jane's arrival here, my father, some of my other sisters and myself caught cold. We were envious of Jane's good luck in not falling ill at the time, but it seems it caught up with her in the end."

"Indeed," Mr. Darcy muttered sourly with a slushy sniffle.

"Oh don't be cross. It isn't so terrible lounging in bed all day, being waited on hand and foot is it?" 

"Yet when I find myself miserable in body, I find my mood tends to follow," he groused.

"Hmm." Elizabeth moved to his side, caressing his flushed face gently with the pad of her thumb. "It's just as I thought. You're only irritable like this when your fever is up, and indeed you are overwarm again. Jane's fever wasn't nearly so persistent."

"How fortunate for me," he mumbled to himself. Elizabeth tried to ignore his bad temper as she fetched her basin and rag. She wasn't fond of sarcasm, and his attitude was irking her more than she cared to let on. Tenderly as ever though, she began bathing his face and neck to try to bring down his miserable fever.

The cold water on his face made him gasp slightly, which became a cough, and the coughing only seemed to agitate him more. He usually enjoyed his face being bathed, but today he drew away from the rag. 

“Perhaps we should try another method for treating fever, since this does not seem to be effective,” said the sick man. His speech was curt and tense with foul temper.

Elizabeth gave him a long look, trying to keep her own temper under control. “What would you suggest, sir? We have tried willow bark, which made you feel more ill, and you will not have any other poultices,” she said in a measured, warning way.

“There must be something we haven't done yet. I would do anything to rid myself of this beastly cold, that came from *your* sister, I might add! You just said you already had  this cold. Think of something else to try!”

Elizabeth flew to her feet, tossing down the rag. “Perhaps you should go plunge yourself into an ice bath! That will surely help the fever, and I’m sure it will do wonders for your coughing and sneezing as well! But you can draw it yourself, and you can see to your own meals and entertainment too. You clearly feel my efforts are inadequate, so you can tend to yourself from now on. I am through with smoothing your insufferable pride and being a target for your bad mood. Good day, sir!”

With a whirl of skirts, she was out the door without a glance behind her. Elizabeth went straight to her room and lay down in the cool and quiet, for she was exhausted and careworn from nursing for a week straight. She fell asleep immediately and didn’t wake for several hours. 

She felt much refreshed when she did finally emerge. She first went to look in on Jane, who was overall back to normal, but was getting bored sitting around and eager to go home. On questioning the staff, they learned that Caroline had mostly recovered as well. Mr. Bingley was recovering slower, but getting better all the time. The sisters wished him a speedy recovery by way of the servants, for as soon as he was recovered, they would be able to return home.

After visiting with Jane for some time, Elizabeth desired to find a quiet corner and read. To her chagrin, she realized she had left her book in Mr. Darcy’s room. She did not relish seeing him again so soon after they parted so badly, but she had no choice if she wanted her book back. With a sigh, she made her way to his room with hesitant steps. She knocked softly before entering, which felt odd since she had been coming and going freely for two days prior. His hoarse, weak voice bid her come in.

He was in quite a different state than he had been a few hours before. Where he had previously been fitful and agitated, now he seemed weak and lethargic. Even in the dim light she could see how sweat-matted his hair was, and the dark ring on his pillow. He lifted his head up to see who had entered, and his sleepy eyes flickered with confusion upon seeing her. 

“I only came to get my book. I apologize for disturbing you,” she said stiffly, hardly looking at him. She snatched up the volume from the table where it lay and turned to go back out, intending to say nothing else.

“Wait.” 

She paused, and turned slightly, her good breeding winning over. “Yes?”

He sat up a bit straighter, coughing weakly as he did so. “I am deeply sorry for how I behaved earlier. My treatment of you was inexcusable after all you’ve done for me these past days--” Here he had to pause to press his handkerchief to his dripping nose before he could continue. Elizabeth waited silently. “I was a beast and feel very much like a fool. Please forgive me,” he managed, mumbling through the damp fabric. His eyes shone earnestly above the hand holding the linen in place.

Her face softened. “I accept your apology, and thank you for it. No one acts quite themself when they’re ill, so I gladly forgive you. I’m sorry too for my part in all of it.”

They shared a tiny smile as he tended to his nose with a thick, gurgling blow, and she knew she was forgiven also. Immediately the tension between them was cleared.

Now that they had made up though, she was reluctant to leave him alone again, for he looked so weak and forlorn and in need of care. However, she was a woman of her word. She spoke as she moved to the door, putting her hand on the knob. “You must rest, Mr. Darcy, so I'll leave you be. I truly apologize for waking you.”

“Miss Elizabeth?” 

Once more she turned to meet his eyes.

He held out a shaking hand. “Please… stay.”

She slowly returned to his side. “For what purpose, sir?”

“I… I desire your company… and your aid. You are… a far better caregiver than I, and I was a fool to imply otherwise. It… it won't happen again,” he croaked thickly. 

Seeing the effort he was making to be overly polite softened Eliza's heart further. She let him take her hand in his warm grasp, a smile playing around her lips. “If you insist. I will stay.”

He smiled also as he drew her hand toward himself. "Here, let me show you something," he snuffled. He placed her wrist against his neck, just as she had done many times over the past few days. He sighed softly as their skin made contact.

“Your fever has broken,” she murmured happily. “You are cool at last.”

“Yes.”

“How did you do it?” she asked, withdrawing her hand. “Did you plunge yourself into an ice bath after all?”

He stifled a cough before he could speak. “I… tried willow bark again, as you recommended. I felt worse… at first, but I fell asleep to ease the symptoms. When I woke, the fever had left me, and I felt… much clearer in mind. The fever was causing my foul mood, as you insightfully noted.” Yet another long speech, and now his voice was barely audible as he sniffled furiously and trembled with fatigue. 

“Yet you seem somewhat worse for wear, for you’re completely exhausted, poor man.”

“This illness has left me weary to my bones, it is true. Yet I could not have slept soundly tonight knowing I had offended you. It would be an understatement to say I was very glad when you returned, though I did not expect or deserve a second chance.” His eyes were getting heavier by the moment, and he yawned almost before he finished speaking, reclining back against his pillows once more.

Elizabeth brushed the sweaty curls from his forehead as his eyes drifted closed, then let her hand rest on his cheek for a moment, reassuring herself that his fever was truly gone. He lazily covered her hand with his, a content smile flickering across his face. 

She couldn’t help but smile in response, though he couldn’t see it. “Take some rest, Mr. Darcy. All is forgiven, and I will be here when you wake.” She gently tried to pull her hand away from his face. He quickly interlaced his fingers with hers to prevent this.

“You’ll truly stay?” he murmured sleepily, sniffling.

Leaving her hand on his cheek, she perched on the edge of his bed, so close their hips were almost touching. She saw him smile again as she did so. 

“Of course I will,” she murmured back, her eyes never leaving his face as he peacefully drifted to sleep.

[lifeofkaze]

Cherry Blossoms

Neville Longbottom x Reader

 A/N: Dear @nevilles-top​ you picked 🌸 and that’s what came of it. Enjoy Wifey C, love you loads 💛💚

Warning: NSFW, +18 only, exhibitionism (kinda?)

Word Count: ~ 1.900

Her neighbours had no decency.

Mrs. Poppy Wilson had always prided herself on living in a proper neighbourhood with proper families. But the new couple that had moved in next door had been a thorn in her side from the beginning. Well, they weren’t exactly new, they had moved in over a year ago; but they had been a source of aggravation ever since. Whenever she saw the two of them, they would touch each other, holding hands or even kiss in public. She wasn’t even sure they were married.

She was leaving her house on this egregiously hot day in late spring when the sound of cheerful whistling caught her attention. Peaking over the edge of her perfectly trimmed hedge, she saw her neighbour tending to blooming flowers in his front yard. Due to the heat, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. He looked perfectly scruffy and Mrs. Wilson stared at his exposed chest disdainfully, an indignant huff leaving her lips. Didn’t he care what people would think?

Startled at the sound, Neville Longbottom lifted his head and raised his hand in greeting with a mock smile as he saw his uptight old neighbour staring from beyond the edge of his garden. Not wanting to associate with the likes of him, Mrs. Wilson turned on her heel and marched off.

 *

But Mrs. Wilson hadn’t been the only one observing the scene.

You watched the old hag make her way to her car before your attention turned back onto the sight unfolding before you. Neville had been working in the blazing heat for the better part of an hour now. You could see from your spot by the window kitchen how he wiped the sweat off his brow before lumping another sack of garden soil onto his worktable underneath the blossoming cherry tree dominating the place.

Neville had gotten the tree for you as a birthday present last year, because he knew how much you loved the sight of it in bloom. It had been way smaller back then, but of course Neville knew the odd trick to make it grow into a magnificent tree much faster than it would have under normal circumstances. It bloomed longer and brighter than others, often drawing wondrous glances from people passing by.

You watched in awe as he expertly tended to the plants he had been growing over the course of the winter. A shiver ran down your spine as you saw how tenderly he handled the small seedlings, imagining how his rough hands would feel on your heated skin right now.

Neville was fully concentrated on his task, the tip of his tongue, which you knew he could work wonders with, slightly peeking out between his luscious lips. Not being able to withstand his gravity any longer, you grabbed two glasses and a jug of lemonade, carefully bearing your charge outside on a tray.

His face instantly lit up as he saw you approaching. He gracefully accepted the drink you offered him, gulping the first glass down in mere seconds. You could imagine how hot his flushed skin must be from working in the sun, the speckled shadows of the branches of the cherry tree not casting a lot of shade.

As he poured himself another glass, he caught you staring.

“What?” he smirked, his mouth curving into that crooked smile that never failed to make your stomach dip.

“Nothing,” you mumbled, blushing a bright red. To overplay the situation, you hastily set your glass to your lips, letting the cool drink wash down your throat in deep gulps.

You heard Neville chuckle deeply as he set down his own glass, moving over to you.

“Someone seems thirsty today.”

You almost spit out your drink again. Coughing from surprise, you couldn’t help but stare at his lean arms that crossed in front of his chest. You didn’t get that kind of muscles from working out; they were shaped by the hard physical work Neville loved to do so much.

Noticing you were staring again, you knew you might as well be honest. “Can you blame me? I mean, look at you all being topless and scruffy like that,” you whined.

Neville’s smile widened and his eyes sparkled with amusement. “I meant the drink,” he laughed.

As he saw the shade of your face deepen, he reached for the belt you wore to cinch your dress in and hooked his finger under it, pulling you towards him.

“But if that is what you need...”

He didn’t finish his sentence but you wouldn’t have listened anyway. Your breath hitched as you felt Neville’s breath against your ear, then his lips on your neck as his mouth planted light, feathery kisses on your skin.

You sighed appreciatively at the tingling he left on your skin before you turned your head around to meet his lips. The kiss was tender at first, but it quickly deepened, desire rising in both of your chests. Neville moaned against your mouth as you nipped his bottom lip, grabbing you by the waist and turning you around. Without breaking your contact, he steered you backwards until your back hit the wooden wall of the tool shed next to the cherry tree.

A gasp escaped you as Neville’s hands travelled down your sides, firmly gripping your thighs and hoisting you up, now only held up by his body and the shed behind you. You wrapped your legs around him and buried your hands in his hair, feeling his growing erection press against you.

The support he gave you suddenly shifted as he let go of one of your thighs to nestle with the clasp of your holder-neck dress. It quickly came undone and Neville lost no time in pulling it down, exposing your bare chest to the sunlight. You dipped your head back as his tongue teasingly played with one of your nipples, while a gentle breeze caressed your bare skin.

“What about the neighbours?” you barely manage to rasp out, concentration rapidly dwindling at Neville gently sucking on your tits.

“They’re out,” Neville hummed, the vibration of his words making you shudder.

All your concerns were drowned in a cry of pleasure as Neville’s hand pushed the hem of your dress up further and let this thumb run over your clit through the fabric of your panties. He knew exactly how to touch you to drive you absolutely mad.

Your hands still tangled in his hair gripped tighter and you bit down on where his shoulder and his neck connected; not hard, but hard enough to coax a hungry groan from your man.

There was nothing but heat now, around you from the blazing sun, inside you from the rhythmic circles Neville’s skilled fingers were drawing. As he noticed your squirming against him, he withdrew his hand.

“Slowly now, doll,” he growled into your ear. “I don’t want to miss out on all the fun.”

He set you down to let you remove your panties. You immediately grabbed his hand, pulling him into the direction of the door to the shed. You didn’t think you could wait any longer to feel him inside you.

But Neville didn’t move. He pulled you back towards him, the fly of his jeans now open; he hadn’t pulled his trousers down more than he had to. At the sight of his hard cock waiting for you, you bit your lower lip, anticipation coursing through your body like an electric surge.

“Come on, now,” you whined impatiently, but Neville shook his head.

“The weather’s beautiful darling. I want to feel the sun on my back when I do you in by every trick in the book.

With that his arms encircled you again. He pushed you back against the wall and groaned as you propped one of your legs up on the nearby table, granting him unobstructed access to your dripping pussy.

“What are you waiting for then?” you moaned, knowing full well how to turn your man on even more.

With a flash in his eyes, Neville buried his face in your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin as he pushed his cock inside you. By now, you were so wet for him, he didn’t lose any time by waiting for you to adjust, but started pounding into you in a demanding rhythm that took your breath away.

The breeze from before had picked up, sending a shower of light pink flowers down on you. You would have laughed at the cheesy scenery of you being fucked by Neville in a whirl of blossoms, but you didn’t even notice.

Everything around you had faded, everything but Neville and the way your laboured breaths came in unison with the grinding of your bodies against each other. Your head swam with passion, and you raked your nails across Neville’s bare back as you felt your release draw nearer.

After a few more thrusts the knot that had been building inside your stomach was close to bursting, when you suddenly heard the door of a car slam shut and the unmistakable scuffing step of your nosey neighbour drawing nearer.

You slowed down for a brief second, knowing full well the drama that would ensue if she saw the two of you getting it off in your garden.

But you were so close and Neville, sensing your hesitation, locked eyes with you, holding your gaze. He held a finger to his lips, motioning for you to be silent, all the while maintaining the constant rhythm of his thrusts.

He brought his hand down and laid it on your clit again, rubbing over your sweet spot with his thumb. You couldn’t keep it together any longer. Your orgasm exploded with might, the waves of pleasure making you shiver uncontrollably, threatening to drown you. You clung to Neville for dear life, your head filled with his scent of earth and sunscreen and passion.

Neville silenced your muffled cry of pleasure with a searing kiss, your body shuddering against him and the feeling of your walls tightening around his cock sending him over the edge as well. He groaned against your mouth, all care forgotten.

 *

Mrs. Wilson was annoyed.

Not only had she missed her train into town and had been forced to return home early, she was still flustered at the audacity of her neighbour’s shirtless gardening antics.

When she entered her front yard, she furrowed her brow. If she hadn’t known any better, she could have sworn she had heard a muffled scream from the other side of the thick hedge separating their gardens.

What were those unruly people up to again?

With determination she marched to the spot where she knew the foliage of the hedge was thin enough to look through.

And sure enough, as she peeked through the bushes, she saw her neighbours both outside now, sitting at the wooden worktable under their outrageously blooming cherry tree. They were sipping lemonade and stole kisses now and again.

She huffed indignantly, the sound of it drawing their attention. As they saw her face through the gap in the hedge, they raised their glasses in salute, laughing more happily than they had any right to.

As they started kissing again, Mrs. Wilson turned around and rolled her eyes.

She’d had enough of these people.

No decency whatsoever.

[korissideblog]

ok! so! this fic was getting a bit long for my tastes, so i decided to split it into 2 parts!

even though they don't show up, i'll be mentioning two lovely characters in this fic, Haru from the amazing @compoundhero and Jetsam from the outstanding @jetsam-kisa <3

and without further ado! here's part 1/2 of-

The Hedonist

“Welcome back.” Aito walked into the library, a dimly lit room draped in darker reds, softly lit by simple reading lamps.

“Where is the rest of the team?” he asked, looking to the only filled seat in the entire room, a plush settee with a woman in an overly large white mink coat lying across it.

“I sent them away. We do our best thinking when no one else is bothering us- isn’t that what you said?” the woman offered, sitting up a bit to look at Aito more clearly. “You play dumb, but I know there’s more going on up there. Am I wrong?” she asked, only to be answered with silence as Aito sat down in an armchair nearby.

“Will you ever tell me your name, Checkmate? I’ve told you mine.” Yua Sakura said, truthfully. “I think it’s only fair.”

“I’m a man of my word, Sakura san.” Aito responded calmly, settling into the chair and accepting the tablet Sakura passed to him. “I’ll tell you my name on my deathbed- only so you know what to put on the gravestone.” he chuckled, opening the tablet to find the plans already open.

Sakura rolled her eyes but dropped it quickly. This wasn’t the first time she’s asked for the man’s real name, and it won’t be the last. “I’ve already secured the bank’s blueprints. Consider our entrance my responsibility. If we’re in the vault, how would you plan our escape?” she asked, clearly still testing the newest recruit of their team, despite the fact that he’s been a full fledged member for almost a year now.

Aito looked over the plans with a critical eye, swiping marks onto the blueprint till she was satisfied, and held it up to present her idea. “The vents. If you can remove the screws while the rest of the team fills the bags, we could escape rather quickly.” Aito gestured to the woman’s hands, referencing her quirk.

And what an interesting quirk Sakura had. She had a form of telepathy, but the largest thing she could lift was a pencil. What really gave the woman’s quirk it’s bite, though, was the smallest thing she could lift. Her quirk let her quickly detach and lift tiny molecules, all at once. Aito once watched her deteriorate a man's fingernails in only the span of a handshake- and it was the most terrifying thing Aito’s ever seen.

“Interesting… Why the vents?” she asked, looking over the tablet carefully.

“Because-” Aito said, pointing to a shaded line going through the walls of the bank. “This is a gas line. If we set off even the smallest explosion…” Aito imitated a large explosion, which made Sakura smile wickedly.

“Oh Checkmate,” she giggled, clapping her hands together in glee. “Oh I just knew you would have the perfect idea! And they say blondes are dumb!” Aito’s jaw dropped in annoyance, touching her bleached hair in defensiveness. “Now now, don’t make that face, pet.” she laughed, waving off Aito with a flick of her wrist. “You know I jest. I’d never question a mind like yours, why, people like us- we just have to stick together.”

“People like us?” Aito questioned, setting the tablet down onto a nearby end table.

“Yes, People like us- us with quirks… predisposed for villany.” Sakura hummed, slumping further into her seat comfortably. “I mean let’s be honest with ourselves, once we’d gotten our quirks, we both must have known where we would end up. And it’s hardly our fault honestly- I mean how else would we have made use of our abilities?”

“I believe my quirk to be neutral.” Aito shrugged, mirroring Sakura’s comfort by souching into her armchair- and quietly wishing he had put on something with a bit more fabric. His usual crop top and biker shorts were of little comfort to him in the colder parts of the hideaway. “I really could have been anything with a quirk like mine. Hell, I could have even been a hero.” Aito quickly decided that sitting around wouldn’t keep him warm, and swung himself out of his seat to look over the books that surrounded them, still staying close enough to speak to Sakura.

“You don’t really believe all that, do you?” Sakura asked, her eyes following Aito like a panther watching its prey. Predatory, yet patient. She watched as Aito carefully touched the spine of nearly every book on a shelf, not answering, but still listening. “Why, maybe I could have had a chance but… your quirk in particular? Checkmate, what else could you have done except for villainy? I mean, I’d even go so far as to call your gift inherently evil.” and that… that seemed to still him.

Aito no longer pretended not to hear, her hand shaking minutely before she rested it onto the shelf and looked over his shoulder to Sakura. He took a book from the shelf and opened it randomly, wandering behind the settee as she looked over the text. It was some sort of book of mythology, and Aito’s fingers brushed over a small drawing of a little girl with a fox tail. She noticed Sakura reaching for her, but flinched away before her hand met his waist. One of the pros to wearing such little clothing was that most people didn’t want to reach for Aito, in fear of touching his skin. The awkwardness of human contact being the only thing that protected Aito from this villain’s grasp.

And Aito was sure that if she ever were to touch him, he would scream. And kick. And bite.

“Sakura san? Why did you become a villain?”

Sakura chuckled, pleased to have finally caught her partner’s attention. “I’ve already said it. I had little other choice, given my abilities.” she shrugged, looking up at Aito with a smile, and carefully laying a hand onto the book, their fingers brushing together softly. “And you, pet?” she asked softly

Aito’s eyes looked away from Sakura and to a nearby window, a small sliver of the starry night slipping between the thick velvet curtains, her eyelashes fluttering minutely as she thought.

“It was my love of strawberry ice cream.”

Sakura laughed, but Aito’s serious face gave her pause, calming herself before letting her partner continue. “Apologies, Checkmate, please continue.” Aito nodded, and flipped lazily through the book’s pages as she spoke.

“When I was a child, my mother would sometimes bring me to work with her. If I behaved myself, she would then take me for ice cream.” Aito started again, seemingly more involved in the book she wasn’t reading than the conversation he didn’t want to be having. “One time they were out of chocolate, so we got strawberry instead. I soon fell in love with the flavor, and got it every time we went.” Aito fought the smile that tried to crack her serious expression, but a ghost of it remained. “High school was hard on me. I was home schooled, and my high school had on campus boarding. Up to that point the longest I’ve spent away from my mother were the few hours when she would sleep, and now I had to spend an entire school year with only visits on the weekend.” Aito then snapped the book close, almost catching Sakura’s fingers between the pages. Aito barely blinked in apology. “I was homesick, and smuggled a bucket of strawberry ice cream into my dorm room. I ate the entire thing, and became sick soon after.” She then tossed the book into Sakura’s lap, not wishing to even touch it now that it had lost his interest. “I had to miss class for a day, and missed very important notes. After that I failed an important test, and my teacher started to worry for me. He asked another-more advanced-student to help me with my work, and we became close friends soon after.”

“What was their name?” Sakura asked, taking the book in her hands.

Aito was silent for a moment. “I called him big cat.” she finally responded, vaguely. Taking her turn to watch as Sakura opened the book. “After him, my other classmates seemed much more approachable.”

“This story isn’t about big cat, is it now?” Sakura hummed, looking from the book’s yellowed pages up to Aito, who was focused on the book with a deadly stare.

“No. it isn’t.”

“Who then, pet?”

Aito paused again, as if trying to find a way to describe her memories from her youth.

“He was a very nervous boy.” Aito started, her eyes fluttering shut as he tried to remember his friend as vividly as possible. “He’d be surrounded by clouds of this vicious black smog- his quirk, he would always produce the foulest smoke wherever he went.”

“You were irritated by him?” Sakura offered.

“No, never.” Aito responded quickly. “I had a habit of taking in the nervous ones. He wasn’t the first, and he wouldn’t be the last.”

“Oh, then I apologize for interrupting.” Sakura chuckled, patting Aito’s arm, which Aito gently pulled out of her grasp. “What drew you to him in the first place?”

Aito sighed, cursing his terrible memory as he tried to recall. “When not in uniform… he’d wear the prettiest clothes.” Aito explained. “One sweater in particular… it was pink I believe… It was softer than a cloud. I think I stole it from him- I probably wore it more than he did.” Aito said, letting the smallest smile show on her face as he touched his arm, as if he were wearing the sweater right this second.

“You tend to do that.” Sakura laughed, poking humorously into Aito’s side. “Remember when you wore one of my dresses to that charity gala?”

“I wore it better than you would have.” Aito quipped, immediately invoking another laugh from Sakura.

“Oh, you’re much too quick witted” Sakura giggled, wiping her dry eyes as though she had been laughing much harder. Aito nodded slowly, but kept his face flat.

“He… he’s the reason I don’t believe you when you say that our quirks can decide things for us.” Aito explained. “He was nothing like his quirk would suggest. Despite all the smoke, he was a pleasant boy.”

“Ohh… but, I asked you why you became a villain, pet. This boy, why do you mention him?” she finally asked, noticing Aito resting his hands on the back of the settee and carefully placing her’s onto his. Aito’s pained silence left Sakura a bit off guard, but she slowly came to a conclusion that… she could only hope her guess was wrong. “Is he… gone from us?” she asked, letting Aito assume her meaning.

“No.” Aito huffed, his grip on the settee’s back tightening slightly as she turned away from Sakura.

“What then? What could have happened that’s made you this upset?” she asked, her red eyes never faltering from her teammate’s face.

“He…” Aito finally turned away, as if even saying it out loud was too much. “He turned his back on me.”

“Oh… pet…” Sakura whispered, carefully patting his hand in an attempt to comfort him. “Loss can be hard… especially when the loss isn’t permanent… when it’s a choice someone makes.” Sakura hadn’t a clue how to ease this pain, completely unused to her teammate showing this amount of vulnerability around her. “If it’s any comfort at all… I’m thankful for you, the entire team is- you must know this by now.” Sakura suffered through another silence, wishing that Checkmate would just tell her how to help him. “What was… pet… what did you call him?” Aito looked back for just a second, his eyes trained on the floor as he tried to gain the courage to finally speak.

“Jetsam Kisa.”

[tsukkisbean]

baby steps

pairings: tsukishima x fem!reader x kuroo (all characters are aged up)

genre: fluff, smut, slight angst (if you squint ), bf!tsukishima, neighbour!kuroo

warnings:  threesome-ish, loss of virginity, swearing, dirty talk, oral, fingering, sub!reader, dom!kuroo, dom!tsukishima, daddy kink, sir kink, orgasm denial, degradation, praising, cock warming, slight jealousy/possessivenes, mirror sex, unprotected sex

word count: 4.1k

a/n: another change of pace for my work!! ty to @lunarkawa​ and @krynnza​ for doing a read through and boosting my confidence about this piece <3

summary: you and tsukishima have been dating for awhile now but have never gone further than making out. tsukishima has been feeling unsettled mainly because you’re more experienced than he is. nonethless, he’s determined to make your first time together worthwhile and to do so he enlists the help of his high school volleyball mentor who also happens to be your neighbour.

“I’m sorry, what?” you stare at your boyfriend, mouth slightly agape. You reach out to grab hold of the side of the kitchen table, trying to stabilize yourself. Never in a million years did you ever think Tsukishima would suggest something like this.

“I know it’s out of the blue, but I’m not exactly experienced. You and I both know Kuroo pretty well so I thought he would be the perfect person to help us out.” You search Tsukishima’s face for any trace of doubt, but he stares back at you with an eagerness that you’ve never seen before.

You bring your hands over your eyes gently applying pressure, wondering if you were dreaming right now. You let out a sigh, “Kei are you sure this is what you want?” On the outside your boyfriend tended to act cool, even a bit smug at times. But you knew him well enough by now to know that he still had tendencies to feel inferior towards others. In fact, the one who first mentioned it to you was Kuroo, the day after training camp when you and Tsukishima were still first years.

“Y/N, if I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t be asking you right now. All I want to do is make you feel good, but to do that I need help from Kuroo” you couldn’t help but feel touched by his words.

“All right fine, but if either of us starts to get uncomfortable we have to stop right away.” Tsukishima nods, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead. Slowly his lips begin to trace down your face, hands circling your waist. You can feel your heart rate start to pick up as he presses your bodies together. Before his lips can meet yours, a loud knock causes the two of you to jump apart.

When you open the door, you’re met with a familiar face, “Kuroo? What are you doing here?”

The dark hair male lets out a laugh, gently pushing you backwards to let himself in, “What? Four eyes didn’t tell you about our agreement?”

Before you can say anything, Kuroo turns around, pushing your body against the back of the door, shutting it closed. He plants his hands firmly against the door on either side of your head. You gulp at the close proximity, and you’re hyper aware of the fact that the shirt you’re wearing (courtesy of Tsukishima) barely gives your legs any coverage.

“W-we did but I didn’t expect it to happen so soon.”

Kuroo leans into your ear, his warm breath causing shivers to run down your spine, “Well, we’ve got a lot to cover so I thought sooner better than later.” he lowers his head slightly, gently pressing his lips against your neck, “Besides, I know how you used to look at me and quite frankly, I can’t wait to have you under me, just begging me to fuck you.” You can feel your face burning up and from your peripheral you can see Tsukishima fuming. You place your hands on Kuroo’s chest, trying your best to push him away and Kuroo turns back to look at Tsukishima, shooting him a smirk.

You clear your throat, trying to cut the tension in the air, “Um, well then. I think we should agree on some ground rules first, right guys?” Your eyes dart nervously between the two tall males before you.

“I only have two rules. First, the two of you can’t kiss, and second no leaving hickeys on Y/N.” You look at Tsukishima, the surprise evident on your face. You were certain he was going to object to more than just that. Kuroo only grunts in response, and for a second you think you might see jealousy cross his face.

You brush the thought aside and nod in agreement, “Kei and I already talked about this but as soon as any of us get uncomfortable we have to stop.” Kuroo takes your hand, leading you towards your bedroom, “Alright princess, whatever you say.”

The time it takes to move from the front door to your bedroom passes in a flash. Kuroo sits himself on your bed, gently patting the space between his legs. You oblige and situate yourself between his legs, back firmly pressed against his chest. “Now four eyes, this is normally where I’d start kissing my partner, but given the circumstances I can’t do that.”

Tsukishima scoffs and strides across the room towards the bed. His tall frame towers over the two of you momentarily before he bends down to catch your lips in a kiss. From behind Kuroo slips his hands under your shirt, gently running his knuckles along your waist. When he begins to plant open mouth kisses along your neck, you can’t help but moan into Tsukishima’s mouth.

Kuroo wraps one arm around your waist, his other hand grabbing a fistful of hair to tilt your head to the side for better access. Suddenly, you’re being jerked backwards and your lips are separated from Tsukishima’s.

“C’mon four eyes, you call that a kiss? All I’m doing is kissing her neck and she’s moaning for me.” You can’t see it but you’re positive there’s a smug grin plastered on his face, “Let me show you how it’s done, just this once.”

You watch as Tsukishima bites the inside of his cheek, obviously feeling conflicted. You reach out to hold his hand in your own, “Kei, you’re doing fine. If you’re not comfortable then-”

“Okay.”

Kuroo immediately grabs your chin, turning your face towards his and smashing your lips together. Your hand reaches back, tangling itself in his hair eliciting a soft groan each time you give it a gentle tug. The kiss is sloppy, your teeth knocking together almost painfully every so often. But It’s different from when Tsukishima kisses you; there’s a sense of urgency, a longing, and it feels like your heart is one fire; a completely new feeling to you. When he pulls away, you let out a small whimper.

“And that four eyes, is how you kiss someone.”

Kuroo stands, pushing you up with him and now you’re face to face with Tsukishima. When your eyes meet you feel small under his intense gaze and you’re uncertain if he’s angry or turned on by the whole ordeal.

“Now that we’re done with the elementary stuff lets move on, shall we?”

Without missing a beat, you’re thrown against the bed. The way Kuroo’s eyes eat you up as he crawls on top of you causes a shiver to run up your spine. You hate to admit it but at one point you did have a tiny crush on him. But you assumed all he ever saw you as was his cute (and probably annoying) little neighbour that followed him around like a puppy whenever she got the chance. You were content with liking him afar and all of that vanished when you met Tsukishima. But now that you were trapped under Kuroo, those feelings began to bubble back to the surface.

You snap out of your thoughts when Kuroo uses his knee to pry your legs open, nestling comfortably in-between them.  His hands grab at the hem of your shirt, hiking it up so it pools just above your breasts. “No bra? What a dirty girl. I can’t believe four eyes hasn’t fucked you yet.”

Your face heats up and you try to cover what you can with your arms but Kuroo grabs both your wrists, pinning them above your head. His lips find your collarbone, gently nipping at your skin as he drifts downwards, stopping momentarily at your chest. In one swift movement, he takes one of your nipples into his mouth, his tongue swirling around the bud.

The cool afternoon air hits your lower region as your panties are ripped from your body. “Kuroo what the he- oh fuck” you’re cut off as he pushes two fingers into you. You bite down harshly on your lower lip to try to hold back your moans. 

Kuroo releases your sensitive bud from his mouth, raising himself slightly, cooing into your ear, “Y/N, if you want me to give you what you want, be a good girl for daddy and stop holding back.” When you don’t respond, he adds a third finger, slowing his pace slightly to help you adjust to the stretch. The pad of his thumb finds your clit, drawing harsh circles in an attempt to make you let out more than a whimper. Still, you keep your mouth clamped shut not wanting to give him the satisfaction of breaking you so easily. Especially not when your boyfriend is watching.

A familiar knot begins to form in your stomach, and you squeeze your eyes shut. And by the way Kuroo increases his speed, he knows that you’re close.

The feeling fades as quickly as it came, Kuroo’s hand coming to a stop, “Kuroo, what the fuck.” your eyes open, shooting him the dirtiest look you can manage. You try to buck your hips upwards for any sort of friction but it’s no use.

“I told you, you have to be a good girl to get what you want.”

Kuroo lifts himself off of you, this time situating his face in-between your legs. Your head starts to spin as he runs his hands along your legs, peppering kisses on your inner thighs. The ache between your legs starts to become unbearable; you need some sort of release.

Propping yourself onto one elbow, you use your free hand to push Kuroo’s head towards your dripping sex. “I’ll be good, daddy. Just please please do something. Anything.”

With that, Kuroo hooks his arms around your thighs, pulling you closer to him. Flattening his tongue, he licks a long stripe against your folds, groaning when he finally gets a taste of you. The way his tongue darts in and out of you makes your head spin, moans and curses spilling out of your mouth mindlessly.

A low groan catches your attention and you lazily turn your head to the side, eyes focusing on the blonde boy standing a few feet away from the side of the bed. His hair is messier than usual and trails of sweat drip down the side of his face. You notice how tense his jaw is and for a moment you worry if he’s upset. But your eyes travel downwards to prove you wrong.

The tent in Tsukishima’s pants is so painfully obvious you wonder how he managed to stay quiet for this long, “Kei, come here.”

He quickly obliges, long fingers scrambling to undo the drawstring of his sweatpants. You could have swore you drooled a little when you see his cock springing from its confinement.

Tsukishima takes a hold of his length, gently tapping the tip against your lips, signalling you to open up and you happily do so. He doesn’t hesitate to push himself into your mouth entirely, causing you to gag slightly. He lets out a low growl, the feeling of your throat tightening around him only arousing him more. He grabs a fistful of your hair and starts thrusting into your mouth. “Look at my pretty girlfriend, you’re taking me so well.”

The sensation of having Kuroo lapping away at your arousal, and Tsukishima fucking your throat starts to get too much. Your thighs are quivering, your mouth is starting to fall slack, but both males refuse to let go of you. Kuroo brings his thumb back to your clit, rubbing harsh circles in an attempt to help you reach your high. You can feel the pressure starting to build up in your stomach again, and you feel yourself involuntarily clench around Kuroo’s tongue. Just as you feel yourself about to let go, Kuroo pulls away again. You let out a muffled whine, your mouth still preoccupied with your boyfriend.

Tsukishima’s grip on your hair gets rougher, his pace getting sloppier by the second. You don’t even realize you’re crying until you feel a hand wipe away the tears brimming eyes. It only takes one look at your boyfriend for him to come undone in your mouth, your name mixed with some colourful language filling the room.

Tsukishima pulls out of your mouth, releasing you from his grip so he can pull his sweats back up. 

You let your head fall back onto the mattress, trying to catch your breath. But before you can rest for too long Kuroo grabs you by the ankles, pulling you to the edge of the bed.

“Well since your boyfriend will probably be out of commission for awhile, I guess it’s my turn.” Kuro shoves his pants and boxers down in one go, lining up with your entrance. You brace yourself but when he stops just before your entrance you let out a loud whine, “Kuroo, move.”

The dark hair male chuckles at your neediness, leaning in to lick the shell of your ear, “Remember when I said I wanted you to beg? Well now’s the time.” You shudder at the lowness of his voice, “Oh and make sure to use the right name, baby girl.”

You look over at your boyfriend, expecting him to object, “We don’t have all day Y/N.” His response catches you off guard, was he really okay with this? Your eyes dart between the two boys, uncertain what to do.

But the longer you lay there, the more annoying the aching feeling between your legs becomes. You’ve been denied your orgasm twice now and you sure as hell didn’t want to make it a third.

Your legs jolt when Kuroo starts to rub the head of his cock against your folds.  Without warning, he slams his hips into yours, eliciting a loud moan from you. He rocks steadily into you, his pace never faltering. For the third time you can feel your orgasm building up as your back arches off the bed, your mind getting hazy.

And for the third time he stops, his fingers digging into your hip as if to silently taunt you.

You let a out a loud wail, “FUCK. Daddy, please fuck me.”

In one swift motion, one of your legs is thrown over Kuroo’s shoulder and he starts rocking to you once more.  His thrusts are long but each time he slams back into you, you feel like you’re being torn apart.“I bet you’ve been dreaming of the day you get fucked by me.”

“Y-yes.”

You can feel him slow down and you clench around him in an attempt to get him to keep going

“Sorry, what was that?”

At this point you’re blubbering, so desperate to reach your high after being denied so many times. “ ‘lways wanted to be fucked by you, d-daddy.” Your words start to slur together through the mixture of sobs and moans.

“Such a slut, letting yourself get fucked right in front of your boyfriend.”

One of his hands finds its way back to your clit, the other intertwining with yours. He presses your foreheads together, his thrusts becoming more erratic and desperate. You squeeze your eyes shut, clenching around Kuroo’s length, silently hoping that this time you would get to climax.

Your body starts to convulse, and finally after what seems like ages, your high comes crashing down in waves. Kuroo is still thrusting into you, chasing his own high and it’s not long before he pulls out, releasing his load onto your stomach.

You close your eyes and try to catch your breath. The weight of the bed shifts as Kuroo gets up and you hear the sound of rustling clothes, hushed voices and footsteps. You try to lift your head to see what’s going on but your body refuses to cooperate. Slowly, your mind starts to drift off but you’re brought back to reality when a cool cloth makes contact with your skin. The shirt that was scrunched against your collarbones is gently rolled back down to cover your bare body.

You open your eyes to see your boyfriend hovering over you. The expression on his face is one you know all too well. Before you can say anything, he removes himself from the bed and heads to the bathroom.

Using all the power you have left, you push yourself up and trail behind him, leaning your body against the bathroom door frame, “Kei, are you alright?”

His back is faced towards you but you can see his dark expression in the reflection of the bathroom mirror. He says nothing, so you cautiously make your way over to him. Taking his hand into yours, you turn him to face you.

“Y/N is what you said true?”

Tsukishima frowns when you don’t respond right away, pulling his hand away from you, “Is it true that you’ve always wanted Kuroo to fuck you?”

You can’t help but feel bad, the uncertainty evident in his eyes. You reach out to hold his face in your hands. “Listen, at one time I did like Kuroo, but that was back at the beginning of high school; before we got to know each other. Plus, it was just a silly childish crush.” you pull his face towards you, peppering light kisses along his jawline, stopping just before his lips, “I said what I said in the heat of the moment. But really,” you look up at him with half lidded eyes, “The only person I want to fuck me, is you.”

Tsukishima leans over to capture your lips and this time around his kiss is full of confidence. His hands find your waist, hoisting you up  to place you on the bathroom counter. You wrap your arms around his neck and legs around his waist in an attempt to pull him closer to your body.

His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, and you happily part your lips for him. Your tongues meet in a heated battle for dominance, but you can tell you’re fighting a losing battle. The two of you pull apart to catch your breath momentarily, Tsukishima’s hands busy themselves with removing your shirt.

“Put your feet on the counter”

Your lips quirk into a playful smile, an idea popping into your head. 

“Yes, sir.” You do as you’re told, pulling your legs up onto the counter, your cunt on full display.

You can tell you caught Tsukishima off guard by the way his ears turn a deep red.

His hand finds its place in between your legs, a single finger dragging along your folds. You lean back onto your palms, trying to angle yourself for some sort of relief, but Tsukishima’s free hand pushes your hips down to stop you.

“Y/N, you’re not allowed to move unless I say so, understand?” You nod frantically not wanting a repeat of the events from earlier, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

A soft kiss meets your temple, “Good girl.” But the sweet moment is cut short when Tsukishima’s fingers curl inside of you. His lips keep themselves busy with any skin he can reach, nipping and sucking, surely to leave marks.

The angle you’re sitting at starts to get uncomfortable and you have trouble keeping your knees pressed to your body, so you try to shift to a more comfortable position as discreetly as possible. However, your movement doesn’t go unnoticed. As your boyfriend starts to pull away, you claw at his wrist, “Kei, please!”

His face is almost in a scowl, but you can see the hint of softness in his eyes, “Baby, I don’t think you’re in a position to disobey me.” He holds up his hand, the webbing of your arousal glistening off his fingers, “But it’s obvious you don’t know how to follow orders.”

“Stand up” you scramble to push yourself off the counter, if not for Tsukishima being right in front of you would have face planted on the ground. He catches you by the elbow, helping you to stand up. His spins you around around so that your back meets his shoulders momentarily before the weight of his hand is on your neck and your upper body meets the bathroom counter.

The counter feels cool against your burning skin and you involuntarily clench at nothing in anticipation of what’s about to come next. Quickly removing his sweats, Tsukishima easily slips inside of you but stops as soon as your lower regions meet. You should have seen it coming and you’re about to complain but what you don’t expect is him leaning over to press butterfly kisses along your neck and shoulder blades.

His lips are barely touching your skin, but each kiss makes you shudder, and your boyfriend smiles against your skin, knowing he has you right where he wants you, “Lets just stay like this a little bit, hm?”

You let out a small whimper in response but it feels like time is standing still.  Starting to get frustrated, you clench around your boyfriend’s length, eliciting a low growl from him.

“I’m trying to be intimate with you yet you’re acting like such a needy slut.” The hand that was holding you down finds its place in your hair, forcefully tugging you back, your back hitting his chest with a thud; his other hand finding its place on your hip.

Your eyes meet your reflection; your hair is all over the place, and your cheeks are still stained from your tears from earlier in the day. Your neck and chest are littered with love bites that will probably last days.

Your gaze drifts back upwards to meet your boyfriend’s but this time there’s something dark in his eyes. You swallow the lump in your throat, your body starting to tense up.

“Love, I’m going to fuck you and you have to watch through the mirror, okay? If you look away, even for a second, I’ll stop.”

You nod the best you can while his hand still has a hold on your hair, “Y-yes sir.”

Hearing your confirmation, he finally starts to move his hips. His thrusts are slow but powerful, causing your face to twist in pleasure as you struggle to keep your eyes open. 

The hand on your hip moves to hook under one of your legs, bring it onto the counter, the new angle hitting deeper than before.  His pace starts to pick up and tears threaten to spill from your eyes. “K-kei, Too much.” But your pleas go in one ear and out the other.

“You’re such a greedy cry baby. You keep begging me to fuck you and now you’re telling me you can’t handle it?”

His fingertips brush along your leg before settling between your legs. Electricity jolts your body when he finds your clit, your heartbeat feels like it’s about to break your rib cage. If it weren’t for the fact that your body was trapped against the counter and Tsukishima you probably wouldn’t be able to stand up on your own.

“Did it feel like this when Kuroo was fucking you?”

You shake your head, your voice comes out strained from all the crying, “No- you feel better. S’good Kei.”

He presses your face against yours, kissing away your tears, “That’s funny, I could have sworn you said it was too much. Sure you don’t want me to stop?” 

One of your hands shoots up to the nape of Tsukishima’s neck, fingers gripping his hair as you try to anchor yourself, “No, please. More, want more.”

You make eye contact with your boyfriend in the mirror, and he shoots you a condescending grin, knowing he has you wrapped around your finger. His thrusts start to speed up in conjunction with his hand and in response, your body starts trembling uncontrollably.

"Be a good slut and cum for me, hm?”

You can barely find the strength to form a sentence, “Gonna-” but before you can finish talking you feel your climax wash over you. 

Tsukishima continues to thrust into you, letting you ride out your orgasm while chasing his own high. Your lower region is sore from all the stimulation, but you clench around him, causing him to bite down on your shoulder. You let out a small grunt in pain, but you choose to ignore it, focusing on helping your boyfriend.

Your insides feel warm as he releases into you, feeling every throb and pulse against your walls.

Your boyfriend’s body slumps on top of you, pushing you back down onto the bathroom counter, “Kei get off me, you’re heavy.”

“Shut up, I just did all the work. Let me rest for a second.” 

[tommyspeakycap]

nsfw alphabet - andy robertson

A - Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He's a sweaty cuddler after sex. He doesn't care that neither of you have cleaned up or that you're both hot, sweaty and sticking together. He couldn't care less. Andy loves to pull your naked body as close to him as you can get with his fingers drawing lazy patterns on your bare skin until you fall asleep comfortably in his arms.

B - Body part (their favourite body part of yours and of their own)

Of yours, has to be your boobs. He just loves them. Loves to knead them between his hands, rolling your nipples between his fingers to arch your back into off the bed so your body is flush against his. However, more innocently he loves your stomach. It's always so soft and warm and it harboured your little kiddies for nine months three different times. He loved to talk to it when they were in there and now whenever you get time to be together, he makes sure every single mark, scar, stretch of skin is kissed and named as beautiful as he truly knows you are.

C - Cum (anything to do with cum, basically…)

Ohhhh in you. He loves to cum in you. Got a bit of a breeding kink to be fair but we'll get into that later. To know you're full of him even when he pulls out of you or to think about you leaking him until he pushes his fingers up to stuff you full of him again is one of the greatest turns ons of his life. However, Andy would also argue there are few sights more fascinating than that of you on your knees in front of him, his cum dripping down your chin as you look up at him through your lashes.

D - Dirty Secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

He gets turned on when people call you Mrs Robertson or (y/n) Robertson or even Robbo's mrs. Anything like that just sends him fuzzy headed. You're his and only his. You have his name, you wear the rings that he gave you and he gets enthralled by calling you "Mrs Robertson" a million times a day and occasionally in bed. Get's him ready to go any time of the day to be honest. Also it’s not dirty, more fluffy and adorable but he gets really, really excited after you get married and he gets to refer to you as his wife. He loves to point you out and just be all awe struck with sparkly eyes as he proudly announces “That’s my wife.”

E - Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Not necisarrily experienced but he is very good with what he does know. You've been together so long that you've learned just about every nook and cranny of each other so no one is left un satisfied at the end of the time you get to spend together. He's learned your body like the back of his hand and even on a day where the sex is as vanilla as can be, you always finish it feeling very satisfied. Also, for some reason that man has absolutely mastered the art of using his fingers.

F - Favourite Position

I get the feeling Andy probably prefers plain old missionary. It's the easiest, risks the least injury possibilities and allows him to see every single reaction and movement of your face as he bottoms out of you before plunging back in balls deep. He loves watching your eyes roll back as his name dances off of your tongue.

However he does also love taking you standing up. He loves the feeling of your legs tight around his waist because your knees were too weak from him to hold you up anymore and despite the fact it is much harder work, it's always well worth it. This usually doesn't happen at home, it tends to be the hidden corridors and empty rooms of Anfield after matches that are subject to said against the wall sex.

And finally, possibly his favourite is also watching you sink down onto his length, eyes fluttering shut. You take the reigns and he just melts, turning to putty in your hands. He rests both large palm on your upper thighs, fingertips bruising the soft skin of your bum, but they usually wander to your boobs until he’s reaching his high, where on will return to your bum and the other will grab a fistful of the bedsheets in a white knuckle grip as hips buck instinctively until he shoots his load into you with a loud shout. He loves when you ride him whether that’s lying on the bed, sitting up on the couch where he has an angle for his thrusts or if it’s simply you, rubbing yourself against the material of his shorts until he tugs them from the way and allows you to coat his bare thigh in your juices. He loves to be ridden.

G - Goofy (are they more serious or humorous in the moment)

He's a goofy guy through and through. He actually strives to make you laugh during sex because its the most intimate way and space a person could ever make the person they love giggle. It's usually when he's going in hard, almost always afterwards anyway. He'll share or tell little jokes or one liners that make you giggle, a blush heating your cheeks because he's still literally balls deep inside of you and you're giggling away. He just adores everything about it and making you laugh during sex always feels like an extra accomplishment.

Although if he's frustrated or got a lot of pent up energy then no ones laughing. The only noises that can be heard as slapping skin and you on those occasions and no one is complaining.

H - Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes etc)

We've all seen that video from Jordan Henderson's insta story so we all know it appears as though he is completely clean shaven down there. He's not necessarily got a strict routine, he just maintains himself how he likes it as he pleases. It's his beard you think about. Andy likes to keep his faint beard and when between your thighs, it definitely makes all the difference.

I - Intimacy (how they are during the moment? are they romantic?)

He can be quite romantic depending on the occasion (birthdays, anniversaries, valentines etc) but romance is subjective. Some may like rose petals and candles, but you're happy with just Andy really. He can make things romantic sometimes and other times he's just Andy, making jokes and making you feel ridiculously good. Although he certainly can dress up nice, putting on suit, lighting some candles and dimming the lights kind of evening. Those are few and far between but you're certainly not complaining.

J - Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doens't do it a lot really. Maybe in the beginning of your relationship but almost never now. The time that he does want to get it on is always when you're there. Otherwise he's at training or with the kids or something like that. He's rarely not busy. When off travelling, Andy may opt to take things into his own hands purely for a release that he needs if he's feeling a bit wound up and missing you. There was one particular point however in your first pregnancy where you got all embarrassed one morning before admitting that the hormones raging around in you had conjured up a dream about Andy jacking off and you getting to watch, so occasionally he'll treat you with that in a nod to that little thing you love that has stuck around ever since.

K - Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Like I mentioned earlier, he has a bit of a breeding kind and further to that, he was absolutely always turned on for pretty much the whole of your pregnancy. He found himself doing a lot of jacking off then because you unsurprisingly weren't up for it most of the time that he was during the course of those nine months. But he was absolutely ravenous seeing you all swollen with his baby. He wanted to be all over you all the time. It just made him wild with desire.

He also has a hefty thing for winding you up in public. One time, at a players gala he fingered you under the table while everyone was eating and you had to sustain a conversation with Jordan Henderson, his wife and Jurgen Klopp. Andy just got so hard knowing what he was doing to you under the table and no one has any idea. It was marvellous; watching you fight everything back as he felt you clenching around his fingers, trying not to arch your back or buck your hips against him. You had a white knuckle grip on your silverware by the time your orgasm rippled through you and you had to pretend that you had chocked on your meal in order to cover up the small cry you let out.

To this day, Andy still whispers about it in your ear when you're in public and you're still waiting for a time to get one over on him for it.

L - Location (favourite places to do the deed)

He’s not really got a preference. Like i said earlier he really like to take you up against the wall, but he’s also partial to bending you over a counter or sinking you down onto him in the front seat of his car. He just is willing to take you anywhere really. Personally though one of his favourite is the shower. Your body can be all slippery, soapy and warm, reactive to his touch and despite the slight danger of possibly slipping, the heat of one of your legs hooked up around him, as he uses the stamina he’s gaining from being a professional athlete to pound himself into you as you yelp and shout out his name. The heat and steam just makes everything better.

M - Motivation (what turns them on/gets them going)

He is also insanely turned on by you in the mornings, groggy and messy haired with a sleepy smile and tired eyes. Watching you clamber out of bed ready to take on the day again with those little kids who laugh like you and yell instead of talk like Andy. You'll also usually emerge from bed wearing one of his old shirts or strips - like an old Hull City training shirt he hasn't worn in 5 years or a stupid cheap t-shirt he bought when he was 18 working in M&S that he thought he lost but actually had ended up being yours. You'll sit up on the bathroom sink while he showers, brushing your teeth ridiculously early just so you both get some time with each other before the little devils wake up. He'll stand between your legs, going in for a kiss that deepens until he's lining himself up with your entrance having pushed your very unflattering underwear to the side and you'll have to be as quiet and as quick as possible. He just loves every minute of living his life with you - even sneaky sex in the bathroom at not even six in the morning. He'll gladly take it.

N - NO (turns off, something/s they won’t do)

Andy is not at all interested in adding another person to the mix. He's surprisingly private as a person and he doesn't ever want your sex life to be something that comes out into the open to be talked about. There is always a risk with another person, plus he doesn't see either of you actually getting any pleasure out of it when sex is so good already. He probably will also never record or take pictures of the ac because he knows how easy it is for these things to end up in anyones hands. When he was younger, he used to. Andy had a really favourited picture of you on your knees in front of you with his hand in your hair as you look up at him after sucking him off. Cum and saliva were dripping down your chin and he still thinks about that long since deleted picture to this day. Andy is great at remembering things in his mind anyway, so he doesn't feel the need to create sex tapes that one day his kids might have to deal with when they're older if it ever breaks onto the news.

O - Oral (are they good? do they prefer giving or receiving?)

Honestly he prefers receiving but he definitely does not shy away from giving. Oh my god the beard burn he gives you is literally to die for, the perfect amount of friction he talks so much that his tongue is his lost exercised muscle so he is very, very good with it when it comes to going down on you. To be fair, it is one of those things that he wasn’t always very good at, but he has vastly improved and now it is something you will never ever turn down.

However, being sucked off by you is probably one of his favourite things ever. He literally cannot get enough of it, watching you get him off. God it’s unreal. Meanwhile he’ll have his head thrown back against the ball, hands on your hair muttering, “That’s it, pretty girl, fuck, perfect. Beautiful.” And you’re soaking wet waiting for him already.

P - Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

He’s usually going for fast and hard. It’s all sweaty bodies and rapid breaths, whimpering out his name as his skin slaps against yours. He can be very sensual but rarely ever slow. His pace lets him reach every inch of you, pushing into you in every way as your nails drag down his back with your ankles linked around his waist. The way his muscles ripple quickly and his body clashes with yours is hot and fiery and perfect. He loves it, you love it. Why bother doing anything else?

Q - Quickie (their opinion on quickies. do they prefer it? how often?)

Dear lord Andy loves a quickie. Slamming into you with his finger over your mouth, warning you to be quiet in a Hampden park back room? Bliss. Pure bliss. He could get off just thinking about it. Post-match quickies are very common and when you become parents, quickies are also necessary when short on time. He prefers to have all the time in the world to take on you, but he will never complain about having a quickie.

R - Risk (do they think to experiment? willing to take risks?)

Andy loves the risk. He loves to pump his fingers into you under tables or have his fingers wound in your hair as you suck him off in a fancy marble walled bathroom at a gala. The rush of potentially being caught always heightens the pleasure. When you were younger and he used to still live with his parents, he didn’t care for the thumping of his headboard against the wall as much as you did. He just loves that he can have you like putty in his hands wherever. It’s not about the people there, it’s about the fact he can drive you crazy and he is in full control and nobody even knows. Although, you too like to get your own back on him, shuffling around in his lap during movie nights so he has to stay glued to the couch the rest of the night because of the hard bugle in his jeans. He’s also into experimenting. Anything that could bring you more pleasure? Bring. It. On.

S - Stamina (how many rounds? how long do they last?)

Everybody says that Andy is one of the biggest grafters in the team in terms of his engine. He could run forever, so i don’t see him being at all different in the bedroom. He could genuinely probably go forever and he very, very much loves to do so. When you’re wildly overstimulated, muscles tight, skin shining with sweat as you pant and gasp for breath beneath him, he gets intoxicated by it. His eyes drink your in, flicking over your face and taking in every little bit of you. He commits it to memory every time, each better than before.

But yeah, Andy could go for hours and honestly he will. It’s a very special treat for you always. Plus, who doesn’t like a guy who can go hard and fast four three rounds and still be fully ready to go down on you afterwards?

T - Toys (do they own any? do they use any? if so, preference?)

He does own a few, all funny little things he bought to tease you with. Like little vibrators that he can press again your clit and stuff like that. He doesn’t use them often and many he got when he was injured and couldn’t have sex with you the way usually would it would want to.

U - Unfair (do they like to tease? if so how much/often)

Aaaaabsolutely. He’s a massive tease. Andy absolutely loves having you writhing and whimpering beneath him, begging to have him fully in you or to go faster, to just move. Loves it. Definitely a big fan of edging you so close until you’re hazy, incoherent and begging for an orgasm that’ll ripple through your whole body so every in a five mile radius will know his name. Whenever you’ve got the time and the freedom, he’s teasing you and sometimes it’ll start in the morning before he leaves for work and he won’t finish it till much later it the day, making for an even more intense orgasm.

V - Volume (are they loud? what sounds do they make?)

Not necessarily loud, but he is very very very into dirty talking right into your ear. His hot breath tickling at your neck between kisses, grazing his teeth against your sensitive skin, god it drives you crazy. He’ll hum against your clit about how wet and ready for him you are and tell you the whole time how beautiful and perfect you are. It’s both romantic and painfully attractive. Apart from that he’s mostly grunts and some groans of your name but the sound he makes when he cums is *chefs kiss*. It’s deep and guttural, coming straight from the base of his throat when his eyes screw shut and his mouth drops open. It’s unbearably hot.

W - Wild Card (random headcanon)

He low-key loves to be marked by you. Not even actively, just passively almost?? Like he doesn’t think about it at the time but afterwards when he’ll spot the scratches down his back when he passes the mirror or if the guys comment on it in the changing room, it makes him feel good. He’s glad everybody knows he belongs to someone in every way, from the most romantic and simply to the most intimate. And knowing you have the faint, painless bruises from his fingertips on your hips with little nipped in love bites around your breast makes him feel satisfied that he’s left you with a memory of the evening. Even just you wearing your wedding ring or looking down at his own on his hand proudly makes him silently happy and all fuzzy inside in a completely non-sexual way because you’re so happy to show off to the world that he’s yours and your his you both love each other so so much.

X - Xray (what’s doing on beneath the belt?)

Again, i’m sure we all seen that video on Jordan Henderson’s insta story the other week, so we all know he is fairly packing. He’s not got anything extravagant or jaw dropping, but it’s still moderately bigger than bang average. It’s honestly just more about what he does with it and how he reaches every but of you that’s the wow factor.

Y - Yearning (how high is their second drive?)

Pretty high, to be fair but nothing out of the ordinary. like it’s not overkill but it’s usually completely unscheduled. Some weeks you’ll want to jump his bones every single night and he’ll fuck you twice a day and other time they’ll be a week between it. Schedules can be awkward and after you get married and have kids it’s a lot harder for things to run to any kind of plan. At the moment, it’s more of an ‘if we have time let’s just fucking go for it’ kind of thing. Although his sex drive is always higher when you’re pregnant or if the team are having a winning streak.

Z - zzz (how quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?)

Both of you fall asleep pretty quickly after sex now to be honest. You’ll usually fall asleep first because he’s tells sweet, soft jokes while stroking your hair and drawing circles on your skin softly. It’s very soothing. And then once you’ve fallen asleep, fatigue usually finds him quite quickly, but he’ll get up out of bed and clean you up a little because he’s ever the gentlemen. Then he’ll climb into bed and fall asleep pretty much instantly once you’re wrapped back in his arms.

[parvuls]

fic: at certain times

word count: 12k

tags: year 2 canon-divergence, getting together, first kiss

summary: The Swallow's Samwell Awards issue of '15 crowns Jack and Bitty as Samwell's cutest couple. It is somewhat unfortunate, then, that they're not actually a couple at all.

read on ao3

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The kitchen smells like something burnt, a smoky tang that clings to the walls and floors, stings inside Bitty’s nose. April should smell like hot cross buns and zucchini bread, he thinks wistfully, but it turns out that some Aprils poor ovens are pushed to their last legs prematurely, leaving his kitchen smelling like Ransom forgot his frozen pizza in the microwave again.

Dex has been tending to Betsy on her deathbed all month, spending most of his free hours at the Haus. Bitty called him again after class, while he was standing in Superberry with Jack, and promised to pay for his services with froyo. Said froyo -- which Jack insisted on paying for, bless him -- is still on the table, untouched, yogurt melting over the rim of the paper cup and dripping onto the wood. Dex has been kneeling in the same strip of sunlight on the floor since he arrived with his toolbox. Bitty isn’t sure what exactly he’s been doing, but he seems to be too busy waving a screwdriver in the air and ranting to remember his abandoned bribe.

“So we finally got over the fucking Samwell Republican sticker thing,” Dex says, his face red and his brow furrowed. He’s been disgruntled all day because of an email he’d received, which he claims Nursey will never let him live down. "And Bitty, I know this is Massachusetts, okay? But I haven’t even actually voted yet! Fucking Swallow. How can I be Best Republican?"

Bitty hunches over in his chair, palms clasped together on his knees like a prayer. He’s anxiously following the motions of Dex’s screwdriver with his eyes while listening with only half an ear, deeply confused by the conversation subject. “The Swallow does pieces on politics? I can’t even imagine what an article like that’d look like, honestly.”

Dex grumbles quietly, shoving a hand under his backwards snapback to scratch at his hair. “No, it’s like -- their Samwell Awards thing? I don’t know, I just got an email about it this morning. I guess it’s like that 50 Most Beautiful shit they do.”

Bitty’s never heard of it, but then again, Bitty carefully sidesteps most articles of The Swallow whenever he comes across them. Those guys write about their team an uncomfortable amount for a university with almost ten thousand students. As long as Holster or Ransom aren’t reading it aloud at team breakfast, Bitty’s not eager to find out what The Swallow has to say.

He asks, though, because Dex seems to be upset about this and his frogs need to be handled with care. “Like in high school yearbooks?” Heather Barron was his class’ Best Laugh back home, and she made everyone who signed her yearbook tell her a joke so she could laugh for them.

“I guess,” Dex says distractedly. He bends down low to reach something close to the floor. “This girl from my Intro to CompSci class got the same email about it -- she won Best Dressed. I mean, who even judges these things? That’s a matter of taste.”

Dex wipes a dusty hand across his forehead and Bitty momentarily forgets to care about The Swallow in favor of looking on worriedly. Betsy is unplugged from the wall with her back side facing the room, surrounded by loose cables and scattered bolts. She looks old and frail. Bitty kind of feels like he’s watching an open-heart surgery occurring right in front of him.

“Can you save her?” Bitty presses a hand over his heart, dreading the reply. Dex wrinkles his forehead even further and doesn’t meet Bitty’s eyes.

It is then that their ordinary afternoon is interrupted by three emphatic knocks on the front door of the Haus.

"Did someone just knock on our door?" Shitty yells from somewhere down the hall. Bitty assumes he’s still curled up on the couch of sins in a t-shirt and flimsy underwear, mourning his grandparents’ affirmative RSVP response to graduation.

His tone sounds downright shocked at the sound, but that’s probably reasonable. Bitty’s been living in the Haus for over nine months now and he’s never once heard anyone knock on that door. It’s always unlocked, anyway; it’s actually nothing short of a miracle that they’ve never been burglarized. Not that there’d be anything to steal, of course, other than Holster’s collector's edition Simpsons DVD box set, or maybe one of Jack’s used jerseys to be sold to the highest bidder on ebay.

"Well, whaddaya know,” Ransom appears in the hallway outside the kitchen doorframe, likely summoned downstairs by the abnormal noise. His eyebrows are high on his forehead as he stares down the hall at the door. “It didn't collapse. I told you it’s sturdier than it looks."

Neither of the boys makes a move to actually open the door. There’s a second set of knocks, this one slightly louder than the first, and Bitty huffs as he gets off his chair. He casts one last hopeful look over his shoulder. Maybe, he wishes silently, Betsy has performance issues and would be magically fixed once she’s not under his constant scrutiny. Or maybe Dex does, and would magically fix her. “Y’all, when someone knocks on a door, they generally expect you to open it for them.”

He shoulder-checks Ransom on the way to yanking the door open, and is presented with some guy Bitty’s never seen before standing on their front steps. He’s wearing an atrociously ugly plaid vest and an awfully wide smile, which only grows wider when he sees that it’s Bitty who’s opening the door.

“Eric Bittle!”

“Yes?” Bitty agrees, eyebrows drawing together. He’s usually pretty good with faces, but he doesn’t think he’s seen this guy in any of his classes. Maybe a hockey fan. Still -- Bitty’s mother brought him up right, and he’s resolved to stick to his manners even if he now lives in a frat house. Someone with malicious intentions, he rationalizes to himself, wouldn't knock before entering. “Hi. Wouldya like to come in? I’m afraid our oven’s down, so I don’t have much to offer in terms of baked goods --”

“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary!” The man dismisses quickly, his smile not waning any; it’s hard not to eye it suspiciously. Absently, Bitty can make out the sound of feet shuffling, which presumably means the boys are crowding together behind him to peer curiously at the stranger on their doorstep. “I’m from The Swallow, I’m here to deliver a message for you. And Jack Zimmermann, but I’m sure you can pass it on. Our annual Samwell Awards issue is coming out early next month, as you know --”

“Sure,” Bitty confirms politely, although he’s never heard of the thing until about two minutes ago. There’s no sense in getting the man down.

“-- and we wanted your response on the win. We do that for the real popular categories. If you want to draft a short statement, you can reply to the email we sent you two --”

“I’m sorry,” Bitty cuts him off, maintaining a carefully polite tone. He hasn’t checked his email since the previous night, too preoccupied with avoiding his American Publics essay and fretting over Betsy. Somewhere behind him there are more heavy footsteps coming down the stairs and one of the boys whispers excitedly, Bitty won a Samwell Award!, though he’s not sure which. “What win? Who’s you two?”

“Oh,” the Swallow guy blinks, obviously taken aback. His smile doesn’t completely disappear but thankfully thins a little bit, at last stretching over less than two thirds of his face. He looks marginally less maniacal like this, Bitty thinks uncharitably. “You and Jack Zimmermann?”

There’s another shuffle of feet. Bitty turns his head to catch Jack pushing Shitty aside, coming to stand a step behind Bitty’s right shoulder. Bitty hasn’t seen him since they got back from Superberry and Jack headed upstairs to study, chirping Bitty for not doing the same all the while. He’s taken his thin fleece jacket off since, and the soft V-neck he’s had underneath clings to his biceps, to the shape of his pecs. His hair is messy, the smell of his aftershave hasn’t faded yet, and his palm rests lightly between Bitty’s shoulder blades to keep his balance in the narrow, crammed doorway. Bitty’s stomach jumps at the sight of him and he can feel a reflexive smile tugging at his lips. It’s an uncontrollable reaction to Jack’s presence, no matter how many times Bitty’s seen him that day. Good gracious, but it’s plumb pathetic.

Jack is oblivious to Bitty’s eyes on him, too busy frowning at the Swallow guy from above Bitty’s head. “What is this about?”

The guy’s expression is clearly confused, despite the upturned mouth in his creasing face. His eyes survey the huddled group in front of him searchingly, as if waiting for them to catch up. When no one adds anything his smile drops entirely and he says: “You guys won Cutest Couple!”

Time seems to slow down while Bitty’s mind stomps on an emergency break and short-circuits completely. He knows things are happening in the backdrop, can hear someone behind him, probably Holster, choking really loudly on their spit, but none of it truly registers.

The Swallow guy is frowning now, looking completely baffled as to why they’re not enthused at the news. “Seriously, did you not get the email?”

“We. What?” is the only thing Bitty manages weakly. Whatever smile was on his face is thoroughly wiped off now. His heartbeat begins pounding in his ears, drowning out any further background noise under its heavy thrumming. From the brief glance he braves, Jack is not coping much better. His mouth is opening and closing silently.

"Yeah!” The guy recovers, apparently blind to the catastrophe he’s inadvertently causing. “I mean, I’ll be honest, some of the staff was like, ‘enough with the fucking hockey team’, and Khalil and Sara who did that awesome Halloween costume, they came really close -- but I was totally on your side. Anyway, the draft should be in your inboxes. We’d like to have your response in the next couple of days so we can start running it. The more romantic and gooey the better, of course. Thank you!"

He smiles and then skips down the stairs before Bitty’s brain fully catches up with what has just occurred on his front porch. He can barely grasp at tail ends of thoughts before they slip away from him, disappearing in a cloudy daze of absolute horror. His pulse is still racing and his fingers, wrapped around the door handle, are trembling.

Behind him, Ransom makes a slow wheezy sound and then descends into hysterical laughter. Bitty’s feeling rather hysterical himself, actually, but he’s not in the mood for laughing at all.

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“Can’t believe it’s another year we didn’t win Best Party,” Holster mopes back in the kitchen, sprawled out spread-legged in a chair with his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s because of Alpha Sigma Phi and their fucking tropical Christmas party, I know it, Rans, I can feel it in my booze bones. Like, okay, they served drinks in real coconuts while bare-ass naked in twenty degrees, so what."

Ransom reaches out to give him a consolatory clap on the back. "We've always got next year, bro. Our names will appear on the holy Swallow pages, I promise."

“You’re right,” Holster sighs rather dramatically, sagging down a few extra inches in the chair. “We mustn’t despair. I’ve already bookmarked some ideas -- think we can keep live parrots in the Haus? Only for a few hours!”

“What I would like to know,” Shitty muses, stroking his mustache between two fingers while looking from Jack to Bitty’s flaming face and back again, “is who the fuck is their source. I mean, no offence, Bits, but if anybody is going to be Jackie’s fake-ass boytoy I call double fucking dibs and I’m willing to fight you on it.” He then considers it for a split second longer and says, “Or negotiate with food, honestly, I’m amendable.”

“Cooking is a touchy subject right now,” Dex mumbles from his perch by the counter, away from the cluster of boys that’s spread out at the table.

Dex looks like Bitty feels, actually: like he’s seriously regretting being present in this instance, and is looking for any excuse to make a quick escape. Or -- maybe only partially how Bitty feels, anyway. There’s another whole side of Bitty that’s feeling like there’s a vacuum in his chest, a ringing in his ears, a voice in his mind whispering, they know, they all know, Jack knows and he hates you for it.

Bitty has been studiously avoiding Jack’s face since they all withdrew from the door. He’s convinced that his feelings are written all over his face, pining daydreams altering his features and sappy midnight fantasies painting his cheeks bright red. He’s sure that one look in his eyes would give away every guilty thought he’s had since November, so he determinedly keeps his head down. Only, then Jack clears his throat and Bitty can’t help but spring his eyes up to look at him -- like a moth drawn to the flame that’d inevitably scorch it.

"Well, whatever is the misunderstanding, obviously they can't actually run that, Bittle. I mean, because. Hockey, and." His eyebrows do something complicated that Bitty cannot bring himself to study too closely.

The words hit like a two-hundred pound flour bag dropped on Bitty’s chest, weighing him down into the floor. Bitty tries to swallow, fails, tries again. His throat still grates like it’s made of raw sandpaper when he speaks.

"Right, no, of course," there’s this horrible sinking in his gut, a phantom sensation of freefalling that tastes like acid when it reaches the back of his tongue. "Of course, Jack. I know that. The last thing you need right now is --" he finally swallows past the lump in his throat, drops his eyes to watch his toes curl inside his shoes and dent the fabric upwards. “-- rumors about the gay kid on your team.”

Shitty says, “Bitty,” with a sharp edge in his tone, and when Bitty looks up Jack looks like he’s been struck.

"Hold on, Bittle, that's --"

“It’s okay, Jack!” Bitty makes a valiant effort to smile reassuringly. His chest is growing tighter and tighter, and he really can’t handle hearing Jack’s explanation right now. He feels like he’s shaking all over, like more and more words are being rattled out of his mouth without his permission. “I mean, it’s utterly ridiculous, but that’s The Swallow for you, I ‘spose. We’ll tell them it’s nonsense before anyone in the league catches wind of it. I’m sorry I even put your career at risk like that, honestly.”

“Bittle,” Jack says again, more firmly. He looks almost angry.

Holster’s stunned look is flickering between the two of them, and Bitty can feel the humiliation crawling up the back of his neck. He thinks that if he stays sitting in the kitchen any longer the boys might actually hear the splintering sounds his heart is making in his chest. Or he might start crying, whichever comes first.

“Don’t worry about it, really,” Bitty forces himself out of his chair, squeezes Jack’s elbow in passing for good measure, even though bringing his hands anywhere near Jack feels like torture. He doesn’t want Jack to feel guilty about this -- it’s not his fault. “It’s fine. I gotta go, I’m meeting Prof. Atley, but we’ll talk about it later, okay?”

He bolts out of the kitchen and rushes down the hall. The last thing he hears is Ransom saying, “Dude, I’m pretty sure his meeting with her was like, four hours ago,” before the Haus door slams shut behind him.

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The worst part is, Bitty knows Jack is straight.

Jack dates 50 Most girls from the tennis team, he takes ladies in tall heels to Screw, he brings puck bunnies to his room during kegsters. Or -- that turned out, actually, to be not all that true after all -- but.

Jack is straight. Bitty knew this all along. Bitty knew this and still let his foolish, stubborn heart say, maybe. Bitty saw Jack laughing at his weak chirps, and looking at him sometimes when Bitty was turned away, and there was that party, with Parse, and Bitty’s blood was rushing in his ears and he tried so hard not to listen, but they almost looked like they -- and Bitty thought, maybe --

But Jack wasn’t. Of course not. And Bitty knows it’s so unfair and so unjustified that he’s allowing himself to be mad about Jack’s words. Because these boys accept Bitty for who he is, have never shied away from him, have always been comfortable with his presence in their lives and their house and their locker room, and that’s not something to be taken for granted. It’s not their fault that they’re straight and that’s easier, not their fault that Jack’s straight and Bitty can’t bring himself to let go. Besides, something like this, it could wreck Jack's career even if it were true, and it isn't, so of course Jack would want it gone. It's not personal, Bitty knows. He has no reason to be so hurt.

Except maybe it stings a little, how untrue it really is. Maybe it burns a little inside to know that other people see what he sees, what he wishes were true, and still know that he can never have that for real. And maybe it hurts, that Jack can so easily make the article go away and never deal with those rumors again, because it's simply not true about him, but it will always be true about Bitty. Maybe he’s tired of how he will always have to fight for his place while people like Jack Zimmermann can walk right in.

Maybe.

But none of it is Jack's fault. Because Jack is straight, and Bitty isn’t, and he’s gone and fallen in love with him anyway.

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Breakfast with only Lardo and Jack is a quiet affair the next morning. Habit has them settled down at the team’s usual long table, but they take up significantly less space just the three of them. Bitty is surprised by the two empty seats remaining to each side of them despite the crowded dining hall, but considers that maybe the Samwell population knows whose seats are available and aren't willing to risk it.

Lardo is chewing her toast silently by Bitty's side, oversized hoodie draped over most of her face. Jack is sitting across from them, peeling the shells off a pile of hard-boiled eggs. His body is curved in a stiff line over his plate and his elbows are tucked in close to his sides. He keeps sneaking glances at Bitty every few minutes, looking torn; Bitty busies himself with spooning exactly three banana slices in every dip into his oatmeal bowl, keeps hurriedly shoving them into his mouth every time Jack looks like maybe he’s going to actually say something.

Bitty spent the majority of the previous night hiding out in a quiet corner of Norris library, binging episodes of The Great British Bake Off on his phone. When he ultimately found the courage to come back to the Haus, he power-walked straight into his room and didn’t venture out for anything more than brushing his teeth. The walls in the Haus are thin, however, and he could still hear Jack in his own room through the closed doors, speaking on the phone with his father in brisk French. They didn't exactly sound angry, but Bitty had unintentionally overheard enough of Jack’s phone conversations to recognize Jack’s business tone easily.

Jack’s lawyer had sent The Swallow a sternly phrased email first thing that morning -- for formality, Jack informed Bitty when the two of them left the Haus for breakfast with Lardo. His hands were tucked deep in his pockets and his eyes were hidden beneath the bill of his Habs cap. He kept his body angled away from Bitty, maintaining a careful six feet between them, and Bitty’s whole body ached like he’d spent the night playing consecutive shifts instead of tossing and turning in his bed. It was the only time they’ve acknowledged the Swallow article since the previous afternoon. Bitty changed the subject immediately after, and prattled meaninglessly the whole way to Commons.

The three of them separate after breakfast, Lardo heading for the studio and Jack and Bitty for their respective classes. Bitty spends most of his spare noon hours trying to do work in the kitchen, but he steals longing glimpses at Betsy more often than he does the reading for US Intellectual HIST or the darn American Publics essay he still hasn’t started.

This day needs an assist, he justifies when he eventually deserts his open notes on the table in favor of hunting down a clean towel. Polishing dishes is a more effective way to escape his blues. Maybe he’ll make some jam -- that doesn’t require a working oven, and it’d be a longer-term distraction from the mess he’s landed in.

Jack’s lawyer's actions in mind, the knock on the Haus door doesn’t really surprise Bitty. He can’t help the way his body tenses at the sound, though; the blood rushing through his body is too much like the terrible lightheadedness he experiences when checked.

Jack comes down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and grinds to a halt when he sees Bitty leaning against the wall at the entrance to the kitchen and staring at the door.

“It’s probably the Swallow rep,” Jack states the obvious, voice completely monotonous and face blank.

Bitty's gut lurches. He tries his very best, but he’s certain that his smile looks even more put-on than it was the day before.

“We should probably go get it, then,” he says. He keeps his hands wrapped in the dish towel as they move to open the door, to have something to do with them and to cover up the way they’re shaking.

The guy standing on the bottom of their stairs is the same one from yesterday. His loose printed shirt is somehow even uglier than the plaid vest, but this time no smile is taking up the majority of his face. In fact, he isn’t smiling at all; he kind of looks like he’s been sent to the gallows and couldn't beg out of his sentence.

“We've been informed that a mistake was made,” the guy says promptly, glancing between the two of them. Everything about his face and his body language appears cautious.

“Yes,” Jack confirms firmly. The guy blinks in sync with Bitty, both of them waiting to see if Jack has any intention to follow that statement with an explanation, but none seems imminent.

“We understand that it’s an honest mistake and we just want it scrapped," Bitty says instead, trying to keep his voice from betraying any emotion, even when his vocal cords are wound tight. "We can't be the cutest couple if we're not -- if we're not."

“You talked to your lawyer,” the guy says faintly. Bitty's not sure that he actually heard a word of what was said. He keeps eyeing Jack’s rigid posture and bulging muscles like he’s afraid that he’s going to be dragged into a fist fight right there on the lawn.

“It’s a legal matter,” Jack replies curtly, frowning.

“No one ever sent his lawyer after us,” the guy says, fainter still. “It’s just The Swallow, man.”

Jack's frown deepens. He’s wearing his hockey face, mouth pinched and eye narrowed, every angle of his face turning sharper. He looks serious, assertive, like he’s getting ready to step out on the ice for the puck drop. Bitty’s heart hurts so badly looking at him that he has to turn away. His eyes, mid-movement, catch on three faces eavesdropping from behind the living room’s doorway. He just barely suppresses a heavy sigh.

"-- you’d be spreading misinformation with unwelcome consequences,” Jack is talking, apparently, and Bitty tuned out most of it. “So you understand why we need you to retract that immediately and delete all further copies."

"Yes," the guy nods tentatively, eyes jerking in Bitty’s direction and then immediately back to Jack. "I'm -- sorry? We really thought you were --"

"Well we ain't," Bitty says, wringing the towel in his hands to hinder an uncommon urge to break something with them.

"Yes, I -- I understand," the guy seems as spooked by Bitty now, contemplating him and the towel as warily as he did Jack. "But we --"

"And I've got a date!" Bitty blurts, before he can hold his tongue from making his situation worse. Shitty whispers, the fuck, brah?, loud enough to carry all the way to the front door. "A date! With. Someone else, obviously, who is very much not Jack Zimmermann, so if you could -- make it go away -- good heavens this could be embarrassing for my date --"

"Of course,” the guy is nodding more vigorously now, head bouncing much like a dashboard bobblehead. He takes a cautious step back. “We're, uh, sorry. We’ll take care of it."

The guy retreats from the porch, glancing back every few steps as he hastens down the sidewalk.

Jack shuts the door behind them when they step back inside, and has to move closer to Bitty to allow the door to close. It brings his arm flush with Bitty’s back, solid and warm through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Bitty’s breath catches. His look flits sideways to watch Jack’s face twist into something Bitty hasn’t seen since the playoffs last year. He really felt like Jack and him were getting steadily closer throughout the year, considers Jack one of his closest friends, but he doesn’t think he’s imagining the distance between them in the last twenty-four hours. It’s more painful than the verbal confirmation that Jack will never like him back was. It’s painful that Bitty’s been shoving his feelings so far down to avoid this very outcome, only to have it blow up in his face through no fault of his own.

"What's that now!” Holster’s booming voice snaps Bitty out of his brooding, and he jerks his eyes up to see that Ransom, Shitty and Holster have crawled out of their eavesdropping spot and are blocking the hallway. “You've got a what and didn't tell us!"

“It’s not a big deal, y’all,” Bitty mumbles, mortified at how much he’s really not lying at all. He slinks away from Jack’s touch, tries to at least be subtle about it. Jack's expression is shuttering further with every moment that passes and Bitty is feeling irrationally miserable about it.

“Is too, Bits!” Ransom claps him on the shoulder excitedly, shaking his entire frame. "You know you gotta tell us all about it, we get veto rights! Is he hot? What's his name? Is he going to be your shoulders for Spring C?"

Bitty’s lousy day has only been getting progressively worse, which he thinks validates the way he bristles and knocks Ransom's hand off his shoulder. "I am average height, Justin Oluransi!"

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So it's not -- really a date.

Anthony from his Eating Practices Since the 19th Century course, who sits two seats away from Bitty and always forgets to bring a pen, caught up with him after class and offered to study together. Bitty’s doing alright in that course, but Anthony is smart and friendly and it’s a good incentive to actually get some work done before finals, so Bitty smiled and said yes. He didn’t think a few days later he’d be lying about it to his friends.

They meet outside Annie’s because Anthony preferred it to Founder’s, which Bitty didn’t mind. He was a little embarrassed about how the librarians might react to the sight of his face. They, unlike some others, don’t have a problem believing he’s a member of the Men’s Hockey Team, and the treatment earned by his teammates’ behavior extends to him.

Ransom wouldn’t let him leave the Haus until his outfit has been appraised, which means he’s maybe a little overdressed for a platonic study date -- but Anthony is in nice jeans and wearing neither a team logo shirt nor a marijuana crop top, so he’s already setting the bar higher than Bitty’s usual company.

"After you," Anthony beams, opening the door for Bitty. It’s awfully nice of him. Maybe Bitty should consider running cotillion classes for his boys before graduation.

It’s easier to revert to his sunny nature in the company of someone new. Anthony keeps up chatter about the last subjects they covered in class, relates to Bitty’s chronic procrastination tendencies, and even insists on paying for both of their drinks. Bitty tries to refuse, instantly dejected by the stark reminder of coffee runs with Jack, but Anthony argues that they’d probably refill several times and Bitty can get the next one. His winning smile is so convincing that Bitty can’t find it in himself to say no.

It happens again when Bitty begins leading them to a larger table in the middle of the café where they’ll have more room to spread out. Anthony points at a table by the windows instead, says, “There, it’ll be quieter,” and Bitty instinctively thinks, those are the windows Jack and I always sit by. He then thinks, good Lord, ERB, get a hold of yourself, and agrees. There’s not much point in attending a study date if he’ll be constantly thinking about Jack Zimmermann.

They spread out all their notes and laptops and books, settling on both sides of the small, round table. Anthony drinks his coffee extra hot and the steam fogs up his glasses, which causes Bitty to laugh and Anthony to grin sheepishly. It sets a good mood for their joint studying.

They work decently well together. Anthony's been more diligent with his schoolwork but Bitty is a faster reader than him, so they catch up with each other fairly quickly and proceed from there. Bitty finds it fun, partnering with someone who doesn’t consider violent food breaks an essential part of studying, and enjoys having somebody to complain about the professor with. The two of them are just starting on technological advances at the end of the century when Bitty’s shoulders fully loosen for the first time in three days and he thinks: this is going well, this is nice, maybe we can do this more often.

This is also the exact point he looks up to tell Anthony about Louis Pasteur and catches Holster and Ransom spying on him from outside Annie’s front window.

His knee-jerk response is uncontainable: he groans out loud. Anthony seems alarmed, twisting in his chair to look over his shoulder and detect what Bitty’s glaring at. Ransom, who clearly knows they’ve been caught, looks directly at Anthony with a deliberately threatening face, pointing two fingers at his eyes, then at Anthony, and back at his eyes.

Anthony makes a confused face into his mug and says, "Um."

"Gosh, I am so sorry," Bitty drops his face into his palms, trying to smother the waves of heat rushing to his cheeks. "It's my teammates -- they have no boundaries and they -- gracious, they think this is a date --"

Anthony swallows a mouthful of coffee too quickly before he sets his mug on the table. "Oh, uh. Do you… not think this is a date?"

Bitty lets his hands fall into his lap. His eyes dart to where Holster and Ransom are waving their thumbs up in the air as they mercifully walk away from the window and then back to Anthony, whose face is unmoving. "...What?"

The top of Anthony's cheeks pink, and he adjusts the glasses on his nose with a knuckle. "I... totally asked you meaning this to be a date."

"Oh," Bitty exhales numbly. Oh, butter my butt and call me a biscuit, he thinks, and then opens his mouth to say something to Anthony -- anything at all, because the poor boy is starting to squirm in his chair -- but all his words seem to get stubbornly stuck behind his teeth.

Because Anthony is perfectly nice. He’s mild-mannered, has a pleasant smile, and he's made Bitty laugh in class a few times when the professor wasn't looking. He's sitting across from Bitty with his hands twitching on top of the table, like Bitty's answer on the matter of their date is important to him. Like he would actually really like it to be one, so he found the courage to ask.

"Oh boy, I really didn't realize," Bitty confesses, finally, clutching his coffee tightly between his fingers. He's never thought he'd be this bad at this, but apparently he's just completely and entirely blind to anyone's affections as long as anyone isn't Jack Zimmermann. And now he made this difficult for both Anthony and himself.

"That's okay," Anthony says, clearing his throat. His lips quirk up in some intimation of a smile, which is, while still very pleasant to look at, much less genuine than his usual smile. "No, really, it's cool. My fault for not being clearer. We can -- I can go and order a refill for this coffee, and when I'm back we'll forget about it? We still have work left to do." He drags his legs out from beneath the table, turning sideways in his seat, before he risks another look at Bitty. "Unless you --? I mean, now that you -- realize -- would you want it to be…?"

The answer to that, Bitty thinks regretfully, is too complex for an acquaintance. Because how does one say, you're very nice and I imagine liking you could be very easy, but I've never dated in my life and right as I thought maybe I'd give it a try, I went and fell head over heels for a grumpy, kind-hearted, heterosexual Canadian?

One doesn't, Bitty reckons, but one also cannot keep waiting forever for something that will never, ever come. So he straightens his back and says, with his best Georgia smile, "Well, how about we carry on studyin’, and maybe we'll see how things go?"

It's a little more strained after that, but that's more Bitty's fault than anything. Anthony is still as perfectly polite as he was before, as focused on the reading. It's just that now every time Anthony smiles at him Bitty freezes, and then feels guilty for freezing, and gets mad at himself for not giving this a fighting chance, and by then he's not smiling back for so long that Anthony's smile shrinks, and Bitty feels even guiltier --

"Look," Anthony tells him after they packed everything back into their bags and walked companionably outside. "This hasn't been ideal, but I still had a good time. I'd like to maybe -- do it again?" Anthony smiles genuinely this time, and his smile is so pleasant, and he tilts his head the slightest bit closer to say, "As an official date this time?", and --

This is the second time Bitty freaks out about a very nice boy leaning in to possibly kiss him at Annie's, and it's exactly as mortifying as the first.

Bitty jumps back painfully obviously, as startled himself by his physical reaction as Anthony clearly is. He's blushing fiercely when he stammers, "Oh -- I -- I don't think it'll work out, I'm so -- I'm so sorry --" turns around, almost breaking into a run, and calls out, "I'll bake you a pie!"

The corners of Bitty’s eyes begin to burn, indicating the impending shameful tears. He’s terribly upset with himself for his reaction, but he’d be even more upset if he allowed himself to cry over it, so he makes the effort to blink furiously the entire way home.

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.

.

The team gathers to eat dinner together that night. Bitty’s still a little vulnerable in the aftermath of his failed study date, but he does his best to hide it, pushing himself to be cheerful and revel in quality time with his boys. It’s easier when Ransom spends most of the walk to the dining hall engaging him in a conversation about wild alien conspiracies. It’s harder when Shitty and Holster join forces to cajole him into giving deets, and don’t take his, “Oh good Lord, there’s nothing to talk about!” as an acceptable answer. Telling them the truth is not an option -- they’re his best friends, but they would absolutely, no question about it, chirp him to death, and he’s really not in the right mood to take it good-naturedly.

Bitty’s surprised when it’s Jack who eventually tells them to knock it off, shoving Holster’s shoulder to force his way into sitting between him and Bitty at the table. Holster topples sideways into Nursey, and Jack seizes the vacated space and grants Bitty a miniature triumphant smile.

Jack’s dour mood had persisted through yesterday and during their walk over, but Bitty’s been watching him gradually thaw ever since they arrived at Commons; this smile is the first true, earnest one in days, and it melts Bitty on the inside. He’s immensely relieved that at least their friendship isn’t ruined, that the past few days have only been an unfortunate bump in an otherwise smooth road. Bitty tries to cling on to that, use it to move forward from the raincloud lingering over him since his afternoon with Anthony.

A baby-faced freshman approaches their table while Chowder is telling them about a text conversation with his sister. Bitty has his phone out before anyone else even reacts -- the nervous look in the kid’s face is enough warning, and he’s not disappointed; the kid zeroes in on Jack and asks for a signature on his Samwell jersey. There is absolute silence at the table while Jack surrenders to his inescapable fate and pulls out a pen. He then ducks his head and hangs on to that pen once the kid is out of earshot and the boys begin chirping him ruthlessly, yelling loudly enough to rattle the cutlery.

Bitty’s hiccupping laughter comes as a surprise to himself, but it’s the welcome sort. He directs his smile at his phone while he tweets -- true friends don't care that you're a professional hockey player; true friends ask you to sign their mashed potatoes during dinner -- and when he raises his head Jack is peeking at his screen and grinning at him.

“Not a professional player yet, eh? You can’t go lying to the Twitter.”

Jack is so obviously pleased with himself, white teeth gleaming in his mischievous grin. Bitty's heart soars and then swiftly sinks to the bottom of his stomach. He tries to hang on to the gratitude for what he has, but something in Jack’s voice triggers the memory of it stating, obviously they can't actually run that, and then, consecutively, the memory of Anthony's dumbfounded look when Bitty fled away from him.

Not even Jack's benign chirps or his concerned glances can restore Bitty's uplifted mood after that.

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Can’t make it to Founder’s tonight. Sorry! :( :( Raincheck?

The reading room is quieter than the rest of the Haus at night. It's dark out, gray shingles lit only by the lamp inside Bitty's bedroom and the faint glow of the streetlights down the road. Bitty lets his legs dangle from the edge of the roof, cradling a can of Twisted Tea and watching his shoes swing twelve feet above the shadowy green of the lawn.

There's the sound of a creaky window sash sliding up behind him. “Hey, Bittle.”

Bitty turns around. Jack is sitting on the ledge of his windowsill, holding a folded blanket in his lap. It takes a few seconds to blink away the disorientation caused by rumination and beer. “Jack! What’re you doing?”

Jack shrugs. “You said you’re not coming with me to Founder’s, and then you didn’t answer your phone. I wanted to check in.” He holds out the blanket with a modest smile. “Here -- so you won't get cold. Spring is pretty rough on you Southerners, eh?”

Bitty snorts inelegantly at the chirp, but stretches his arm to accept the blanket. He twists back to watch the twinkling Christmas lights on the LAX frat house across the road. They never take those down, and never add any new ones during the holidays. It’s as good a reason as any to hate the lacrosse team.

Jack clears his throat, an obtrusive sound in the relative silence. “Can I -- do you want me to stay? I mean, I can leave if you need some quiet.”

Bitty looks at him from over his shoulder, chin digging into his collarbone. Jack’s face is gentler than Bitty’s seen it in a while, mellowed out by the orange tint of the streetlights, and it’s so unfair. Even when Bitty’s upset about Jack he wants Jack near him, wants to hear Jack’s opinion, wants his straightforward, pragmatic type of advice. He wonders what Jack’s face would look like if Bitty was brave enough to tell him the truth about what’s bothering him. A sardonic laugh almost escapes him at that visual.

“No, you can stay,” Bitty says instead, and then makes a herculean effort to brighten up. “As long as you promise not to prattle on, you chatterbox, you know I like silences.”

The chirp falls flat when Bitty’s cheery façade cracks. Jack swings both legs out the window and slides down to sit by Bitty while Bitty takes another swig out of the can. There’s a lot of space on the roof, two empty lawn chairs on Bitty’s end, but Jack sits right next to him. Bitty’s shoulder knocks into Jack’s bicep and Jack’s thick thigh brushes against his, but Jack doesn’t take any action to inch away.

Bitty collects his knees close to his chest, leans his chin on top of them and continues watching the span of street visible from their roof. Beneath their feet, some couple probably returning from the bars by the river stumble together on the sidewalk, the echo of their giggles drifting up to the reading room. Bitty can’t quite cover his grimace in time to hide it from Jack.

"You're upset," Jack jabs Bitty’s elbow with his own, brow furrowing.

"No!" Bitty objects quickly, hoping his voice is only a lick squeaky. He's not drunk by any means, but the Twisted Tea makes everything a bit fuzzy, softens the world at its fringes. "I'm not upset. It's -- finals are coming up in two weeks, and I've got this essay I haven’t started, and -- you know, Betsy hasn’t been well and what am I gonna do, if I can’t bake to distract myself before the tests --"

"Bittle," Jack cuts him off quietly. Bitty lifts his head off his knees just enough to enable a quick glance; Jack is looking at him, those intense eyes trained on Bitty’s face, making his cheeks flush self-consciously. Jack’s expression is his distinct blend of uncomfortable but determined. "You're upset. Are you -- is it -- your date was this afternoon…?"

Bitty’s blush deepens, and he lays his cheek down to avoid eye contact. "So?"

"So," Jack begins, clumsily, and then shifts his arm so it nudges Bitty’s, fingers curled loosely into his palm. "Did he -- I mean."

It takes Bitty a moment to decipher Jack’s faltering sentence, but -- "Gosh, no," Bitty denies with profound embarrassment once he follows Jack's train of thought. Jack, unable to shake off the role of captain, is assuming some boy hurt him. Bitty doesn’t know how to tell him that he couldn't even get through the date to get hurt how normal people do. "He was a gentleman. If anything, it was me who was on my worst behavior."

Jack doesn’t look convinced. He bumps the back of his curled fingers against Bitty’s thigh. "But you're upset."

Bitty loosens his grip on his knees, keeps the hand not holding the can busy by fiddling with the hem of Jack’s blanket. Jack is both the last and the only person he wants to talk to about this. Bitty’s original plan was to get tipsy enough to fall asleep without thinking his emotions through, and then spend the next day compartmentalizing it away -- but Jack’s presence brings everything to the forefront of his mind, plucks at the tangle in his chest until it unravels.

"Well, because --” he sighs, and the expansion of his lungs must fracture some dam, because the words begin spilling out in long strings of nonsense. “I just -- I came here from Georgia because I thought it’d be different, y’know? I couldn't fit in there, and I know -- you said yourself -- I know it’s not any different here, not really, not in hockey, but outside of hockey it’s Samwell, so at least I could be me, right? But apparently I can't even be that, because I can't manage a simple thing like a date with a cute boy," he stops to take a deep breath, buries his face in the nook between his knees. "And, goodness, I can't believe I'm -- none of this is on you, I'm sorry --"

"Bittle," Jack touches his knee, inches away from his cheek, causing Bitty to look up. Jack doesn’t move his fingers from Bitty’s bare leg after Bitty lifts his head. "Don’t be sorry. It's okay."

Bitty searches Jack’s face. He doesn’t know how to read it, what the tiny microexpressions currently mean, but Jack’s fingers are splayed in the valleys of his joints and there’s something grounding in it. He takes another big breath in an attempt to calm himself down.

"I guess," Bitty whispers, but the turmoil in his chest doesn’t settle, not after he started letting it all out. He can almost picture it surging in him, clawing its way up to his mouth. "But -- is it? Okay? I'm just." He runs a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself, both for feeling so much and for being unable to articulate feelings with the proper words. "I feel like I can't just be me. Because who I am isn't good enough at home, and isn't good enough for hockey, and who I am likes boys but apparently I'm no good at liking them right, or -- the right ones --"

He restrains himself from saying anything incriminating, biting his lip hard enough to taste the metallic flavor of blood.

"You are good enough for hockey," Jack says, stilted. His hand tightens on Bitty’s knee and belatedly pulls away. "You're a strong player, and you did a great job this season. I know we lost, but you still did good. You'll be even better next year."

Bitty exhales sharply, rubs his eyes. He knows Jack; he knows he chose to latch onto hockey because that's something he’s capable of expressing. Telling Bitty he's a good player is something Jack can find words for. Bitty didn’t expect Jack to be the right person to talk through an identity crisis, but it’d be an easier evasion to accept if he wasn’t wrong.

"Jack, no offense, but that's a load of horseshit." Jack is clearly caught off guard, seems to be gearing himself up for retaliation, but Bitty talks right over him. "It is! It is, because I might do alright now -- here -- but if I wanted to go into real hockey, into the league, you think they'd be alright with who I am? You've heard what some guys’ve got to say on the ice, and this isn’t even professional hockey."

"You want to play professionally?" The familiar glint in Jack’s eyes indicates that he’s losing track of the grand scheme of the conversation.

"No! But that's not the point!" Bitty swallows, because it isn't, but getting to the point might as well be impossible with Jack. He can't exactly tell him that he's heartbroken and disappointed in himself and everything looks more bleak from this perspective. He's no better than Jack right now; they’re both afraid to dip their toes into the murky waters of everything Bitty said that isn’t about the game. "I couldn't if I wanted to because of who I am."

"You could," Jack says, looking away, his shoulders tight. The conviction in his voice gets Bitty's attention. Jack really isn’t the most emotive of guys, and it takes a lot to get his voice to change pitch. "The league isn't a very welcoming place, but it's hockey. The whole point is hockey. And if you're good at hockey, they'll just have to accept that -- at some point. It might be hard, but if hockey is what you want, then --" he looks up, catches Bitty's eyes. Jack’s are unfocused, like somehow he forgot Bitty was even there. "I mean -- you said it isn't, but if it was -- all I'm saying is --"

"Sure," Bitty brings the can up to his mouth for another swig, skeptical even in the face of Jack’s unanticipated speech. "I get it. You can play, and all."

"Yes,” Jack insists, turning his upper body towards Bitty. Their knees press together and Jack’s face is suddenly a lot closer than it was before. Bitty has to blink a few times until he can get his pulse under control. “You can. Because you are good enough, Bittle."

They stare at each other, time stretching between them, caught up in the unforeseen gravity of the situation. Bitty can’t really wrap his head around hearing Jack defending him with such vigor, but he knows there’s nothing he can say to argue. That’s Jack’s opinion. He’s never been guilty of handing out compliments he doesn’t believe in.

"Thanks, Jack." Bitty whispers. "'m sorry. It's been a rough day. Sometimes --” He sighs again, bows his head, and musters the last shreds of his courage to be at least a little honest. “I guess sometimes it can get lonely. And it sucked to realize that it's my own fault I'm alone in the first place."

Jack subdues gradually, his shoulders folding inward and the fire in his eyes dying out, leaving room for something much more empathetic than Bitty expected.

"I'm sorry, Bittle." He reaches out to grasp the ball of Bity’s shoulder in his large palm, squeezing it tightly. It’s a friendly gesture of comfort, one the boys in the team offer each other all the time, but Jack’s thumb is absently rubbing small circles on the base of Bitty’s neck and it spreads tingles through his skin.

“It’s alright,” Bitty moves away, smiling, but the words are like dust in his mouth and it isn’t really alright at all. They settle back into sitting side by side, and Bitty notices Jack's fixed eyes on the side of his face, but he doesn’t turn to look.

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Friday evening finds Bitty scrambling to complete last-minute assignments before Spring C the next day. He shuts himself away in his room and turns off his phone, tries to make his eyes focus on long lines of text instead of on any creaking noises in the Haus that might provide a distraction. This tactic has failed him more often than not, but for once the Haus is completely empty and any creaking Bitty might hear could only be chalked up to Ransom’s ghosts. Lardo and Shitty are out buying booze for Spring C, Holster is with the frogs, Ransom is at his weekend study group, and Jack has been in Providence with his mother all day, looking at potential apartments, and will be returning later to have dinner with her and her former Department Chair.

Studying is easier when Bitty’s using it to avoid thinking about other things. Lately, since his oven has been acting up, it’s been easy using studying as a distraction from thinking about Jack -- about Jack moving to Providence, about Jack taking the first steps in his adult life away from Bitty and the team. It isn’t a better distraction than watching Say Yes To The Dress with Holster or listening to music with Lardo, but in the absence of all other options, it’s good enough to push Bitty to make his deadlines, even if it’s at the last minute.

Bitty’s laptop emits a sharp ping that alerts him to a new incoming email, and Bitty scrambles up from the floor, almost tripping over two piles of reading material on his way. His room is an absolute mess; papers covering the bedspread and the desk, textbooks spilling from inside his bag onto the floor, pens scattered haphazardly. He’s been reviewing for the HIST test while emailing back and forth with the TA for his American Publics course -- the last three lectures of which he honestly cannot remember, but is somehow expected to write two thousand words for anyway.

The new email in his inbox isn’t from his TA, however. It reads, RE: RE: Your Nomination in the 2015 Samwell Awards, and only contains one line of text, visible in the thread’s preview without Bitty clicking it open. Attached is a confirmation for the removal and termination of the aforementioned article.

Bitty pauses, his essay forgotten, and goes over the subject lines four more times.

Bitty hasn’t read the article. Bitty didn't want to read the article, had convinced himself that he was indifferent and was more interested in putting the whole ludicrous affair behind them. But now he’s incapable of dragging his cursor away from the email’s subject line. He can’t help but want to know what they have to say -- want to know why anyone would mirror his misguided feelings for a close friend.

It can lead to nothing but trouble. Bitty still opens the article file for the first time since the whole mess began on Monday, because he won't have the guts otherwise, but for some masochistic reason he just has to know.

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The Samwell Swallow

Vol. 26, Issue 31 | May 2015 | Special Edition | The Samwell Awards

CUTEST COUPLE AWARD: ICE HOCKEY AS A LOVE LANGUAGE

Our most dedicated readers will know that the title of Samwell’s Cutest Couple is highly coveted. Perhaps only second to Dream Date or Biggest Gossip in prestige, this award is one of the greatest honors young Wellie lovebirds can strive for. This year, we’re proud to elect JACK ZIMMERMANN ‘15 and ERIC BITTLE ‘17. We know: enough with the fucking hockey bros. But hear us out.

These unlikely candidates were initially nominated by Zimmermann’s fellow photography class students with an exclusive scoop. Bittle was the subject of Zimmermann’s midterm project! (Awe.) Such a grand romantic gesture could not go overlooked, and we set out to investigate. Copies of Zimmermann’s photos are brought to you here, courtesy of the Department of Visual Art.

[Images: a collage containing a dozen semi-professional photographs, all depicting BITTLE. His character is consistently linked to themes of warmth and light, and is obviously portrayed with great affection.]

We were delighted by what we learned. Observant Wellies report that the two are often seen taking long romantic walks around campus, with Zimmermann’s lens sometimes pointed at the scenery, but more often at his boyfriend. Sources at Annie’s, the local café, tell The Swallow that, “Yeah, they’ve been like, coming here at least two or three times a week this year? There’s their table [points at a secluded window table in the corner]. The tall guy always pays -- what? No, they’re almost always alone. Except this one time that they were here with this other couple? I don’t know, man, I see lots of people on dates, but these guys kinda stand out. They’re always giggling with each other, it’s ridiculous. And loud.”

Our research yielded clear results: service staff at Samwell’s Jerry’s, Superberry and Stop&Shop have gone on record with similar statements; students who shared a class with the two disclose that their constant whispering and flirting have been impossible to ignore; even the janitor at Faber Memorial Rink reports that current team captain and fellow liney spend every weekend skating alone as they watch the sun rise, while no practice is scheduled! It’s official - Bittle and Zimmermann are, indeed, 2015’s Cutest Couple.

[Image: BITTLE and ZIMMERMANN at the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team’s #Epickegster this winter. The two are standing very close in the midst of what appears to be an intimate conversation, leaning towards each other under a bag of free condoms. Text under image reads: Our staffers report that the two then disappeared upstairs while the party was still in full swing. Get it, boys!]

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Bitty spends a long, breathless moment staring at the screen with unseeing eyes.

It’s like an out of body experience. Bitty can’t feel the tips of his fingers, can’t feel his toes. He can’t lift his hand to ram the laptop lid shut so his eyes are still glued to the block of text, words blurring together into a solid sheet of gray. His mind keeps losing footing, coherent thoughts cutting off before they can run their course, parts of sentences jamming into one long sequence -- grand romantic gesture, long walks, whispering and flirting -- that plays over and over. Distantly, he’s aware that there are stray tears in the corner of his eyes, but he’s too disconnected from his limbs to do something about it.

People look, he thinks, brain stuttering over the realization, pushing itself out of its shock, people look and see -- people look at the two of us and what they see is --

A loud noise behind his back scares the living daylight out of him, enough to send him spinning on the chair. The door to his bedroom swings open, nearly banging against the wall with the strength of its motion. Behind it is Jack, standing in the doorway with his eyes blown wide and his face pale, looking like he's seen a ghost; panting for breath like he ran a marathon to get there.

Bitty nearly collapses out of his chair, stumbling over the papers on the floor to step closer, arms reaching out automatically. “Jack -- what --? Is everything alright? Aren’t you supposed to be with your mom --?”

“Bitty,” Jack breathes out, unsteady, and then tumbles further into the room. His hair is disheveled and his buttoned shirt is smeared with stains of sweat, and Bitty’s brain is still coming back online but he’s suddenly overcome with how handsome Jack still is, even like this.

And then Jack takes a lengthy step forward right into Bitty’s space, his body enveloping Bitty’s and his broad palms cupping Bitty’s burning cheeks, and tips Bitty’s mouth into his.

Bitty’s eyes remain wide open for one paralyzed split second, taking in the sight of Jack’s dark eyelashes and sculpted brow bone from extreme up close, and then Jack’s lips move and Bitty’s eyelids flutter closed, melting into the unfamiliar action.

Jack's mouth is as soft as Bitty imagined, as hot, velvety lips sliding against Bitty's and catching on the dip of his cupid’s bow. Bitty’s mind keeps up a remote chant of oh my god, Jack is kissing me, oh god, what is happening, before that too is silenced by the thrill of Jack’s mouth parting against his, deepening the kiss, and then everything goes blessedly silent.

An undetermined amount of time later, Jack’s phone begins buzzing insistently; Bitty can feel the vibrations from where his hip is aligned with Jack’s. Jack ignores it, separating their lips to angle his head in the other direction and suck Bitty’s bottom lip into his mouth, tongue wet and tentative. His phone buzzes again, though, and subsequently two times more, and then Jack finally sighs into Bitty’s mouth.

“That’s my mom,” he says quietly, breaking their mouths barely far enough apart to speak. His lower lip is shining with spit and Bitty feels faint, needs to sit down before he falls over, needs to step back before he sinks his teeth into it impulsively. “She’s waiting for me...”

“Oh,” Bitty says. His voice sounds like it’s coming from very far away. He has so many things he wants to say -- what the hell, and what does this mean, and but aren’t you, and stay, stay, don’t go -- yet the only sounds his mouth can apparently make are, “Uh. Okay.”

“We have this… dinner…” Jack continues, and his eyes are so blue and his lips are so red and his cheeks are so pink, and Bitty thinks that maybe this is a very vivid stress-induced hallucination, and also thinks that he wouldn’t mind hallucinating a little longer. “I gotta go, but I’ll -- I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” Bitty says again, even though he’s not sure it is. He’s pretty sure, actually, that once Jack exits the door of his bedroom this spell will break like at Cinderella’s midnight clock strike, and Jack will return from dinner with his mother still painfully perfect, and still painfully straight, and still so, so far out of Bitty’s reach.

Jack backs up towards the door, eyes lingering on Bitty as his hands drift down Bitty’s arms. “I’ll be back,” he repeats, although Bitty’s not any more convinced, and then he takes his hands away and fumbles blindly for the doorknob, slips out into the hallway from whence he came.

Bitty hears his breaths shallow into nothing more than gasps of air, and promptly crumples backwards onto his chair.

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Bitty spends the entire time Jack is absent slowly going out of his mind.

Once the shock passes and the fogginess clouding his thoughts clears, all he can do is think: think about Jack kissing him, and the lovely shape of his mouth, and the bewitched look on his face; wonder how the hell it happened, and why, and what it even means. He conjures a dozen, a hundred versions of what transpired to bring Jack to his door, and even more of what would happen if he does indeed come back.

Bitty paces back and forth across his room, unable to focus or hold onto any one scenario for more than a few seconds. His heart beats so fast for so long that it develops into nausea; he continues pacing while clutching his stomach and praying that he won’t throw up, because he doesn’t think he’d survive that kind of embarrassing memory.

Shitty and Lardo come back at some point, stoned and bearing three bags of sour worms. They squint at his messy room but don't comment on the condition of his hair or his shaky limbs, kindly offer him some sour worms and the opportunity for contact-high in Shitty’s room. They back off and close the door as soon as they see the look on his face. Bitty runs his hand through his hair one more time when he tries to imagine what his face must look like to successfully scare them away.

A long while later there are footsteps in the hallway outside his door. Bitty braces himself to tell Holster or Ransom or, god, Chowder that he’s busy right now. He tries to remind himself that he loves them even when he's in a state, and sits down on the bed to tell them that he isn’t feeling well -- except then the door opens, and it’s Jack standing in the doorway.

Bitty’s heart jumps, somersaults, and plummets all in the space of one millisecond, as he stands up abruptly from the bed and stares, openmouthed.

Jack doesn’t look as rumpled as he did earlier. His collar is adjusted neatly and the tails of his shirt are tucked and smoothed into his pants, but his face is a rich shade of pink and he’s clenching and unclenching his fists by his side. He seems so awkward, standing there, that Bitty’s continuous state of panic morphs into a different chaotic mess of confusion and affection, all while Jack does nothing but stare at him.

“How was dinner?” Bitty squeaks out, eventually, when it’s clear that Jack’s not going to speak anytime soon.

Jack looks like Bitty has veered off script unexpectedly. His eyes widen and he clenches his fists and then releases them again, compulsively. “Eh -- good, good.” Bitty nods. There’s a long stretch of silence neither of them fills. Jack inhales and says, right when Bitty is sure that his heart is sincerely going to beat out of his darn chest, “I. Bittle. About earlier.”

The color in his face deepens further but Bitty can’t tell what that means, if he’s already regretting what he’s done or if he’s just tripping over his own emotions like Bitty is. “You should -- the door,” he stutters, because whether he’s going to be kissed again or be let down gently, he’d rather do it without an audience. Jack looks at him like he spoke in a cryptic foreign language, so Bitty forces out, blushing to the roots of his hair, “Come in and shut the door, Zimmermann.”

“Oh -- shit, ouais,” Jack jostles into action, stepping away from the threshold and kicking the door shut after him. It’s the first time Bitty has seen him move with anything other than practiced poise.

Bitty’s room isn’t very large, and with the door closed the atmosphere in it quickly shifts. There’s an inherent intimacy in the short gap between their bodies that heightens in a small, enclosed space, and Bitty can feel his body heat rise and spread to his palms and his face as a result of it.

It’s unsettling, and Bitty suspects that he could grow to crave it, but not as long as he has no idea what is going on. “Jack --”

Jack interrupts him, keeping his eyes on the floor. “Wait, Bittle, listen. I -- it’s really important that you know that you shouldn't feel obligated.”

There are maybe a hundred thousand things that could’ve come out of Jack’s mouth after Bittle, listen, and Bitty spent two and a half hours imagining a good deal of them. Telling Bitty that he shouldn’t feel obligated is so perplexing that Bitty’s too wrongfooted to protest, and Jack carries on speaking. “I know as team captain I have a certain amount of authority and I didn’t even -- think about that, before, which is really wrong --”

Bitty squints, slowly gaining a renewed grasp on this bizarre situation. The only thing he manages to think with clarity, through the storm brewing in his chest, is, You doofus, what on earth are you talking about. “Jack. The season is over."

"Right," Jack shoves his hands in his pockets, squares his shoulders. "But -- still. Technically we kept up with a.m. practices even after the playoffs, so."

Because you are an insane person, Bitty thinks to himself, coming to terms with the fact that the tone of his thoughts is on a scale ranging between neurotic and cloyingly smitten. He opens his mouth, not sure what’s going to come out of it, but Jack keeps talking without pause.

"Anyway, the NCAA allows intra-team dating but doesn't say anything about involvement with captains. I checked."

This bowls Bitty over, a new wave of warmth rushing to his cheeks. "You checked?"

There's a sheen of what can only be nervous sweat above Jack's upper lip that shines under the glaring ceiling light. “It’s only thirty pages.”

Bitty feels lightheaded again, as he allows himself to consider for the first time that evening, with some measure of possibility, that Jack Zimmermann in fact came into his room and kissed the right sense out of him with the intention to date him. It’s almost too much to consider, making him weak at the knees. He grabs the edge of his desk to be on the safe side.

“You -- I -- dear god, what is even happening? What brought this on?” Because they’ve been spending -- well, they’ve spent almost every waking moment together this semester, excluding this odd week since the damned Swallow article. Jack had plenty of opportunity to confess his feelings had he possessed any, and the best time certainly wasn’t while his mother was waiting for him downstairs to go to a formal dinner.

“Well, I,” Jack stammers, dropping his chin to his chest. His ears are bright red, dark enough to be seen from a few feet away, and Bitty is enchanted by it. “I didn’t know, but. I read the stupid thing in the car because I couldn’t -- my mom said -- I kept thinking about you in every kitchen that we looked at, and I…”

Bitty can feel his eyes widen, his organs flipping over inside him. "You… did?"

Jack lifts his head, and when the two of them finally make eye contact it zings through Bitty’s body. "Yes. I mean, I guess it’s hard not to. If you're not on ice, you're baking, Bittle. Or tweeting. Or baking and tweeting."

He winces as soon the words are out of his mouth, and Bitty can’t help it: he bursts out in laughter, high-pitched and giddy. This boy, Bitty marvels, and euphoria spreads like thick cotton candy in his chest, making it hard to speak; to breathe.

Jack’s face still looks vaguely horrified, like he’s regretting ever opening his mouth. "Crisse, sorry, it's not -- I wasn't trying to --" he blows out air, starting over. "It's fine that you do. I mean, more than fine. I thought about you in the kitchens because I like it. I like you."

His voice is unmistakably uncomfortable, and beads of sweat are glinting on his temples. Bitty’s so overwhelmed by hearing Jack speak candidly about his feelings that he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind. "You like me? But you're -- I mean, I thought you --"

Jack’s eyebrows draw down and his mouth thins. He looks irritated, but Bitty knows it’s the shape his face takes when he’s distressed. "I know last year it didn't seem like -- but I thought this year you knew things changed --"

"-- were straight," Bitty exhales, chest heaving. God. This is real. "I thought… you were straight."

Jack squints, stopping himself in the middle of his sentence. He seems honestly, genuinely confused, the big lug. With a more functioning part of his mind Bitty recognizes that this is probably the most facial expressions he’s seen Jack make since meeting him.

"But I kissed you."

"Yeah," Bitty swallows, cheeks probably glowing bright red. Somehow it’s so much more jarring hearing the words out loud than it was to have Jack’s mouth on his. Like something that’s not supposed to be discussed out in the open. A secret lifted right out of Bitty's subconscious, manifested by sheer will. "Uh. Sure did. Thus my confusion."

"Your -- confusion…?" Jack trails off. His flushed face begins shifting by degrees, a smile spreading slowly but steadily and creating the smallest, sweetest crinkle at his eyes. He wipes his shiny brow with the back of one forearm and then crosses the distance between them in a few short strides, sweeping in to kiss Bitty.

It’s not any less mind-blowing the second time around. Jack's fingers slot under Bitty's jaw, titling his head up, his other palm sliding from Bitty’s neck to his shoulder and down his back in a tantalizing stroke. Bitty grows hot all over, bending his body into Jack's to press their chests together, his hands hesitatingly finding their way to Jack's hips. He hooks them over the sharp curves of Jack's hip bones, feels the strength in Jack’s obliques through his clothes.

Their mouths create a soft slick sound when they glide against one another, lips meeting and parting smoothly. Bitty gathers the confidence to attempt parting his own lips, applies the slightest pressure of tongue to Jack's bottom lip, and is rewarded by Jack's shudder and the tightening of his hand on the small of Bitty's back.

Jack pulls his face back slowly enough for Bitty to blink his eyelashes open and catch Jack licking his lips, exhaling shakily.

"I like you, Bitty," Jack leans their foreheads together. His eyes are staring right into Bitty’s, drooping and soft and so clearly fond that Bitty feels the tremor flow in his body all the way to his toes.

"Me too," Bitty whispers. His heart is still beating irregularly, vainly trying to catch up with the emotional upheaval of the last few minutes. “Jack --. I like you, too.”

Jack smiles at him, and it’s more honest, more tender than Bitty's ever seen it. It makes Bitty so happy that he wants to burst into giggles, wants to hide his beam in Jack's chest until butterflies stop fluttering in his ribcage.

Jack runs his fingers into Bitty's hair, gently brushes through it. He's bashful, both of them avoiding prolonged eye contact, and it's so absurd that they're shy after kissing like that, but Bitty can't help it. Jack tips his head to kiss Bitty's chin, his temple, makes Bitty actually giggle when he kisses his ear and then settles his lips in Bitty's hair, tugging him closer into the crooks of Jack's body.

"Hey, Jack?" Bitty says quietly, leaning his cheek on the curve of Jack's shoulder and wrapping his arms around Jack's waist, hands linking at the arch of his spine.

"Yeah?" Jack mumbles into Bitty's hair, mouth moving against the crown of his head.

Bitty presses his lips briefly to the closest patch of Jack's skin he can reach, which is the dip in his clavicle. It's barely a kiss, but his entire body shivers with the knowledge that he’s allowed. "Wanna be my date to Spring C tomorrow?"

Jack draws back far enough to be able to look down, tilting his chin into his neck and catching Bitty's eyes with his. His face is pink and his lips are swollen and Bitty's so unbelievably in love with him, but it's the furthest thing from pathetic now. It seems funny that it was ever something shameful at all.

"It'd be my pleasure," Jack smiles, and leans in for another kiss.

[shysneeze]

persausion (part one)

George Weasley x Malfoy!Reader  

*part one*

Description: two years after she’s broken George’s heart at the hand of her parents’ persuasion, she bumps into George at the leaky and everything comes flooding back .

 Warnings: alcohol, angst and I want to say swearing but I genuinely don’t think there is. It’s very AU. Fred is alive because he deserves to be (let me know if there is any ive missed please) 

(Author note: not what i wanted it to be hence long ass delay in posting cause i got angry but hey ho. Also can you tell I’ve literally given myself a big fat crush on Fleur??”)

series masterlist 

~

A giggle bubbles in (Y/N)’s throat as she sways slightly, arm hooked through Fleur’s as they struggle their way across the cobblestone of Diagon Alley towards the Leaky Cauldron in their heels. The winter air is crisp, and it bites at their bare skin. The plan was devised at the last minute and mostly fuelled by the buzz left from the bottle of wine they’d shared in (Y/N)’s apartment.

“It’s freezing!” Fleur shivers. “Why didn’t we bring jackets?”

“Excitement?” (Y/N) laughs with a slight shrug of her shoulder. “Probably the wine.”

“Definitely the wine.”

The woman burst into another fit of giggles, followed swiftly by a hiss of relief when they enter the warmth of the pub. They pause in the doorway together, long enough to fix each other’s hair and pull their dresses down. It’s not until they step further into the pub that (Y/N)’s smile begins to fade as the voices grow louder, and suddenly, she remembers why they usually stick to drinking in her apartment.

She can see it happening every time she steps in a crowded shop or in this case, pub, the exact moment that she goes from being a stranger in the corner of someone’s eye to (Y/N) Malfoy, first daughter of a notorious ex-deatheater. It’s no different this evening and her eyes sink to the floor when the whispering begins, already uncomfortable and longing to return to her apartment. Her change in demeanour doesn’t slip by unnoticed by Fleur who has already begun to fend off the dirty looks with a well-practiced glare of her own.

“Why is it so busy in here tonight?” Fleur sighs dramatically, standing slightly on her toes to see over the mass of people that are lingering around the bar without seats. “We’ll never get a booth!”

“How tragic.” (Y/N) makes an attempt to tease. “We’ll have to go back and drain the bottle of gin you got me for my birthday now.”

“No!” Fleur whines. “I have only just gotten you out of that apartment and I will not let you back out now. You’ll become a recluse!”

“Ouch.” (Y/N) pouts. “That’s harsh.”

Her own hurt at the comment is unconvincing to even (Y/N) herself as her pout soon turns into another bout of giggles. Fleur laughs with before returning to look out, searching every corner for somewhere to sit. She’s about to give up and reluctantly agree with her friend when she spots them.

“The twins!” She exclaims. “They’ll let us sit with them.”

Before she can even process what Fleur has said, they’re on the move again, Fleur’s dainty hand wrapped around (Y/N)’s wrist. It takes a moment for the words to sink in, but as soon as they have (Y/N) comes to a halt instantly, eyes wide and mouth hanging open. She doesn’t even try to explain herself when Fleur turns to frown at her, she’s already staring across the room where her eyes find George Weasley’s.

His eyes are just as wide, hand paused in mid-air with his pint halfway to his mouth, and for a second, all they can do is stare at one another. Then, his brows drop into a scowl and the look that falls onto his face is a jab straight to the heart for (Y/N). The disgust written all over his face forces the air out of her lungs and her hands to tremble nervously. She remembers back at Hogwarts, hidden away together in the astronomy tower or, after graduating, tucked away in his bed above the shop, how his eyes chocolate brown eyes were the only ones in the world that made her feel safe, the only ones that looked under her surname. Now, they make her feel nauseous with guilt as they bore into her own and she can’t even blame him.

“(Y/N), are you coming?”

Fleur’s question makes (Y/N) jump, turning back to her friend, mouth stuttering wordlessly as she tries to gather the sentences that she needs to tell her friend that she absolutely cannot sit with George Weasley.

“It’s only the two of them.” Fleur continues, hand slipping into (Y/N)’s. “They won’t mind.”

(Y/N) gives up on her protests and allows herself to be pulled towards the booth at the back because what is she supposed to tell her? How is she to explain that she can’t sit with her friend’s brother-in-law because three years ago, she broke his heart? No, she can only follow in silence with her eye firmly stuck to the floor. She already beginning to feel whatever confidence boost the wine had given her wearing off.

“Fleur?” She hears Fred exclaim, a drunken joyfulness in his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Trying to find a seat.” Fleur exhales a sigh as they come to a stop. “It’s so busy tonight.”

“Well, we’re not waiting on anyone else.” Fred states. “You and your friend can sit with us. We don’t mind, ay, George?”

There appears to be no response from George, though (Y/N) can’t bring herself to look up yet. Fleur’s hand slips out of (Y/N)’s as she goes to hug her in-laws and a sudden vulnerability hits (Y/N) at the lack of contact.

“I told you, (Y/N).” Fleur nudges her. “They’re fine with it.”

At the soft jab to her side, (Y/N)’s eyes filter upwards despite her own resolve to stare at the ground until it swallows her whole. She watches the recognition flicker across Fred’s face, smile forming a sort of ‘o’ shape. (Y/N) can only give him an apologetic look as she’s tugged into a seat across the booth beside Fleur.

“Hi.” She squeaks.

“Malfoy.” Fred manages, eyes drifting for a moment to his brother. “It’s been a while.”

“I forgot.” Fleur exclaims. “You were all in the same year back at Hogwarts, no?”

“Yes, we were.” (Y/N) manages quietly, sobering up faster by the minute.

“Yeah it’s been a while.” Fred agrees with an awkward grin. “How are you?”

The question is so clearly forced and (Y/N) can’t believe she ever believed that her and George had kept it all a secret from him years ago because now, two years later, it’s clear he knows everything and he’s just as annoyed as George is.

“I’m good.” She nods. “How are you two?”

“We’re great, right George?” Fred chuckles awkwardly.

Once again, George doesn’t reply and only raises his brows before downing the remaining contents of his pint. His glass is forced onto the table with slight thud and he gets to his feet without a word. Everyone at the booth watches as he silently makes his way towards the bar and all (Y/N) can do is purse her lips at the whole thing.

“Anyway…” Fred clears his throat. “I never realised you two were friends. How did that happen?”

(Y/N) can only hope her face portrays the gratitude she feels for him at this moment for that distraction. Rather than questioning George’s abrupt departure, Fleur jumps into explaining how she and (Y/N) met at (Y/N)’s shop and quickly became close friends, and Fred listens attentively, even in his intoxicated state, humming and a nodding at all the correct places.

“I never knew you owned a shop.” Fred blurts, leaning in slightly out of curiosity. “On Diagon Alley?”

“It’s tucked out the way somewhat.” She admits. “It’s just down the street from, um, your shop actually.”

She doesn’t quite know why she’d hesitated, as if bringing it up is incriminating in some way. It’s not of course, their joke shop is famous and not exactly subtle either, no one else would expect her not to know of Weasley Wizard Wheezes and no one seems phased by her mentioning it at all. Yet, a sudden anxiety hits her, as if acknowledging the shop is only a step away from revealing the secrets the apartment above it used to hold.

“Wow, I didn’t know that.” Fred exclaims. “What do you sell?”

“She does the best perfumes I’ve found here in Britain.” Fleur gushes.

“I guess it’s more of a boutique in a way…” (Y/N) confesses nervously. “I sell magically enchanted gift items of sorts.”

“Huh, I never imagined you doing that.” Fred admits. “Always assumed you’d be in the ministry.”

“Oh no, I’d hate to be stuck in an office all day.” (Y/N) shakes her head. “I like meeting people and making things with my magic that might make people smile.”

“That’s a bit like George and I.” Fred grins.

“Well, my roses tend not to bite.” (Y/N) jokes.

“Biting roses…” Fred begins to ponder. “That brilliant!”

“What’s brilliant?”

George has returned, face still devoid of a smile but no longer holding the same animosity it did earlier. It might have been years, but (Y/N) can tell he’s given himself some sort of pep talk at the bar. He slides carefully into his seat again, the contents of the glasses huddled in his arms sloshing dangerously up the sides. (Y/N)’s automatic response is once again to drop her eyes, afraid to meet his in case it takes her too far into the past again.

“(Y/N) just gave us a great idea for the shop.” Fred explains. “Roses that bite.”

“Hmm.” George hums uncommittedly.

He pushes a glass of wine towards Fleur once he’s sat, then, taking (Y/N) completely off guard again, he places a glass of wine in front of her, drawing her eyes up to meet his in surprise. His brows are peaked almost questioningly at her expression.

“T-thank you.”

With a shrug he turns away again, facing his brother as he bursts into a pitch for biting bouquets for Valentine’s day while Fleur giggles at his enthusiasm. (Y/N) fiddles nervously with the stem of her glass, watching the side of George’s face as he listens, eyes fixed on the smile that begins to tug at his lips over his brother’s antics.

It hurts.

It hurts to see him, a reminder of what she could have had if she hadn’t allowed herself to be persuaded to destroy it. She hasn’t got the right to miss him as much as she does, not after how she left him, with a poorly written letter full of excuses that she herself didn’t even believe. No, she deserves this cold shoulder, deserves much worse in fact. She almost wishes he’d just shout at her, to tell her exactly how evil she is.  

“Thanks for the idea, (Y/N).” Fred announces, pulling (Y/N) out of her memories with a start.

“Oh.” She recovers. “I can’t really take credit. It’s all yours.”

“Me and George will have to come visit your shop sometime.” He continues. “It’s just across from us, George.”

George lets out another bored hum that makes his brother’s smile twist into an awkward grimace, brows tightened and frozen for a second as he considers how to recover from this.

“Don’t feel the need to go out your way.” (Y/N) mumbles. “It’s not all that exciting.”

“That’s not true!” Fleur bursts. “You’re being modest. Your products are fantastique.”

An embarrassed sort of smile creeps onto (Y/N)’s lips at this and Fred laughs a little at her shy expression at Fleur’s declaration. Fleur seems to be completely unaware of the fact that she’s made the entire evening that little bit more bearable for her. Fleur’s always doing these little things that make everything more bearable and (Y/N) has never been more grateful for their friendship.

“Thanks, Fleur.” (Y/N) smiles softly.

Fred picks up another conversation, one far less likely to lead to any awkward silences. It holds better than any of the previous conversations have this evening and (Y/N) considers that this is because it is mostly dominated by Fred and Fleur, not that she’s complaining. (Y/N) is quite content for the awkwardness to settle solely between George and herself, where it truthfully belongs, and not to interfere with Fleur’s evening, especially after she’d been so excited to get (Y/N) out of her flat.

She considers that, if nothing else, this evening will relieve her of her life sentence to become recluse as Fleur had suggested.

~

An hour or so later they find themselves walking together back along Diagon Alley, shivering in the cold and hobbling with blistered feet. With the end of the night within her grasp, (Y/N) can hold herself a little lighter, and she finds herself laughing honestly as she watches Fleur and Fred babbling drunkenly together. To her side, George hides a smile stubbornly under her gaze and now that they are far enough from earshot from the others, she takes a risk.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” He asks, brows piqued quizzically.

“For not saying anything.” She expands. “I didn’t deserve that.”

He lets out a breath that almost sounds like a scoff before turning his head away from her, as if trying to hide his expression.

“I didn’t do it for you.” He states after a moment.

She knows this, it’s not a surprise. She’s suspected all evening that his lack of outburst and direct insult has been for the sake of his pride, for Fleur and for his brother, but certainly not for her, and so the knowledge doesn’t insult her. She’s glad in a way.

“I know.” She whispers. “But thank you nonetheless.”

She knows him well enough still not to push it any further and she quickens her pace to catch up with the others. They’re slowing to a stop in front of the twin’s shop and Fred flings his arms around both the Fleur and (Y/N)’s shoulder and pulls them into a hug.

“We need to do this again.” He announces.

(Y/N) can’t fault him in being as drunk as he is, not after he’s held the entire evening together so well. Instead, she laughs and nods as she pulls from his grasp. George is rolling his eyes at his brother, lips twitching into a sort of smile.

“Yes well, we need to invite Bill next time.” Fleur agrees. “He’ll be jealous to have missed it.”

“He does know you’re staying at mine, right?” (Y/N) asks, panic stricken for a second. “Neither of us are in fit state to apparate.”

“Of course.” Fleur assures dismissively. “You’ve sobered back to your worried self again.”

“Yes, but I’m no longer a recluse.” She retorts. “So, the evening hasn’t been all in vain.”

“I’ll take that achievement.” Fleur nods matter-of-factly. “Now, let’s go before we freeze.”

“Okay, okay.” (Y/N) chuckles. “Thank you for letting us share your booth.”

“Any time.” Fred curtsey’s mockingly. “Goodbye, Ladies.”

With a final eyeroll, (Y/N) loops an arm around Fleur’s waist and turns to make her way towards her own apartment.

As cliché as it may be, (Y/N) can’t resist the temptation to sneak a look behind her as they walk away, a last glimpse of the man she lost two years back. Expecting to see his back as he retreats into his apartment, she is startled to find him facing her, eyes capturing hers again. They’re not full of surprise or disgust as they had been at the beginning of the evening though. They’re the soft, brown eyes she remembers, the eyes that once held her hostage in the potions classroom, that shared secrets with only a glance across the great hall and that saw her as herself for the first time in her entire life.

Upon the realisation that his private moment has been witnessed, he turns away and follows his brother into the shop. A wave of tears stings her eyes before she realises what’s happening and they blur his retreating figure as they trickle down her cheeks.

“(Y/N)?” Fleur asks gently, coming to stop. “Are you crying?”

“Oh!” She jumps, turning back and forcing a painful grin. “It’s the sodding blisters. I hate heels.”

Fleur looks unconvinced, holding her friend’s eyes longer to try and decipher what’s caused this sudden bout of tears to spring loose. Frowning and with an almost imperceptible shake of her head, she lifts her hand and gently uses her thumbs to wipe away the tears from beneath (Y/N)’s eyes.

“You’ll ruin your mascara.”

Relief escapes (Y/N) in the form of a choked laugh. She’s amazed again at how perfect a friend Fleur is for not pushing her. She knows Fleur enough to know that she’s not let it go, but she’s willing to let (Y/N) come to her in her own time.

“Thank you.” (Y/N) sniffles. “I’m sorry for trapping you in my apartment all the time.”

“Nonsense.” Fleur dismisses.

“No.” She continues. “No, I’ve been selfish and scared. I’ll make an effort to be more adaptable in the future.”

Curiosity flood’s Fleur’s expression but a smile grows on her lips regardless and she lets out a soft, bell-like laugh. She hooks an arm through (Y/N)’s and guides the pair forward along the street again, huddled tightly to fight to bitter cold.

“You’re so formal at times.” She shakes her head. “Let’s get home and get your shoes off before you become a puddle.”

“Oh thank Merlin!”

[jessicajonesrp]

Public warning

Patricia Walker does not do well with lack of control. It’s a tendency passed down from life with Dorothy Walker, easily the most controlling non super-powered person she had ever met. For the first eighteen years of her life, most of Trish’s actions, from her clothes to her work to her every public word and expression, had been chosen for her by Dorothy, and the only real choice she had for herself was whether to give in and make life easier for herself or rebel and suffer Dorothy’s wrath.

 Her desire for the control she had lacked had left her with severe insecurity, eating disorders, and self medication through drugs, all issues she struggled with for a good ten years before channeling her need for control into efforts at bettering herself and helping others. She had finally reached a place where life was stable, heading in a direction Trish could be content with, if not fully satisfied.

 And then Kilgrave happened. First to Jessica only, without Trish having any idea why her best friend had suddenly vanished without contact for eight months, and then with the shattered mess it left her once Trish did know and struggled to support her. Then to Trish herself, when she, against Jessica’s orders and even pleas, involved herself in trying to draw him out and capture him.

 Trish knew she had not suffered anywhere near the level that her sister had from Kilgrave, but it was still enough to make her feel sick and cold when she remembered. She still occasionally had nightmares of his cold, snapping voice, telling her to shoot herself in the head, telling her to kill people she had never met before out on the docks. She still shivered in disgust when she remembered the feeling of his hands on her face, his lips on her skin, the terrible ambivalence of wanting to kiss him, enjoying it, even as every part of her true self screamed out in horror. And she could never forget Simpson’s hands around her throat, choking her nearly to the point of death at Kilgrave’s command.

 She had hated and feared the man from the first moment Jessica managed to stutter out what he had done to her. No, she had hated him before then, when she first saw the unnaturally shocked, broken state of her sister when she finally broke free from his initial control. Anyone who could hurt Jessica so deeply and so permanently earned her hatred without needing to know their identity.

 And now he was back. Again. As much as Trish feared for herself, for being used or even killed in his obsessive pursuit of Jessica, she feared even more that Kilgrave would damage Jessica even more deeply, that he would continue to pile up dead and damaged bodies around himself and place the blame at her feet. Jessica didn’t need this, not again. And if Trish could do anything to help or stop it, it would help her feel just a little bit more of a sense of the control she knew she didn’t really have.

 She made her way to her recording studio after first sending some of Heroes for Hires guards ahead of her to thoroughly check out the studio for any signs of danger from Kilgrave or any of his like, giving them a code phrase to use to insure that they would be able to alert her if he did show up and control them or others.  Trish had already called ahead to insure that all people were thoroughly searched for any possible weapons and passed at least twice through the metal detectors already installed before being allowed entrance. After receiving the all clear, she went, Jessica insisting on accompanying her, via one of Danny’s cars to the studio, passing through the checks put in place and heading straight to her recording studio and instructing the techs to set up for a live broadcast. She was aware of Jessica skulking behind her, hands shoved in her pockets, as Trish rapidly read from the speech she had just finished churning out.

 “Good afternoon New York City and beyond, this is Trish Walker with an urgent report coming to you from Trish Talk, by way of myself and all our associates at Heroes for Hire. Soon, a follow up broadcast will be coming your way via Channel 5 News with more information, but please, listen very carefully to this announcement for your safety and those of your loved ones.”

 Trish paused, swallowing, and snuck a glance back at Jessica’s impassive expression before facing the mic again and continuing. “Most of you may remember the terrible events of last summer, when the man whom called himself Kilgrave provided mass terror and destruction in our city and in far too many of our own lives and homes. It is to my great sorrow that I inform you that Kilgrave is not, as was believed, deceased. Kilgrave has made personal contact with myself and with-“

 Jessica made violent throat slashing motions behind her that Trish saw out the corner of her eye, and Trish edited her intended words smoothly.

 “With myself and my colleagues, and we have evidence to support that this is no hoax. Please be aware of yourself and those you love at all times. Know their whereabouts, establish coded phrases and patterns of behavior in order to test out the level of control the people in your life may have at any given moment. Kilgrave is a white male with a British accent, last known to have short medium brown hair and brown eyes. He tends to dress in a professional manner, especially in dark purple suits and ties, and he is considered a threat of the level of nuclear war. Do not approach him should you see him; instead do all you can to get away and call in our hotline at Trish Talk or Heroes for Hire to report a possible sighting. If you suspect that someone you know may be controlled, treat them in the same manner, do all you can to subdue them without causing permanent harm to them if necessary. Kilgrave’s powers last up to 12 hours, so do not under any circumstances try to reason with anyone you suspect to be controlled. If at all possible, wear ear plugs or head phones or listen to loud music when necessary to go out in public. Kilgrave cannot gain control of those whom are not within his direct path and whom cannot hear his commands. He-“

 “Stop,” a voice suddenly came over the ear, and both Trish and Jessica jumped, recognizing the voice after a moment as not Kilgrave’s, but female and American. Trish quickly identified the voice a second later as belonging to one of her tech support assistants, Chloe Ash. “The information is over.”

 “What the fuck?” Jessica hissed, shooting Chloe a vicious glower and striding towards her quickly. “Will you shut up, even I know to shut the hell up on a live recording, over something this damn important!”

 Trish tried to recover, giving a somewhat forced chuckle and speaking over them. “I apologize, there are some technical difficulties, but if you’ll bear with me I will make sure you all get the information you need. As I was saying, Kilgrave cannot-"

 “This information is too much, this recording is over,” Chloe repeated, more loudly and forcefully, standing up and taking the headphones off of her ears. She fairly shouted out her next few words, speaking loudly enough that Trish’s words were drowned out.

 “Loyal listeners, you will now hear the sound of a suicide by Chloe Ash, Patsy Walker’s employee. More are to follow in the names and as a direct result of the avoidance and rejection of Jessica Jones. Goodbye, loyal listeners, and know that Kilgrave is a patient man.”

 She head butted Jessica in the face when Jessica grabbed for her arm, ducking under her and weaving to the other side of Trish. As Trish leaped up, expecting Chloe to grab or try to harm her, the young woman instead ran to a small cabinet against the walls containing little more than sound equipment and various office supplies. Throwing it open, she grabbed a pair of scissors from its contents, opened the blades wide, and closed them around the front of her throat.

 She made no sound, showed no pain as she dragged the scissor blades more deeply into her skin, sawing back and forth to make as rough and deep a wound as possible. The live recording now picked up the sound of Trish’s horrified scream, her outcries of “Oh god, no, no!” as blood spattered in a wide arc just short of reaching her, and the noisy scuttle of multiple feet moving towards Chloe as others tried to reach her before it was too late.

 Jessica got to her first and wrenched the scissors out of her hand, breaking them in half and throwing them down so Chloe could not get them and use them any further. Tearing off her oversized sweatshirt, she pressed it against the woman’s throat, grimly noting how the blood immediately stained through its thick material and onto her fingers, how it had sprayed hot and thick over her arms and chest before she could touch her at all. The woman didn’t try to speak, likely couldn’t have, but she was losing all color in her face, her eyes already growing glassy and lifeless, and as Trish sputtered and tried not to vomit or pass out in the background, Jessica held onto the almost useless bloodied sweater, as though she could somehow keep the woman alive just by holding on tight enough.

 It didn’t matter. Within another minute the woman was clearly dead, limp and unmoving under Jessica’s hands, and she could hear the shrill noise of sirens in the background. Jessica let her drop to the ground, stumbling back and nearly yelling out loud when she bumped into Trish and felt her hands latch onto her arm.

 “We have to go, now,” she mumbled, giving her sister’s arm a rough tug.” Before someone else of his comes through in the aftermath.”

 Even as she lead Trish out of the room and building, she could still hear the dying woman’s words echo in her mind. More are to follow, as a direct result of the avoidance and rejection of Jessica Jones…