#at how stupid everything sounded and how stupid slots are and just the absurdity of us going gambling spontaneously

[maraeffect]

i had such a cutie fun day with my partner today wahhhh 🥹💖 i Extremely Needed It and it felt like a lil vacation bc we road tripped kinda. like the tattoo i was gifted was 2 hours away so we just like drove a couple states over, got some snacks, i got a cute tattoo, and on the way home we tried gambling for the first time with penny slots!! we both NEVER wanna go again bc it literally just pisses your money away. but we're adults and haven't ever tried it!!! i won $20 (: it was so fun to like make fun of all the stupid machine names and be able to check off a bucket list item 🥺💖

anyway i think the dash could always use more wholesome stuff, so i wanted to share 🥹

[delta-pavonis]

Dreamling Week 2024 Day 2

banner art via WorldAnvil

Dreamling Week 2024 Day 2 Prompts (from @mr-sadman): Pirates, Hourglass, Flowers, Exhibitionism

Dreamling || Rated T || 975 words

tags (other than the prompts above): fantasy, urban fantasy, solarpunk, drow druid/sorcerer Dream, half wood elf bard/gunsmith Hob, investigator partners with a history, discussion of sex in public, discussion of kink, Dream is a little shit in every universe I don't make the rules

Read Part 1 here.

Hob cackles as he tucks the ornate hourglass under his arm and fucking runs.

“Oh, what the hell…” Dream drops the vase of flowers he had been planning on using as an improvised weapon and takes off after his partner. A partner who is rapidly climbing the rankings for stupidest sentient being Dream has ever known. “Gadling! What in the name of every god extant and extinct do you think you are doing?”

The half-elf startles for just a moment as Dream easily catches up to him despite the head start and the crowded market streets. “This is evidence, right?” He tilts his head towards the hourglass.

At this rate Dream is going to pull a muscle rolling his eyes at Hob. “We do not steal evidence! I do not have the least idea of where you learned how to be an investig–”

“Pirates!” He chirrups happily, skidding around a corner as horns start to sound the alarm throughout the resonant underground halls of the Duergar city. 

The answer is so absurd that Dream is struck speechless. 

Then a rumble sounds to their right and it has Dream reaching across Hob's chest to grab his gun in its shoulder holster under his duster. Luckily the gun and the hourglass are not under the same arm, because Dream is completely out of spells, both divine and arcane. He jumps ahead up the stairs and twists, taking two shots at their pursuers and grinning when he hears a shout of explicatives.

Another set of stairs, then they are scrambling up a wall, grabbing the bottom rung of a camouflaged ladder, and are back in the surface’s sewers before the next round of horns sound. Dream slides the cover over the secret entrance and breathes a sigh of relief as, with a golden shimmer, it seals itself once again.

Panting and apparently completely uncaring of the state of the water around their feet, Hob drops to his arse with a thud. Little bits of duckweed and algae slop up onto Dream’s boots.

“We should keep moving.” Dream scowls at his footwear as he also breathes in huge, heaving gulps. “We don't know the power of their artificers and–”

“Don't have ‘em,” Hob shakes his head. “It made bartering for certain items with them a total crapcircus because they didn't value the same basic material goods. Everything they do is mechanical. Non-magic. Luckily we didn't get stuck down there often.” Dream just stares at him; theoretically those are all common words, but fuck if he parses their meaning right now with the adrenaline crash just starting to take its toll. Hob smirks, lopsided and definitely not charming. Absolutely not. “Pirates, remember?”

He feels a headache coming on and so pinches the bridge of his nose. “Are you actually trying to tell me that before joining the Houndsguild you were a Hawkshaw?”

“Uh… yes?” Hob blinks at him as if Dream is the one asking the dumb question. “Thirteen years. Is that so hard to believe?”

Dream just stares. If this half-elf was a Hawkshaw, one of the pirate codekeepers (the closest to lawmen such outlaws might ever get), then there is so much more here to uncover, so much more to Hob, that he isn't even sure where to start. Hob drops back down in Dream's mental rankings of stupidity. Dream breathes out and now, a little calmer, some of Hob's behaviors slot into place. The impulsivity. The recklessness. The charisma to get himself out of just about any problem caused by said impulsivity and recklessness. “No, actually, now that I think of it. It makes some sense.”

The smile that brightens Hob's face is also extremely not charming. Or cute. No. Not at all. “Help me up?” He holds out his hand and Dream automatically grips his forearm as he continues to speak, “I know we got off on the wrong foot when we first met, but I hope you are coming to realize that in this, in solving cases like these at least, I am actually competent.”

Dream nods, but also cannot resist the opportunity for a good jibe. “It at least explains why when we first met you were balls deep in the barmaid bouncing on your lap in the middle of a crowded tavern.” He smirks back, trying to convey that he isn't really judging, just teasing. “Never met a Hawkshaw who didn't want to be the absolute center of attention.”

Hob splutters out a laugh and gets his feet under him, blushing all the while. “Hey there! It is a specific tactic! Think of it like slight-of-hand and bardic performance had a baby, but it acts on a group level. While everyone is busy watching me…”

“Your fellows are working without being noticed.” Dream shakes his head ruefully, ceding the point to Hob. “Not bad.”

“Fun, too.” Hob's grin goes lopsided again as he waggles his eyebrows and he stares at Dream for a beat longer than necessary. Dream has to resist fidgeting under that warm gaze and so distracts himself with their usual banter.

“If that is your kink, then I am sure it is fun.” Speaking of fun, watching Hob's eyes widen and his neck flush when Dream says ‘kink’ is extremely fun. He studies his fingernails and tries to exude nonchalance. “Exhibitionism isn't really to my taste, though. More of a leather and ropes type myself.” He hears Hob inhale sharply and smirks, still not looking up. “Did you know that if you get strips of leather soaking wet they shrink and constrict as they dry?”

Dream looks at Hob through his lashes, sees him open-mouthed and panting, eyes dilated. Delightful. 

Maybe he will be able to get through this partnership with his dignity intact after all. Or, at least, Dream certainly won't be the first one to lose his composure.

[stutterfly]

Love Bytes 09 |  Trivia: 01001100 | KNJ (M)

Last time on Love Bytes 08: After a night that left your head spinning, your best friend confessed his feelings for you. Now that you’ve admitted the same, everything is different.... but is it?

Rating: M (Explicit 18+)

Word Count: 17K

Series: Love Bytes (9/9)

Genre: Friends to lovers, IDIOTS to LOVERS, fluff, humor, slow burn, friendship feels, angst, pining, sexual tension, SMUT, Bestfriends!au, CollegeProjessor!Namjoon, IT/Nerd!Reader

CW& Other Tags: corny humor, nipple play, an absurd amount of kissing, dirty talk, grinding, fingering, hair pulling, sexual instruction, let’s play just the tip, cunnilingus, blowjob, protected sex, sexual roleplay, unprotected sex, adoring boyfriendJoonie, suave Joonie, supportive friendships, love talk, dorks in love

Pairings: Namjoon x Reader, brot7

Posted January 2021 by stutterfly & cross-posted to ao3. Do not repost.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You’ve crossed the line you’ve been so afraid of only to discover there really isn’t anything to fear at all. Namjoon has already made you a totally non-burnt breakfast and told you about the success of his student following the release of the poetry program. When he brings up the poem he wrote as an example, you beg him to read it for you.

He apologizes again for that day when you clicked on the document containing the draft, with dozens and dozens of half-thoughts and scribbled words placed within. He wasn't ready to show you then. He settles on the couch and opens his laptop. You look over his shoulder as he clicks a vaguely familiar document labeled: Trivia_L_Final. Unable to sate your curiosity, your eyes scan through the first few lines but he quickly flips the screen down.

“Patience."

"Ugh," you complain. "But you said I could see."

"I said I was gonna share," he clarifies with a snort. "That doesn't mean I want your speed-reading ass going through it at lightspeed without understanding any of it."

"Fair." You cross your arms but stare at him expectantly, trying your best to be patient.

“Is this love?”

He pauses to spare a glance up from the screen and freezes when his eyes meet yours. Even after everything you’ve shared he still finds himself sweating through the thin tank top he’s put on. Although he’s sure he’s masked his apprehension behind a wall of stone, all it takes is your soft, reassuring smile to break through. A wave of serenity quickly douses the anxiety. It crashes against his wall, and erodes its harsh edges until all that’s left is a familiar longing to kiss your lips.

“Is this love?” he repeats with emphasis. “Sometimes I know. Sometimes I don’t.”

He can’t stop grinning at the way your smitten gaze matches his own. It’s a difficult decision, but ultimately he chooses to ignore the urge to pull you in for the hundredth kiss of the morning and continues on instead. You sit and listen, hanging on every word you know was painstakingly thought out and written for you.

You're my person. You're my desire. You're my pride.

You're my love. One and only love.

The closing words are left echoing in your head. It’s so easy for you to forget that Namjoon is as smart as he is. Right now you feel too stupid to respond. Nothing can possibly match the perfection of his poem.

“Please say something.” He quickly closes his laptop and sets it aside. “Actually, wait, don't. It was too much wasn’t it?” He reaches over and places a large palm over your forehead and begins lightly rubbing. “Delete it from your brain.”

A laugh bubbles from your throat. “What are you doing?”

“Wiping your hard drive.”

His response has you cackling. Did he really just make such a lame joke all on his own? You grab his wrist and pull him close while a big cheesy grin graces your features. “I think I’m rubbing off on you.”

He groans as he leans in and pauses before kissing you. “You are.”

His hand gently cups the back of your neck as he slips his tongue inside your mouth. You lose yourself to the rhythm of your tongues rolling across one another, hungry to keep tasting and feeling. It takes every ounce of self control you have to pull away long enough to breathe out a compliment.

“You’re incredible. Your poem is so good.”

“I had a good muse.” He smiles and moves in for another kiss but you press a finger to his lips.

“I mean it. I love what you wrote. I don’t think anyone’s ever written anything so beautiful with me in mind.”

To spare himself from the embarrassment tingling in his belly, he presses his lips to the pad of your finger with a few light, teasing kisses before moving to repeat the motion against your neck. Goosebumps immediately prickle at your flesh and you can’t help the way your hands travel along the warmth of his body, seeking to consume his heat to assuage the chill in yours.

“You make it easy,” he mumbles, kissing a line up to your ear.

“Do I? I thought I made it harder.” Your smile grows impossibly bigger as you reach down to palm him through his basketball shorts and find exactly what you’d been hoping to.

A breathy sigh warms the shell of your ear. “Fuck. You know you do.” He drags the lobe through his teeth and exhales another sigh at the way you tease his shaft. “Wanna practice?”

He whispers the words against your ear like they’re some secret he’s almost too shy to reveal and you deliver your response with equal timidity. “Please?”

Warm fingers press into the skin at your stomach and travel upward. The action disregards the flimsy white fabric of your borrowed shirt, which slides up with the rising of his arm. You think he's about to cup your breast when he suddenly changes direction and slides his fingers around your ribs to tickle you.

"Na-Namjoon!"

You're a little offended that he would do you dirty like this when you basically just begged him to fuck you for the second time today. But, if you're being honest you're also incredibly grateful. He knows how to take the nerves out of everything with such ease that you almost forget how new this aspect of your relationship is.

You grab at his hand, effectively pulling him down into a kiss brimming with laughter between the pair of you. When you try to retaliate he grabs your wrists to keep your cold fingers at bay. As his tongue dips into your mouth again, he slowly guides your hands above your head. You shift beneath him, spreading your legs so he can slot a knee between them and get even closer. It feels like it's always been this way. Nothing's going to change. This is just you guys. It's always been you guys.

At the heart of your friendship, it's always been about you being dorks together and having each other's backs. You'd never considered the possibility of adding even more physicality to it before but now you don't want to imagine life without it because it feels so fucking good. It feels so fucking right.

Instead of bearing his weight down on you, he drags your bottom lip through his teeth and lets it snap back. He hums a satisfied sound as he rises, pulling you to your feet with him. Your head feels light and for a moment it feels like you might float away, but his arms are strong and they ground you in a tight embrace. He begins walking you backwards and peppers your neck with light kisses.

“Trying to get me back into your bed, huh?” you tease.

He brushes his nose against your neck and inhales deeply, taking in your scent before expelling an airy, audible sigh. “Ah… You see right through me. I mean we could do it on the couch if you prefer. I just thought it might be a little more comfortable, you know, somewhere where I can lay you down so you don’t get a leg cramp or anything.”

You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of his statement. “How considerate.”

“Yeah, you know, ‘cause I plan on being between your legs as long as it takes.”

“Oh?” You feign ignorance. As he spins you towards him you’re glad he’s holding you steady because it feels like you’re about to faint. “As long as it takes for what?”

The tone of his voice drops low as he leans against your ear. “To make you cum.”

You stiffen in his embrace, frozen by interwoven fears of inability and inadequacy.

“Is that okay?” he asks, guiding your stiff form towards the bed.

The large, borrowed t-shirt bunches up around your thighs as you sit on the edge. It seems like every few days he’s telling himself he’s never seen you look so beautiful. Maybe you’re really to blame for the increased frequency. Now you’re looking at him in a similar light to the way he’s always seen you, and it’s added a new layer to everything.

“Yeah.” You nod, pausing to chew on your lip. “Just… don’t expect too much, okay?”

“Hey, no pressure. I promise. I just want to make you feel good.”

You pull him into a kiss before wiggling backwards up the bed. He follows your lead, slotting a knee between your legs as he climbs over you in an attempt to chase your lips.

“You do make me feel good. All the time.”

He assails your neck with kisses until he’s hovering above your lips. “Really good, though. Like right now. Right here.”

He takes a moment to meet your eyes as he ghosts his fingertips over your stomach, traveling down towards your mound. Almost as if he second guesses himself he stops and moves his hand back up to rest just above your navel.

“Can I try again?”

An embarrassed smile creeps across your face. “You really want to, huh?”

“Of course.” He pauses and his voice drops to a low whisper. “Will you show me how you like it?”

Your palms slide up your cheeks until your fingers cover your eyes. You purse your lips and try to keep your brain from short-circuiting. “Joooon.”

“What?” He shakes his head and offers a small laugh. “Why are you so shy now?”

“Because,” you murmur.

“Because...?” he prods when you leave the explanation unsaid.

“I’m embarrassed.” The words tumble out in a whisper but he seems to catch them regardless.

Hot, sweaty palms encircle your wrists and push them aside. It doesn’t take much effort to separate your hands from your face and when he does he slides his hands up to meet yours. In perfect sync, the pair of you weave your fingers together like you have a thousand times before.

The truth is that you want him. You want him so badly that your cheeks are on fire and all you can hear is your heartbeat in your ears. Despite seeing his mouth in motion, every nerve ending in your body is preparing for his touch. Anticipation overrides every other command in the forefront of your mind as your knuckles press into the pillows beside your head.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your cheek. “Your body is perfect. I could spend all day exploring it, exploring you. I wanna learn what feels good for you. Teach me. Teach me how to make you cum.”

In a stupor you blink slowly and gape at him in wonder, offering a tiny wordless nod. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to instruct him with much success. It’s not like you’re a teacher in any sense of the word and it’s definitely not something you’ve ever tried to talk through with a partner. But his eyes seem to sparkle in the dim light and the sight floods you with the determination to try, even if you don’t know how to begin.

Luckily Namjoon has an idea to assist with comfortability. He carefully positions himself beside you and runs his fingers down your chest, basking in the sight of your areola, which are perfectly visible through the faded fabric.

“You look so hot in my shirt.”

Your ears flush with heat at the compliment. Massaging light circles around the nipple he’s chosen to tease, he watches in wonder as it grows rigid. He experiments, alternating featherlight touches with a tiny pinch between his fingers.

“Do you like this?”

Words seem to escape you at the moment so you nod and mirror his actions on your other nipple. The barrier between his fingers frustrates your growing desire for skin on skin contact. You slowly hike up the shirt past your stomach to expose your breast. His eyes widen and guiltily dart away.

You pull the shirt back down abruptly and sit up with hot embers of embarrassment heating your cheeks. Maybe he's having second thoughts now that he's seeing you up close again. Before your mind can spiral too far he places his hand over yours.

"Sorry. It's not that. I just— Promise me you won't ask me to forget? I want to remember how you look, how you feel, how you taste.”

Relief cools the fire in your face and you half-heartedly chuckle as you climb over his lap. Cupping the side of his face, he Instinctively he leans into your touch.

"Joonie, I don’t think I could ever do that now. There's not a single restore point we could go back to, and I don't want there to be. I never want to pretend like I don't love you with my whole heart ever again. Because the moment you kissed me it's like this weight lifted from my shoulders. Everything I'd been locking away in my heart finally broke free. And it felt… incredible. It felt right. There's not a doubt in my mind. You're my person. You're my light. You're my pride."

"My one and only love," he adds with a kiss to your palm.

You smile and nod, pushing down the tears threatening to spill out of your eyes with a joke. "Are you gonna change your mind now?"

"Wouldn't dream of it." He smiles at you softly, watching you struggle to regain your composure as you sit back on his abdomen.

"Good. 'Cause it's like a totally binding thing now."

"Oh, okay," he laughs and lifts himself with his elbows to get a better look at you. "You gonna type up those terms and conditions for me? I'll sign, Geeksquad. Get me those papers."

"Yeah, yeah. Let me write a draft right now.” You press him back against the bed and lean over his chest, splaying your fingers out for a moment before pretending they're tapping away at a keyboard.

"Under this agreement, I, Y/N, agree to the following conditions..."

"God, you're a dork."

"We have fun. We have lots of…" you stop to giggle and wiggle your eyebrows, "you know, sex when we both want it."

He rolls his eyes but he's smiling so big his cheeks hurt. "You're so corny and I'm here for it."

"And…" you pause and meet his eyes as you fake-type the next condition. "We don't ever feel bad about loving each other. I'm in love with you and I don't want to waste another minute of my life acting like I feel any other way."

He looks down at his chest. Your fingers have stopped moving. "Is all that going in the, uh, love contract? It's a binding thing, you know."

"Yes, yes," you agree, pretending to catch up on typing. "If something doesn't work, we will talk about it. Deal?"

He doesn’t even stop to think about it before he answers, looking down at your fingers like they'll show him an invisible dotted line. "Okay where do I sign?”

"See I'm typing on your heart because that's how this works. So..."

You bite your lip and lift your shirt over your head, watching his eyes struggle to stay focused on your face. You really don't deserve him.

"You type and sign right here." Your fingers lure his gaze down to the valley between your breasts and then slightly to the left. "Right on my heart.”

He ghosts his fingers over the area you’ve pointed to and licks his lips, trying to hide his smirk. “Actually your heart is a little bit lower and a little bit…” He massages his fingers against your breast. “Here.”

“Hmm. Educational and strategic. What a combo.”

"Do I gotta type the whole thing up before I sign?"

You roll your eyes. "Depends. You gonna type as shitty as you usually do?"

He tongues his cheek as he starts tapping away at your breast with his two pointer fingers. It’s too true to reality. “Under this agreement I, Kim Namjoon--”

“Nevermind this is taking too long,” you complain, wiggling over his lap. He quickly drums his fingers over your chest. “--Agree to everything you just said. Signed... Namjoon...” His fingertips trace his name along your breast. “It’s a deal.”

“Okay, okay.” You laugh and reciprocate. “If you break it I'll probably cry and Jennie will beat you up."

“Like I would ever…” he mumbles.

With a rut of his hips he cups your breasts in his hands and resumes gently working his fingers over your nipples. Following the slow rhythm he sets, you grind yourself down and thumb at the band to his basketball shorts, pulling them down just enough to reveal that sliver of dark hair leading below. A loud groan escapes with his breath. His heart aches to feel you against him again, without barriers.

He sits up and heaves his shirt over his head with reckless abandon. His arms are immediately wrapping around your waist, fingernails digging into the skin of your back with the hope feeling your body can assuage the ache in his chest. The heat of his mouth envelops your nipple before you can comment on his earnest behavior and you whimper instead. His rough embrace draws you closer, and his sinful tongue batters your nipple as you loop an arm around his neck and tangle your fingers in his hair.

The suction of his mouth makes you throw your head back. “Fuck, Joon.”

He moans and skims his lips across your chest to show your other breast love. Despite his adoration for the current position of his face, it’s not enough. Greed overtakes him. He holds you tight and musters the strength to flip you onto your back. The tiny squeal you make in response makes his dick twitch. You make such wonderful sounds.

As you draw him into a kiss, the barrier of silky basketball shorts do nothing to conceal his hardness. It makes you crazy. You want to feel his dick glide against your folds again. When you raise your hips to grind your clit against him he meets your motion with equal enthusiasm.

“Take them off,” you mumble. “Put it in me, Namjoon. Please.”

It’s hard to say no when every fantastical thought about you he’s ever had is now coming to fruition. How long has he yearned to hear those words? He thinks of earlier. He thinks of the disappointment he holds for his own performance, how he squandered his opportunity to make you feel the way you deserve.

“But I wanna go down on you,” he insists, slowly making his way down your torso. He plants deep kisses as he goes, working a trail of tiny dark marks into the surface of your skin.

“Joon…”  Your fingers claw at his back as he descends.

“Show me how you like it. I’m a good student. I promise.”

The ever present flames in your chest burn hotter, searing a path to your cheeks. He kisses along your hip and pauses to inspect the bruise from your earlier slip. He carefully creeps past it, and instead focuses on the skin of your inner thigh. Taking your hand in his, he positions it over your cunt. He rests his cheek against your thigh to watch the way your fingers settle in place.

“Are you gonna be looking at me like that the entire time?” You laugh, covering as much of your sex as you can with your hand.

“I’m a quick learner,” he assures you. “Plus…” He leans in and laps at the glistening slick in the space between your fingers. “I could taste you all day.”

“It’s after noon,” you mumble, drawing your fingers away to allow him greater access to your folds.

“Mmm,” he hums against you, letting his tongue explore every crevice of your labia. “You want me to keep going?”

Your head falls back against the pillow and you lift your hips with a whimper. “Yes.”

“How?”

Pulling his mouth back just enough to allow your finger to creep back into place, he offers a blissful sigh as you work light circles against your clit. He places a finger over yours and follows the movement, listening to your quiet breathing. He cocks his head to the side and repositions, sliding his finger beneath yours to take control.

“Like this, baby?”

It’s been so long. You’d forgotten just how good it feels to have someone else touch you, to not have to put the work in yourself to attain the reward. It feels so good. Maybe you will be able to let go.

“A little more pressure.”

You guide him again by pressing down over his finger and moving him towards the peak of your clit. He immediately gives in to the change of pace. After a little while he finds his own rhythm and you move your fingers to the back of his head where you tangle them in his hair.

“Yes, like that.”

Confident in his ability to hit that spot again, he glides his fingers down to tease your entrance and brings his lips to your clit. Your entire core tingles as he presses down and creates suction around the tiny bud. As your hips lift in ecstasy he wraps an arm around your thigh and slips two fingers into your slick cunt. Much to his delight you moan in tandem with your desperate exhale.

A proud grin spreads his lips apart and he does his best to hide it by battering his tongue over your clit instead. How many fantasies has he indulged in? How is it that they all pale in comparison to your true taste and sounds? Determined to keep himself on task, he focuses on the spot you seemed to favor and presses his lips back down while rolling his tongue along you. His fingers curl up and search for the promised sweet spot within your cunt.

You tense and clench around his fingers, body desperate to draw him deeper, to take more of him inside of you in any way that you can. Then you feel it: the unmistakable pleasurable pressure steadily rising within. You don’t want to let it slip away this time. With the pads of his fingers pressing as close to your g-spot as he can, the area of your clit you need him to hit with his tongue seems to shift.

Palms shaking, you pull on Namjoon’s hair to guide him to your newest point of pleasure. “Right there. Right there.”

He moans and expels shaky breaths through his nose. Immediately feeling guilty for being rough, you soften your grip and lovingly smooth back his hair. Disheveled, sweat-slicked strands fall against his forehead, rebelling against your touch.

“Sorry,” you mumble, cradling the sides of his face, trying to draw him up from his position. “Did I hurt you?”

He doesn’t budge. Dark brown eyes flicker upwards. The electric tingle in your heart steals your breath as you’re caught in his lurid gaze. He digs his fingernails into the soft flesh of your inner thigh and the energy contained in your chest bursts. Shockwaves of internal chills scatter throughout your body.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” he whispers. “Pull me however you want, baby.”

His voice is so low and soft that it barely registers to your ears. Your brain doesn’t have time to process the words before he drags his nose over your clit and sucks on your labia. You gasp out his name as he moves back to tongue your clit. He keeps his eyes on you as he plunges his fingers into you with a renewed sense of urgency, desperate to make you say it again. It doesn’t take long for a stuttered verse of his name to sputter from your pretty lips.

Another shockwave of excitement pulses through your gut. He makes it so easy to lose yourself in the pleasure he offers. Any shame and anxiety falls to the wayside, making way for your impending orgasm. You gasp out a pitiful sound and grind your pelvis towards his soft, plush lips to create even more pressure where you need it most. There’s no doubt he feels the way you clench around his fingers and because he reaches as far as he can in search of your g-spot and looks to your face for any sign of discomfort. Instead he finds you looking back through half lidded eyes that threaten to close any moment. With your eyebrows knitted together and quivering lips parted, he knows you’re on the brink of coming undone.

You reach for the back of his head as you lift your hips and cry out. You might not make those exaggerated pornstar moans, but yours are infinitely better. It’s better than anything he could have imagined. His name spills from your lips again, tired and quiet as you come down. There’s no need for you to tell him to stop or push him away this time. His softened lips are already crashing down against your mouth.

As you glide your tongue along his, the tang of your own juices fills your mouth. It doesn’t bother you. If anything it spurs you on to wrap your arms around his back and pull him closer. You tug on his shorts again. This time he raises no argument. He inhales a shaky breath as he goes in for another kiss and works the clothing down his legs until he’s steadying himself over you and clumsily struggling to kick them off.

You take his face in your hands while he gracelessly fights the fabric caught around his ankle and he smiles at you. Another jolt of electric butterflies pulse in your gut, frazzling your senses as they travel outward from their point of origin. By the time the sensation reaches your brain, it carries along the weight of your feelings. You reflect on how he cares for you, how he’s always cared for you. Navigating the key pleasure points mapped to your body is just one more way he can show it. You’re so incredibly lucky to have someone in your life so attentive and considerate of your needs. It makes you wonder how you meandered through life without a guiding light like Namjoon to lean on for support. Meditating on that thought threatens you with torrid tears.

“I love you,” you whisper.

Before he can respond with you draw him into a deep kiss, crossing your legs behind his waist to pull him closer. His shaft presses against your sensitive clit as he grinds himself down. While your body reacts with a twitch, you still roll your hips up to meet him. His bottom lip quivers and you suck it between your teeth, slowly drawing it away from him. When it snaps back to him he chases your mouth and presses you down into the pillows.

He follows the enticing motion of your hips with a loud groan. The slippery nature of your folds promises to make his entrance effortless. Each pass his cock makes over your cunt is another strike against his willpower, but god if it doesn’t feel amazing. It would be so easy to slip in, just a little bit, just enough to satisfy the aching need of the tip that inches closer and closer to your cunt. The way you lift it for him only serves as a greater invitation.

He rolls himself through your slick folds, floating on the high of the pleasure, encouraged by the moans you breathe into his mouth. He ruts into you, coasting into your entrance just enough to make him break the kiss with a whispered expletive. You whimper as he retreats and try to beckon him back with another gentle roll of your hips. He sighs, allowing himself to rock back into you enough to coat the tip of his dick with your warmth. Your cunt pulses against him, seeking to lure him further inside.

Again he surrenders to your salacious advance, sheathing the head of his cock in its entirety within your heat. You gasp and moan at the welcome intrusion, pulling on his hair as though it will move him closer than he already is.

“Please,” you whisper. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Desperate to feel the stretch of his cock diving deep inside, you make your best attempt to raise your hips higher to take more of him in. He moans into your mouth, gently rocking himself further into your cunt and then slowly pulling back out.

Playing this game is dangerous. He knows that. But with each gasp and moan he pulls from you, the stakes rise. He tells himself he’s allowed to drive another moan from you with his teasing. Just one more time. One more sound. He tests his own resolve with each shallow thrust, never sinking deeper than before.

“Joonie,” you whine as he pulls back again. “Please. Stop teasing. I want your cock in me.”

His stomach does a somersault and it snaps him back to reality before his hips can snap forward instead. He leaves the comfort of your sweet cunt to lean over you and fish for the packet in the drawer of his nightstand. It should be right on top, but it’s not. Where the fuck is it?

The sticky wet head of his cock slips against your belly while he frantically rummages through the drawer. You shudder and reach down to take him in your palm, earning you a breathy curse in response. He spares a glance towards your mischievous eyes before looking down at the way you gather the moisture from the peak of his cock and pump it down to the base. His eyes roll back in delight for a moment and he drops onto the weight of his arm. The drawer rolls out farther than it should and promptly clatters off its track and onto the carpet below.

“I can fix that,” he announces.

“Are you okay?” You laugh, trying to sit up to help.

“Fine,” he murmurs, leading you back to the pillows with a kiss. “You just got me a little...”

His eyes wander to the nightstand. Perched on its surface are the remaining foil packets he’d been searching for in the drawer with its contents now spilled on the floor.

“Oh my god.” He sighs.

“Yes?” you press with a smile. “You good?”

“Mhm.”

He quickly snatches one up, fumbling it in his hands for a second before he recklessly rips it open. He leans back on his knees to roll the condom on, but about halfway down his shaft the rubber splits and snaps against his fingers. He vents a frustrated sound from his throat and scolds himself internally for being too excited, too eager. He wasted another one in his haste.

“I’m sorry,” he says in defeat. “Hold on.”

You’re already carefully opening the last packet while he rises to discard the bits of ruined rubber. “It’s okay. Come here. I got you.”

As he approaches the bed you reach out and begin to slowly roll the new condom down his shaft. He watches your hands roam over his cock with wonder. You seem much more confident now that he’s made a complete fool of himself for the millionth time today. Maybe you won’t think of him as so much of a saint now. He’s just as much of a mess as you are.

“You don’t have to worry so much,” you say with a slow pump of your hand over his cock. “I always have that five dollars, you know?”

It’s difficult to take your eyes off of the perfect shape of his dark cock. It’s veiny and thick in your palm, and long enough to make you wonder how it might feel hitting the back of your throat.  You manage to shift your gaze to his face and beam at him.

His worried expression melts into a dimpled smile. “Geeksquad saves the day again, huh.”

“Yeah. Pretty great, right? So, come here.” Despite feigned confidence, your jaw trembles with anxiety as you settle against the pillows once more. Nerves set your body alight with excited anticipation. “And put your cock in me.”

He slots himself between your thighs and cups your cheek, catching the subtle shiver of your body.

“Cold, baby?”

“Excited,” you admit, grazing your fingers over the expanse of his back until they’re nestled in the hair behind his neck. You kiss him.

It doesn’t matter how much time he’s had to recuperate. As soon as your lips are on his and he’s teasing himself into you, he knows he’s in trouble. You’re so tight. How is he supposed to last? Inch by slow inch you take him in, then out again. Your fingers twirl around strands of his hair until you’re sure it can’t be twisted any further.

“Oh fuck.”

Your jaw drops and you gasp a stuttered slew of nonsense as he bottoms out. He remains there, unmoving as your body adjusts to the stretch of his cock. Every executable file in your brain stops working as you lie beneath him with your mouth agape, eyes wide, and fingers tangled in his hair.

“Need a minute?” he asks, peppering kisses along your bottom lip and lightly working it between his teeth.

Finally you find the command in your brain to resume all processes. You moan into his kiss and purposefully clench around him.  “Do you?”

“Evil,” he murmurs as he begins setting a slow, steady pace with his hips. “Goddamn, you’re tight.”

You throw your head back in ecstasy, exposing your neck for his mouth to latch onto. Your hands explore the muscles of his back, digging into the sculpted flesh with your nails. He grunts against you, sucking a mark into the crook of your neck to muffle the sound. Taking time to follow the creases dividing the defined muscles of his triceps, your palms drift further down to curl around the pillars of his forearms. Without disrupting his pace, he reaches up to lace his fingers with yours.

The back of your palms press into the soft pillows beside your head. You’re connected as deeply and as literally as two people can be and still you crave more. When you moan his name into the open air he trails a line of sloppy open-mouthed kisses to meet your lips. You meet each slow thrust with a roll of your hips and a desperate need to keep him inside of you forever. Frenzied panting fills the space between you as you break the kiss.

Dark eyes full of adoration peer down at you, focused on the way the force of his accelerated thrusts shake every part of your body but leaves your gaze untouched. It’s insane just how much he cares for you. By now you must be sick of hearing his declarations of love, but he wants to say it all the same. He wishes he could make you cum for him like this. He would do anything to make you cum a second time before he does. Maybe with more practice he’ll learn your body well enough to make it happen. For now he’ll settle for making you feel good. You’re enjoying yourself at the very least.

A smile spreads across your face and a sweet laugh slips out. “What?”

“What?” he echoes, lost in the sight of you beneath him like this.

It’s like his head goes empty when you laugh like that, when you look at him like you’re shy and infatuated at the same time.

“Looks like you wanna say something.”

The serious expression plastered on his features matches the intensity of his whisper, “Yeah. Maybe I do. You wanna know what it is?”

Every muscle in your cunt contracts around him. He purses his lips, takes a slow breath through his nose and relaxes his pace.

He leans next to your ear and whispers in a quiet tone, “You’re just so fucking sexy.”

You’re so flattered that all the embarrassment resting on the tip of your tongue dissipates the moment you open your mouth. Flustered words form and then decompose the moment they’re to be spoken into existence. All that comes out is a broken sound of uncertainty.

It’s like the lights dance in his eyes as he takes a moment to straighten up and regard your features. His lips press against your forehead, then your nose and he pauses over your lips.

“I love you.”

The words fall from your mouth easier than ever. “I love you too.”

He kisses you like it’s the first time: passionate, desperate, and needy. You break off to rest your forehead against his.

“So are you gonna cum inside me or what?” You can barely conceal the smile that breaks through your pursed lips.

“Wow. So am I just a piece of meat to you, Geeksquad?” he jokes.

“I mean… Protein right?” You make a ‘yikes’ face at him and start to laugh.

He shakes his head but he’s grinning like a fool. “Well if it’s what you want…”

Just like that he calls your half-bluff. He ducks his face into the crook of your neck and begins to suck another mark over the fading mark from his earlier endeavors. Your laughter quickly turns into a string of moans as he resumes the previous tempo of his thrusts. A surge of adrenalin flips your stomach on itself and excitement pulses through your body at the thought of his cum slowly dripping out of your cunt.

“I do.”

You squeeze his hands and shimmy him away from your neck so you can sink your teeth into his shoulder to hide the shame of your desire. A broken moan rattles its way up his throat as he entertains the fantasy you’ve conjured in his mind.

“You want me to fill you, hmm?” he whispers in a breathy tone between shallow breaths.

There’s no doubt in your mind that he feels the way your cunt tenses at his words to offer a wordless answer, but you also offer a muffled hum of affirmation.

“You want me to fuck my cum into you just like this, baby?” His words are followed by the sound of his balls slapping against your ass at a new feverish pace.

“Yes,” you whimper and bring your lips to his, high off the sensation of his dick plowing into you.

“Gonna take it all for me?”

“Mhm. Cum for me,” you plead between sloppy kisses. “Cum inside me.”

“Oh shit, baby,” he gasps.

You don’t get another opportunity to coax him into letting go because he’s already slamming his hips into you and crushing his mouth over yours. He’s buried deep inside of you when his hips still but you wiggle beneath him and purposefully clench to give him the tiniest overdose of pleasure. He sighs as he leans back, finally releasing his death grip on your sweaty palms.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, planting a kiss on your forehead.

“You’re sweet,” you murmur, running a hand through his sweaty hair. “Good lay too.”

He rolls his eyes but smiles nonetheless. “Likewise.”

When he pulls out to rise and dispose of the condom you already miss his shape, but the unmistakable ache starts to set in: the ache of a pussy pounded too well after a long hiatus. You clamp your legs together and roll onto your side to expose the skin of your sweaty back to the cold air of the room, closing your eyes as you listen to the patter of raindrops against the window.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Mmm.” You don’t bother opening your eyes. “I seriously need another shower. Sorry about your bed.”

He kneels on the floor next to the edge of the bed and carefully moves the hair from your face. “You can soak my sheets any time.”

“Hmm. I’ll keep that in mind. Sounds gross though. Definitely don’t wanna lay in the puddle behind me.”

“Tired?”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna sleep right there?”

“No.”

You’re such a liar.

He lets a few seconds of silence pass before he speaks again. “How about shower and movie?”

You peek at him from beneath one eyelid. “What movie?”

“Thinking The Kick, unless you have something else in mind.”

“No, that’s— Wait, what time do we have to be at Tae’s?”

Namjoon’s eyes widen and he rubs the back of his neck. “Later… Uh, about that. Are we— I mean on one hand I don’t wanna make a big deal about it but…”

You bolt upright. “Oh no. They’re gonna make such a thing out of it. Nevermind. I’m never seeing them again.”

“It won’t be that bad.”

“Won’t it? Oh my god, if I show up in your clothes…”

“Geeksquad.” He grabs your face.

“Joonie.”  

You reciprocate the action and squish his cheeks towards the center of his face, causing his lips to pucker. He quickly takes your hands into his own.

“Hey. Look at me,” he pauses to make sure you meet his eyes before he continues. “You’re fine. Stay. We’ll figure it out when we get there and we’ll do it together.”

“Okay,” you breathe a sigh of relief. “Okay.”

“Be my ride?” He flashes you his wide dimpled smile.

“Only if you’re mine later.” You wink and draw him into a chaste kiss.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

"Geeksquad."

His voice sounds distant and soft while reminding you you’re home. In this moment, you’re safe, you’re warm, and you’re loved. It’s too comforting to move away right now, too comforting to bring your eyes to open, so you cling to the heat of his body.

“Hey,” he tries again, gently nudging your shoulder. “Geeksquad, wake up.”

You make sure that your distaste is apparent with a loud grumble. You nuzzle against his chest with your cheek and hum like it will drown him out. He laughs softly as the sound fades away. He briefly lets silence fill the space, which allots you the precious seconds needed to hit the imaginary snooze button and doze off again. It seems he isn't having it when he lets out a loud sigh.

“You missed the end and it’s already five,” he tries to reason. “Weren’t you the one who told me not to let you sleep too long? Unless…” He carefully snakes his fingertips down to your side, hoping to remain undetected. “...You changed your mind about going home to get all cute because you finally realize you are cute, you know, without trying."

You groan against his chest and that seems to be enough to keep him quiet. Just as he feels your head begin to drop down he starts talking loudly.

"Oh, I see. You just really wanna be out flaunting how good you look wearing my clothes. That’s it, right?"

You lightly smack your hand against his chest but don’t allow yourself to let your guard down until you’re certain he's given up.

"That must be it," he continues. "Not you... Being a pain in the ass to wake up. At all.”

With your head pressed against his chest, you find it difficult to drift back off with every loud word dropping from his mouth and vibrating straight into your eardrum. Still you rock your forehead against him and try to ignore his booming voice. When his fingers dig into your side to tickle you, your body jolts up straight and you can’t help but laugh.

“Wow. She speaks,” he jokes. “...Kinda.”

You wiggle against his grip, thrusting your chest up while dipping your head back. You attempt to scold him with his name between a fit of giggles. “Stop,” you wheeze.

“But I love the way you laugh.” His fingers relax despite his words. He leans in to press his lips to your perfectly exposed neck.

Your breathless laughter quickly transforms into a subtle slew of whimpers. He swathes his tongue across a particularly sensitive spot and your breath hitches. You grab his arm and pull down like you want him to crush you like a bug. He doesn’t. Instead he smirks against your neck when he feels your nails dig into his bicep.

“Joonie…” you whine.

He offers his inquiry in the form of a hum that radiates vibrations from the point of contact with your skin.

You’re embarrassed to admit the million things you want to ask him to do right now in place of complaining about his teasing. “Come closer.”

“Closer how?” he murmurs before kissing that spot again.

You take the hand at your side and slip it beneath the worn fabric of your shirt. You don’t have to lead him very far until he’s molding the flesh of your breast with his hand and you’re panting shallow breaths into the air around you. The sweet kiss at your neck turns into a sinful demonstration. The things he could do to you, for you. Do you truly know?

You know you never want him to leave. The heat from his mouth seems to sear a path of lava straight to your core. Your fingers glide through his hair and settle at his jaw. It takes all of your self control to gently push him away from that delightful spot he’s found so that you can plant a soft kiss against his jaw.

You draw out a groan as you pull away. “Maybe we should just cancel.”

“Mmm, don’t tempt me. You know I will,” he murmurs, chasing after your lips.

You lean back just a bit further, a grin plastered on your face as you allow him to press his mouth against yours just one more time.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

The rain has been reduced to a light patter against your windshield now. You’re grateful that visibility is decent as you pull up to the familiar curb in front of Namjoon’s building. Already waiting just within the building’s entrance, he sprints out at the sight of your headlights. He eagerly hops into the passenger seat and you do your best not to look over at him. Suddenly, you’re nervous. Have your palms ever secreted this much sweat in your life? Still you keep your hands planted on the steering wheel, staring ahead like you’re playing the role of a first-time chauffeur.

Sensing a lingering apprehension, he clears his throat as his seatbelt clicks into place. “Everything okay?”

Keeping the car in park, you allow yourself to look over at him. He smells good. He looks incredible, even in a simple black tee and jeans. And he’s looking at you like all he wants to do is kiss your lips for the millionth time today. It’s like you can feel the anxiety melt from your face.

“I’m nervous,” you admit, shaking out your hands as though that will clear the sweat from them.  “I don’t know why I’m so nervous.”

Your sheepish laugh causes him to reach out for your sweaty palm. To your surprise his hand is just as hot and moist as yours. Regardless of how uncomfortable it is, he holds on tight and laces his fingers between yours.

“It’s okay. Me too.”

The pair of you stare at each other for a few seconds in silence, just smiling and trying to think of what you were going to say before promptly getting lost in one another’s eyes. How is it you’ve never noticed the softness in his features when he looks at you like this? It still feels kind of surreal. But your heart skips a beat and you allow yourself to acknowledge the way heat radiates from your cheeks. You want to kiss him, to reassure him you’re not going to waffle on him again, but you’re too entranced by the infatuation smeared across every aspect of his face.

When you finally speak, he starts at the same time and you both have to pause and laugh. Silence falls between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s charged. It’s shy. It’s excited. He bites his lip and drags it through his teeth as his eyes rake over any part of you they can.

“You look beautiful.”

You lick your lips and your smile grows larger in response. “I- Thank you. I’m. We-- I mean, you look…” A nervous laugh slips into the breath between your words. “Hi.”

He leans across the armrest and plants a soft kiss against your lips. The moment you reciprocate his tongue dips into your mouth and glides against yours. It takes all of your willpower to keep the car running instead of plucking the keys out and dragging him back into his apartment to fuck him stupid. Still you rely on him to break the kiss.

“Hi,” he whispers, dragging a thumb across your cheek as he cups your jaw. “Still nervous?”

You nod. “My stomach hurts.”

“Hey, they’re our friends. It’ll be okay.”

“I know. You’re right.” You sit back against your seat and stare blankly out the foggy windshield. “I haven’t answered Jennie all day. She’s asking and I… I don’t want to answer.”

His heart sinks. It sounds like you want to keep things a secret, even though he knows you’re a terrible liar. No wonder you’re so nervous. It’s the last thing he wants to do, but if you asked he would attempt to cover for the both of you. He sincerely hopes you don’t ask.

“It’s just… I don’t want it to be a text. I mean, do we go in holding hands?” you ask, instantly allaying his fears. “Do we just announce it?”

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Geeksquad, come on. Pretend like nothing’s changed. Things are basically the same right?”

You nod, but your expression casts uncertainty over the action. “Right, right. We can just say it like that, right? I mean, we still work at the same place. We still like to hang out together. Watch movies,It’s just a little more… intimate. You know, the kind of time you spend with someone that you care about and like… make out and have bomb sex and—”

“I’ll tell them we’re together,” he interrupts. “You’re my girlfriend. You signed the love contract.”

“Okay but you’re not going to tell them about the contract right?”

“Mmm. Maybe. Didn’t see anything about it in the terms and conditions.” He laughs.

“Uh, the fine print says you’re sworn to secrecy of its existence. You know, like fight club.”

“Must have missed that. Didn’t have my glasses on, you know?”

“Oh, here.” The lightbulb in your head flickers on. You rummage through the compartment beneath the armrest, presenting Namjoon with the glasses you’d been meaning to return for some time now. “Maybe these will help. You left them at my place.”

“Shit. I thought I lost those.” He sighs, taking them from you. “Wish I hadn’t ordered another pair.”

“Sorry, I kept forgetting to give them to you,” you admit.

He smiles. “Did you forget, or were you pining over me? Be real with me, Geeksquad.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay. I’m gonna start driving before I push you out of this car.”

“Sniffing them because they remind you of me?” he teases.

“Yeah. They smell like avocados.” You laugh as you turn your attention to the road. “You’re lucky hipster glasses are in.”

“Alright, baby.”

He hums in amusement, sparing a glance out the window beside him. It seems like the barrage of rainy days may be coming to an end soon. At least he hopes so. There’s not much he wouldn’t give to take you to his favorite hiking spots, have a picnic with you under clear blue skies, or lay on a sandy beach with you by his side.

“You keep calling me baby,” you point out quietly, pulling him from his reverie.

“Wha— I’m sorry. It was heat of the moment and it felt really natural when we were fucking you know? But if it’s weird now, I-I can stop. I’ll stick with tried and true Geeksquad.” He stumbles through his embarrassment in true Namjoon fashion.

“No, I like it. I just wanted to tell you it... makes me feel good. Way better than Geeksquad.”

“Yeah, you are.”

You smirk and reach for his hand and he gives you a tight squeeze, driving the rest of the way in a comfortable silence. Holding his hand is enough to keep you distracted from all the noise in your head.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

Knock-knockknock—-knock-knock.

The answer to your knock is the resounding pound of Hobi’s fist through the barrier of the door.

KNOCK-KNOCK.

The door swings open and Hoseok’s smiling face greets you. Namjoon’s hand falls from around your shoulder on instinct. Although Hoseok’s eyes briefly drop to Namjoon’s twitching fingers he draws no further attention to the reaction, stepping aside and gesturing for the pair of you to enter. Seokjin’s incoherent shouting carries from the other room, nearly drowning out your greetings.

“It’s about time.” Hoseok tips a bottle to his lips and the majority of the liquid sloshes back down as he makes a face and runs to shove it against Yoongi’s shoulder. “Yuck.”

Yoongi takes a hearty swig without so much as a glance away from the kitchen. The unmistakable bounce of a ping pong ball springs from the unseen room and you lean back to attempt to see around the blockade Yoongi and Hoseok’s bodies have created between you and whatever is happening in there.

“They started playing while we were waiting for you. Should be done soon,” Hobi says, walking back towards you. “Jimin and Tae put up a good fight but Jungkookie is too good.”

“You didn’t have to wait. We could have met you there,” Namjoon says, rubbing the back of his neck and stealing a sideways glance at you.

Hoseok raises an eyebrow and smirks, his eyes following Namjoon’s to you. His bony finger pokes your spine and you instantly tense and straighten your posture.

“I think we all wanted to wait.”

He knows. Even as you spin towards him you feel it. Despite the words left unspoken, somehow he already knows.

Yup. It’s time. Just get it over with. Easier thought than done.

“Why?” you blurt.

“Well...” Hoseok begins, ghosting his fingers over your shoulder as he walks towards the couch to put his shoes on. “We wanted to see you guys. Had a feeling we might not see too much of you as the night goes on. Figured you might want some,” he pauses to finish knotting his shoelace, grinning at you as he stands, “hmm, alone time?”

“I— Pssfht. What?” The unexpected shrillness of your voice cuts through the space between you. You clear your throat and do your best to dampen your anxiety. “I mean, like, why would we—? We’re—We, uh, whew… Is it hot in here?”

Words are no good right now. Anything else you say will just be another unnecessary embarrassment to endure. Your heartbeat resides in your ears as your flight response kicks in. Namjoon must hear it too because drapes his arm around your shoulder and pulls you towards the comforting mass of his chest.

Your fingers fidget with your keys even though you know you won’t need them tonight. You consider tossing them in the bowl Tae keeps on the counter, but that would require walking past the rest of your friends and abandoning Namjoon. You agreed you would face them together.

Namjoon smiles softly and gives your arm a reassuring squeeze. “We’re good, man.”

“Are you?” The look on Hoseok’s face tells you he’s hoping you’ll expand on Namjoon’s short answer. “How are you doing, Y/N? Has that douche tried to contact you?”

You almost forgot about Jihoon. It seems like such a distant memory now. The sting of his words echo in the darkest corner of your mind, but not for long. A smile forces those thoughts to scatter as you look to Namjoon for support. You take a breath and exhale a relieved sigh.

“Nope. He’s gone for good, I think.” You reach for Namjoon’s hand, using the courage his touch instills to fuel your confession. “If he comes back around I’m sure my boyfriend will try to kick his ass.”

“Wait. It’s finally happening?” Hoseok’s eyes go wide and he springs from the couch in an instant to poke his fingers against your sides. He didn’t expect to be totally correct in his assumptions, but he hoped for it. “For really real?”

You said it first. Out loud. Namjoon’s stomach churns in excitement as he looks at you. You’re grinning like a dork and nodding even though he knows you’re embarrassed as hell. Yeah. He’s pretty sure he’s never been more in love with your goofy ass smile. Hoseok covers your entwined fingers with both of his hands and practically drags you both towards the kitchen.

“Guys, guys! It’s official!”

The ball leaves Jungkook’s fingertips, launches across the table and circles the rim of the final cup as his opponents turn away. The room goes quiet, save for the airy spin of the ball slowly decelerating into the contents of the cup. Namjoon adjusts his glasses and you swallow hard under the burning spotlight of your friends’ eyes.

“Drumroll, please!” Hoseok demands with a smile, rolling his tongue to begin the buildup. “Bdrdrdrrdrdrdrdrdrdrdrdrdr--”

Yoongi presses his lips together to hold back a smile and begins drumming his fingers on the wall beside him. Not willing to be outdone, Seokjin and Jungkook join in, pounding their fists on the table, followed by the light tap of Jimin’s hands against his thighs, and the smack of Taehyung’s palms against his face.

“I present to you the moment we’ve all been waiting for…” Hoseok ducks behind the pair of you and lifts your arms like you’ve just tied for victory in a boxing match. “Joonsquad!”

The inflection at the end of his tone makes you cringe almost as hard as the nickname.

“Nope. No. We’re not calling it that.”

“Joonsquad? Really?”

The combined cheers from your friends drown out your objections.

Jimin’s arms are the first to wrap you both into a tight bear hug. “I’m so happy for you both.”

The statement seems genuine, but you’re flooded with the embarrassing memory of drunkenly slobbering over his face. Namjoon had always reminded you that Jimin was used to keeping things casual but still you find yourself ashamed for going there. Harmless flirting and games of chicken ruled your friendship with Jimin for so long. You used to fantasize about his lips exploring your body, but it seems so preposterous now. You’re not sure when it happened, but things changed.

Despite your mind’s acknowledgement of his beauty there is no worry accompanying it, no butterflies wreaking havoc on your senses. Your simple crush has faded into surface appreciation. It seems easy to recognize that now that you’ve stopped trying to push down the feelings you have for your best friend. Any lingering affections you bear resemble nothing more than a strengthened friendship, much like the one you’ve shared with Jennie for years.

Even with all the back slaps and fistbumps, Namjoon’s eyes are trained on you in a smitten stupor. Embarrassment does nothing to steal the light in your eyes or the joy in your laugh. All of the congratulations in the world can’t reach his ears when you’re looking at him like that.

“I knew it!” Jennie comes running from around the corner, pushing past all the men in her path to throw her arms around you. “No wonder you’ve been dodging my texts. I wanna know everything.” She attempts a whisper, but softness doesn’t translate through the liquor already clouding her voice. “In detail.”

Namjoon clears his throat loudly to combat the redness spreading along his ears. “Where are we headed? Seesaw?”

Everyone looks at one another like they hadn’t really thought about it.

“Sure. Your first drink is on me.” Yoongi throws an arm around Namjoon.

Hoseok weaves his arm beneath Yoongi’s from Namjoon’s other side, beginning to walk them towards the door. “It’s a dancing night, don’t you think?”

“How about we hit up the strip club after?” Jungkook suggests, already tugging his sneakers on and stumbling towards the door.

Seokjin rolls his eyes and claps a hand around the youngest’s neck. “Do you really want to break up a couple so soon?”

“What? They can look together, right? Wings doesn’t discriminate. It’s like a bonding thing. You don’t mind, do you, Y/N?”

“Don’t worry, Y/N. We’re not going there.” Seokjin turns back to Jungkook to whisper, “Not every celebration needs to be at a strip club.”

“I’ll remember that on your birthday,” Jungkook mutters, already on his way out the door.

The others begin to follow suit but before you can get too far, Taehyung latches onto your elbow. “Keys.”

“Right.” You produce a tangled mess of keychains and keys. Namjoon hangs back to wait with you, leaning against the doorframe as Tae disappears.

“You’re always welcome to stay here,” Tae offers as your keys clang against the others in the bowl.

Namjoon chews on his lip and looks to you. As long as you’ll lay next to him he doesn’t care where he sleeps tonight.

“Depends how drunk we get,” you reply with a smile, lacing your fingers with Namjoon’s to lead him out of the apartment. “Thanks, Tae.”

He grins and pats Namjoon’s shoulder after locking the door. “Don’t worry, Jungkook washed all the sheets yesterday.”

You flip up the hood of your sweater and tighten the strings to cover your face. You’re definitely not coming back here tonight.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

You’ve done your best to balance your attention between your friends throughout the night, sharing food, drinking and laughing together. But as the night continues you feel your energy draining with each attempt to remain social and engaged in conversation. You’re grateful when Namjoon steers the conversation away from you, leading most of the table towards the bar to collect more drinks for everyone. Only Hoseok and Yoongi are left to hold down the table with you. You’re pretty sure Namjoon is counting on the majority of the group getting distracted and splitting off. At least you’re hoping that’s what he’s playing at because you’d really like to get away from all the questions and stories.

When you yawn Yoongi nudges your elbow out from under you, forcing you to catch yourself before your chin slams against the table.

“Tired?” he asks with a smirk, eyes focused elsewhere.

“Mmm,” you agree with a nod. “I guess I should get up before they come back or I’ll be stuck here forever, huh?”

“You know, you’re not being rude if you want to head out. You don’t have to stay and prove anything. We’ve all been rooting for you to get together. If you wanna slip away for some privacy, you should.”

It’s funny how well your friends know you. You can’t even remember what life was like before they came along.

“A break from questions would be nice,” you admit with a stretch of your arms.

Hoseok, who’s been nursing the same drink all night, brings the glass to his lips and gulps down a rather large sip and scrunches his features together. “Blegh. Ooooor you can come dance with me.” He wiggles his eyebrows for good measure.

You stare him down, tonguing the straw to your tequila sunrise and trying to steal the last sip of the drink from the ice that remains in your glass. Is he trying to fuck with you?

“Don’t worry, I’ll be good.” He laughs, offering you his hand. “Namjoonie’s not much of a dancer, but I think he’d be willing to learn from you more than me. Think I can teach you something to show him before he gets back?”

“Hobi, I know how to dance,” you say with a laugh, although you’re already taking his hand.

“Mmm, do you though?” Hoseok flitters his free hand back and forth. “Ehhhh.”

With a roll of your eyes, you spare Yoongi a glance. “You coming?”

Yoongi leans back in his seat with a shake of his head. He casually pops a fry into his mouth.“Go on. I’ll send Namjoon your way so Hobi will keep his hands above your waist.”

“That’s just rude,” Hoseok scoffs, pulling you towards the dance floor.

He’s true to his word, dancing as respectably as someone with hips like Hoseok can. He guides your hips with his hands as he sways behind you.

“You’re perfect for him,” he says.

“What?” Your rhythm falters and you lose your sense of balance, stepping on his foot as you try to keep yourself from falling. “Sorry.”

He laughs, tickling your sides. “See? That’s what I mean. Took you dummies long enough to realize it.”

“It’s my fault. I was too scared and stupid to see what was right in front of me this entire time.” You sigh and lean back, surprised to find his chest a decent distance away. “I still think he’s too good for me.”

“Oh, pffft. Stop it,” Hoseok chides in your ear.

“I hope— Ugh, nevermind.”

“What?”

A small chuckle escapes with a held breath. “It’s dumb.”

“So?”

“I just— I hope my love is good enough for him.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that.”

His hands hug around your stomach and push you closer to him, but the way they subtly tremble as they descend to rest on your hips feels different. When Hoseok steps around and hands still clasp you from behind, your heart soars. If not for the familiarity of the stiff chest at your back and the loving embrace enveloping your form, you might be nervous.

Namjoon’s lips caress your ear as he whispers, “You know it is.”

Even your best attempt to hide your embarrassed smile would fail, so it’s a good thing you’re not even trying. Hoseok wears a satisfied grin as he watches you turn towards Namjoon for a shy kiss. He thinks about leaving you with dancing advice, but instead he decides to slink away wordlessly. There isn’t anything he could say right now that the two of you would hear, not when you’re in a world of your own like this.

It’s easy to lose track of time as you grind against him, teasing him with every swaying motion of your hips. Every sigh against your ear spurs you on to press him further. Even with all the layers between you, the hard length grinding against your ass is ever-present and obvious enough to make you want to bend over so he can take you right here.

Instead you dance and feel his body move against yours until exhaustion starts to set in. Tae and Jennie are already waiting for a ride by the time you step outside. Your cheeks ache from smiling so much and every muscle in your face is too tired to speak. She looks just as tired as you but she gives you a small greeting.

It’s funny how you don’t find anything odd about the way she leans into Tae as they sit near one another, or the way Tae is absentmindedly stroking her hair. You feel like it should be odd, but the world is so far away that you can’t hold the details in your brain long enough to make a connection. Between the haze of alcohol and sleep, you’re too far gone to think too much about it.

Namjoon keeps his arm around you as he talks to Tae, but you don’t catch much of their conversation. Sleep threatens to take you where you stand. You count yourself lucky that Namjoon cares for you so well. You close your eyes to rest for a moment, but when you open them again he’s unbuckling your seatbelt and helping you out of the lyft. You shuffle past the threshold of Tae’s home.

Namjoon leads you down the hall to the guest room and pulls on the dangling chain on the lamp  near the bed. A soft yellow glow fills the room as you start to sleepily yank the clothing from your body. Namjoon quickly goes for the open door, but Tae is already in the doorway averting his gaze with one hand and holding a small quilt in the other.

“Thanks. She, uh, gets really cold,” Namjoon says, blocking your body with his frame as you bend at the waist to untie the shoes you now realize are blocking your pants from sliding over your feet.

“Sorry. Let me know if you need anything else,” Tae mumbles, clearly embarrassed. “Goodnight.”

“Night,” Namjoon murmurs back, clutching the quilt as he softly closes the door and turns to you. “Baby.”

“Hmm.”

Your foot is stuck in your shoe but you can’t get your foot out because your shoe is stuck in your jeans. This is a conundrum.

“Baby, you’re gonna fall. Sit down. I’ll help you.”

“I can do it,” you mumble, plopping down on the edge of the bed.

“I know,” he says, already on his knees before you.

He frees your legs and gives you a kiss as he helps you wiggle below the bedspread, setting the quilt on top of your side.

“It’s hot,” you mumble.

“I know.”

“Too hot for blankets.”

“I know. How about the sheet?” he asks, rolling everything back except for the topsheet. He knows you. You’ll want them again soon enough.

“Mm. Come here.” You reach your grabby hands out for him as he flicks the light off.

“I’m coming.” He laughs and slides beside you. “So needy.”

Although you know he can’t see you pout, he pulls you toward his chest anyway and it turns into a smirk against his warm skin.

“It’s ‘cause I needy--you” you slur with a giggle, planting your lips against his chest in a drawn out kiss.

“You’re a hot mess and I love you,” he says, shaking his head.

“Love you, too.”

It’s clear you’re already falling asleep but he gently strokes your arm until the world around you begins to cool and fall away. When you roll away with a shiver, he carefully secures your body in a cocoon of blankets and drapes his arm and leg over you. Not even overheating could keep him from your touch. A wave of calm overtakes him.

This time he knows: this is love.

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

Months into your relationship,you’ve have prepared for the end of the semester by planning a little vacation for just the two of you. Namjoon struggles to get through his last day of work, daydreaming about staying at Tae’s summer home and laying on the beach with you. His favorite hiking spot isn’t too far from there and he’s been dying to take you and show you the clearing of wildflowers he loves so much. Hopefully they’ve bloomed beautifully.

He yawns and stretches out, flipping the binder on his desk. It’s been a long day, commemorating the end of a long week. He’s exhausted, but he’s graded every last paper and is in good shape to submit final scores by the deadline. His phone buzzes against the dark wood in the only spot bereft of errant papers. He flips the screen around, finally allowing himself to check the time and give in to distractions.

You: Still working bae

He smiles, thumb gliding over the screen effortlessly while attempting to organize the mess on his desk.

Namjoon: Just finishing up. You: 😏 You: can I You: come before you finish You: it’s only fair

He halts his efforts to stare at his phone.

Namjoon: … You: yes?? Namjoon: 🤦‍♂️ You: what? I’m serious You: 😈😈😈 Namjoon: You on campus? You: I mean... You: who else is gonna be your ride 😘

He shakes his head, smile growing wider as he glances up at the monitor before him. He definitely doesn’t miss running to catch the last bus on late nights. He’s nearly done logging final comments. He’ll be done sooner than you can get here, but this might be as good a time as any to make the reveal.

Namjoon hits the icon to call you, swooning at the familiar image of you stealing his drink. He straightens his glasses and types away at the keyboard while trapping the phone between his ear and shoulder. It doesn’t ring for very long.

“Joonie?”

“Hey, I gotta upload these grades but I’m having trouble.”

You sigh. The last thing you want to do tonight is work, especially not with what you had planned. “What kind of trouble?”

Even as he types away on the keyboard, his mind searches for a term, some kind of red alert to get you off the phone and into his office so he can tell you in person.

“Uh… blue screen.”

“Blue screen of death?” You rub your temple. “What does it say?”

“Uh,” he swallows, pausing to proofread the comment along with the grade he’s about to submit. “It just restarted.”

“On its own?”

Submit.

“Yeah.”

“Is this the first time it’s doing this?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, see if it starts up okay. We can always come back before we go on vacation.”

“Baby, I really want to get these done tonight. I was so close to being done so we can start tonight.”

You sigh heavily and check your makeup in the rearview mirror. “Is it starting up?”

“No, it’s beeping.”

Even straining your ears doesn’t help you pick up on the sound.  “Are you sure?”

“Can you come here? Please?”

Your heart melts. “I’ll be right there.”

You turn the car off and grab one of Namjoon’s oversized hoodies from the backseat. You slip it over your skimpy outfit and carefully make your way to the library, tugging on the hem like it will somehow magically cover all the exposed flesh down to your knees. No such luck. Regardless of how many times you’ve practiced wearing these awful heels, it’s not like you expected to be walking up several flights of stairs in them.

There’s no security guard at the station across the quad. You don’t know if you should feel as happy as you do about that. Despite the voice in the back of your head telling you to get in your car and demand an escort to his office, embarrassment outweighs any fear for safety and you push on. Only a familiar yellow cardigan draped over a chair greets you at the receptionist’s desk, its occupant long gone for the night.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins as you climb the stairs, passing stack after stack of dimly lit bookshelves until you’re standing outside of the only office still illuminated. Thankfully the door is propped open and you power walk as fast as you can towards it. The faster you can fix it, the faster you can head home and celebrate the end of the semester the way you originally planned.

He nearly tips the chair as he stands. It hits the back wall of his office with a graceless bang. “Y/N? Are those heels? Did you drive here in those?”

It’s difficult to keep your lips as they are when he adorns that expression, features battling between where they might settle: aroused or awestruck. You’d rather not screw up the perfect lipstick application you worked so hard to achieve— not yet at least. The plan is to be on your knees when that happens.

“You look—” he pauses as his traveling eyes try to glean any information they can. His voice lowers to a whisper and he quickly attempts to sate his curiosity with a wandering hand up your thigh. “Are-Are you not wearing anything under there?”

Before you can answer his fingers find the pleated fabric hidden beneath the hoodie and a new, eager question fumbles from his lips. “What are... you wearing?”

As much as you’d like for him to keep exploring, you muster enough willpower to smack his hands away. It’s only fair that he has to wait while you work.

“Computer first. You said it was beeping. Did it ever start back up?”

He swallows hard as you round the desk and start troubleshooting. It’s hard to think when all the blood in his brain is quickly evacuating in favor of inhabiting a far less intelligent location. He’s supposed to say something. He knows that much. But you look so beautiful he forgets how to say it. Your brows furrow in frustration and you sigh his name.

You’ve done your makeup, your hair is down for the first time in a long time, and you even put on a cute outfit as far as he can gather. But here you are in his hoodie, donning a pair of blue-light blocking glasses, rolling up the baggy sleeves, and tying your hair into a tight ponytail as you start to go into full on geeksquad mode. Even with your hunched shoulders and irritated tongue clicking, you’re trying to help him, still beautiful in the way he loves.

Underneath all that skin-deep beauty that fades with time, within the wrinkles that have already begun to crease the edges of your eyes and the corners of your mouth, you shine. You shine brighter than any star he’s ever seen. Months of reflecting your light haven’t been enough to show you the true glow of your soul, but he’s confident that one day you’ll see it.

He’s pulled back to reality as your scowl settles on him. Repeatedly pressing the power button with your finger won’t change the fact that he’s purposefully unplugged it, a fact it seems you’ve come to realize when you reach for the VGA cable and there’s nothing there.

A charming, dimpled smile graces his features and he picks up the monitor with ease. “I, uh, think maybe something fell off before you got here.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your computer, is there?” You lean back in the chair and sigh as he stands there like a fool on the opposite side of the desk, cradling his LCD screen like a bouquet.

“No,” he says sheepishly. He gently lowers the monitor to the floor and sighs. “I planned on presenting this better, but you distracted me. There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about for a while now.”

Your stomach is spinning and you take in a deep breath. Oh fuck. Is he really going to break up with you? No, he can’t be. He wouldn’t be smiling about that. Would he?

“Nothing bad,” he quickly adds, circling behind the desk and your chair in one large stride. His thumbs dive into the fabric of your hoodie to rub circles into your shoulders.  “At least I don’t think you’ll think it’s bad…” Terror strikes at his belly and he adds, “Unless you do...”

“Joon. Please. You’re stressing me out. Whatever it is, just tell me.”

He spins the chair around and squats down onto one knee. He straightens his tie and reaches for your hand, sending your stomach on another rollercoaster ride, only this one is running in the complete opposite direction and you’re equally as unprepared. You’re not really a marriage kind of person. Well, maybe you are, but you’re not sure. It’s too soon to know! You’re more of a limbless amoeba at this point, stuffed into heels and floating with the other protozoa in the petri dish of the universe, unthinking, just existing.

The world stops as he reaches into his coat pocket and you find yourself too petrified to speak. You close your eyes and slump into the chair like you’ve become a being comprised solely of pudding. Your skirt rides up as you sink and your panties shrink into the world’s thinnest thong. Have you ever held a breath for this long? Maybe you’ll melt through the mesh seat and evaporate into the cheap carpet below. It takes him too long to realize his latest mistake.

It was probably the pudding hand that tipped him off.

“Oh. Shit. Okay. No, look at me. I’m not—” He laughs and sets something in your palm, closing your fingers around it and holding them there. “Look.”

You finally settle on the floor before him and squeeze the item in your palm. It feels unremarkable, like a basic wire or plastic cap. The most remarkable part about it is that it is definitely not a ring.

Relief washes over you with the breath you exhale. “Joon. You’re killing me. Please.”

“Here’s the thing.”

He releases your hand so you can look at this unremarkable thing that has caused you so much panic. It’s the plastic head of a CAT5 plug, pins and all. You tilt your head to one side and inspect it with childlike curiosity and bewilderment.

“I’m not that bad with computers. I mean, I’m not like you-level, but I’m not as bad as you think.”

Things begin to click into place. This isn’t just any ethernet plug. It’s the first one, the one you couldn’t fathom disappearing like it did, leaving a mess of wires in its wake. Namjoon just seemed so clueless that you naturally blamed drunken students vandalizing campus property for shits and giggles. It never crossed your mind that the sweet, quiet professor could have staged the whole thing.

“Before I knew you, I wanted to know you. But I felt like I needed an excuse to talk to you so I…” He reaches into his pocket and adds various bits of broken plastic and screws to your cupped hand. “...did this.”

You blink stupidly at the pile in your palm, watching busted pieces of plastic slide off the side of the tiny heap of junk and fall onto the floor beside your knees. “Oh my god. You…?”

“Breaking things seemed like the easiest way to spend time with you,” he admits. “At least at first. I started doing less destructive things after a while. Deleting empty documents. Unplugging my keyboard. Turning off bluetooth. Moving my email shortcuts. I mean, damn. I thought you caught me more than once. I kept waiting for you to call me out. I dreaded it. I hoped for it.”

A cackle bubbles in the back of your throat but you suppress it with a snort. “So you held onto these? This whole time?”

“I didn’t know if I should like, recycle them or not and it’s not like I could ask you. And I mean googling that just seems suspicious. I’m not about to land myself on a watch list or something. But like, for real, you should definitely tell me if I can recycle them though because I have more and I would really like to clean out my drawer.”

Laughter breaches your lips in full force. “You faked being bad at stuff this whole time? Joonie, are you serious? I can’t believe I fell for the way — the way you type!” You cough and wheeze, trying to catch your breath between laughs. “With two fingers! I should have known. Only dads type like that. Oh my god. “

He offers a sheepish smile. “Actually, I really type like that. Something about the keys.”

“Oh.” Your laughter dies. “Sorry. I mean that like… mmm. You know what, I meant what I said. Kinda crazy, considering you text faster than me.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes. “Okay. Texting is different.”

You cross your arms, burying the broken pieces in your clenched fist. “Have you ever needed my help? Should even come running anymore?”

“Hey, sometimes I really do. I’m still clumsy. Plus, it’s out there now. I have no reason to waste your time... unless you want me to. I won’t stop you from climbing under my desk in those hot pants you wear with all the little pockets.”

You furrow your brows and scoff, an incredulous grin spreading across your face. “My cargo pants? Those pockets are huge.”

“Not compared to your ass.” He shakes his head with a smile, holds up his hands like he’s cupping your ass and pretends to squeeze it a couple times.

“Why are you like this?” You laugh with a roll of your eyes.

“Excuse me, who’s the one getting so drunk she’s going on thinking it’s hot to talk about making guacamole with my avocado dick?”

“Vaguely remember that. Smeared it all over me though, didn’t you?” You grin and wiggle your eyebrows.

He purses his lips and takes a breath. “If you mean watched you drink too fast on an empty stomach while we waited for takeout, sat with you while you dry-heaved for 20 minutes untiI I carried you to the couch and held your hand till you drank enough water to fall asleep, then yeah. Smeared it good.”

“And that’s why… I love you.”

You lean in and stop short of his lips, sitting back enough to narrow your eyes at him.

”Wait a minute. Projector.”

If you’ve been living on a ramen and cereal diet for two years because of a man’s inability to properly express romantic interest, you’re going to be pissed, regardless of how much you love said man now.

“Oh, hey, no. Hold up. The projector was a real accident. I cried,” he reminds you. “I will proclaim you as my goddess and savior for all time on that one.”

“Goddess, huh?” you smirk and close your fist around the busted pieces, leaning in for a kiss. “You gonna call me that instead now? I think I like that better than Geeksquad.”

He hums disagreement against your lips, “Mmm-mmm.”

You rest your forehead against his. “Promise me you won’t purposefully break anything else going forward.”

“I promise. That includes your heart,” he whispers, cupping your chin and pressing his lips against your cheek.

“You are so corny.” You pull at his tie, grinning as you lure him to your lips again. “And I’m so here for it. Now are you gonna help me up so we can start our vacation? Or are you gonna sit there with a hard dick and pretend like you still have work to do?”

He clicks his tongue and rises to his feet to extend a hand to you. As you attempt to pull yourself up, he reaches for your sides and lifts you with ease until you’re perched on the edge of his desk. He didn’t ask you to part your legs yet they spread for him anyway, wrapping around his waist and pulling him close.

“Are you gonna make me guess what all this is about?” he asks, tilting his head to the side and giving your crude ponytail a soft tug.

You smirk, staring at the red streaks of your lipstick circling his mouth while you try to ignore the heat between your legs that begs you to take him right here. You’ve imagined fucking on this desk thousands of times, but at least you still have enough sense to realize the risk in playing out that fantasy. He’s got a perfectly good desk at his place anyway.

“Take me home and maybe you’ll get to find out,” you say, pulling your keys from the hoodie pocket and letting them hang from your finger.

He groans as he takes them from you. “You know I can’t do highways.”

“Backroads are fine.”

“It’s gonna take forever,” he complains, dropping his head to your shoulder.

“It’s a good time to practice. Come on.” You pat his back a couple times and hop down from the desk, making sure to grind yourself against his erection. “I promise I’ll make it worth the wait.”

───── ⋆⋅☆·⋆ ─────

As soon as you’re in his apartment, you remove the hoodie to reveal your very crude surprise: a slutty schoolgirl costume. Eyes wide and jaw slack, he stops loosening his tie to imitate a lifeless statue of a drooling neanderthal.

“Y/N, what is… Why?”

“Because,” you begin in a low, sultry tone as you drag your fingers over the soft silk still in his hand. “I want you to teach me a lesson.”

His soft exhale fills the space between you and he stumbles to form a response. He laughs nervously, unable to compose himself. “What?”

You bite your lip, suddenly feeling stupidly uncertain. “You… watch this porn all the time, don’t you? At least I thought you did. Oh. Oh god. This is stupid. Sorry.”

He grips your shoulders to keep you from running towards the bedroom. His eyelids flutter for a

second as he struggles to compose his thoughts. “No. It’s fine. I’m all for roleplay. I’m just... I’m not into the teacher-student trope.”

You frown and reach into the hard-drive files of your brain for any porn you’ve seen on his computer. He’s lying and he knows you know it. He wilts under your puzzled gaze.

“I’m not that into it. Like a lot. I’ve seen some, but only when the story is there.”

“Oh, the story?” You hold back a giggle.

Is he really trying to tell you he’s watching porn for the plot to cover for some terrible porno choices? He should know by now that you don’t care about that. You’ve watched more than your fair share of terrible videos just to get off and immediately hated yourself after. It shouldn’t come as a surprise considering he pretended to be a total idiot with technology for years to cover up his feelings.

“What? I’m serious. I think it’s great when the woman is the teacher and the guy is her equal, you know? She definitely makes as much as he does, if not more because she does it in tight clothes because of the dress code, you know? And he comes in one day after hours and is like how does all this work, anyway? And she starts explaining but you know a button snaps and there’s tension. Baby, you know I’m a feminist. I would never—”

“Joonie. I’m not judging you. I wouldn’t do it if I wasn’t into it myself. I thought it might be fun. And I mean… I really wanted an excuse to have you bend me over your desk, but if you’re not interested I can just—” As soon as you start to work at the buttons of your blouse, he reaches out to stop you.

“We can try it,” he says, bashfully taking a step back and tapping his fingertips against yours. “I’d like to, if you’re down.”

You see an opportunity to break the tension and put him at ease, donning your best valley-girl accent. “Oh em gee, Professor Kim! You are, like, my favorite teacher. Is there some way I can get some extra credit? Puhleeeaase.”

“Nope, none of that,” he says with a laugh, twining his fingers with yours. “As a rule you cannot use that voice.”

“Fair enough.” You lead him towards the desk and gesture to the chair nearby. “How about I’m the teacher since you like that plot point so much?”

He chews his lip to hold back a toothy grin and watches with eager eyes as you bend at the waist to inspect the desk before him, giving a clear view of your ass and panties as your skirt rises. You relocate anything valuable to the nearby bookshelf and work on gathering the papers strewn about the surface.

“Sorry just let me gather up all my extra paychecks,” you mumble.

Once the desk is clear you perch yourself on its edge. Namjoon is already holding out a hair tie and a pair of glasses.

“You forgot these at the staff meeting.”

You roll your eyes and grin, working your hair into a messy bun and resting the glasses atop your head. “Thank you, Professor Kim.”

“Professor Kim is my father. Call me Namjoon.”

You purse your lips and try your best not to laugh, uncrossing and recrossing your legs purposefully. “I suppose you can call me Y/N, then.”

He makes no attempt to hide his lurid gaze, but his eyes travel to your face and he smiles. “Can I call you beautiful, instead?”

“Very smooth, Joonie,” you chuckle, breaking character for a moment.

“Joonie. Hmm. I like the way that sounds in your mouth.”

“I think there’s something else you’d like in my mouth. Maybe you’d like to put it in?”

Namjoon straightens in his seat as you approach, chest heaving in anticipation as he spreads his legs further so you might slot yourself between them. He dips his tongue into your mouth and you work his belt off, slowly sinking to your knees as you try to will yourself to break away from his kiss. He’s eager to unzip his pants and free his cock for you. It stands at attention, eagerly awaiting your touch.

Your breath warms the tip as you skim your lips across him, teasing him just enough to have him twitching, aching to thrust into that pretty mouth. He bites his lip as he looks down at you and inhales sharply through his nose the moment you grip his shaft. The moan that follows is like music to your ears and you grant him the flat of your tongue to reward such a sound.

He combs his fingers through his hair and clutches your shoulder as you take him into your mouth. The dark swollen head of his shaft is thick enough to make your jaw ache, but the sound of him cursing and losing all sense of coherence makes it worth it. As he sinks further into your mouth, he tilts his head back and squeezes his eyes shut in ecstasy.

You take him as deep as you can, allowing your spit to coat his cock. He likes it when it’s sloppy, when you’re drooling over yourself while he fills your mouth and you’re more than happy to oblige. Your eyes water as he flirts with the back of your throat with a soft, shallow thrust. When you choke his head snaps up to focus on you but you wave his concerned look away and grip his shaft tightly.

A thin string of precum and spit still connects your mouth to him as you lean back for just a second to compose yourself.

“Hope you don’t have any other meetings planned.”

“Why’s that?” His palm gently cups the back of your head, waiting for the moment you’re ready to take him again.

“I’m gonna make a mess of you.”

“Good.”

You meet his eyes and gather as much spit in your mouth as you can, allowing it to dribble down his cock before pumping your fist over him. He doesn’t have time to guide your head back down because you’re already on him again, working him over with your hand any place the warmth of your mouth can’t reach.

He chokes out an expletive and buries a hand in your hair, taking in the sight of your perfect mouth offering the bliss he craves. “You take me so well.”

You bob on his cock until he snakes his fingers down to undo the first button of your blouse, granting him access to a sliver of cleavage. He’s eager to see more of you, to feel more of you. Even after months of being with you, it doesn’t take much to tip him over the edge. He won’t last much longer if you keep going, but he’ll be damned if he blows his load in your mouth before even getting an opportunity to touch you.

“I wanna feel you,” he murmurs, leaning forward to coax you away from his cock and back to his lips.

The moment you press your lips against his he reaches for your waist to help you stand. He’s about to follow suit when you surprise him, straddling his lap and grasping at his tie to pull him towards your chest. His cock throbs as it grinds against the slick barrier of your soaked panties, begging for entrance as he buries his face in the splendor of your cleavage. A roll of your hips tempts him to push your panties aside and plunge into you like this. His fingers work as quickly as they can to pop open a few more buttons before slipping down to grip the meat of your ass.

“Fuck me,” you plead, grinding yourself down.

His arms tense and before you can entice him further he stands with a grunt, hoisting you onto the desk. You barely have time to react as he yanks your panties down and plunges a finger into your dripping cunt. Planting an arm behind you and keeping the other clasped around the back of his neck, you weakly attempt to keep yourself somewhat upright.

“How about you make a mess for me instead,” he whispers, leaving your cunt in favor of rubbing quick circles against your clit. “And then I’ll fill you up. Walk you out of here past everyone so they can see my cum dripping from your thighs. Everyone will know what a filthy slut you are for me, won’t they, beautiful?”

The way your muscles tense up nearly gives you a cramp. You bite your lip and nod with a pathetic fucked out grin as he fucks his fingers into your cunt, continuing to rub against your clit. Your elbow wobbles and you frantically grasp at his shirt instead, balling the material into your fist, desperate to undo the buttons but too close to nirvana to remember how to perform such a simple task. Your legs shake against the surface of the desk, and while the steady rhythm of his finger against your clit is heavenly, you’re ready to cry when his fingers leave your hole empty and aching to be filled.

“Joon, please.”

As soon as the desperate plea leaves your mouth, the tip of his cock teases your entrance, providing small, shallow thrusts that send you soaring past the threshold of your release. He can’t help but smile against your kiss as you drag his bottom lip through your teeth and melt into his form. Your walls spasm wildly around him and he gradually lets the pressure off your clit, instead increasing the pace and depth of his thrusts. He fucks you through the shockwaves of pleasure that follow your orgasm, stilling only when your eyelids stop fluttering and you’re able to meet his gaze with a fatigued satisfaction.

“Why’d you stop?” you wonder, lazily opening the buttons on his shirt. Pert brown nipples poke out from beneath the soft fabric, with the silky tie still swaying between them.

He watches you with a smile for a moment before pursuing the last few buttons of your blouse. Quickly working it off your shoulders, you give him the opportunity to reach for the clasp of your bra. It doesn’t take long for him to sweep you into a deep kiss, entranced by the way your skin feels against him while he’s still buried inside of you.

“Bend over this desk for me, baby. Show me that sexy ass.”

You whimper at the loss of his cock but do as he asks, knowing you’ll soon be full again. He lifts your skirt, takes both cheeks in his hands and squeezes before giving one side a slap. The moan that escapes you is embarrassing and it spurs him to repeat the action.

“Fuck,” he whispers, finally allowing his cock to press against cunt once more. “So fucking wet.”

Your own juices coat the expanse of your thighs, slowly trailing down them. Without warning he slams into you hard and fast. Wet slapping sounds fill the room as he holds your hips, driving them back to meet his thrusts.

“So fucking tight.”

You grip the opposing edge of the desk and moan. “You’re so deep, baby.”

“Fuck...” The word is exhaled through a shaky breath.

“So deep you could read me poetry,” you whisper, unable to stop the joke even though you know he’s on the cusp of cumming.

He huffs out a strained puff of air as he tries his hardest not to laugh. He gives in to the laughter after you begin to giggle. Unable to save himself, he leans into the joke that threatens to ruin his orgasm. “You’re my person. You’re my desire. You’re my pride...”

His thrusts are sloppy, his legs tense. You crane your neck to look over your shoulder to make sure he’s not mad. It must be your own grin that is contagious because he’s smiling even though he’s shaking his head at you.

“You’re my love. One and only love,” you recite for him, reaching back for his hand and pushing your hips back into him with force.

His grip on your hip tightens and he squeezes your hand. He slams into you a final time with a moan, ensuring he’s as deep as he can be before filling you with his seed. The pleasure amplifies every time you try to wiggle back for some sort of movement and he moves his hand to your ass, digging his fingernails in like it will keep him grounded. He leans over your form, kissing any bit of skin on your back his lips can reach.

Regardless of the sensitivity he keeps himself buried in you, hoping by some miracle he’ll stay hard enough to fuck you a second time. He can’t tell what’s his mess and what’s yours anymore as it drips down his balls to his thighs. As he finally slips out, you turn to face him with a sweet smile on your lips.

Your fingers glide through his hair and trail down to cradle his cheek. “I love you.”

Namjoon leans into your touch, pressing his lips to the inside of your palm. “I love you too.”

Maybe it’s the endorphins, but he can’t remember the last time he felt so comfortable and happy with another person, someone he can be so unapologetically himself with. He’s completely certain that he’s bound to you by fate. The love you share is destiny, a gift from the universe he never intends to take for granted.

No matter what the future holds, he knows he wants you by his side through it all: his one and only love.

[maddiewritesstucky]

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Pairing: Stripper Bucky / Architect Steve

Words: 3790

Tags: Sexy shower antics, post-exercise endorphin highs, Steve is a badass for like 10 minutes, Bucky is not a morning person (until he suddenly is), enthusiastic morning sex

A follow-up one-shot to the slow death of Steve Rogers. Many thanks to my radiant cassowary @kalee60​ for giving it your clever eyes. Infinite birdseed for you 😘

(Also on Ao3)

When Bucky wakes up, he is aware of two things, and two things only.

One - it’s way too fucking early for his eyelids to have peeled themselves back the way they have, if the rosy tint of the sky outside is anything to go by, and two - his foot should have connected with some part of Steve’s anatomy by now on it’s customary post-waking stretch across the mattress.

His body is coming online one limb at a time, and he grunts his displeasure into the rumpled sheets; gaze firmly averted from the clock on the bedside table. Putting a number to it will only make him angry, and the stupid beautiful soft dawn light filling the bedroom tells him everything he needs to know anyway. 

Why they had decided to move into Steve’s apartment when Bucky’s actually had things like properly functioning curtains, he has no idea. 

"Steve,”  he groans, voice thick with the remnants of sleep and the injustice of waking before he intended to. 

He kicks his foot out a little further; throws an arm out to join the search party too, but finds Steve’s side of the bed decidedly more vacant than it had been when he fell asleep last night. 

Running, some vaguely helpful part of Bucky’s subconscious supplies, you fell for a man who goes running at bastard o’clock in the morning. 

He flops over onto his back and scrubs his hands up over his face; up through the tangled mess of hair that seems to find new ways of defying its scrunchie-prison every night. His vision sharpens into focus and sticks a moment on the giant canvas print photo of himself and Steve smiling back at him from the far wall; a grinning relic of a Bucky who was not woken before his time.

It still makes his stomach flip a little, that picture - the two of them stuffed into the heavy-knit sweaters Bucky’s ma had made them last Christmas; both in the  throes of losing their shit over the comically absurd miscalculation she’d made on size. Steve’s got tears in his eyes, and Bucky’s aren’t even open, and they’re clinging to each other with that special kind of desperation that intense, prolonged laughter seems to spawn.

It’s everything good about their life together, that photo; the sheer warmth and joy they’ve found in one another over the past year, the sense of  home and family and right. 

It’s even more heartwarming, Bucky finds, when the sun is a reasonable distance above the horizon.

He drags his protesting body out of its sleep-warmed cocoon, his intentions set on the brand new bag of espresso grind that Last-Night Bucky had so wisely left sitting on the kitchen counter. 

He’s going to use Steve’s favorite mug, the one he’d happened across in a yard sale that reads ‘architects do it on drafting tables’  with a lewd stick figure drawing. Partially because it holds the most coffee, and partially because if Steve had remained in bed this morning, with all his familiar warmth and dependable big-spoon behavior, Bucky would have remained blissfully unconscious until his alarm went off. 

...Steve’s not here to actually  see  this particular middle-finger of a gesture, but that’s beside the point. Bucky will  know.

It’s not until he’s shuffling his way down the hall, already two steps past the closed bathroom door, that Bucky registers the faint sounds of water hitting tile, and the sporadic, off-key hum of a post-run Steve. 

His feet halt in their tracks before he’s even made the conscious decision that coffee can wait.

He wants to keep walking, to get his precious cup of bean nectar and crawl back into bed for another hour or three, it’s just...

Post-run Steve is kind of Bucky’s jam. 

He’s sweaty, and loose-limbed, and hopped up on exercise endorphins which, more often than not, make him inexplicably horny and give him the closest approximation of a bad boy complex that someone with Steve’s demeanor could possibly get. 

Post-run Steve is the only good thing about being awake at this god forsaken hour. 

The sunrise, and the stillness, and the smell of fresh dew can get fucked, but Bucky will carpe the hell out of a diem for some Post-run Steve.

He slips quietly into the bathroom, and is immediately grateful for the time he spent descaling the shower door yesterday when he’s met with an unimpeded view of Steve’s glorious back. What goddamn right an architect has looking like that, Bucky has no idea, but you wanna talk about some aesthetically pleasing angles?

Steve’s got one hand braced against the wall, head dipped to draw out the line of his back. His skin’s a little flushed; water channeling in fast-flowing rivulets between the soft ridges and swells of his drawn-taut muscles, and he’s breathing those quiet grunts of the recently-exerted. 

He’s a living, breathing thirst-trap, and the knowledge that he’d only blush and change the subject if Bucky told him so just makes it a thousand times better. 

Bucky pushes his soft flannel sleep pants off his hips and lets them fall to the floor, sending up another silent salute to Last-Night Bucky for going commando, and steps forward to pull open the shower door.

...Later on, when Bucky is reflecting on it all, he’ll blame the early hour and his pre-caffeinated state for the fact that he didn’t realise. The soft noises falling from Steve’s lips, the very particular bunch and flex of very particular muscles…

Any other time of day, Bucky would have known straight away. 

Any other time of day, and Bucky wouldn’t have even needed to be in the same room - he could be at the bodega down the street, and his nipples would inexplicably harden at the pluck of Steve’s distant arousal on the cosmic spiderweb. 

But as it happens in the moment, it’s not until Steve’s head is falling back on a low moan that Bucky realizes exactly what it is he’s walked in on. 

“Oh, shit...”

It’s off his tongue before he can reel it back in, and Steve almost jumps out of his skin. 

His head whips around, and for the briefest flicker of a moment, he looks shocked and uncertain and embarrassed as all hell. 

But this right here is no weekday-afternoon Steve. This is not the blushing, bumbling hunk of love meee that occupies the corporeal form of Steve Rogers 95% of the time. 

No, this is Post-run Steve, and it’s all of about two seconds before he’s schooling his features into something more akin to vaguely-smirking indifference; turning until he’s facing Bucky front on, and settling his weight back against the shower wall.

“Babe, I’m sorry, I didn’t--” Bucky begins, as close to apologetic as one can really be about seeing their significant other in a compromising yet Very Sexy position. But the words dry up on his lips as Steve lifts a finger to his own in the universal gesture of ‘shush.’   

He watches, rapt, as Steve first reaches over to the tap and shuts off the water, and then takes up the bottle of Bucky’s conditioner, squirting some into his hand before wrapping it back around his cock. 

And then that jacked-up idiot, that neuro-chemical flooded pseudo bad bitch, looks Bucky dead in the eye...and goes right back to jerking off. 

He’s putting on a goddamn show with it too - pulling at his cock, long and slow and tight; dropping his head back against the wall and letting his moans ricochet shamelessly off the tile. The sound of his fist working over his dick is lewd as hell, so much more audible for the fact that there’s no rush of running water to mask it anymore, and Bucky wonders briefly if he ever actually woke up at all, if this isn’t just all a very believable wet dream. 

It certainly contains all the usual elements - intense eye contact; a big fat dick getting rubbed off by a beefy, naked, wet dude (bonus that it’s Bucky’s actual, real-life boyfriend); the kinds of sounds you usually only hear in porn…

For all Bucky knows, he could still be tucked up in bed asleep, and not standing here naked and painfully erect in this steamed up bathroom, watching his boyfriend jack it like he’s starring in some locker-room porno.

“You need somethin’, or you just come in here to watch?” Steve drawls, arching a brow at him, and yeah  - there’s a  lot of things Bucky needs all of a sudden.

He rakes an assessing gaze over Steve’s body, stepping into the shower and pressing his palms to the swell of Steve’s pecs.

“I just wanted to make sure your run went okay,” he shrugs, “no pulled tendons, shin splints...aching muscles…that kinda thing.” 

He squeezes at Steve’s shoulders and his biceps and his tiny waist; threads his hands up through Steve’s hair and slots a thigh between Steve’s to push their hips together. 

Steve’s skin is so warm, and slippery, and he smells like soap, and Bucky starts mentally calculating just how much time they have and how much energy he can feasibly expend before their respective work days start.

He’s not on stage tonight, but he is on shift for his day job at the community center, teaching a preschool ballet class at 10am, and then a seniors ballroom dancing session at midday before his contemporary classes in the afternoon. Steve’s working from home today, so hypothetically it wouldn’t matter if Bucky wore him out a little…

“Buck...” 

“Mm?” 

He rubs his whole self shamelessly against Steve, pressing in so the barbells spiked through his nipples drag across the wet expanse of Steve’s chest. He kisses Steve’s neck and his tits and his mouth, hungry and handsy and a little frantic, and Steve laughs softly against his lips as he turns them to push Bucky up against the slick tile of the shower wall.

“Your concern is deeply moving,” he deadpans, caging Bucky in with hands planted either side of his head, “but I think we need to talk about your bathroom etiquette...didn’t anybody ever teach you to knock?” 

He’s staring Bucky down with eyes lit up something wicked; his body so very nearly touching Bucky’s but not quite, and it hits Bucky all over again that his boyfriend is, physically speaking...really fucking imposing.

It’s easy to forget, when he’s being...well, Steve. Perpetually polite, kind-hearted, goofy...Bucky feels like when he looks at Steve, he sees the softness of his nature, the quiet goodness that radiates out of him. 

He sees the sensible shoes and the khaki pants, the careful artist hands and the way Steve still sometimes carries himself like the much-smaller man he claims to have once been. 

He’s Stevie, and Bucky wouldn’t have him any other way. 

But all of that also happens to be contained within a 6’2”, 200lb frame, and right now...Bucky kind of wants to suffocate under it. 

“I am so sorry, Steven,” he says, though it’s entirely negated by the raging hard on he’s sporting and the giddy, gratuitous manner in which he’s still feeling Steve up. 

He skates his fingertips down the rippled plain of Steve’s stomach, down to the trail of dusky blond hair leading south from his belly button, but Steve catches his hands and pins them up above his head. 

“I’m sure you are,” Steve hums, “but I don’t think you appreciate the gravity of the situation here. See, you caught me in a very private moment, one that I was very much enjoying, and now I’m all thrown off. You got me feelin’ shy.” 

...There’s some very compelling evidence to the contrary rubbing up against Bucky’s hip right now, but that’s beside the point. Steve’s teeth are scraping a line all the way down Bucky’s neck to nip at the ice fractals tattooed across his shoulder, and Bucky’s more than willing to play along.

“However can I make it up to you?” 

He arches into the press of Steve’s body, the hard line of Steve’s cock nestled into the crease of his hip.

If Steve shifted just slightly, he’d be rubbing up against Bucky’s dick. 

It’s not an accident that Steve isn’t making that shift. 

“You really want to?” Steve kisses the question against his skin, making his way slowly back up to Bucky’s mouth, and Bucky nods vehemently.

He’s already wetting his lips in preparation for all the ‘making up’ they’re about to do; signalling his knees to get ready to bend and pulling at Steve’s grip on his wrists, but Steve doesn’t release him.

Instead, he pulls back just far enough to look Bucky square in the eye, and smiles entirely too sweet for the authoritative edge that rumbles into his voice. “Go back to bed, Bucky.” 

Bucky has to blink a few times as the words circulate in his ears. His expression turns from I’m about to get some D!  to  oh god I’m being denied the D in about 0.2 seconds flat.

Bed is very far away from the dick that is currently in need of reparations, he can’t achieve anything from bed.

“But—you said—I was gonna—”

“Go. back. to bed.”  Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s wrists and leans his whole weight against him, right up in his space so his lips catch against Bucky’s as he speaks, “...and wait for me.” 

Oh. 

Oh. 

A big, stupid, ‘bout-to-get-railed grin stretches across Bucky’s face. He wriggles free of Steve’s grasp and stumbles out of the shower, stopping himself just shy of a wildly enthusiastic ‘yes sir!’

He thinks he can hear Steve’s laughter as he takes off back down the hall toward the bedroom, but it might just be his own echoing back to him. He throws himself down onto the unmade bed, still warm from when he got up not ten minutes ago, and honestly who needs to sleep in anyway? Sleeping in is for people who don’t have absolute poundcake boyfriends to screw them into the sunrise.

He should have toweled off, he realizes as his damp skin rubs against the bedding, but he cannot be blamed for life choices made before six am, and there are far more important things afoot anyway. 

Things like the sound of the shower turning back on for approximately forty-five seconds, then the muted pass of a towel being scrubbed over hair, and footsteps on the hardwood growing ever closer to the bedroom.

God, this is gonna be a good day. What  a beautiful day to be greeting the dawn, making the most of his youth, seizing everything life throws at him!

He has the good sense to snatch the lube out of the bedside drawer just as Steve walks into the room, eyeing him with amusement and hunger in equal measures. 

“You know what the problem is, with what just happened back there, Buck?” 

Steve saunters toward the bed with all the nonchalance of a man whose work day doesn’t start for another three hours. 

He wraps his sizable hands around Bucky’s ankles and yanks him down the bed a little - for no other purpose than to hear Bucky’s breath hitch at the unnecessary show of strength - and climbs up onto the mattress to straddle Bucky’s shins. 

“The problem is, I don’t like to make a spectacle of myself.” He plucks the lube from Bucky’s hand and pours some into his own, spreading it over his cock in lazy pulls. “Being the center of attention, having eyes on me...that’s more your speed.”

“Mhmm, yes, I am an attention whore,” Bucky nods, reaching grabby hands out at Steve who refuses to shift any further up his body, “and you are humble and handsome and have a big dick. Make out with me.” 

Steve tuts and shakes his head, reaching his unoccupied hand to flick at one of Bucky’s nipple piercings. 

“Oh, I don’t think you get to make requests right now. See, the worst part of you throwin’ me off back there? I was so fucking close.  So now what you get to do, James, is flip the fuck over, and let me finish what I started.” 

...Jesus, Bucky loves Post-run Steve.

He’s gonna marry Post-run Steve and have his hopped up little post-run babies, and make sure Steve never misses a single day of early morning exercise so he can bask in the glory of this magnificent bastard every goddamn day of his life.

Bucky flops over onto his front and gets his knees under himself, sticking his ass up in the air with a wiggle that’s probably a lot more comical than it is enticing. But the heat of Steve’s palms hook around the front of his thighs and pull them out from under him, sprawling him flat against the mattress.

There’s a sudden clamping of teeth on his ass cheek and the sharp swat of an open palm, and then Bucky’s being pressed firmly into the sheets by Steve’s weight settling high up on the backs of his thighs. 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen,” Steve sighs, planting his hands on the dip in Bucky’s spine, “I’m gonna use your ass to get off, and then I’m going to get back into bed, while you go make us some coffee.”

Bucky nods into the mess of blankets under his cheek, futilely trying to rock his hips up against Steve’s considerable weight. “Yes, agreed, punishment fits the cri-hi wow okay.” 

A wholly undignified sound is wrenched from Bucky’s chest as Steve skips all pretense of tease, and thrusts his slicked up cock into the crease of Bucky’s ass, rubbing off between his cheeks with a very singular purpose. 

Bucky scrabbles to grab hold of his pillow and drags it down, wedging it under his hips with as much success as can be expected when you’re being pinned by a 200lb adrenaline-testosterone cocktail. It’s enough though, to very favorably cushion the rub of his dick, and all things considered…this whole thing is working out pretty well for him.

He’s expending precisely zero effort, but the wet glide of Steve’s cock over his hole and the push of Steve’s hips rubbing him into the pillow is very much Doing It for him, and he lets his body go loose and pliant as Steve does all the work for the both of them.

And Steve is putting in work - rocking Bucky into the mattress with a fervor that knocks the breath out of him and sends the headboard careening rhythmically into the wall. 

“Y’hear that, Buck?” Steve pants, not for a second breaking his frankly devastating pace. “That’s what a fuckin’ knock sounds like.” 

“Oh my god.”   

This is exactly how every single day of Bucky’s life should begin. Naked, giddy, cocks enthusiastically rubbing up against holes, and Steve running his mouth like he won’t be turning ten shades of red about it later. 

If this is the payoff, Bucky will bust in on every single shower Steve has for the rest of his life.

“I love you,” he laughs a little breathlessly into the bedding, biting off a moan at the heat coiling low in his belly. 

It’s entirely sincere, and he says it because he means it...but if he also happens to know by now that those words are a direct hit to Steve’s prostate during sex?

That’s just a happy coincidence.

Steve makes a sound like he’s been punched, his thighs twitching and tensing where they’re clamped around Bucky’s hips. 

His breaths are coming sharp and shallow, his movements taking on a frantic edge that betrays exactly how close he is, and Bucky would ask him to slow down, except he really, really doesn’t want him to. 

“I love you, Stevie,” he says again, letting his own building climax bleed into his voice, “love you so much...come on, baby...” 

“Fuck,  Bucky, I...oh...” 

His weight falls forward over Bucky as he comes, and it’s all the shove Bucky needs to tip over the edge with him. 

He spills all over his pillow, burying a moan into the sheets and huffing under the weight of Steve’s body going lax on top of him.   

“Oh my god, Buck,” Steve groans, vaguely awed like it wasn’t his own efforts that just brought them both to sticky ruin, and Bucky reaches a hand back to swat weakly at him. 

“You said it, pal.” 

Steve nuzzles into the crook of his neck, planting breathless kisses against his skin and running his hands over every part of Bucky he can reach. 

It’s so tangible, that shift back to normalcy, back to  Steve.  It always hits Bucky square in the chest, the way he can feel Steve’s edges softening, feel that boisterous energy turn sweet and mellow in the aftermath. 

It’s kind of precious, actually, though Bucky would never phrase it like that to Steve’s face.  

He squirms beneath Steve’s weight, getting himself turned over until he’s on his back beneath him. “Good morning,” he smiles up at Steve softly, running his fingers through the still-damp tufts of his hair. 

Steve sighs happily, letting his eyes drift shut and tilting his head into Bucky’s hand. “Good morning, pervert.” 

“Hey, come on, you know I didn't do that on purpose!  ” Bucky laughs, cupping Steve’s face and kissing him all over his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, I’m sorry.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve rolls his eyes, though the smile on his face says Bucky’s doesn’t really have anything to be sorry about. “Guess I can forgive you this one  time.”

“You’re a gracious man.”

Bucky drags him down and kisses him right on his smile, sweet and lazy. When they pull apart, Steve’s got that dopey look on his face like he’s feeling a whole lot of something, and Bucky knows exactly what’s coming before Steve says it.

“Glad you love me, Bucky Barnes.” 

...He knew it was coming, but it still gets him every time. 

“Glad to love you, Steve Rogers.” He feels like he’s glowing a little as he leans up to peck Steve on the tip of his nose. “Now if I’m not mistaken, I owe you a cup of coffee...you’re gonna have to let me up if you want me to follow through on that.” 

“Mm, counter offer - we both go wash off, together, and then I’ll make us breakfast while you handle the coffee?” 

Bucky pretends to consider for a second before he nods, stretching his body out as Steve rolls his weight off him. 

“Agreed.” He waves a hand in the general direction of the door, shooting Steve a wink and a lopsided grin. “Lead the way, pal. I believe you are intimately familiar with where the shower is.”

[caspersscareschool]

Being near Sanemi made Giyuu want to ruin him, to take some of that goodness for himself, so that Sanemi could be selfish, and Giyuu could be brave. 

Brave enough to say something dangerous, like I love you.

don't look at me

Surface Tension

Giyuu had spent so much of his life indulging in mourning. 

He used to think that to mourn was to punish himself for his selfishness. He’d blamed himself for the deaths of his sister and the boy who had called him a brother, so he’d carried the two of them on his back along with the sword at his hip. He’d occupied his meaningless time on this earth with repentance. He’d hoped the weight of his guilt would bury him in the earth. 

He’d lived here with Sanemi for months, and not much changed throughout that time. Funny how the most suicidal of them all had become the only two to survive. They’d bonded over this, fallen into a fast, unspoken rhythm, and when the time came to leave the Flower Estate, they’d built their own cabin, feeling like strangers in their own separate homes. They moved in together. Took care of each other, when necessary. And they stayed in the same routine. 

More loss made Giyuu realize that his loved ones couldn’t live with him forever and that mourning only distracted him from what he still had. After Muzan’s fall, he came to terms with this. What he couldn’t come to terms with, with the weight off his back, was the absurd lack of guilt--and the foreign feelings that had come to replace it.

It was a rare day that Giyuu woke up earlier than Sanemi, but once he got up these days, he stayed up, not liking to wallow in depression as much as he used to. Sanemi looked exhausted, so Giyuu tiptoed outside, resolving to stay there until he woke up. The sun just barely kissed their greying garden. With all the birds gone south and the frogs in hiding, silence hung thick. Giyuu sat by the pond for nearly an hour, fall chill biting his face. 

The sound of Sanemi’s footsteps, then, and the brushing of his clothes as he sat down sounded deafening in the dead silence, the same way a dim torch looked bright in the pitch black: like a lighthouse. Then, quiet overtook the pond again. Sanemi studied him. He must have noticed his pensiveness, because he tread carefully. Giyuu stared ahead.

"How are you?" Sanemi tried. 

There's something wrong with me, Giyuu thought. I'm feeling things that I shouldn't. I'm not feeling the things I should.

"Fine," he answered.

"What are you doing?"

Mourning something that hasn't died yet. Maybe that hasn’t been born.

"Enjoying the quiet."

Sanemi was more perceptive than him--maybe if Giyuu thought loud enough, Sanemi would hear. Then, they'd never have to say it out loud. They could go on like this forever, just the two of them, and Giyuu found he wouldn't mind being alone so much if it was with Sanemi. As long as they could stay like this. Usually, Giyuu spoke his mind and took what he wanted, but he knew there were invisible lines somewhere dangerously close that if he crossed, would make Sanemi leave forever. He just had to keep absolutely still.

"I'll enjoy it with you."

Giyuu felt like the two of them were sailing, swaddled in a shriveled leaf barely light enough to stay afloat on the pond. The water cradled them, but if it rained, they would grow too heavy and drown. The wind rocked them, but if it grew too strong, it would blow them away and they'd lose their ship forever. Neither moved a muscle, on opposite sides of their fragile vessel, for fear that the weight of them both might break the surface. The surface tension of silence was the only thing keeping Giyuu and Sanemi from unknown depths.

Still, he reached for his hand.

The two of them said nothing for what felt both like seconds and hours. Sanemi said nothing of Giyuu's hand finding his own, sending ripples in the water, absently rubbing the stumps where his index and middle fingers used to live. Giyuu said nothing of the naturalness of that gap: the fingers must have hurt to lose, but the space they left was the perfect size for Giyuu's thumb. It felt like home. So did Sanemi’s hand when he slotted it under Giyuu’s right stump to prop him upright sometimes, though Giyuu would never say so out loud. 

They'd both lost so much. Saying it out loud would only give them something more to lose.

Giyuu was selfish at heart.

“It’s so still, huh?” Sanemi mused. “You’d think it was frozen over.”

Giyuu hummed in reply. 

“You cold?” Sanemi asked.

“Not really,” Giyuu answered, but found his shoulders tucked under Sanemi’s haori anyway. More ripples. He froze.

It had occurred to Giyuu from the very start that Sanemi embodied everything Giyuu wished he was. A true pillar. Someone able, even eager, to protect others, even at the cost of his own life. He didn’t even have to think about it. Maybe that was why Giyuu had resented him at first: he was just like Sabito. But in the end, despite his bravery, confidence, and ineffable strength in the face of loss, Sanemi was every bit as dumb as him, and on some level, maybe that had spurred Giyuu to let a little bit of that strength possess him toward the end. He only wished it had come sooner.

“I’m gonna start on breakfast.” Sanemi ruffled his hair. He leaned towards him standing up so that his nose--and lips--brushed the top of Giyuu’s head before he tipped back to his center. “Don’t stay out too long.” 

He walked away.

Before Muzan's defeat, Giyuu had thought of Sanemi as stupid. He still thought as much. But Sanemi was brave, and selfless in a way that Giyuu never was. Giyuu had never so desperately wanted to make another person happy. Being near Sanemi made Giyuu want to ruin him, to take some of that goodness for himself, so that Sanemi could be selfish, and Giyuu could be brave. 

Brave enough to say something dangerous, like I love you.

When Giyuu slid back inside, the smell of eggs and rice welcomed him. Sanemi’s back faced the entrance, clad in that faded purple yukata, and not for the first time Giyuu wondered how he managed to spend so much of his life killing and still look so at home in a kitchen. He must have been born to provide.

Giyuu could stare at that back from the door all day, but he was tired of being selfish, so instead, he squeezed in beside him at the counter and picked up a knife. The tension between them wavered again, but he ignored it. Saying nothing, Sanemi held a bundle of chives still with one hand so that Giyuu could chop it, his attention still on the eggs he was whisking, trusting Giyuu completely not to chop his fingers off. Giyuu worked slowly in comparison to Sanemi’s confident dashing, sprinkling, and whisking; he aligned each chop with care. 

Even without the pond in front of them, Giyuu still felt that he could slip at any moment and drown. He considered going back to bed until he felt more stable. He didn't.

There wasn't much else Giyuu knew how to do in the kitchen department, but Sanemi never asked him to leave, only gently elbowing him aside when he stood in the way. Giyuu watched Sanemi season the egg and roll it, with unreal gentleness, into a lovely cylinder. 

"You wanna eat in bed?" Sanemi offered. It was a habit Giyuu had picked up over years of living alone, and Sanemi never teased him for it. In fact, it felt a little less pathetic when someone joined him.

"Sure," he said despite himself.

They only ever ate on Giyuu's futon, because Sanemi liked to keep clean and Giyuu didn't give a shit. Dim light seeped in through the walls. Plates sat in their laps. He was glad Sanemi sensed his need for quiet, because he thought that if he spoke now, something he'd regret would slip out, and there would be no going back. At the same time, Sanemi's presence at his side, and the fact that he knew Giyuu well enough to stay quiet, drove him crazy, and he might just say it anyway. Giyuu stuffed his face to keep from talking. 

Sanemi picked at his food. Giyuu forced himself to speak.

Don't be selfish, don't be selfish, don't be selfish. 

"Is…" Giyuu swallowed, restraining his thoughts. "Is something wrong?"

Sanemi blinked as if he'd forgotten Giyuu was there. "Huh? No, I…" He met his eyes, making Giyuu's breath hitch. "Actually, I should be asking you that."

"Nothing's wrong," Giyuu whispered. 

After a long moment, Sanemi averted his eyes again. Then, just as fragile as Giyuu:

"Okay."

The two were sinking. He could feel it. He tried to stuff his face some more, but he'd already cleaned his plate. He pointed to Sanemi's.

"Aren't you hungry?" 

Sanemi misread his concern, pushing the plate toward Giyuu. "Knock yourself out."

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

"No, I…"

Sanemi looked so earnest, and Giyuu realized that every time he tried to show concern like Sanemi showed for him, it turned out like this. He always twisted it around so that he was accommodating for Giyuu, like he couldn’t imagine Giyuu wanting to be around him for any reason other than to take and take and take. Infuriating; endearing. 

He thought about little Genya, and the happiness he'd wanted for his brother. Giyuu was the only one left to make that wish come true, if Sanemi would only let him. Their ship wavered dangerously. He wanted to scream. Finally, he couldn't stop himself:

"You're an idiot," Giyuu breathed.

Sanemi frowned. That hadn't come out right.

"Excuse me?"

Giyuu couldn't stop. "You're an idiot. Oh my god. You're so fucking stupid." The unmistakable urge to laugh bubbled up in Giyuu's chest, something he'd only learned to recognize over the past few months. "I can't believe this."

Giyuu laughed, clear as a bell, cutting through the tense quiet. Ripples exploded throughout the water, but the more he tried to stop them, the more the boat rocked. Sanemi had an unreadable expression, but he didn't look amused. He didn't even look angry. The closest thing Giyuu could compare it to…

Concern. Giyuu laughed harder.

"Moron," Giyuu wheezed, knocking the empty plate off his lap. "You absolute moron."

"Giyuu--"

"Sanemi." None of it mattered anymore. Giyuu was selfish, but that was okay; Sanemi was selfless to the point of stupidity, and if Giyuu didn't take what he wanted, no one would. "I want to take care of you. I care about you."

Sanemi stared dumbly. To get it through his thick skull, Giyuu moved closer, cupped his hand on Sanemi’s cheek like he always did for him, and spoke with absolute clarity:

“I love you.”

Any lingering doubt in Giyuu’s mind dispersed. Sanemi’s eyes went huge, reverent, and he stilled like if he breathed, Giyuu would turn to dust and disappear. Brave Sanemi--usually so brash, so confident. Giyuu felt a surge of pride that he could reduce him to this. He wanted to do it again. And again. And again.

"... Oh."

There was one more thing left to break.

"Sanemi," Giyuu breathed, breaking the last wall of silence, "can I kiss you?"

Sanemi didn't look away this time. He didn't even answer. He leaned in, so no barriers stood between them...

And he kissed him. And there was nothing left to mourn. And Giyuu kissed him back. And over the pounding in his ears, Giyuu couldn’t imagine ever sailing in silence again. And they kissed. And they kissed. And they kissed.

Giyuu drowned.

😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

thank you so so much again louie and aya for beta reading this!!!❤❤❤

[stennnn06]

another year over, a new one just begun

reignjas + NYE - quick fic. 

[possible continuation from ‘under the mistletoe’ ]

The phone rings sharply-- a blaring, ghastly sound that jolts Andrea so far out of sleep that she's convinced she's run an entire marathon and collapsed, right back into her king sized bed. Her heart pounds as she glares at the clock.

11:05.

It isn't even that late, but it's a holiday, and she's trying to forget about the fact that she's already in bed, alone. The phone continues to wail. Apparently, in her wine drunken stupor, she left the volume all the way up after watching an embarrassing number of TikTok videos. Past Andrea is a fucking idiot, and she curses herself swiftly. She doesn't bother sitting up as she pulls the phone to her face in a sloppy, sideways angle.

"Hello?" she answers, muffled.

"Andrea, hi," a painfully familiar voice croons on the other end. There's a pause, and Andrea frowns, sure that she's making things up. It would be a fitting end to a shit year, the ghosts of missed opportunities calling her in the middle of the night on New Year's Eve just to taunt her. But as if the woman on the other end can read her thoughts, she quietly exhales a soft, "it's Sam," and Andrea is sent reeling.

"What do you want?"

Andrea grimaces. It comes out so much sharper than she intends, but she can't very well say "what are you doing?" or "how are you?" because that would be normal, and they're not normal. They've never been, and Andrea knows she's partially to blame for that.

Okay, maybe she's fully to blame, but they aren't keeping score and she isn't about to open her heart and allow Sam Arias of all people to make herself at home.

She won't.

"I don't really know," Sam says, a teasing laugh in her voice. Andrea's stomach flips. "I just thought -- well I guess you're probably at some swanky New Year's Eve party or something, I don't know why I'm bothering you--"

"I'm not," Andrea interrupts. "I'm not anywhere."

"Oh," Sam says quickly. "Oh, okay."

There's another awkward pause that seems to stretch to infinity. Andrea listens to the soft sounds of Sam's shallow breaths and the muffled voices in the background. Ryan Seacrest is babbling about some pop group that Andrea assumes is far out of her demographic, but then it hits her that Sam doesn't sound like she has any plans, either.

The last time they spoke was at Lena's holiday party, if you could count it as speaking. Mostly, Andrea hid behind veiled insults and sarcasm until the gin in her martinis loosened her tongue enough to find Sam's mouth charming. She doesn't know how they ended up huddled together during a game of charades of all things, with Sam's hand ghosting over the small of her back and her own fingers tracing patterns on Sam's thigh, and she'd rather not dwell on the fact that she let her guard slip enough to pull Sam under the mistletoe, but--

Sam kissed her back. That much she knows. And, beyond that, it was searing hot and something she hasn't been able to remove from her mind since, which is its own brand of infuriating.

(That, and the fact that she actually doesn't find Sam as insufferable as she acts, and in fact finds her annoyingly attractive, all grates against her patience as she waits for Sam to say something.)

"I should have called earlier," Sam says, still toeing the line of actually getting to the point.

"You should also get an award for the gymnastics you're doing," Andrea bites back. "What do you want, Sam?"

"Nothing, I'm sorry," Sam apologizes, unnecessarily. "I guess... I just wanted to say happy new year. I hope you have a good night, Andrea."

She hangs up before Andrea can respond, which is just as well. She's not about to get snuggly on the phone and whisper pleasantries until the ball drops. That's not the kind of girl she is.

She tosses her phone aside and curls back up on her side, angrily pulling the covers up high over her shoulders. Stupid Sam with her stupid voice and her stupid face, calling before midnight on stupid New Year's Eve--

Well, now she's awake. Dammit all to hell. She throws the covers back in exasperation. She's also out of wine, and out of patience, and God, why did Sam have to go and ruin everything?

The address stares back at her, teasing, from the application on her phone. She knows it because there isn't anything she can't access -- thank God for data privacy and her company's penchant for exploiting it. It's something she'll ask forgiveness for later, probably. Until then--

Her car pulls up to a modest brownstone only several minutes from her own condo. The fact that she sleeps only a few miles from Sam's house isn't lost on her, but they can spend the rest of the new year unpacking all that.

It's 11:45 by the time she knocks on the door.

Sam answers after a minute, and she has no right to look that fucking good, but. That's just how this is going to go, apparently. Sam curls a strand of hair behind her ear, her oversized NCU sweatshirt looking so warm and inviting--

Andrea huffs at the sight. She's still in yoga pants and a crew neck sweatshirt, her hair tucked under a Metropolis Monarchs baseball cap because she's not trying to look like she's trying, which means she didn't try at all. Seeing Sam in front of her now, though, makes her wish she did. She purses her lips.

"Andrea?" Sam frowns, crossing her arms tentatively. "What are you--"

"Don't read into it," Andrea scolds, feeling suddenly very bold and very presumptuous. Sam didn't even really ask her to do anything, and yet here she is, with fucking bells on. "You sounded desperate."

"Yeah, I guess I did," Sam agrees, shrugging. She's so unbothered by the whole idea of asking for what she wants, that Andrea is bewildered. Can it really just be like that? "You want to come in?"

Andrea bites back every sarcastic comment she can think to make -- 'no, I want to stand on your porch for the rest of time' or 'no, I'm not here to see you--" and instead she simply nods and follows.

Sam leads her to a warm family room with a blazing fire, a good sized TV and a modestly full bottle of champagne. It needles at her that Sam is here, alone, throwing her own little celebration, without falling apart at the seams like Andrea was. It's baffling.

"I don't want to intrude," Andrea jokes, nodding at the small singular plate of snacks.

"Yeah, I was throwing a rager, but I guess I have room for one more," Sam teases, and it's light and easy and Andrea's stomach catapults into space. "Drink?"

Andrea bites her lip and nods, and before she can stop it, they're sitting on the couch, thighs touching, watching everyone in downtown Metropolis huddle together in preparation for the ball to drop.

"Is this what you normally do?" Andrea asks, curious. She doesn't look at Sam, instead gluing her eyes to the TV where Anderson Cooper is trying desperately to look like he wants to be there instead of his cozy, posh mansion. Andrea can't imagine.

"My daughter is usually here, but she's at that age now where friends are much cooler than mom," Sam sighs, almost wistful. "So I guess this is the new normal."

Ah right, the daughter. Sam has a child, and Andrea knows it, but also conveniently forgets about it until it's staring her in the face. Or being dropped casually into the conversation, like right now. She wonders what it'll be like, to have to navigate that, but it's so far beyond comprehension that she lets it slide in silence.

The fact that her mind inevitably went there, however, presses firmly in her chest.

"I'm glad you came over," Sam says softly as the giant ticker starts to count down from 1 minute. "I wanted you to--"

Andrea turns and is immediately lost in the look on Sam's face -- like she means what she's saying, and God, isn't that just everything Andrea has been looking to avoid?

Before she has to come up with a response, everyone starts counting down from 10 and she's saved by the hokey tradition of watching a glistening crystal ball drop in the middle of a crowd.

"Happy new year!" Sam exclaims, turning to her with a hundred watt smile. It's ridiculously adorable, how excited she is about something so simple, and part of Andrea simply melts. "Cheers!"

Their glasses clink together, and they're sipping champagne, and then their glasses are put aside and Sam is still staring at her with that look....

Andrea wants it, desperately, and she watches the way Sam's eyes glance from her lips to her eyes and back, a question burning in the silence between them.

Sam leans forward and Andrea lets her, and before she can fully process, their lips are slotted together, soft, and warm and hungry. Everything seems to break apart fully, her impenetrable wall reduced to dust. Why she was ever trying to deny this is beyond her, as Sam's lips push every last thought from her brain. Her hands trail along Sam's toned sides and up into her hair, satisfied at the whimper it elicits from Sam's mouth.

She gives and takes in a comfortable back and forth, all the while thinking that maybe this could be something worth getting used to.

"Do you think what they say is true?" Sam asks, breathless as they pull apart. Auld Lang Syne plays softly in the background, the melody profound and sad and nostalgic. Andrea is pretty sure she'll never hear it the same way again, not after tonight. "That whatever you're doing at midnight is how you'll spend the year?" She has a goofy smile teasing across her lips and her cheeks are flushed and Andrea just wants to kiss her over and over and over.

"That's absurd--" Andrea scoffs, her heart squeezing slightly. "Why?"

"I kind of hope it is," Sam says, shrugging, her hand still resting on Andrea's knee.

Something about the way she says it -- soft, vulnerable, honest -- makes Andrea break. She pulls her forward by the collar of her sweatshirt, breaking her momentum with her lips. She kisses her with everything she has, pleading it's enough without having to explain. Sam smiles against her mouth, and it causes Andrea to follow, and soon they're grinning and kissing and kissing and kissing... And oh, this is what it's supposed to feel like.

"I hope so too," Andrea eventually whispers in the space between them as they try to catch their breath. Sam looks at her, eyes wide and sparkling and Andrea can't help but chuckle. "Happy new year, Sam."

[askkrenko]

Krenko’s Guide to Pokemon: Magnemite Line

Fucking magnets, how do they work? DESIGN:  Magnemite is a really interesting design challenge because it’s a metal creature with bolts and magnet parts that somehow doesn’t look robotic. It’s clearly artificial, but it’s a creature made of machine bits rather than a machine itself. It’s simple and easy to comprehend, but it’s unique and interesting, and its big magnets make it very clear what it is. Magneton, on the other hand, is a much worse design. The idea of the Magnet pokemon attaching to other versions of itself is interesting, and a lot better than the Dugtrio idea, but them just being stuck together in the middle is awful. They have MAGNETS.  It’s also weird to me that the top one has the other two attached, but the other two aren’t attached to each other so it doesn’t have rotational symmetry. Oh, and the blues are next to the blues, which would both be negatives, and like charges are supposed to repel.  Magneton just does everything wrong. Megnezone is... interesting. It’s got a spaceship vibe going, and there’s a clear design for a final form of Magnemite here, with the three Magnetons fusing into something that’s actually unique and interesting. I still don’t like it, though, and its because of that aforementioned issue with Magnemite. Magnezone DOES look robotic. It looks like something that could be floating around in a Sci-Fi setting as a robot assistant or as a random enemy sentry.  It no longer looks like a Pokemon, but like a Thing.

EVOLUTIONS: Magnemite evolves into Magneton at level 30, which is a smidge late for a second stage but not outlandish, and Magneton evolves into Magnezone when you bring it to a super secret location that the games don’t tell you about, have battles there, and evolve it when it’s exposed to a special ‘magnet field’ that- ahahaha, no I’m just kidding. That would be completely stupid and asinine and a pain in the ass for something that’s not even cool or interesting and would require every single game figuring it where their special magnetic fields are, including putting them into older games for the remakes. Could you imagine how awful that would be? How ridiculous? How infuriating? No, Magneton evolves into Magnezone with a Thunder Stone, which is sane and reasonable.  What’s weird is that evolving Magneton to Magnezone has no effect on its move learn rate. Usually that would slow the rate down or add new moves or something. Either way, Level 30, and then a stone. Sounds great. TYPING: Steel is still the best type defensively, and Magnezone has a downright absurd eleven resistances plus a poison immunity.  It does have a dangerous double-weakness to Ground type attacks due to its electric typing, but its only weaknesses overall are Fighting, Ground, and Fire. As a special note, the item “Air Balloon” is basically perfect for Magnezone. Air Balloon makes the holder immune to Ground attacks in a combat until it’s hit by a non-ground attack. With ground being Magnezone’s biggest fear, it’s a great option. 

Offensively, it hits Fairy, Ice, Rock, Water, and Flying, and the only thing that resists both its types is Electric. This isn’t the best, but it’s certainly not bad.

STATS: 

Magnezone only has 70 HP, but 115 Defense is huge and 90 special defense is fine. When combined with its absurd resistances, Magnezone is tanky as all hell. And then it has 130 special attack. 130 is a LOT of special attack. Magnezone is one of the rare pokemon that can both freely take hits and dish them right back. It’s big drawback, of course, is its low speed. 60′s not winning many contests. Still, Magnezone can pretty comfortably take a hit from anything that isn’t ground type, so that’s not so bad. ABILITIES:  Magnezone can have sturdy to make it resist being taken out in one hit. This isn’t useless, but Magnezone’s pretty tanky and not much is going to risk taking it out in one hit anyway. It’s a bit of ground-type insurance, but that’s about it. Analytic is potentially very powerful on Magnezone. Analytic increases the power of all Magnezone’s attacks by 30% when Magnezone goes second, which is going to be pretty frequent.  With 130 special attack, we’re talking about a serious heavy hitter as long as you’re willing to take the hit. Magnet Pull, which prevents other Steel types from switching out from facing Magnezone, is potentially strategically powerful. Though it doesn’t have any great Special attacks for Steel types, Magnezone can learn Body Press, a fighting-type attack that uses its 115 Defense for damage calculations. 

MOVES: Steel doesn’t have much for Special Attacks, so Magnezone is stuck with Flash Cannon if it wants STAB against Fairy, Ice, or Rock. Or if it just wants to hit Ground types. It’s not bad, but an 80 power 100 accuracy attack is still pretty average. For electric, Thunderbolt’s 90 power, 100 accuracy is basically just the go-to. It’s good. Magnezone also learns Volt Switch, which has 70 power and switches Magnezone out after use. Though it doesn’t have the speed to use this to dodge an attack, it’s still a free switch and 70 power on a pokemon with 130 special is still a strong hit. Magnezone gets no type coverage worth noting, but if the plan is to use Magnet Pull to trap Steel Types, taking Body Press is useful, and Iron Defense effectively doubles as Swords Dance if you’re planning to use Body Press. If the plan isn’t Magnet Pull, then spending a slot on Magnet Rise to pre-preemptively dodge Ground-type attacks can be useful, and Substitute as a way to block debuffs and status effects is always an option.  Magnezone is also tanky enough that a combination of Rest and Sleep Talk with Thunderbolt and Flash Cannon could work as a viable strategy. One final option is Steel Beam. Steel Beam costs half of Magnezone’s HP, but is a special attack with a base power of 140. With STAB and Analytic, this is going to do very, very bad things to most enemies, even if it costs you your own pokemon in the process. As a special note, Hidden Power currently does not appear in Gen 8, but competitive Magnet Pull builds tend to use Hidden Power Fire. The reason for this is that a) Body Press is new and didn’t exist in older generations and b) Many of the Pokemon you’d want Magnet Pull for are 4x weak to fire.  Keep this in mind if Hidden Power returns or if Magnezone later learns a fire-type attack.

OVERALL: Magnezone is an all around strong Pokemon, with a lot of strengths and tools to mitigate its biggest weakness.  It suffers a bit from poor type coverage (Body Press is its only off-type attack, other than Normal attacks), and there’s not much variety to what one can do with a Magnezone, but its’s pretty solid overall. The general design is just... not something I like, though. Magnemite is cute and great, but Magneton feels lazy and Magnezone feels a bit too sci-fi for my magical monster game, but not Genesect Sci-Fi where it’s “Yes I am weird and Sci-Fi and different!” It just feels like Magnezone shouldn’t be here.  Also, I joked about Dugtrio’s third form just being even more Digletts, but I thing Magneton having an evolution that was just like a sphere made of a lot of Magnemites would’ve been pretty cool.  

[cyanogastra]

Did you know male cats have spines on their dicks?

Read on: AO3

"Do you have spines on your dick?"

He tries very hard to maintain a straight face as the jinko lifts his head slowly, revealing a very confused expression.

“What?” Atsushi blurts out, eyebrows pulling downward in bewilderment. “Why would you even—where did you even get that idea?”

Or: Akutagawa just really, really wants them to move to third base. He resorts to using a weird biological fact against Atsushi.

Starting note:

Hey guys. Biology student here. 100% not inventing this shit up. Male felines have dick spines because for some reason the females don't ovulate without getting their VJs shredded, which is why they're so fucking loud when having sex. That's a dramatized answer, but you get the point.

Akutagawa will be calling Atsushi "jinko" a lot in this fic, because imo I don't think Akutagawa refers to him using his real name even when it's just on his mind. They would have to be on Level 20 of romantic relationship before Akutagawa finally calls him by name. Not that you don't guys probably already know, but jinko = weretiger.

---

Fun fact: Did you know male cats have spines on their penises?

Akutagawa’s thumb freezes on his phone screen. He very nearly barks out a laugh which he hastily covers up by clearing his throat. Higuchi looks at him in question, looking ready to ask him the reason but Akutagawa just gives her a shake of his head.

Barbed penises? That’s interesting. He thinks to himself as he scrolls down, amused by the new discovery. There’s really only one person in mind who counts somewhat as a feline, and it’s none other than the jinko.

The jinko, whom he has been having an interesting relationship lately.

The arrangement Dazai set for them had been highly appalling at first, but no one can deny that they were indeed more powerful together. Which somehow led to the Port Mafia and the Armed Detective Agency's cooperative relationship, for the first time ever. And by "cooperative" it means that he and the jinko don’t attempt to kill each other every meeting and are willing enough to work together (reluctantly) on joint missions.

Which then further led to this and that. Heated arguments turned to annoyed banters, which turned to almost comfortable silences.

Which then turned to fierce make-out sessions, apparently. Post mission make-out sessions and grinding against each other in back alleys, specifically.

It is incredibly absurd, he admits readily to himself. Absurd in the way that of all the people he’d be doing such things, it had to be jinko, the supposed object of his hatred. But also, it was absurd in that it had been so easy. It’s almost as a natural part of their relationship now, ending missions with the jinko stalking over to him and slotting their mouths together, shredded clothes and bloody overcoats be damned.

And well speaking of dick spines, he doubts that the jinko has them at all given their past excursions. But it would be a real problem if he actually did, though highly unlikely, because well…

It’s been 3 months and they still haven’t done anything on the down low. And Akutagawa is quickly becoming…impatient.

The scenery outside the car windows freezes in place, signalling their destination. Higuchi immediately fumbles to open the door to her side and rounds the car in record time to open Akutagawa’s.

“Senpai! We’re here!”

Akutagawa steps out of the black vehicle, trying very hard not to give Higuchi a full-on irritated face. He's always been annoyed Higuchi for her unnecessary actions, but he’s learned a long time ago that nothing he would say would ever faze her.

He gives their destination a cursory glance; a shipping dock near Osanbashi. Large enough to house multiple freights but small enough not to be considered as major, thereby making it perfect for contraband trade. One of these freight containers is not like the others.

“Senpai, Chuuya-san’s instructions were to either eliminate or capture the foreign syndicate’s ability users. We do not need to track down their upper brass as he thinks the Boss might make arrangements with their leader to be absorbed into the Port Mafia—”

“I know, Higuchi.” Akutagawa cuts her off firmly, trying to let her know that she does not need to reiterate everything to him every single damn time, he’s her superior for god’s sake. But all he gets is an enthusiastic “Yes! As expected from senpai!”.

He almost rolls his eyes, if not for the sudden cough that comes up from his chest. The sounds of his coughing were drowned out by the sound of another vehicle arriving on the scene. The car doors open, and out comes a bespectacled blond man sporting a ponytail, notebook in hand, and from the other side comes out…jinko.

Higuchi is immediately on guard beside him, but Akutagawa cracks up a smirk from behind the hand covering his mouth, gaze locked in with intense violet-yellow eyes.

---

“The Armed Detective Agency isn’t here to share your goal of eliminating the syndicate’s ability users. We are only here to gather intel about the syndicate’s top brass. We believe one of their leaders is connected to one of our ongoing cases.” Kunikida Doppo recites without looking up from his notebook, scribbling furiously with veins popping out on his forehead. “That damn Dazai messing up my schedule! The stupid bandage wasting machine was supposed to accompany Atsushi here but the idiot really chose this time to escape to god knows where…”

Akutagawa perks up at the mention of his former mentor’s name, surprised and crushed at the same time to know that he could have been here. If Dazai-san were here, I would have used this chance to finally prove myself worthy… Across him, Atsushi raises an eyebrow at his reaction to which Akutagawa pointedly ignores. Behind them, Higuchi is scanning the shipping dock with her binoculars.

“….anyway we don’t need your armed grunts to come rushing in.” Kunikida continues after his mini rant, gesturing to the multiple black cars parked around the vicinity. “I’d rather keep the element of surprise. And we do not have the slightest clue about the abilities of our opponents, which is worrying considering that the agency and the abilities division has nothing on record.”

“Hm. Pathetic.” Akutagawa grunts out. Kunikida’s eyebrow twitches, but he presses on.

“It is unfortunate. What we do know is that while the ability users are here guarding their cargo, their top brass is probably somewhere else. We will need to extricate information from one of their ability users regarding their leaders’ details. Will you be able to cooperate with us on that?”

“Do what you want. Just don’t get in my way.” Akutagawa replies, but he’s not looking at the blond man. Atsushi glares back, looking as if he wanted to say the same thing to him.

“Good. Okay, now here’s the plan…”

---

Suffice to say, the fight was greatly disappointing. The ability users turned out to be just two scared brothers, probably younger than 12. They were kidnapped by the syndicate from their family in Germany, and were given instructions to deter anyone who takes an interest on the cargo. The only action they got were the couple dozen of foreign armed goons who flanked the cargo ship, which was obviously a piece of cake for the combined prowess of Rashoumon and Beast Beneath the Moonlight.

The ability users weren’t even particularly troublesome; their ability, Grimm Fairytale could create grotesque versions of a person’s fantasies but only if both brothers were holding each of a target’s hands. Kunikida handled them well by addressing them gently, accompanied by some coaxing from Higuchi (a sight that was a bit disconcerting), and the brothers easily squealed their leaders’ details. Well as much as two scared children could possibly know, which was still apparently more than enough for one of the detectives in the agency to pinpoint the identities and locations of the syndicate's leaders.

“Okay. Alright. I’ll see you again at the office tomorrow. Yes. Take care, Kunikida-san!” Behind him, Atsushi ends his call. Higuchi had been forced to accompany the Grimm brothers, mostly because they wouldn’t let go of her pant legs. Akutagawa had waved her off, saying something about ordering her to accompany Kunikida to bring the children to a safehouse. He figures the mission counts as a success on Port Mafia’s end.

He feels an arm curl around his waist from behind, startling him mid-cough. He stiffens reflexively and he’s quick to clutch on the jinko’s forearm with both hands, nails digging into pale skin.

“You do that one more time and I will seriously kill you, jinko.”

Atsushi sighs, turning him around so they were face to face. “As if you haven't been doing that all this time." Atsushi mumbles, eyes not meeting Akutagawa's but rather at his lips. He leans in, and Akutagawa's eyes flutter closed.

They kiss languidly, arms around each other's waists, their similar heights providing them ease. Their tongues dance with no real rush, feeling completely relaxed in each other's embrace. Akutagawa notes something new every time they do this. How the jinko likes to pinch his hands on Akutagawa's waist, or how he likes it when he pulls at his bottom lip with his teeth. Atsushi pulls him flush to his chest, deepening their kiss and Akutagawa lets him, placing both hands on the jinko's shoulders-

Somewhere behind them, one of the goons groans in pain. They pull apart reluctantly, sharing one look before peeking behind to check for the source of the noise. Akutagawa briefly considers stabbing the goon with Rashoumon, if not for the hand that pushes at his shoulder.

"Let's just get out of here."

---

They're walking along a desolate street, which was unsurprising at this time of the night. Beside him, Atsushi is wearing his spare shoes, but his shirt was tattered on the sleeves, a consequence of his man-tiger form. What a highly incovenient ability, and yet Dazai-san thinks you are better...

He knows an alley is coming up ahead, having memorized all of Yokohama's ins and outs. He wastes no time to grab at the jinko's arm and pulls him there. Atsushi tries to close in on him, going for another kiss when Akutagawa beats him to it, pushing him against the wall.

They're rougher with each other this time, more biting and angry moans spilling from their mouths as they push and pull against each other. He pulls at the hair on the base of Atsushi's neck and pulls their faces away, teeth latching his mouth on the side of the jinko's neck.

"You know..." Atsushi starts to say in between shaky breaths. "I'm starting to think making out in dirty alleys is a kink of yours."

Akutagawa huffs at that and pulls away to glare at Atsushi, not liking the comment. "Why, jinko? You think you can bring me somewhere fancy?" Atsushi smiles, dumbfounding Akutagawa for a moment. His stomach definitely did not do a flip after seeing that expression targeted at him.

"Only if you're paying." Atsushi replies as he promptly wrapping his arms around Akutagawa's waist to change their position. He lets himself be maneuvered, the back of his head hitting the wall behind him gently. Atsushi nips at his ear before leaving feather-light kisses down his neck, which Akutagawa obligingly cranes to the side, a satisfied sigh coming out from his nose. Atsushi’s arms presses them closer, chest-to-chest, Akutagawa’s torso bending back slightly.

Their crotches rub at each other at the action, hard-ons rubbing ever so slightly and—

Speaking of hard-ons…

He's not sure what comes over to him, but he pushes slightly at Atsushi's shoulders.

“Jinko.” Akutagawa breathes out. Atsushi lets out a vaguely annoyed hum, lips still continuing their ministrations at his throat. Akutagawa blurts out the question anyway.

“Do you have spines on your dick?”

...

...

...

A few moments of silence pass by, Atsushi suddenly freezing from the open mouthed kiss he was leaving on Akutagawa’s neck.

He tries very hard to maintain a straight face as the jinko lifts his head slowly, revealing a very confused expression.

“What?” Atsushi blurts out, eyebrows pulling downward in bewilderment. “Why would you even—where did you even get that idea?” He says quickly, taking a small step backwards and giving his own crotch a glance before snapping up to meet Akutagawa’s deadpan expression.

“I read earlier that male cats have spines on their penises. Is that true for you?” Akutagawa replies easily, one corner of his mouth twitching up. Atsushi’s face instantly flushes a shade of pink in front of him, mouth falling open in shock.

“I am not a cat!” Atsushi splutters, to which Akutagawa just raises an (invisible) eyebrow at.

“Well I am…s-sort of, but no, I mean!” Atsushi’s hands flail around for a bit before continuing. “No, I don’t have them! Why would you think that?” He finishes off lamely, crossing his arms while glaring at the dark-haired man.

Akutagawa lets out a hmph, though he sounds more amused that annoyed. He gives the other an unconvinced expression to rile him up further. “How unfortunate. To think you’ve been living like this all this time. Pitiful and pathetic.”

“I really don’t! Seriously!" Atsushi replies heatedly, taking the bait. "I don’t understand why you’d think that when we’ve been doing…” Atsushi trails off, glancing away. The redness from his cheek has spread all the way to his ears, making him look equal parts ashamed and angry.

“Oh really, jinko?” Akutagawa replies challengingly, a new glint in his eyes. He’s met with a violet-yellow glare.

“Prove it then.”

Akutagawa watches his reaction, a self-satisfied smirk on his own face, knowing his words will do something to the jinko.

The effect was almost immediate. Atsushi grits his teeth in annoyance before closing in on Akutagawa’s space in a fit of embarrassed rage. The sudden movement forces Akutagawa to step back and crash into the wall behind him, bracing for an impromptu fight-

But then Atsushi grabs at his wrist and places his hand firmly on his crotch.

"S-so? why don’t you see for yourself?" Atsushi says, face a mere centimeters away from his own. The effect of his glare ruined by the blush on his cheeks. Akutagawa's mouth hangs open in surprise, eyes wide, trying to think of a reply to the jinko’s sudden boldness.

Nothing comes out. Slowly he absorbs the intent behind the jinko's move, moving his gaze downwards. He can’t see much other than the dark fabric of the jinko’s pants and his own pale hand.

He presses harder and rubs tentatively on the sizeable tent underneath his palm. Atsushi swallows audibly, eyes closing and mouth falling open in relief. His still hasn’t let up on his hold on Akutagawa’s wrist, hand curling a little tighter as he grinds back slightly.

Inwardly, Akutagawa could not believe his luck, biting his lower lip as he watches Atsushi use his wrist as leverage. To think that jinko finally pushed things forward between them… He leans forward to press a kiss on Atsushi’s jaw, letting the jinko grind himself on his palm.

“I don’t know about seeing, jinko…” He breathes out, the air from his mouth fanning Atsushi’s pale hair. “Since I’m only feeling you.” He says to the other's ear, giving him a particularly hard rub to make his point clear, making Atushi's breath hitch.

His other hand reaches up to rest on the jinko's belt buckle, trying to give him a hint. Atsushi gets it immediately, pulling away from his shoulder. His hands shake a bit as he fumbles at the metal, pulling off the leather and hastily popping the button on his trousers. Akutagawa watches him work, mouth getting dryer in anticipation. He pushes a hand up at Atsushi's shirt to see him more clearly, resting his hands on his navel and feeling the lean muscles underneath. Atsushi's hands come up to rest on Akutagawa's waist the moment he pops the button open.

As they stand there, underneath the pale half-moon, Atsushi's trousers gaping wide at the front, the very obvious tent on his boxers out in the open for Akutagawa to see, he can't help but think to himself: Fucking finally.

One of his hand plays at the hem of the jinko's boxers while the other cups his hard-on appreciatively. Atsushi lets out a shaky moan, hands moving to nudge Akutagawa's coat open to rest on Akutagawa's hips. He thumbs at the hem of the other's slacks, trying to tell him the same thing.

Akutagawa ignores the action for the time-being, his bony fingers hooking on the hem of the jinko's boxers and dragging it down slowly. Atsushi lets out a hiss as his dick pops out from his boxers, the chill night air hitting his sensitive skin. He hides his face on Akutagawa's shoulder to stifle his obvious embarrassment.

Akutagawa huffs amusedly. The jinko has nothing to be embarrassed about, he thinks as he wraps a hand around the shaft and presses his thumb on the slit, spreading the precum around the head. He notes the differences between them, how the jinko feels thicker than his own, although they are similar in length. The thought annoys him just a tiny bit, feeling more pleased and excited at the fact that they have finally reached this far. He digs his thumb harder on the slit, prompting a high-pitched keen from Atsushi.

"Jinko. Look at me." He says softly. Atsushi's head rises, shy violet-yellow eyes meeting Akutagawa's grey ones. He feels himself get lost in the jinko's gaze as he gives him slow strokes, watching in appreciation as Atsushi moans, back bowing slightly in pleasure.

Atsushi lets him stroke a couple times, his cock coating the other's hand with more precum. His eyes slide back to Akutagawa's still clothed erection, and he feels a small ruge of irritation. Gritting his teeth, he straightens up, fully intent on bringing the other man on the same level. He grasps on the other's hand to halt his movements. The other man complies, but the grip never leaves his cock.

"I want to see you too." Atsushi breathes out, tugging insistently on the other man's trousers. Akutagawa lets out a soft hmph, his other hand coming between them to pop his own button open one-handedly. He pulls the zipper down and moves to reach the hem of his briefs, but the jinko beats him to it. Atsushi eagerly yanks his underwear down and wastes no time to envelope Akutagawa's cock in his fist, prompting a grunt from the dark-haired man.

Atsushi stares, wide-eyed and pleased, giving the other a few experimental strokes. Akutagawa flushes despite himself, exhaling with relief and feeling delighted that the jinko likes what he sees. Don't stare like it's your first time to see one... He strokes Atushi again, this time with more speed, before the jinko could say something about their dicks.

"Ah! Damn it, Akutagawa..." Atsushi groans but mirrors the action, matching Akutagawa's pace. He leans in to suck at the area under Akutagawa's jaw and leaves a small mark, listening closely to the other man's soft mewls and gasps.

A hand comes up behind his head to pull at his hair, but not enough force to pull him away from leaving kisses on the other man's neck. He snakes a hand up underneath Akutagawa's shirt in response, thumb grazing over the indents of his ribs before finding a pert nub. He toys with it using his thumb, Akutagawa letting out a surprised moan at the action.

"You-ah...what do you think you're doing-ngh" Akutagawa sighs out in between moans, and Atsushi quickly becomes attached to the sound of the other man losing his composure. He toys harder on the nipple, liking the way Akutagawa bit his lip in pleasure. Akutagawa picks up the pace on Atsushi's cock in retaliation, determined to make the jinko unravel first. Atsushi groans, long and low by his ear, making him shiver from the back of his eyes and all the way down his back. Atsushi picks his pace up as well, at the same time he drives his tongue inside Akutagawa's open mouth.

The sound of slick sliding between their hands resounds through the alley, making Akutagawa feel both self-conscious and hot at the same time. He responds eagerly to the kiss, tongues moving together in a heated dance before pulling back to gasp for air. The sounds of his moans become louder, but he's too far gone in his pleasure to remember to keep his voice down.

"Akutagawa..ah..." Atsushi gasps his name in between breathy moans, his other arm reaching around Akutagawa to pull them closer. He wraps his hand tighter on the other man's cock and gives firmer strokes, his pace never letting up. Akutagawa's eyes pinch closed at the action and lets out a long keen from gritted teeth, and Atsushi very nearly comes from the sight. He holds himself back, determined to make the experience last a little longer. He leaves more kisses on Akutagawa's jaw, his neck, his collarbone, thoroughly enjoying the sounds coming out from their mouths and from the hands between them.

"I'm close...ah...are you too?" He says breathlessly, whispering directly to the other's ear. Akutagawa shivers and nods shakily, not trusting his own voice. Atsushi almost feels disappointed from the other's refusal to open his mouth, but he's distracted by Akutagawa covering his hand with his own, blunt fingernails digging on Atsushi's knuckles.

A few more hard strokes from the jinko's hand and the pleasure spikes all the way up for Akutagawa who throws his head back in bliss, a dull pain spreading from his head as he hits the wall behind him. He's moaning, long and drawn out, voice breaking with trembling lips. The sight triggers something in Atsushi, quickly forcing him to follow with his own orgasm mere seconds later. His groan is muffled as he bites particularly hard on Akutagawa's neck, eyes closed and his torso bowing so far forward into Akutagawa's chest that he bends him at an uncomfortable angle.

They catch their breath, hands coated by the other's cum. Atsushi adjusts so he's resting his head on Akutagawa's shoulder instead, aware of the strain he put on Akutagawa's back.  The other man lays flat on the wall, eyes still closed with gasping breaths falling out of his mouth.

After a few minutes of coming down from their high, Atsushi pulls back and steps away shakingly. Atsushi watches as Akutagawa tucks himself in and fishes for something in his coat pocket, pulling out a handkerchief which he wordlessly uses to wipe his hands clean of cum. Atsushi blushes at the sight and hastily tucks himself back in his boxers, suddenly feeling self-conscious. Akutagawa reaches for his hand the moment he pulls the button closed, using the same handkerchief to wipe off the mess. Atsushi mumbles out a small 'thanks' before moving to insert his belt back in the buckle, genuinely appreciative for the other man's initiative.

A small awkward silence fills the air as they both finish fixing themselves up. Atsushi fidgets on his feet, unsure of what to say after their tryst. Across him, Akutagawa feels pleased and relieved that they have finally done it.

"Well..." Akutagawa is the first to break the silence, letting out a small cough before continuing. "I guess I'm relieved to find out you don't have them."

Atsushi rolls his eyes, but there's a small smile on his face. He turns around to leave.

So the jinko doesn't have spines on his dick after all.

But that wasn't the point, really. Akutagawa thinks to himself, satisfied, before stepping out of the alley with the jinko.

---

Ending note:

Handjobs only lol. Mostly because I don’t think Akutagawa can give a blowjob without coughing every 10 seconds, which would have been a real mood killer.

Re:handkerchief. I just think Akutagawa is a neat guy, you know? And neat guys normally have hankies on them. Idk, it's probably the frilly blouse which made me think this way.

Grimm Brothers as in Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, who collected and wrote German fairytales including Sleeping Beauty, Rapunzel, Snow White, and Cinderella. Plot twist? They’re actually VERY FAR from Disney’s versions, with many of their stories containing disturbing content. For some weird reason Disney decided to turn them into rainbows and sparkles.

This is the first fic for a trilogy I'm writing. Hehe. Oh and this is the first time I have written smut.  *finger guns* That's right, this is what 21 year old nerds do. I am proud of myself.

[alcego-writes]

Orange is for healing - day two of @violetvineyardnetwork‘s 2020 Pride Event!

The evolution of June and Winnie’s relationship, as evidenced by the fact that June can’t sleep while they’re in the same bed; Winnie being... well, gay; and both of them just being unbearably sweet in the early hours of the morning.

Length: ~1,400 words

Warnings: Insomnia, brief reference to adult content.

Tag List: @maxgraybooks @howdy-writes @ladywithalamp @violetcancerian @daltoneering (Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!)

           Moonlight dapples the bedsheets, muting the ugly green and brown of the covers and bathing it in silver light; it’s almost enough to make the duvet look beautiful. Nothing could ever make these sheets feel nice, but hey, you can’t win them all.

           June swallows, wraps her mind around a fistful of scratchy, ugly, too-starched sheets. Pointedly does not think of the soft, warm body of Winnie beside her.

           Of course Winnie sleeps soundly, even on a mattress with too many loose springs to really even be a mattress anymore. Even swaddled in some of the worst blankets June has ever had the dishonor of coming across, Winnie is peaceful. Her hair curls around her head, smushed against her pillow, frizzy and dry thanks to too much time in the heat without a shower, but even then—

           No. June is not thinking about Winnie.

           She stares at the ceiling instead. Tries counting the popcorn tiles over her head, but they all blend together in the soft morning light.

           Is it even morning? That’s a thought.

           June rolls onto her side and stares at the electronic alarm clock on the bedside table. As expected, it blinks 12:00 at her in blocky red numbers. Dead, just like the phone Winnie had at the beginning of this trip. Just like the radio. Just like every other fucking electronic thing June’s ever been around.

           She doesn’t even know what watching TV is like. Isn’t that sad?

           Now that she has something to direct her frustration at, June finds herself glaring at the TV mounted on the motel wall. Its screen is dark, unyielding, reflecting only the moonlight and the blazing red light of the broken clock beside her. Which reminds her that she actually does want to know what time it is, if only so she can figure out exactly how much sleep she’s lost tonight.

           June slips out of bed, wincing as the mattress creaks, springs, complains about the bodies using it night after night. She holds her breath and glances at Winnie, but Winnie is still asleep. She makes a low, sleepy sound in the back of her throat and rolls over, hands grasping for something to hold.

           Allowing herself this one, small smile, June grabs her abandoned pillow and puts it within Winnie’s reach. She watches as Winnie pulls it closer to her chest and wraps her body around it, and a part of her wishes that Winnie’s arms were wrapped around her instead of the pillow.

           She swallows against the thought. There’s no point in fighting it anymore, she knows, but that doesn’t mean that she’s just going to stand here and entertain her stupid, wishful thinking.

           Instead, June crouches by her bag and digs through the pockets, cringing as her hand comes into contact with sticky probably-receipts and strangely damp fabric that she honestly doesn’t want to identify. She roots around until her fingers stumble upon her watch. June pulls it out and squints at the hands on the watch face.

           Assuming that June hasn’t forgotten to wind it up recently, the watch is probably right about the time. Which is frustrating, because that means it’s nearly four in the morning and that there’s really no point in going back to sleep.

           “June?”

           June stiffens, stands. Swallows against the lump in her throat as she processes the sleep-dampened alarm in Winnie’s voice. “I’m here,” she whispers.

           Winnie pushes herself up onto her elbows. “What are you doing up?”

           “Couldn’t sleep,” June says. She doesn’t mention why; it’s not something Winnie needs to worry about.

           Winnie nods and glances at the clock on the bedside table. She frowns when she sees it blinking uselessly at twelve. “How…” she trails off, shakes her head. “Another power outage?”

           June doesn’t answer. She can’t lie if she doesn’t say anything.

           “Ugh,” Winnie says. “The sun isn’t even up yet.”

           “The moon’s still out.”

           Winnie groans. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”

           June huffs out a laugh and turns to face the window and its luxurious view of grease-stained asphalt and half-dead grass littered with cigarette butts. She shoves her watch into the pocket of the loose basketball shorts she fished out of a Salvation Army donation bin as she watches the thin, scraggly branches of a tree wave idly in the breeze. The shorts hang lower on her hips than June would like, but they work well enough for her purposes, so she doesn’t really care.

           Winnie makes a- a sound—June’s not sure how to describe it, that not-quite-a-whimper that she makes—and June turns, frowning, brow knitting together. Nothing seems out of place, but Winnie is covering her face with her hands, wriggling so that she’s more fully covered by those horrible sheets.

           June cocks her head at this. She won’t pretend that she knows everything about Winnie, but this is- well, June is pretty sure this is new.

           “What are you doing?” she asks, unable to keep the bafflement out of her voice.

           “Nothing!” Winnie squeaks.

           And well, that’s certainly not nothing.

           June sits on the edge of the bed, leaning a hand on her side of the mattress, as she watches Winnie do whatever it is that she’s doing. If June didn’t know any better, she’d say that Winnie is hiding from something. Which is absurd, of course, since the only thing in the room with her is June and that clunking, off-kilter air conditioning unit that stopped blowing shortly after June walked in.

           “Winnie…?”

           “I’m fine,” Winnie says, pulling the sheets down to her chest. It’s hard to tell, but her cheeks seem darker than usual. Is she blushing?

           June looks away, blinks down at her knobby knees. What does Winnie have to blush about?

           A finger prods June between her fourth and fifth rib. June turns and looks at Winnie curiously, ignoring the way her skin burns when Winnie touches her.

           “I—” Winnie stops, scrunches up her nose, screws her lips shut. She frowns to herself, a curiously cute gesture, before taking a deep breath and starting again. “Aren’t you going to go back to sleep?”

           June’s lip twitches. “I wasn’t planning to.”

           “The sun isn’t even out yet!”

           June shrugs.

           “And you say I’m too energetic in the mornings,” Winnie grumbles.

           June snorts. “It’s not really morning yet, though. Is it?”

           “I literally do not know,” Winnie says, tossing a hand in the general direction of the clock. “Because—yet again!—we got a room with a dud clock.”

           And June can’t keep on going saying nothing, can she? “I don’t think it’s the clock’s fault.”

           “What? Why would you think that?” Winnie asks.

           Another shrug. “It’s happened too often to be a coincidence. I—we’re the common denominator here, is all I’m saying.”

           It’s not a lie, technically.

           “Gross,” Winnie groans. “More magic bullshit to deal with.”

           That startles a laugh out of June. “Did- did you just swear?”

           “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Winnie says, the epitome of innocence laying there on her side, thin nightshirt falling loosely against her skin. June swallows when she notices the bud of Winnie’s nipple through the fabric, averts her eyes, sinks her short nails deep into her thigh to stop herself from thinking.

           A moment stretches between them, long and full in the early hours of the morning, before June hears Winnie moving behind her, mattress complaining as she rolls closer to June. The skin on June’s arm prickles even before Winnie’s fingers touch her, feather-light and careful. June takes a careful, steady breath before looking at Winnie again.

           “Come on,” Winnie murmurs. “Go back to sleep.”

           And, even though June doubts she’ll get any more sleep that night, she crawls back into the bed, slotting herself next to Winnie. There’s a tiny bit of space between them, where June could reach down and take Winnie’s hand into her own if she wanted to, and June shivers against the coil of dull, aching heat in her gut. Dangerous thoughts.

           Winnie’s breathing evens out again soon enough, her face relaxed and carefree while she sleeps. June tries closing her eyes, but that gives her mind too much freedom. So she stares at the ceiling instead, with its ugly popcorn tiles, and she doesn’t sleep.

           She just clutches the scratchy, terrible sheets in her fists and burns with Winnie’s nearness.

[starrybethany]

Clayton Keller: Part 5

Word count: 2081

I roll over in bed, stretching out my leg to release the tension in the muscle. It hits something hard on the other side of the bed and I shoot up in surprise, instantly regretting it as pain ruptures through my head.

Betsy groans, causing the pain to worsen and she turns towards me, innocently blinking her eyes open.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice husky.

“Bro we got so drunk last night,” she lets out a quiet laugh and I can’t help but wince at that.

Every single noise that is occuring is making my head want to explode.

“I was too wasted to go home so you told me to crash here.”

“Okay, but why are you in my bed?”

She shrugs lazily. “You wanted someone to cuddle with.”

Yep, sounds like me.

She rolls over onto her back, splaying across the bed. She shows no hint of caring when her arm hits my body. “And you started whining because Clayton’s not here so I figured hey, I’m the next best thing.”

I watch her carefully as her eyes flicker back closed. I thought she would tease me about wanting Clayton here but I guess she’s too focused on her intense hangover to do that. I won’t complain about it, though.

Everything in my body is yelling at me to stop as I pull myself to a standing position, stumbling my way into the kitchen. I almost begin to cry at the sunlight streaming through the windows but hold it in, quickly grabbing two bottles of water and some Tylenol.

“Hey, babe.” I get Betsy’s attention quietly as I enter my room again, handing her a water bottle and two pills.

“Give me another.”

I give her another pill before taking three myself, drinking half of the water bottle before deciding it’s enough and laying back down on my bed. I’m just about asleep when my phone vibrates on the bedside table, light illuminating the dark room.

“Turn that shit off,” Betsy mumbles tiredly.

I squint my eyes as closed as they can get before grabbing my phone, turning it on ‘Do Not Disturb’ while catching a glance at the sender of the text. Clayton, of course. I groan from both the light and the absurdity of our situation and Betsy throws a pillow at me to get me to shut up.

I set my phone back down and turn to face her, falling into a nice slumber.

~

I feel better when I wake up but I’m still hungover as hell. I don’t know what I drank last night or how much, but I don’t think that I’ll be doing that for a while.

I feel ridiculous wearing sunglasses into the kitchen but when I spot Betsy making food at the stove with her sunglasses on, I don’t feel so bad.

“I don’t even remember what happened last night,” I murmur, leaning against the counter and staring down at it.

“Well, long story short, you couldn’t stop thinking about the Coyotes game you went to and how you met all of Clayton’s teammates and their partners and shit so you called me to get your mind off of the topic and oh, I did,” she smirks.

It would be more effective without the bulky sunglasses covering half of her face.

“Thanks for the booze, you should bring it to Tyler’s birthday party next week.” The words slip out of her mouth easily.

She just reminded me of another thing to be stressed about. Tyler’s birthday is next week and we celebrate hard every year. It takes months of planning in advance and shit, I forgot to plan it.

“You forgot his birthday didn’t you?” Betsy asks once she sees the look on my face.

I nod, pressing my head into my hands.

“Y/N, it was your turn to plan it! And I reminded you a bunch of times too!”

“You don’t think I know that, Betsy?” I snap. She becomes quiet and I sigh. “I’m sorry for yelling at you, it’s just, shit.”

“You can figure it out,” she reassures me. “You know all he really wants is to hang out with his friends, get drunk, and then get laid.”

“Yeah but I didn’t tell anybody and I didn’t buy any alcohol yet, hell I don’t even know how much money I have for alcohol,” I sigh.

“Ask Clayton to pay you early.” She shrugs.

I don’t respond, my mind racing with all that I have to do. I have to plan this birthday party, my midterms are coming up this week, my sister might be coming to visit me, and oh, yeah, I have to do whatever Clayton wants too.

My mind stops spinning when Betsy sets a bowl down in front of me, taking a seat at the counter beside me.

“Stop worrying, you’ll figure it out. You always do.”

“I guess so.”

~

My chest burns from lack of oxygen and I glare at Betsy’s car in the back of the parking lot. Why are there so many people at the grocery store in the middle of the day on a Monday? And why did so many people have to park like assholes?

“Hello?” I answer my phone breathlessly as I quickly grab a cart and walk through the store towards the alcohol section. I wanted to grab some booze for Tyler’s party before I had to rush back to campus for class but I don’t know how well that plan is working out.

“Y/N,” the other person lets out a wail and I pull my phone back in confusion, unsure of who it is.

It’s my college roommate from when I was a freshman. We talk once and a while but she’s still as obsessed with her boyfriend now as she was a couple of years ago, something that I can’t really related to.

“What’s wrong, Paige?” I ask, picking up a pack of beer in my free hand and putting it in my cart. I grab another pack and put that in my cart as I wait for her to collect herself.

“He cheated on me!” I have to pull the phone away from my ear as she screams it.

“Andrew cheated on you?” I question, sending her into another fit of sobs. I mentally curse myself out, grabbing a bottle of wine and a bottle of tequila off of the shelf. I decide to go for another bottle of tequila.

“Yeah, I just found the texts with the other girl and she’s gorgeous and she goes to Harvard and-””Here’s the plan, Paige,” I grab a pack of margarita mix, knowing that Paige would appreciate that much more than any other type of alcohol I would grab. Then I grab some more random bottles for Tyler’s party. “I have class soon so I’ll swing around your apartment and cry with you in about two hours. I’m bringing alcohol and I’ll grab some cookies, too.”

I grab the cookies off of the shelf as I pass it, stopping at a cash register and loading the alcohol onto the belt.

The cashier eyes me as the crying on the other end of the line slows down. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you soon.” I hang up and shove my phone into my back pocket, pulling out my wallet to get my ID out. “How are you today?”

“I’m good,” the cashier gives me a small smile, checking over my ID to make sure I’m over twenty one. “How are you doing?”

My phone rings instantly as her question ends and I pull it out, letting out a sigh. “Busy. Hello?”

“Why didn’t you answer my texts last night?” He asks.

Exhaustion fills my body as I realize this will lead to another fight, something I can’t handle with how little sleep I got last night and the hecticness that’s occured today. “I have things to do, Clayton.”

“But you can’t even take a minute out of your day to respond to my texts? Bullshit,” he spits.

I rub my eyes tiredly, pushing my card into the slot with a tug in my heart, knowing that I’ll wince when I see my account balance after this. “It just slipped my mind, okay?”

“Your job slipped your mind?”

Oh that’s right, this is technically my job. Even though it might not be a job with designated hours or tasks, it’s still something that I’m getting paid for, so I have to throw my heart into it as much as I just want to brush it off.

I never got to brush my part-time jobs off so why would I get to just brush this off? I guess I just assumed that Clayton would be more understanding.

“Okay, sorry.” I hurriedly push the cart into the parking lot, knowing that I’m definitely going to be late to class between loading everything into my car and the traffic. “I’ll come over as soon as class ends- wait, shit, I promised Paige I would go see her-”He scoffs at that and I bite my tongue. “I’ll come over around nine o’clock tonight, okay?”

“Whatever.”

I roll my eyes at his attitude. It’s really the last thing I want to deal with today, and quite frankly, as attractive as the guy is and as nice as he can be at times, he’s bothering me with this whole conversation and seeing him is the last thing that I want to do but I’m obligated to. “If you don’t want me to come over then text me. But otherwise I’ll be over then. I have to go, I have class.”

~

I grumpily ring the doorbell, not happy to see Clayton after our argument on the phone and watching Paige drink away all of her problems while not being able to because I needed to be sober enough to Uber over to Clayton’s house.

“Well look who it is,” Christian opens the door, greeting me with a friendly smile. “Clayton said you would be coming over!”

“Yeah,” I mumble, unsure of how to react to his words. He steps to the side and I enter the house, taking my shoes off and setting them beside the door.

“He’s just in his room, you know where that is, right?” He asks.

I nod, giving him a polite smile before walking down the hall towards the room I’ve been in a couple of times now. I walk in to see Clayton slouched against his headboard, video game controller in his hands and his eyes on the TV.

Really? I came over just to watch him play video games?

He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t even look at me, but he lifts his arms and motions towards his lap, a sign for me to climb in. I make myself cozy against his body, watching whatever stupid shooter game he’s playing.

Despite the annoyance flooding through my veins, I snuggle closer to Clayton, cherishing the few moments of the day that I get to rest.

“How was your day?” He questions, montone.

“Hectic. You?”

He hums, pressing a button extra hard on the controller. Once he loses all three of his lives I ask, “So do you want to do something now?”

“Yeah, play another round,” he responds, restarting the game.

“So you knew that I have a busy week but begged me to give you attention and now you’re sitting here playing video games.” I sit up in his lap, turning to make eye contact. He avoids my eyes, staring at the TV screen. “Explain that to me.”

“I don’t know what you want from me, babe.”

I blatantly roll my eyes. “I literally just told you what I want from you. An explanation.”

“Is it too much to ask you to just sit here and watch me play video games?” He asks, exasperated. “Ugh, you made me die.”

“You would’ve died anyways,” I mumble, crawling out of his lap and sitting on the bed next to him with my arms crossed.

“If you’re going to pout then you can just leave.”

My head snaps towards him and I notice that now he’s staring back at me with a blank expression, giving me his full attention.

“What?”

He repeats his sentence and I scoff, sliding my feet onto the floor. I leave without another word, not pleased with the way I leave things but not happy with the way he’s treating me either.

[send-me-your-hcs]

Forever Ch22

Collab fic with @ceratonia-siliqua (check their blog next week for the next chapter!)

Read on ao3

Warnings: Unhealthy/codependent relationship, possessive behavior, dark themes, check ao3 for additional warnings.

Bucky knew that, eventually, mouthing off to Pierce was going to come back and bite him in the ass.

He was still a little surprised by how long it took, though. Bucky left for his next mission two days after he and Peter went dancing, and only needed nine days this time around to cross another four names off HYDRA’s list. When he returned home, he resolutely decided a break was in order, and despite Pierce’s consternation spent the next three weeks holed up with Peter in their home.

It was too hard being away from him. Bucky couldn’t stand the aching pit howling inside his chest whenever he and Peter were separated. He only felt like a human being when his boy was at his side. After all his years of military service, being captured and tortured during the war, returning to a life of more death and violence and then spending a decade in a high-security prison…Bucky didn’t often feel like anything more than a machine designed to cause human suffering.

But with Peter – with Peter, Bucky was someone else. He was human. He was a vessel of pleasure and love, reborn by the blinding light of Peter’s smile whenever the boy looked at him. When those doe eyes fixed on him, honey-warm and glowing with affection, Bucky didn’t feel like a monster or a machine of death. For the first time that he could remember, he felt like who he truly was: Peter’s soulmate.

To walk away from all that and drive across the country, killing fearful men who had incurred HYDRA’s wrath…it was harder than Bucky ever thought it would be. The killing never used to bother him. They were criminals, they were scum, they were grown men who played the game and lost. It never weighed on his conscience until Peter came along. It wasn’t that Bucky pitied his targets – far from that – but he felt like the person he was becoming in Peter’s virtuous presence diminished and cracked a little more every time he left for one of Pierce’s missions.

Which was why he mouthed off at the end of those three weeks, when Pierce called him at the ass crack of dawn and demanded to know when he would be leaving next.

Bucky stumbled out of bed, trying not to wake Peter as he tiptoed down the stairs to his office. He shut the door quietly and growled, “It’s too early for this shit.”

“On the contrary, Soldier, this is well overdue. You have been slacking. I want you to deploy. Today.”

Bucky gritted his teeth and paced in front of his desk. Pierce’s tone had entirely lost all semblance of patience that it once held. “I’ve cut your list in half since I was released, Pierce. What more do you want from me?”

“I want you to do what you were paid to do. That list was only the first of many. There are several more names to be added to it, and you are behind schedule. I thought I made my expectations very clear to you when I released you, Soldier. I want it done.”

“I can’t exactly pack my car up and leave on a six week hunt to go chase all these rats down. I have to take care of it little by little, otherwise it’ll be too hard to explain.”

Pierce laughed without sounding amused in the slightest. “Why on earth are you bothering to explain anything? I’ve supplied you with everything you need. A man three times Peter’s size would need a stick of dynamite to get out of that basement. Throw the boy in and be done with it. I’ll send someone once a day to feed him while you’re gone.”

The phone creaked under the pressure of Bucky’s metal hand. “You expect me to leave him with one of your goons?”

“James,” Pierce said, like Bucky was the stupid one. “The door has a slot for food at the bottom, and you’d be the only one with the key to open it fully. For heaven’s sake, they’re not even going to see the boy. Stop making this very simple matter more complicated than it needs to be. Lock the boy up and finish your job.”

“I can’t lock him up,” Bucky said, realizing distantly that he’d never shown Pierce as much emotion as he was in this very moment. “I can’t do that to him. I can’t. He’d never forgive me.”

Pierce sighed, a long-suffering sound, like a parent who’d been saddled with an unruly toddler for too many hours. “Then you’d best get your story straight, Soldier, because the next time I call you, it won’t be to ask.” His voice dropped several octaves, the clearest threat Bucky had ever heard. “Do you understand.”

A short, emotionless, “Yes,” was all Bucky could muster up.

“Good.” The threat slipped from Pierce’s tone, just like that. Ever the two-faced politician able to flip on a dime. “Honestly, you give that boy even more freedom than we give you, it’s absurd. Especially after the little stunt he pulled when your old pal Steve came knocking.”

For a moment, Bucky’s heart stopped in his chest. “You…”

“ – Know about that? Don’t be stupid. Of course I do. Do you think anyone gets within a mile of my enforcer’s front door without my knowledge?”

He supposed it made sense, but Bucky was still stunned by the revelation. He always suspected Pierce was spying on them, tapped into every line, spying through every lens, but until now, he hadn’t thought much about it beyond a haughty, enjoy the show, you sick fuck.

Hearing Pierce actually comment on what he’d seen during said spying drastically changed Bucky’s feelings on the matter. “You have no right – ”

“That’s an odd way of saying thank you. Who do you think has kept your little friend so busy these last several weeks, hmm? Not to mention Tony Stark himself, who, by the way, has gone from an arrogant little son of a bitch to a completely insufferable one ever since you ran off with his little princess.”

Bucky’s head felt like it was spinning on its axis. “What?”

“You let Steve Rogers walk out of your home after catching you with a billionaire’s missing son,” Pierce said, slowly, enunciating every word. “I consider that a bit of a liability, so I took it upon myself to monitor the situation in case Rogers gets any bright ideas. The city commissioned him to do some work – a ridiculously large job that will keep him preoccupied for months – while I’ve been personally feeding Stark false leads and information to keep him too busy to answer any phone calls from guilty-conscience-riddled loose-ends.”

He didn’t know what to say. Didn’t even know if he could, given how tightly his throat had closed up. “…Thanks.”

“You are given far more freedom than any other member of my staff, thanks to your track record,” Pierce said. “If you take advantage of that privilege, you will lose it. Have I made myself clear?”

“Crystal.”

“Then we’re done,” Pierce said, and added before hanging up: “Today, Soldier.”

The phone clicked, the call disconnected, and left Bucky standing silently in his office. His head was reeling. What the fuck was he going to say to Peter? He supposed he could tell the half-truth – his boss called suddenly, it’s a disaster job, he’ll be gone for a long time, maybe even a month – but would Peter buy it? Would he be upset, or worse, unwilling to stay here by himself for that long?

What if he…

Bucky shook his head, dispelling the evil notion before it could take root in his brain. No. He would not let Pierce manipulate him like that. Not when it came to Peter.

Defeated, Bucky sunk into his desk chair, cradling his head in his hands, desperately trying to think of what to say.

—

Peter wasn’t thrilled, unsurprisingly, but he was understanding. He kept his head down, trying to hide how sad he was as he helped Bucky pack and load the car.

“You still haven’t fixed the trunk yet,” he said, not accusingly, merely commenting on it as he was forced to put one of Bucky’s bags in the backseat. “Do you want me to take a look at it? I’m pretty good with machines and stuff. I could probably figure out what’s jamming it.”

“Maybe when I get back, baby,” Bucky said, putting his overnight bag in the passenger seat and shutting the door, then rounding the car to the other side so he could pull the boy into his arms. “I’m sorry about this.”

“It’s okay,” Peter said, lying, but Bucky loved him for it. “It’s work, I understand. This just shows your boss how good of an employee you are. Maybe you’ll get a promotion or a raise or something.”

Bucky huffed a laugh against the boy’s curls. “Yeah. Maybe.” He pulled back to tilt the boy’s chin up, cupping his cheeks. “You sure you’re not gonna be too lonely without me?”

“I’m lonely just thinking about it,” Peter said, barely louder than a whisper. Bucky’s heart broke in his chest. “But you have to go. I know you wouldn’t be if you didn’t have to. It sucks, but we just have to live with it.”

“I love you,” Bucky said, pressing their foreheads together. “You’re my everything, Peter Stark. One day I won’t ever have to leave your side again, I promise you that.”

“Deal,” Peter said, smiling, and kissed him. “Maybe we could…I don’t know, maybe we could get a dog or something, so it doesn’t feel as bad when you have to leave for a long time.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows at him. “Do you want a dog?”

Peter looked away, blushing. “I mean. We have all this space, this huge yard, even that big fenced-in dog run out back…we could have a dog.”

“We could, if you wanted one, baby.” He took Peter’s hands, lifted them to his mouth, kissed the backs of his palms. He held Peter’s hand in his own and guided him away from the car, around the side of the house, where the chain-link fence of the dog run started.

A thought struck him, insidious and hateful. The dog run was large – meant for big dogs, multiple big dogs. The fence was twelve feet high and forty feet long, wide enough to let something large run around in the fresh air, exercising in full containment.

It twisted his stomach in a knot. The basement was big, but didn’t have much room to run. This, on the other hand, would be plenty of room for someone to run around, stretch out their cramped, aching legs.

Especially someone as small as…

Bucky’s heart leapt into his throat and choked him, silencing the thought before it could fully manifest. He clutched Peter’s hand tightly and asked, “Do you think you could climb out of that thing?”

“Um,” Peter said, giving him a weird look, before surveying the height of the fence. His face set adorably in a look of deep concentration for a moment, then he decided, “Yeah, probably. I mean, it’s chain-link, so it wouldn’t be that hard to climb, I don’t think?”

“Hmm.” Bucky looked from Peter to the dog run and back, smirking playfully. “Do you think you could climb out before I could catch you?”

Peter’s eyes widened. He laughed, “Babe, there’s no way a dog could climb out of that thing! Even if it jumped that high, how would it get over the top?”

“Indulge me,” he said, opening the door to the pen and ushering Peter in. “I bet I can catch you before you make it over the top.”

Giggling, Peter walked to the other end of the run, shaking his head. “You just want an excuse to chase me around.”

“Now that I’m guilty of.”

Peter’s eyes shone, even as he backed away until he was almost at the other side. “What happens if you catch me?”

Bucky thought it over, his face expressionless. Why was he doing this? Why did he want to know how fast Peter could climb out of here? It was never, ever going to be useful knowledge. It wasn’t practical. He already knew the boy was fast, probably even faster than him, if they were talking pure speed. He didn’t need to know just how fast. He didn’t need to.

But the thought nagged, incessant. He had to know. He didn’t know why, but he did. He had to know, if he was at one end of the dog run and Peter was at the other, could Peter climb out before Bucky caught him?

“Well, we’re in a dog run,” Bucky said, grinning to try and ease the tension in his own chest. “So if I catch you, I’m going to fuck you like a dog.”

Peter’s face went tomato-red, soothing the torrent coursing through him. Bucky smiled lecherously at the boy’s shocked, aroused face, looking like he’d had his delicate sensibilities trampled on. A turbulent exhale left his lips, not-so-subtly shifting his weight on his legs as Bucky’s words went straight to his dick.

“I don’t see how that’s a win for only you,” Peter said, almost too quiet for Bucky to hear at this distance. “That’s what I was going to ask for if I won, too.”

Bucky laughed. He gestured for Peter to turn around and said, “Then you’d better get climbing.”

Peter turned, backing up a few feet so he could take a running start. “You’d better not start running as soon as my back is turned!”

That was exactly what Bucky did.

The moment Peter was moving, so was Bucky. He sprinted across the dog run as fast as his legs could go, knowing that, horribly, if this was real, the adrenaline would have him going even faster.

But the same would be true for Peter, who, despite being a faster runner than Bucky, only made it eight feet up the fence before Bucky was slamming into it. Peter yelped and giggled as Bucky caught his ankle, gasping when Bucky leapt up the fence with him and wrenched him off with an arm around his waist.

Bucky bracketed Peter’s body as he slid them down the fence, but the moment his feet touched ground, he wrestled the laughing, flushed boy to the ground and flipped him onto his stomach. Peter shouted and kicked, yelled, “Okay, you win, you win!” but everything was fuzzy at the edges, his vision, his hearing, his sense of touch, like his system had been overloaded.

He didn’t realize he was growling until Peter moaned wetly into the mud as he tore the boy’s clothes off. Peter jerked as he was laid bare, whimpering when Bucky forcefully spread his legs and hiked his hips into the air.

“W-wait, Bucky, do you have lube?” Peter asked, breathless from the tight position and being manhandled.

Bucky blanketed the boy’s entire body and bit his shoulder, hard. Peter yelped again and thrashed underneath him, but his cock was hard as a rock when Bucky lazily thumbed over it with his flesh hand. “Do dogs get lubed when they get mounted and fucked?”

“Oh God.”

The whine Peter made was one of both pain and pleasure as Bucky humped into him. His cock was wet enough for the both of them – not to mention, Peter’s hole was still slightly loose and glistening from their lovemaking this morning. It took a little force to plunge the head in, but once it was, the rest of his shaft was sucked right in to his boy’s waiting, welcoming body.

Peter made a long, shuddering sound as he was mounted. Bucky sat up on his knees, metal hand tight around the back of the boy’s neck, keeping his face pinned into the mud. Peter was trying to push away from the ground with both hands, but Bucky didn’t let him – Peter knew his safeword. Bucky trusted him to use it, if he really needed to.

And judging by how hard and loud the boy was moaning, he couldn’t be hating it that much. His little cock was bouncing and slapping against his belly with every thrust, and that was more than enough for Bucky. He gripped Peter tight by the hip with his free hand and bore down on him with his full weight, fucking him like he truly was trying to impale him on his cock.

The choked-out, pitiful noises Peter was making sent Bucky over the edge, blowing his load inside of Peter without stopping the brutal pace of his thrusts. He wrapped his right hand around Peter’s dick and jerked it hard and fast until Peter spilled all over the ground, shouting at the top of his lungs in a broken, slutty voice that sounded suspiciously like Bucky’s own name.

Panting, exhausted, Bucky sat back on his ass and brought Peter with him, cradling him in his lap. The boy was filthy – mud painted his entire front, his chest, his face, his hair. He was breathing hard, eyes closed, mouth panting, his skin still cherry-red and flushed beautifully.

Bucky kissed him, not caring one bit for the mud that stuck to his lips, and carried the boy inside for a hot bath.

—

Peter still had a towel draped over his head, utterly nude except for one of Bucky’s huge T-shirts hanging off him like a dress. He was sulky and pouty about Bucky leaving as they said their goodbyes in the mudroom, until he suddenly perked up and said, “Oh shit, wait a minute!”

He reached up and grabbed the letter he had pinned there – the one Bucky had purposefully forgotten, the last time he left for a mission, and held it out to Bucky. Tony Stark’s name and address stared up at him on the dusty white paper of the envelope. “Can’t forget this again. You’re still okay with mailing it for me, right?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Bucky said, kissing the boy deeply as he took and pocketed the letter. “You know I’d do anything for you.”

Smiling, Peter sighed into the kiss and happily accepted Bucky’s tongue when it prodded against his lips. Bucky pulled away before his cock could get any more interested in the activity, crushed Peter against him in a hug and said, “I’m going to miss you so fucking badly.”

“I’ll miss you too,” Peter said. He sounded so heartbroken, Bucky wanted to cry. “Please come back soon.”

“I will, baby,” he said, kissing him again. “I love you. I’ll come back to you as soon as I can.”

He had every intention of keeping that promise. If luck was on his side, maybe, just maybe, this mission wouldn’t take a full month or more. Maybe he could wrap everything up in three weeks and make it home before the isolation became too much for Peter. He had to try. He’d never been a religious man, but God, was he praying for some luck now.

The only stop he made was ten minutes down the road, when he pulled over, took the letter from his pocket, and set it ablaze with his lighter. He watched the ashes scatter in the slight breeze and mentally begged Peter’s forgiveness, before crawling back inside his car, shutting the door, and driving away.

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

The Royal Snow Day

Day 1 of 2020′s 31 Days of Ficmas.  Thanks to @doctorroseprompts for the list!

Prompt: Snowed in

Rating: M (nsfw)

Pairing: 12xRose AU; part of the Queen of Hearts universe

Summary: Rose’s first snowfall in Gallifrey exceeds her wildest dreams, as her royal fairytale continues.  The ensuing snow day leads to an unexpected, melancholy conversation.

2020 31 Days of Ficmas masterlist  |  Queen of Hearts masterlist

AO3

---

Beep.  Beep.  Beep.

“Oh, c’mon,” Rose whined, reaching out blindly to swat at the alarm.  “Fuckoff.”

Ian’s answering snicker said he was already awake, the sheets rustling as he spooned up behind her. “Good morning.”

“Too early.” Still, she snuggled back into his arms, reveling in his warmth.  “Mhmm.”

“Has it snowed, since you’ve been here?”  The kisses he pressed against her neck were thoroughly distracting, so much so she almost missed the question.

“No, why?”

Her husband merely chuckled, the arm around her waist squeezing her.  “Open your eyes.”

It took her a long moment to overpower the urge to curl into him and drift back to sleep, but when she finally did as he said, she was so glad she did.

“Oh!”

When they’d gone to bed the night before the sky had been clear, with trees as far as the eye could see, the Alps rising majestically in the distance.  When the leaves had started falling a month before, Rose had understood for the first time how drastically the elevation could change in her new home; for quite a ways into the distance the trees were bare, their leaves having changed and fallen, but behind them were evergreens, sloping up the side of the Alps until they stopped abruptly; past that point was nothing but whiteness climbing towards the sky.

Now, though- now, the sky was full of clouds, and the grounds looked like a winter wonderland. Everything was covered in snow, bright and cheerful despite the grey sky, and even as she watched, the flakes continued to fall.

It was spectacular, almost out of a movie, and she was surprised at the tears pricking her eyes. “You live like this?” she breathed in awe.  “Is this normal?”

The breath of Ian’s laugh was hot against her neck.  “Sometimes. More so in years past…  Definitely when I was a kid.  Used to be able to ice skate on the lake, even.  But d’you know what the best part of this is?”

“Oooh, snowball fight? Please say snowball fight!”

“No- I mean, sure, we can do that- but actually, until it stops and they’ve had time to start the cleanup, we’re stuck here.”

That was enough to tear Rose’s gaze from the window, and she twisted around to face him.  “We’re snowed in?”

He nodded, pushing some loose hair out of her face.  “For the time being.  No engagements with our public today, I’m afraid.  And since that was our whole schedule…”  One of his knees nudged at her own, and she obligingly lifted her top leg to let his slide between.  “Our day is wide open.  How would you like to spend it?”

“Honestly?”  When he nodded, she glanced back over her shoulder. “I’ve never seen so much snow in one place at one time.  I’d love to just… go out and play in it.  Snow angels, snowball fights…  You know, like you see in films.  Bet Sophia and Sebastian would like that- they’re still young enough I think.”

“That sounds like fun,” he agreed, smiling.  “When, now?”

Rose rolled onto her back, looking first towards the window and the picture-perfect snow, then to her husband, warm and naked beside her.  “Depends,” she said coyly.  “Is it better to sort of pre-warm up before we go out, or to wait until we come back in?”

“Hmmm…”  Ian settled himself above her, so close they were almost touching, but far enough away to mostly be a tease.  “Well, in my professional opinion as a doctor-” he paused to suck at her pulse point, “I would recommend both.  Some pre-activity to… get the blood flowing as it were, then once you’re back inside, a hot shower, maybe a soak in a steaming tub…”

“Is that so?” she drawled, letting her legs fall apart before tugging on his hips, encouraging him to lay flush against her.  “And would you recommend these as solo activities?”

The corners of his mouth turned up, but he hid it by kissing his way across her decolletage to the other side of her neck.  “Oh, no. It’s very important to always have a buddy with you,” he said earnestly.  “Someone to keep an eye on you… check for hypothermia, that sort of thing.”

Rose nodded, scraping her nails lightly along his spine, smirking when his hips jumped.  “Whatever you say, Doctor.”

He dipped his head, kissing her deeply, and she arched up against him in response.  Even after six months together she still got the same giddy feeling in her stomach, heart soaring at the merest taste of him, her very universe narrowing down to where they touched, the rest of the world be damned. It didn’t hurt knowing that he was equally affected by her, the evidence hot and throbbing against her thigh.

Yet the picture-perfect scene playing out on the other side of the glass called to her too, and though she tried to hide it, her husband knew her well enough at this point to sense her distraction.  To his credit, though, he was chuckling as he pulled back.

“Do you want to stop to watch the window?”

Biting her lip, Rose gave him a sheepish smile.  “No, I want you…”  She ran her hands down his back to his arse, squeezing for emphasis.  “But, maybe a change of position?  D’you mind?”

“Of course not.”  He backed away, sitting on his heels.  “And we don’t have to- I promise I’m just as happy holding you and watching the snow fall.”

Sitting up herself, she took a moment to look around before nodding decisively.  “Right.”  Nudging him out of the way, she positioned herself on her hands and knees in front of the window, before glancing back at him over her shoulder.  “Does this work?”

Ian was already slotting himself between her knees, one hand rubbing at her hip and thigh as the other brushed against her slit.  “Uh huh.” He met her eye as one long finger probed her opening.  “You’re supposed to be watching the snow.”

“Git.”  Facing forward again, she marveled at how the storm seemed to be picking up.  “I’m going to remember this.”

By the time they collapsed in a sweaty, sated pile, the view was a whiteout and second to the heat between them.

-

“This is absurd.”

Hands on his hips, Ian stared out the ballroom doors to the patio incredulously – or attempted to, given that their view consisted solely of snow.  Heavy, packed snow that covered the doors so thoroughly he wasn’t sure anything truly existed past them.

“It seems to be a snow drift, Your Majesties,” Jabe shrugged.  The manager of the grounds, it would be her team’s job to clear the snow, and he made a mental note to ensure they all got fat bonuses in their next check. “It’s not nearly so bad along the sides of the Palace, or necessarily the front, but it may take several days to clear the lakefront side or the drive.  In these conditions, we cannot even begin until it stops, and though it has slowed, we do not want to be caught out in it if it increases again. As it is, we will need to dig our way from the sides.”

“We’re really snowed in,” Rose breathed.  “I mean, this is…  Wow.”

Their hands tangled together, and even as Ian worried for his subjects, her childlike wonder warmed his heart more than he could say.  “The Queen would like to go out in it for a bit.  How do you recommend we do so?”

“Over my dead body, to start.”

He turned to see his aunt striding towards them, bundled in a thick jumper, eyes narrowed in their direction.

“I’m afraid she’s correct,” Jabe said, apologetic.  “At least, in her implication – it’s simply too dangerous at this time.  Several of my braver groundskeepers attempted to go out the front, and suffice it to say it did not go well.  The worst injury was a sprained wrist, and several bruised prides, but it was enough.  We cannot risk Your Majesties’ health or safety.”

“What about- and maybe this is stupid, I don’t have much experience with heavy snow- but like… climbing out a first-floor window?  It wouldn’t be too far down…” Rose trailed off as they stared at her.  “Never mind, just a thought.”

Ian smiled kindly at his wife.  “Perhaps if we were twenty, but I think we- or at least I- am too old for that.  And there’s no way of knowing how far you might sink into the drift.  I don’t want to have to call your mother and explain you drowned in snow.”

“Fair enough,” she agreed easily, squeezing his hand.  “Though, personally, I’d be more afraid of Donna.”

He shivered dramatically at the idea, making her giggle.  “Ooh, don’t make me think about it.  Very well, we surrender to our house arrest.  Is there any support we can offer to Arcadia, or the rest of the country?”

“No, not now.”  Sarah shook her head.  “When I saw the storm start last night I reached out to the Roadworks Department, but they were on top of the situation.  We’ll likely need to cut them a check for overtime as they certainly hadn’t budgeted for all this, expecially not as a one-time dumping at the start of the season, but that was all the support they need- at least for now.  The worst of it is here, along the lake- once you get a kilometer or so inland it’s not nearly so heavy.”

“That’s good,” Ian and Rose said in unison, before grinning at each other.

“Have you spoken to Donna?” he continued.  “I suppose this means they’ll need to extend their trip.”

Sarah nodded.  “She’s heartbroken at the delay of course,” she said dryly, “but will soldier through.  The children are thrilled to have another few days with their grandparents.”

Rose tensed next to him, but other than shooting her a curious look, he ignored it for the moment. “All right, I’ll give her a call in a bit.  Thanks for the update.  We’ll be up in our suite.  A hearty soup or stew is sufficient for dinner tonight, I think- something simple. I don’t see a need for anything non-essential to be done today, but I’ll leave it to your discretion.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The women curtseyed as Ian turned to leave, tugging Rose along with him.

They walked in silence until they reached their bedroom, where he helped her out of her warm outerwear they’d optimistically put on.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”  Rose sank onto their couch, curling up in the corner and staring blankly at the fireplace.  “I’m fine.”

Biting back a sigh, he settled next to her, careful not to touch her.  “Rose.”

“I just… realized something I hadn’t thought about before.  It’s no biggie.”

“If you’re sure.”  He didn’t believe her, but didn’t want to push, knowing she would come to him when she was ready.  “Want another log on the fire?”

She didn’t answer but he did it anyway, enjoying the burst of sparks as the new log caught and started to burn.  She didn’t say anything when he draped the throw from the back of the couch over their laps, and she still didn’t speak as they watched the fire crackle and occasionally leap.

“My mum’s the only grandparent our children will know.”

He started at the sound of her voice, having been nearly hypnotized by the silence and the flames, and turned to look at her.  “Yes, she is,” he agreed cautiously.  “And I have no intention of trying to keep her from them, if that’s where this is going.”

“No, I know that, it’s just… I guess, I always thought I’d marry something with parents- someone who could give my kids a grandfather, someone who could… could almost be a father to me.  I say always, but it’s only really in the last decade or so once I got off the estate, but still.”

“I had a similar epiphany when my father died,” he shared tentatively.  “In amongst all the things I’d officially lost- never really had, I suppose- like my career and my freedom, I realized that… because I’d been concerned with my own wants, I missed out on the opportunity for my future wife and children to know my parents, and for them to know, well, you.  And our children.  To make them proud.  They were proud of my career, that I was helping people even if it wasn’t in the way they wanted- they thought I should have spent time learning how to rule at my father’s side- but… they wanted me to settle down, have a family.  I’m sorry they didn’t get the chance to see that, though I suppose if they had it wouldn’t have been with you, and that I cannot regret.  My point being- I know how you feel.”

Rose shifted on the couch, moving curl into his side.  “The real problem with all of this,” she sighed as she rested her head against his shoulder, “is that she’ll feel the need to make up for being the only one, and spoil our kids absolutely rotten.  I mean, at least your parents had Donna and knew the twins, but I’m all Mum’s got, so our family will be the sole focus of her grandmotherly love.”

He couldn’t help but smile stupidly at the idea.  “That’s all right, I suppose.  We’ll just have to have many children, to spread out the attention.”

Rose took his hand, lacing their fingers together.  “Depending on your definition of ‘many’, I agree.  But for now…”

“Yes?”  He watched her stand, taking a moment to admire her; the glow of the fire behind her made her seem ethereal, like some sort of goddess too good for the world blessing him with her presence.

She tugged on their joined hands, smiling coyly.  “I could use some warming up.  And this doctor I know says that body heat transmitted bare skin to bare skin is the most efficient way.”

“Well, if you insist…”

[antpelts]

POV for the writing asks? Your choice what for

no excuses writing meme

POV — something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspective

this is delightful yet horrible how could i ever choose! for the sake of relevancy ill go with something from im the rocks. shameless plug. shower scene from chapter 18 - from jareds pov. actually its just.. i basically just rewrote most of ch 18 from jareds pov maybe ill edit this for ao3 later 

“Rich gone?” 

Jared lifted his head, tearing his eyes off his phone to see Evan in his doorway. He was always so careful about taking his shoes off, about not making a mess. It was equal parts annoying and endearing. He practically lived in Jared and Rich’s room at this point and he was still treating it like a fancy hotel.

“Yup.” He locked his phone, watching as Evan shut the door behind him and paused in the middle of the room, looking like he didn’t know where to go. “Probably making out with his boyfriend.”

“Isn’t Jer with them?” Evan’s voice was still soft and he was still just standing there like a lost puppy. So he had to do everything himself. With a slight roll of his eyes he set his phone down among the blankets while shifting over to offer up some room to Evan. That was all it seemed to take because now he was crossing the room and gently hopping up onto the bed, slotting his body perfectly next to Jared’s own.

“Dude, I don’t know what the fuck is goin’ on with that,” Jared couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter - Rich had been prattling on about that situation for weeks and as of late he had no clue who was actually dating who in that mess. With a sigh he just turned his head to bury his face in Evan’s shoulder, he really didn’t care to think about it for the time being.

“Your hair’s greasy.” Jared scoffed a little at that, taking note of how Evan tipped his head back instead of burying his face in his hair like normal. Normal. Well, this whole thing wasn’t very normal of them. Whatever it was.

“You can only be rude if it’s not to me, asshole,” he tried to keep his tone gruff but a breathy laugh slipped out at the end. He knew full well he was the only person who Evan felt comfortable being anything but painfully polite to. “Showering is hard. I didn’t wanna deal with it.”

“Have you.. not showered since you got the cast? That’s like..” Jared could practically hear the gears turning in Evan’s head until he opened his mouth to complete the thought, “two weeks.”

“Fuck dude, I’m not an animal!” Shifting a bit Jared weakly hit Evan’s chest, rolling his eyes to himself. “I kinda just.. wash my hair in the sink. And then like.. half shower. With, like, a wash cloth.”

“You know you can.. wrap your cast right?” 

Jared tried not to laugh in his face at that one.

“I may be dumb, but I’m not stupid.” When Evan finally laughed and let his shoulders relax he couldn’t help a triumphant grin. After a second he felt a nose against his hair and it was his turn to practically melt, sinking back against Evan. “Yeah. But then I’d have to like.. balance on my leg and carry all my shit.”

“I can help you.”

Jared couldn’t help but short circuit at that. It was disgustingly intimate and Jared wanted to fucking choke because now his face was red from the thought of Evan gently touching his hair. Years of fleeting dreams about making out with Evan (and maybe a little more) did nothing to prepare him for soft intimacy. But he also felt Evan tensing up under him and they didn’t need to be both thrown into a state of utter uselessness. It came out as nearly a whisper, “alright.”

But Evan didn’t seem to hear, breathing uneven as he stuttered out messy apologies.

“Evan. Fucking hell, earth to Ev.” With a quiet grunt Jared pushed himself up, bracing a hand on Evan’s chest. Sitting up he was able to look down at Evan, drawing his brows together as he looked over his face. He seemed sincere about the offer, if his panicked expression and continued whirlwind of mumbled apologies was anything to go off of.

“I’m so sorry that.. Sorry. Sorry. That was weird and gross I don’t-”

“Dude. I said alright. I mean, like,” Jared directed his gaze anywhere but Evan, feeling his own cheeks warm up a little as he tried to play it off, “like you can carry my shit. And like stand by the shower in case I need you to hand me something.”

“Oh.”

The bathrooms were big enough that he felt like he could play it off and Evan could hide in the corner while offering minimal assistance. Sure, maybe he’d prefer to have Evan with him, to lean back into him. Or.. to kiss his face while they washed each other’s hair. Fuck. Since when had he gotten so fucking soft? This was the shit he roasted Rich for.

“Wanna help me wrap my cast?”

There was no time like the present. Besides, if Evan was going to complain about how greasy his hair was then he’d make him eat those words. Or whatever.

Not to mention he was also a little worried that he wouldn’t be able to work up the nerve later, this conversation already had momentum he didn’t want to stop.

“N..Now?”

Jared just huffed out a sigh as he awkwardly clambered over Evan to slide off the bed, straining to grab his crutches once he made it to the floor.

“You don’t have to do this.” Jared looked up at him, raising an eyebrow as he looked over him. His face was still flushed and he was fidgeting with his hands. Heaving a sigh Jared just leaned to grab his phone and tuck it into his pocket before hobbling away from the bed. “I’ve managed so far.”

“But.. you want to uh..” Jared heard some rustling as Evan practically fell off the bed, stumbling to catch himself. He bit back a fond smile at the absurdity of it all and just dropped down onto the futon as gracefully as he could manage. “I wanna help.”

When Jared looked up Evan was already collecting the few plastic bags they had off the ground and that time he couldn’t help but smile a bit.

“Alright,” he said it like a leading question, waiting expectantly as Evan shifted his weight between his feet. He shifted so he could stretch his leg out for easier access and when he saw Evan practically waiting for a command he sighed, “tape is in the top desk drawer.”

Evan grabbed the duct tape and sat on the floor in front of Jared, wrapping up the cast with a sort of practiced ease. Jared’s cast was bigger than what he’d been used to before and he watched Evan scramble, digging around Rich’s side of the room for two extra bags to fully cover it. Once he was done he sat back on his heels, Jared could practically feel the nervousness radiating off of him. “But.. if someone sees us both go into a bathroom they’re gonna think..”

Right. The redness on Evan’s face was almost contagious. Just almost. Because now he was thinking about it too, well sort of, he didn’t care if anyone saw them, he barely knew anyone on the floor but.. The thought of sneaking away to the bathrooms with Evan for something else - that was enough to make him feel a little warm.

“Just wait like.. a minute and then follow me. Dude. No one cares, people do worse shit in those bathrooms. You’ll live.” His words seemed to be convincing enough and Evan was nodding now.

“Okay.. yeah. Alright.” Evan smoothed his palms over his pants before getting to his feet. Jared couldn’t help but feel a little amused by the shakiness in his knees - he’d caused that. Well, maybe. Maybe it was anxiety, knowing Evan. “I’ll just.. I can bring your clothes and shower stuff.. and everything. Yeah. You.. you can go now and I’ll.. I’ll be there in a second.”

“Text me if you change your mind.” Jared was pulling himself back up to his feet, wobbling on his crutches a bit before heading towards the door. Of course he’d give him an out, Evan looked on the verge of passing out and Jared really didn’t want to push whatever it was that they had. He liked kissing Evan. He liked laying with him. He.. liked him. When he managed to get the door open he gave a mock salute before heading into the hall, letting his shoulders slump as soon as he was out of sight.

The whole thing was a spur of the moment mess and in the moment the yearning for that tenderness had fogged everything. Now that he was alone and hobbling into the bathrooms he looked back on it, as he often did. There were so many times over their lives where Jared had jut pushed too far and now he was worried this was another. Huffing out a sigh he ducked into one of the open bathrooms, leaving the door unlocked behind him as he leaned on the wall to send a text.

Jared (6:22 pm): last one on the left  Duck (Ev) (6:23 pm): ok coming

That was promising at least. So maybe he wouldn’t get his tender fantasy of washing each other’s hair and feeling soft skin to skin contact - but at least he was getting a proper shower. And Evan wasn’t disgusted with him. Or something like that. Wow, he really was starting to sound like him. They were spending a lot of time together. He shook his head and moved to carefully balance his phone on the sink.

With nothing better to do he ran the water. Hot but not too hot. Evan would probably fret over him cooking himself if he showered with his normal water temperature. His heart stuttered at the thought of Evan fussing over him - he used to find it annoying, he used to call him overbearing, comparing him to his mother. It felt different this time.

Only a few minutes has passed before Evan was practically throwing himself into the bathroom and locking the door behind him. Outrageous. It brought a wide grin to Jared’s face as he shook his head fondly. 

“W..What?” Evan seemed to shrink in on himself a bit as he hung up the towel, using the second towel hook to hang Jared’s towel bag. His hands were practically shaking. 

“Shh,” Jared barely stifled a laugh as he whispered, “don’t want someone to hear.”

Evan was nodding frantically enough that just watching him could give Jared a headache. Instead he just stifled a laugh, shoulders shaking as he kept his cackling at bay, face scrunching up with pure amusement. Deciding not to waste any more time he just turned around, hiding his expression as it softened into something more fond. There was something oddly cathartic about being able to let some of that softness seep through instead of forcing it under lock and key. Well it wasn’t oddly cathartic. Probably just normal cathartic. The point was that he was just happy he didn’t have to hide.

Tucking his glasses into his shower bag he just leaned his crutches on the wall, awkwardly balancing as he tugged his clothes off. He’d gotten better at the whole process over the last two weeks. Especially considering he’d been alone for Thanksgiving break. He had a slight handle on it all. Enough, at least, to haul himself into the shower and finally get under the spray, blindly reaching for a bottle on shampoo while he let his hair get wet. 

Yeah. He needed this.

It only took a minute for Jared to encounter a problem. He didn’t have particularly good balance and with one hand propped up against the wall and one clutching onto his shampoo bottle.. he didn’t really have a way of going about this process. Which left one option. They’d made it this far, he might as well drive it home. Clearing his throat quietly he gave as loud of a whisper as he could manage, “hey.. Ev?”

“Uh.. yeah?” He’d heard Evan’s shoes on the tiles and based on his (blurry) shadow he was on the other side of the curtain.

“Okay, you’ve got me. I’ll admit defeat just this once.” Jared didn’t often make a habit of asking for help, but Evan was the single exception if there ever was one, “could you help me wash my hair? Balancing and opening bottles and blurry vision aren’t my favorite combination.”

“Oh but I..” The words set off some primal fear reaction in Jared, he sort of froze up. The silence was only broken by the sound of water. It was almost deafening. “I don’t.. wanna get my clothes wet.”

Jared swore he could fucking strangle him. 

“Well, the great thing about that is that you can take your clothes off to shower.” He managed a quiet laugh because if he didn’t laugh he was probably going to lose it in one way or another. Besides, if that was Evan’s mental block he could try and put that at ease because, “I’ve seen you without clothes before.”

“That.. that was..” Jared squinted a bit, watching as Evan’s shadow fidgeted on the other side of the shower curtain. He held back another laugh, it was probably cruel enough to bring that back up. Losing your swim trunks at the pool definitely wasn’t a pleasant experience.

“I’m already in here and I can’t really do this,” he went with a softer tone this time. The silence stretched on long enough to make Jared second guess everything. Maybe it was an utterly horrible idea. “Ev, it’s fine. I.. you don’t gotta, it’s cool.”

“I.. okay, hold on. Gimme.. a s..sec. I’m fine.”

For once Evan wasn’t pausing, he sounded.. well, as sure of himself as he possibly could. Considering his general aura it was pretty impressive. He heard clothes hitting the ground in a pile and it was suddenly very real and very intimate. 

“I.. okay. I’m coming in.”

When the curtain was pulled open Jared was met with the sight of Evan, eyes squeezed shut tightly. He had to laugh. And.. he was wearing boxers? So what, maybe he couldn’t help but spare a glance! It was sort of endearing actually.

“Jesus, are you serious?” Jared moved the smallest bit to the side so Evan could join him. The red in his face was from more than the warm water. Jared breathed out another laugh. “If you slip and die I’ll kill you.”

“That.. that doesn’t,” he was whispering harshly and no one would never know what he was going to say exactly because his voice faltered when Jared settled a hand on his shoulder.

“Oh my god. If you’re not going to open your eyes at least let me help,” his tone was light and airy - stupidly, he kind of felt like he was floating. Slowly, he helped direct Evan to move until he was standing behind him. “Here.”

After some fumbling he was pressing the bottle of shampoo into Evan’s hand, face scrunching up in amusement as he heard Evan struggle to get it open. Once he got the hang of it he was passing the bottle back and Jared gladly took it, head tipping back a bit instinctually. 

Nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of Evan washing his hair. It was different than when he jut played with it while they laid it bed - it made him feel something that was just intense and he couldn’t quite place it or put it into words. It was painfully tender and it made his knees weak. His eyes burned with the threat of tears.. or maybe there was shampoo in his eyes. That was probably it.

Being taken care of was.. nice. Maybe he’d let it happen a little more often.

[hedwigstalons]

The Tracy Prize - part 12

A slightly longer section this time.  Big thanks to @willow-salix for helping with the ideas of how to fix things between Claire and our favourite spaceman.

Here are the earlier parts for those that want to go back to the beginning: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11

xoxoxox

It was decided that Virgil would accompany Claire for her trip back to Denver.  He had local knowledge of both the city and university campus.  He was also a one-man removal team and when it came to brute strength for moving boxes Virgil was was your man.  He was the obvious choice.  Not that she had too much to move, her apartment was rented furnished so there was nothing bulky deal with.

It was with some trepidation that she unlocked her apartment and led Virgil inside.

The wages of a university lecturer were modest and her apartment was small.  It was a far cry from the luxury of Tracy Island.  Part of her worried that Virgil would look down on her for her humble living arrangements.  It just showed how much she still had to learn about the Tracy brothers.  They might live on a tropical island now but life hadn’t always been that way.  Jeff Tracy had made sure that his sons never forgot their roots.  They had been taught never to take their fortune for granted and never to look down on those who had less than they did.  

Her original departure to the island had happened in such a hurry that she couldn’t remember what state she had left her apartment in.  A quick scan of the living area revealed she hadn’t left anything embarrassing lying around.  Any mess was behind closed doors.

She breathed a sigh of relief.

The air inside was thick and heavy, warmed by the Colorado summer.  She left Virgil perched on a compact sofa while she went around opening all the windows.  Kitchen, bedroom, bathroom and the tiny work space that the agent had optimistically billed as a second bedroom but was really no more than a cupboard.

A quick scan of the kitchen revealed that anything fresh had long since gone off.  She might not have been gone for long but the summer heat had had an effect.  She grabbed a bin bag and started throwing out spoiled food.  The remaining dried goods did not make an appealing prospect for dinner.  

A shadow in the doorway showed that Virgil had already got bored of sitting down.  He took an appraising look around the tiny kitchen and offered to head out for supplies.  Claire gratefully accepted.  

She used the time he was gone to hurry around, throwing items into bags and boxes.  Scott wanted Virgil back and on duty as soon as possible so they planned to spend barely 24 hours in the city.  One evening and morning to pack down the apartment then a quick visit to campus tomorrow afternoon to empty her office before flying home again.

The remaining foodstuff in her kitchen were checked and anything still sealed was packed up for donation to a food bank.  She made sure to keep hold of the coffee.  She had lived with the Tracys long enough to know that Virgil needed coffee to survive almost as much as he needed oxygen.

The living room, bathroom and bedroom were also simple to pack up.

The cupboard work space was not so easy.  She had always kept the small desk that had housed her computer tidy and uncluttered.  The rest of the room was crammed with anything that didn’t have a proper home in the rest of the apartment.

When Virgil returned he found her sat on the floor trying to organise the accumulated mountains of life detritus.  Old text books were stacked precariously.  Boxes of childhood memories, carted from house to house but never unpacked, had been opened as though she needed to reassure herself that the contents were still safe.  The task of sorting piles for keeping, throwing and donating had ground to a halt.  

“Come on, time for a break.  I got pizza” he grinned at her while holding aloft a couple of pizza boxes.

Claire gratefully got to her feet, dusted herself down and shut the door on the mess.

One thing she had quickly come the learn about life on the island was that food was unpredictable.  Each member of the family had different levels of culinary skill and preferences.  Each took a turn at cooking depending on who was available.  The only thing you could be certain of was that if Grandma Tracy was responsible the food would be virtually inedible.  Claire had come to the conclusion that the boys’ stomachs must be as strong as the rest of their muscles.

“I wasn’t expecting it to be so hard” she sighed between mouthfuls of pizza.

Virgil just looked at her, puzzled.

“All of that”.  She gestured vaguely in the direction of the cupboard where he had found her.  “Trying to sort out what I need to bring. It feels stupid not being able to let go of things.”

“So don’t”.  He said it as though it was the simplest thing in the world.  “You’re moving to the island.  We aren’t asking you to completely give up your past.”

“But there is so much of it.”

“It’s not like we are pushed for space.  Everything here will fit in Tracy Two and we can always make some space available in the store rooms.”

“It just seems stupid to cart it all around.  There are things in there I haven’t used for years.”

“Any yet still you keep them.  Memories are important, they make us who we are.  Sometimes we need to keep a physical reminder of our past.”

“Virgil Tracy, I didn’t have you down as the sentimental sort.”

He grinned.  “Hidden talents, me.  If it makes you feel any better you won’t be the only one on the island with a teddy bear.  Just ask Gordon to introduce you to Fishy some time.”

They finished off the pizzas, disposed of the boxes and carried on with the task in hand.

Virgil gave her the space she needed to pack, limiting his main contributions to stacking up the finished boxes ready for loading up in the morning and carting out the inevitable bags of rubbish.

The apartment soon resembled a cross between a warehouse and an airport departure lounge.  A motley assortment of boxes, bags and cases were arranged around the walls.

“Time to call it a night I think” said Claire.  “The rest of this can be dealt with in the morning.”

“Suits me fine” said Virgil, stretching out his back muscles after all the repeated bending and lifting.  

“Um”, she shifted about with embarrassment.  “As you can see I’m not really set up for visitors.”

“It’s fine.  I’ll take the couch.”

The absurdity of this struck Claire.  The couch was small.  Even sat on it Virgil had looked out of scale.  The idea of his attempting to sleep on it was ridiculous.

“Stop being such a gentleman.  Unless you are going to attempt some sort of human origami you’ll never fit.  You’ll be much more comfortable in my bed.”

As soon as the words left her mouth she realised how bad that sounded. She flushed scarlet.

“Um, I mean, I’ll take the couch.  I’m shorter than you.  And you need to be fit to fly tomorrow.”  Talk about state the obvious.  She wanted the ground to open up and swallow her.

“Thanks. Offer accepted.”  He flashed a trademark smile over his shoulder at her as he disappeared into the bedroom.

Claire flopped heavily down on the sofa and put her head in her hands.  How could she have said that?  The embarrassment burned into her soul. If Gordon or Alan ever got to hear that she had invited Virgil into her bed, even by accident, she would never hear the end of it.

xoxoxox

The morning bought a fresh flurry of packing fuelled by copious amounts of coffee.  

The had hired a van to transport Claire’s belongings to the airfield and this was nearly loaded and ready to go.  As Virgil carried the last box down the stairs Claire looked around the small space that she had called home.  It looked empty and forlorn, stripped of all her personal possessions.  

Claire breathed a silent goodbye and shut the door on one chapter of her life.

The other tie that needed severing was her association with the university.

Claire didn’t keep many possessions on campus so their visit should just be a brief one on their way to the airfield.  All she needed to do was empty a few drawers, check she hadn’t left anything on her work PC and hand back her security pass.  

She left Virgil enjoying the sunshine in the quad outside so she could say goodbye to her colleagues without having to make awkward introductions.  Not that there were many people around over the summer.  She hoped she would be in and out within half an hour.

As she headed down the corridor to her office her Head of Department appeared, almost as though he had been looking out for her.

“Hi Claire.  I was beginning to worry I’d missed you.”

“Oh, hey Mitch.  No, I’ve only just got here.  Are there many in today?”

“Only me and Clive and he is locked away in one of the haz-mat labs.”

“Ah well.  It would have been nice to say goodbye to the team but I know what it’s like.  As soon as classes finish everyone takes the chance to grab a vacation.”

“Hopefully the rest of them will come back though.  You know, I was surprised when you said you were leaving.  One minute you are booking up every lab slot available, the next you’re sending an email to say you’re off.”

“I was pretty surprised myself.  You just never can tell where life will take you.”

“So where are you off to?”

Claire avoided the question by rummaging through her bag for the key to her office.  She unlocked the door and Mitch followed her inside.  He leant against her desk, watching her while she opened and closed drawers, retrieving forgotten belongings.  

She booted up her work computer.  She had been pretty disciplined about keeping her research on her own computer but she wanted to make sure there was nothing sensitive left behind on the university network. She systematically deleted files and transferred a few interesting articles onto her tablet.

The book shelf was next on the list.  She packed the weighty tomes into the holdall she had kept spare for the purpose.

Mitch never left the office.  It felt a little unnerving to have him watching her all the time.

Feeling the effects of all the coffee from the morning she made her excuses and headed down the corridor to the bathrooms.

When she returned Mitch was still perched on the edge of her desk.  She had always got on well with him but she was starting to find his presence annoying.  As she went to gather up the last of her belongings she realised something was wrong.  Her tablet, which she had left on the far side of the desk, was now on the side closest to Mitch.  Her suspicions were roused.

Making up a spurious excuse about checking whether she had left her lab coat in one of the supply cupboards she swiftly exited the office again.

Once she was a safe distance away she activated her wrist comm.  Much as it pained her she knew she needed the help of one particular Tracy brother.

She opened a link to Thunderbird Five.

“John, I…I need your help.”

“Go ahead, Claire.”  John managed to keep the puzzlement out of his voice, Claire still tended to shy away from contact with him.  He could tell she was worried about something though.

“I’m on campus and something doesn’t feel right.  My Head of Department won’t leave me alone and  I think he might be after my work.  Can you check if any access attempts have been made on my tablet in the last ten minutes.”

“Sure.” Claire’s tablet had been connected to the International Rescue secure networks and it only took him a moment to call up the information he needed.  “I can see four failed log in attempts.  He didn’t get anywhere though, our systems are not easily breached.”

“Not this time but what if he has in the past.  I always thought he was just being friendly before but now he just seems, well…creepy. I’ve always been so careful but what if he already has some of my research.  I never kept a digital copy at work but what if he took photos of my notebooks.  We were often in the labs together.  If I wanted to work late he would usually volunteer stay on with me so that campus security wouldn’t chuck me out.”

The worry in her voice was now plain to hear.  John did what he did best – calming people down.

“It’s ok.  I can run a check of his university network files.  If I find anything I’ll wipe them.  I guess his network username follows the same convention yours did?”

“Yeah. It’s all standardised.  His would be Mhayworthy.”

“Give me a minute and I’ll see what I can find.”

John quickly accessed Mitch’s university profile.  He rolled his eyes slightly at the simplicity of the university’s security systems. Breaking through the defences wasn’t even a challenge.

Going off Claire’s suggestion that Mitch could have taken photos of her notebooks he started his search in the image files.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

There were hundreds of photos.  The notebooks appeared in some of them but only incidental to the main subject of the images.  Claire.

Claire at work.

Claire having lunch.

Claire walking through a park.

Claire leaving her apartment.

John didn’t want to alarm her but the man evidently had a full blown obsession.  The date stamps on the images showed he had been stalking her for some time.  

“Claire, where is he at the moment?”

“In my office.  Did you find anything.”

“You were right, he had some photos.”  He decided not to enlighten her on the exact nature of the pictures.  He didn’t want the truth to send her into a panic.  “I’ve sent a virus that will target all the image files on his computer.  It will also access his other devices via his cloud account so anything he has at home or on his phone will be wiped too.”

“Thanks John” and she genuinely meant it.  She made herself a promise to make it up to the spaceman for all the ill thoughts she had harboured against him.

For good measure John tasked Eos with monitoring the man, an easy task for her that would barely trouble her processing power and not impact on her other duties.  Life for International Rescue could get complicated this was reported to the police and Claire got caught up in a court case but he also wasn’t prepared to let the man off scot free.  It Mitch tried anything even remotely illicit in future Eos would alert the police through an anonymous tip-off and ensure that the full force of the law came down on him.

“Now Claire, I don’t want you to go back in there with him alone.  Give me your location and I’ll send Virgil up to you.”

Once he was assured that Claire was safe John got in contact with Virgil. His older brother was surprised to receive a call from his space bound sibling.

John quickly appraised Virgil of the situation, giving his brother rather more information that he had given Claire.  His intrusion into Mitch’s files had unearthed more than just the photos.  After Claire had informed the man of her impending departure his chemical research had extended beyond his academic interests and into the world of illicit sedatives.  Evidently the impending departure of the object of his obsessions had led him to darker thoughts than just watching her.

Less than three minutes later Virgil came pounding along the corridor and was by Claire’s side.  

Mitch looked up when he heard the door open.  The smile he greeted Claire’s return with soon vanished when Virgil entered the room.  

Virgil was making full use of his height and weight advantage and positively loomed over the other man.  He stayed polite for Claire’s sake but his attitude screamed alpha-male.

“Unauthorised personnel aren��t permitted in this corridor.”  Mitch was not pleased about the unexpected intrusion.

“It’s ok Mitch.  He’s with me.  He’s a…a friend come to help me move my stuff.”  The Tracy name was well known on campus, especially so soon after Denver hosting the latest round of the Tracy Prize. Claire felt it better to keep things vague, especially since Mitch seemed unaware of the identity of her companion.

Virgil flashed his visitor pass to show he was there legitimately.

Mitch instantly dismissed Virgil as a being of no consequence.  Someone picked for their brawn rather than their brain.  

“So Claire, I was hoping I could take you for a farewell drink.  It’s a shame the department couldn’t give you a proper send off but there is no reason why we can’t mark the occasion.”

“Sorry Mitch but I’m on a tight schedule.”

“Maybe this weekend then?”  He came across as hopeful, verging on desperate.

Virgil decided it was time to shut him down.

“Claire, we really need to get going.  Have you packed everything you need? We can’t risk losing our runway slot.”

This was a lie.  Tracy Two was currently in a hanger on the closest GDF base in case Virgil was urgently needed at a rescue zone.  They couldn’t risk being stuck for want of a take-off slot at a congested commercial airfield.  Virgil wanted to impress upon Claire that it was better they left quickly, thankfully she got the hint.

“Runway slot?”  Mitch asked.

“Um, yeah, this new job isn’t local.  I’m leaving town completely” Claire explained sheepishly.  She made an obvious show of checking her watch then turned to Virgil.  “You’re right, we really need to be getting out of here.”

Claire swept the last few items into her bag while Virgil claimed the holdall of books.

They left the building and made their way to the waiting van unaware that Mitch was watching their every step.  Unaware as he raised his phone to take some final pictures for his collection. Unaware of the curses that followed when the Head of Department found not only all the photos on his camera reel gone but the camera itself fully disabled.

John had done his job well.

[reddieandgoodnight]

1 + 19 for the kiss prompt for reddie !

You got it! This is a sequel to this, though you don’t necessarily have to read that first (just know Eddie survives losing his arm in the fight with It and is with Richie now). Also, I’m letting the Losers keep their memories after the battle with It. Hope you like it!

1. breaking the kiss to say something, staying so close that you’re murmuring into each other’s mouths

19. kisses meant to distract the other person from whatever they were intently doing 

Eddie sighs as he looks at himself in the mirror. It’s slowly becoming less jarring to see himself with only one arm, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t still disconcerting sometimes. Then again, he supposes he’s lucky to even be alive. Heaven knows he shouldn’t be. That much blood, that much pain — he should have been dead.

He wriggles into a t-shirt he stole from Richie. Putting on clothes with one arm is not easy. Richie usually helps him dress every morning, as Richie had since he’d awoken at Mike’s house — and probably before that, though Eddie doesn’t remember.

Eddie wanders into the living room. Glancing out the window shows him a sunny neighborhood with palm trees, so different from the New York he’s used to. Sometimes it’s strange, being all the way on the other side of the country. So far from where he’s from and from what he’s accustomed to. But having Richie here with him has made the unfamiliarity easier.

When Richie had asked Eddie if he wanted to move in together, Eddie hadn’t even hesitated before he agreed. He knew he was uprooting his entire life to move to Beverly Hills with Richie. But he didn’t want his old life anymore. He could never go back, not after he’d remembered his childhood and everyone with whom he’d shared it— Richie most of all.  

Eddie had returned to New York for a spell to set his affairs in order with the limo business.

And to see Myra again, just once. To serve her with divorce papers.

She’d fretted over him at first, like she had been the one to lose an arm and not him.

Eddie had taken a step back from her grabby, fat-fingered hands. “I want a divorce,” he’d said, handing her the papers without preamble.

Myra had been inconsolable after that, all tears and screaming and accusing him of never having loved her. Maybe Eddie agreeing with her on that last part had been unwise, but he refused to lie anymore to save her feelings. To allow her to manipulate him into telling her what she wanted to hear. To give her the right to act exactly like his mother. Especially when the truth was that he was gay and in love with Richie — a truth he was finally accepting about himself for the first time in his life. So he didn’t.

Richie had been waiting for Eddie afterwards at his office. He’d refused to let Eddie travel from Derry to New York alone.

“What if you need to drive somewhere? Or need to iron your clothes? Or —”

“Richie, I’m not going to need to iron clothes. Also, it’s New York. Nobody drives —”

“Except for you! That’s what you do! And what if you need to, I don’t know, open a jar or something?”

“Why the fuck would I need to open a jar?”

“I don’t know! Point is, Eds, you’re not going by yourself. I just…” Richie had paused, grimacing. “I can’t… I can’t not be able to see you. Not after… that. Just…not yet. Please.”

A twinge had gone through the space where Eddie sometimes could still feel his missing arm. And he’d known exactly what Richie meant. After passing out from blood loss and shock in the Derry sewers and then missing out on a couple of days in the hospital before the doctors let him regain consciousness, the last thing he wanted to do was to not have Richie right in front of him, to know Richie was safe, that there were no otherworldly creatures of death coming to kill them.

It was gone…but the terror sometimes remained, a scar Eddie had a feeling would always be a part of each member of the Losers’ Club.

“…okay, Rich. Okay.”

Richie had drawn Eddie into the office by the elbow and closed the door.

“Are you all right?” he’d asked, so concerned. Richie was able to use his contacts again after they’d left Derry, so his brown eyes had been especially bright as he gazed at Eddie, gently touching Eddie’s cheek.

Eddie wanted to lie, to say everything was fine. But just because something was right didn’t make it easy.

So Eddie shook his head, and the tears began to spill.

“Hey, hey,” Richie had murmured, pulling Eddie against his chest.

“This is so stupid,” Eddie said, furiously wiping under his eyes. “I’m not crying because of Myra. It’s just… It’s just —”

“I know, love,” Richie said, kissing Eddie’s forehead. “But things are going to be okay. I promise. Who knows? Maybe you’ll actually be able to get a tan in California.” He laughed as Eddie smacked his shoulder.

“I’m not the one who turns into a lobster under one UV ray, you idiot,” Eddie huffed, letting himself be distracted.

“Yeah, I remember your cute summer tans now. You always had a million freckles.” Richie grinned. “Cute, cute, cute, Mister Eddie Spaghetti,” he said in a singsong voice, pinching Eddie’s cheek.

“Fuck you,” Eddie had muttered, but he’d been smiling.

“One thing at a time, dear.”

“Oh my god, you are the worst.”

Eddie smiles now. Richie always seems to make him smile, even if it’s against his own wishes.

He heads down the hall toward Richie’s office…studio…thing.

Richie had told Eddie on the plane ride from New York to Los Angeles about how he’d worked as a radio host through his college years, picking up side gigs as an events DJ to make ends meet. His “Voices” had always been terrible when they were kids — they’d just sounded like Richie. But Richie had been able to perfect them, at least enough to amuse one of his college professors into offering him the radio host job.

The rest was history after that, Richie had said. He’d worked his way up until he’d been able to buy his own radio station. And now people come to him to get him as a guest on various talk shows and podcasts. He’s even done some standup and some song recordings, which his fans love.

Fans. Richie Tozier has fans. Eddie shakes his head, still bemused over that. But it isn’t shocking. He loves Richie — he’s not surprised other people love Richie, too. They should.

When Richie had fallen asleep on the plane, Eddie had pulled out his laptop to search for Richie’s work. He’d found some of Richie’s songs on YouTube and had put on his headphones to listen. Most of them had been love songs, often with a similar theme — searching for someone you’d lost, someone out there waiting to be found again. Eddie’s soul ached hearing Richie’s sweet voice because now… Now he knew what Richie had really been singing about, even if Richie hadn’t known it while writing the tracks.

He had startled Richie awake with a kiss. He couldn’t help it. Based on Richie’s momentarily confused but then enthusiastic response, Richie hadn’t minded.

Eddie pokes his head into Richie’s office. Richie has been working from home — though Eddie suspects it’s less working than it is Richie keeping tabs on him. 

Richie sits at his soundboard, laptop to the side as he strums a guitar, murmuring lyrics to himself.

“I took you at your word when you said you would steal my heart,” Richie sings, so very softly. “Yeah, this might sound absurd, but would you be my thief? Take all of me, every part? Love, love, love is my crime. So baby, come catch me, and let’s do the time.”

This song isn’t one Eddie’s heard. He finds himself leaning against the door, just listening, wanting to savor the sound of Richie’s voice.

“I think we might be outlaws. I think I might be in love,” Richie continues, so caught up in the song that he doesn’t notice Eddie. “‘Cause I’m all out of reasons, like seasons — winter, summer, fall. They’re all washed up.”

Eddie’s heart clenches as he watches Richie play, those beautiful long-fingered hands gently cradling the guitar, eyes closed and face serene. This is the first time since they’d gotten here that Eddie has seen Richie with a guitar. It’s also the first song of Richie’s he’s heard that sounds… hopeful. He doesn’t want to give himself the credit, and yet… maybe it’s because Richie has found that long-lost love all of Richie’s previous lyrics had been pining after.

“If you’re still way over there, maybe slide on in by my side. ‘Cause I’m just an outlaw, wanted if you want me. I love you every day and every night.”

Eddie can’t help it — just like he couldn’t help it on the plane.

Richie looks up just in time to catch Eddie’s lips against his. He grunts with the tiniest bit of surprise, but he rallies quickly. He sets the guitar aside and grabs Eddie’s hips, yanking Eddie into his lap. The kiss is eager, and as always, it feels like coming home — for both of them.

Eddie loves the slot of Richie’s mouth against his, fitting in a way he’d never thought possible. He loves pressing his hand against Richie’s cheek and feeling the stubble there. He loves the faint smell of Richie’s deodorant and cologne, mixing with the intoxicating scent of Richie’s skin. And the taste of Richie’s lips, sweet with Chapstick.

After a time, Richie pulls back, gasping a little. He peers at Eddie, that glint in his eye that promises imminent danger to Eddie’s clothing.

“You know, I wanted to finish this song before you heard it,” Richie says, mouth falling into an easy grin. “But you just had to come and distract me, huh?”

“Sorry,” Eddie says, resting his hand against Richie’s chest. “Couldn’t help it.”

“It’s for you,” Richie murmurs. “But then, all of the songs were for you.”

Eddie smiles, feeling too full of love to even begin to express it. So he just presses another quick kiss to the corner of Richie’s mouth, laughing as Richie tries to follow him when he sits back again.

“You can finish it now,” Eddie says.

“Okay, but I’m going to have to kick you off my lap to hold the guitar.”

“Rude, but fine,” Eddie says, loving Richie’s answering laugh as he stands up.

Richie picks up the guitar again, strumming a little as he refocuses. “I think we might be outlaws, mmm hmm,” he mumbles, nodding to himself.

Eddie watches for a moment before wandering behind him, looking at Richie’s tousled hair and broad shoulders. As Richie begins to sing again, he allows himself to bend down and press up against Richie’s back, resting his forehead against Richie’s neck. He smiles as Richie sucks in a breath.

He’d never acted this way with Myra, but Richie seems to pull this affectionate physicality out of him. Eddie presses a kiss to Richie’s shoulder, then to Richie’s neck. A small giggle slips out of him as Richie bungles a chord, smiling broadly as Richie laughs.

“You are incredibly distracting,” Richie says with more fondness than Eddie has ever heard directed at himself.

“So are you.”

Richie turns around in his chair. “What am I going to do with you?”

Eddie stuns himself a little with his boldness as he climbs back into Richie’s lap, invigorated as Richie sets the guitar down again and holds him close. “When did you start working on this song?” he asks, curling a finger in a lock of Richie’s hair.

“While you were in the hospital.” Richie hesitates. “I love you so much, Eddie. So goddamned much, it…almost scares me sometimes. And I know love songs are a little cheesy…but sometimes music is the only way I know how to say something.”

“Richie, I already know,” Eddie whispers. “You show me every single day. I hope you know, I… That I…”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“I love you so much,” Eddie finishes. He can never say the words enough times. 

Richie gives him a crooked, toothy grin. The same one Eddie remembers so well from summers down at the Barrens. From movies at the Aladdin. From barbecues in Bill’s backyard. And birdwatching with Stan. And slingshot practice with Bev. And dam-building with Ben. And taking photos with Mike.

Eddie still hates that he ever forgot any of them, but this feels like a second chance.

Richie leans forward and kisses Eddie again, and it’s so easy and right. He pulls back just enough that their lips are still brushing as he begins to sing again, almost murmuring the words. “Lock me up for good, right here in your arms.”

Eddie smiles against his mouth, feeling Richie’s lips match his expression.

“You vandalize my neighborhood… with your piercing eyes… and devilish charm,” Richie croons into Eddie’s mouth.

As Richie yanks Eddie closer, and as they fall into each other — and later, into bed — Eddie finds himself singing it back, meaning the words more and more with each and every refrain.

“I love you every day and every night.”

[hitodama89]

Okay, I think my Christmas preparations are finally more or less back on schedule, so I can’t keep the Sword/Shield rant inside any longer! I’m sure this’ll get long, so sorry mobile users. =‘D

First the disclaimers: these are just my feelings about the games and I don’t present them as absolute truths. You better not come hunt for my head if you disagree, as I’m not going to do it for you either! Let’s keep everything civil here, okay?

So... How was the game? (I’m gonna talk just about a single game as I’ve only played Sword, but I have no doubt this all is true for Shield, too.) Eh, I had my fun with it - it IS a Pokémon game after all. There are some great aspects that I even loved! Battle musics are the best part, as there were several tracks that sounded good as all heckaroni and set the mood perfectly. I found the graphics to be easily good enough, as they never bothered me and some scenes even looked really nice. Characters had a ton of potential, but in a true Pokémon game fashion they were of course pretty simple caricatures of what they could’ve been - still not bad at all! A couple of characters even went through a surpsiring amount of development throughout the story! Same with the region, as it had a lot of potential and I adored the Arthurian vibes used in it, and the region’s variant of Pokémon League as a “sport tournament” was also an interesting consept. I have my bone to pick with Dynamaxing, but the things I were worried about in advance were actually proven to be wrong. I feared that the mechanic would be overused and feel just plain stupid, but the game surprised me by explaining it decently enough (If Pokémon can shrink to fit into Pokeball why couldn’t they also do the opposite?), using it sparingly in the main story and making the instances when it was used just really cool. So yeah, the game absolutely has its good side! But of boy, the bad side is... Truly something else.

Where to even begin with... I guess I just say this right at the start: the game is unbeleavably unfinished. Corners have been cut in every possible way you can think of, and even in ways that will surprise you. For example what do you think about a city where you aren’t able to access any single other building aside from Pokecenter? Or about the only two caves of the games that are just straight corridors instead of mazes? There are no puzzles, no HMs or anything that would replace the vast majority of them (only fly and surf are present in the most boring way ever seen), no cities where you could even pretend to get lost in, no stationary special Pokémon waiting to be challenged (like Sudowoodo in gen two), no... Anything. The game is just void of any extra content aside from going from place A to place B - and even that is executed in such a horrifying way it makes me want to shake my head in despair. You are constantly on a very, VERY narrow railroad and you are not allowed to take even two steps to check out anything else than what you are meant to see next. The game has other absurd limitations, too, like just plain hard limits on what level Pokémon you are allowed to catch in each part of the game. You see a Pokémon that’s on higher level? Nope, you can’t throw a ball at it. There sure is the wild area where you are supposed to be able to do what you want and go wherever you desire, but the level limitations are present also there and aside from Pokémon, there isn’t really anything in the whole big place to see or do. I have heard some people have loved exploring the wild area, but I personally can’t understand what there even is to explore! A few items scattered here and there and wild Pokémon - and oh, the Max Raid Battles. The fucking Max Raid Battles.

I was extremely cautious about Max Raid Battles from the very beginning, because they sound like something straight out of PoGo, and I was not wrong - they capture very well the feeling of trying to win a Raid on your own because you have no one else to do it with you! You can challenge the Max Raid Battles with computer allies, too, but especially on higher levels the allies are just ridiculosuly bad. Most of the time you would do better if you were there on your own, but that on the other hand is impossible; you have to have a team of four players in the battle. You can try to recruit other real players to participate in the battle, but I have managed to get someone to come with me literally once. One big reason for this might be that the game doesn’t explain how do you even join the battle, and it is far from self-explanatory! Other online functions aren’t much better, and the game doesn’t even have a GTS - the only thing that allowed a lone player like me to have a chance of completing the Pokedex. We have had GTS since gen four, for goodness sake! Now we are left to make 1243255425 wonder trades (/surprise trades) in the hope of getting all the version exclusive Pokémon to the other version. It’s plain unbelievable.

But oh, I’m not even done with Max Raid Battles yet! Because you know what? Even seeing one is RARE. For the last week I’ve seen one per day, and all of them have had extremely uninteresting Pokémon in them. You can use a certain item to make one appear, but that is more gambling than the slot machines in the old games ever were. First you make a dice roll to decide if you get a normal or rare battle - if it’s normal, haha, good luck, there’s almost never anything interesting there! In rare battles there might be, but they are, well, rare. And truly rare Pokémon in them are even more rare - and rarest of them all are the reason why I have negative feelings towards Dynamaxing even if the story made good effort to sell the idea to me. The thing is you can Dynamax any Pokémon, but some species have a special Gigantamax forms with special appearances and attacks. But not every Pokémon of the species can do it - far, faaaar from it! The Gigantamax form Pokémon are the rarest things you can find from Max Raid Battles and they are rare enough to make me feel desperate even thinking about the odds of finding - and then catching, as you only get one throw - one! There are a few I would love to have, but I’ve found a shiny Pokémon and caught Pokerus before I’ve seen a single one of the Gigantamax Pokémon I’m looking for in the wild.

There are still two major things I feel like I need to mention about the games, one of them being difficulty. Other than the odds of finding a Gigantamax Pokémon, there isn’t any sort of difficulty at all. Your Exp Share is permanently turned on so your team will sooner rather than later be overleveled enough to oneshot literally anything you meet. I spent a good while wondering why the heck was the option of turning the Exp Share off taken away, and I think I have an answer: it’s just one more symptom of the game being unfinished. The thing is almost every route in the game is really short and there are really, really few trainers to actually battle with. There’s also no way to re-challenge normal trainers (and barely anyone for that matter) so I think the Exp Share is permanently on to not make the game a ridiculous grindfest. But then no one actually tested (or cared) how balanced the exp gaining rate is and now we are at the opposite end of the problem. The game’s AI doesn’t seem that smart to me either, as every time an enemy Pokémon survives an attack due to miss or some other miracle all they do is use moves that raises their stats - like that was going to help them in any way! Catching wild Pokémon isn’t any more difficult either, and finding them is even less of a problem. The whole game is full of fully evolved Pokémon, including strong dragons and even things like Eeveelutions, just wandering around! And their catch rate is far from anything you’d expect from such monsters: most of the time I just threw one Quick Ball at them and was done with it. Such excitement. I also caught the version mascot Legendary into Premier ball in order to imagine for a little while that there was at keast some challenge in the game. Oh, and the game has literally two Legendaries in it, and I think the first one was likely an auto catch. Yeeeeey!

Then there’s the last big thing: the tiny-ass Pokedex. You aren’t allowed to have more than half of the existing Pokémon in your game, even as transferred from older versions like previously. This is one of three reasons why I feel like someone(s) at some point of the command chain of making Pokémon games is getting maddeningly greedy. The first thing is the pattern that latest games seem to be forming: SuMo 2 was just a pure cashgrab, Let’s Go games were clearly meant for bringing the cash of PoGo players to the main company and now we are getting a new gen opener games that are, like I’ve stated a thousand times, just not ready in the launch day. The second reason is also the reason why I believe SwSh was so rushed: it had to be launched in time for this year’s Christmas market no matter the consequences. They could’ve taken a few more months like Animal Crossing is doing, but that seemed never to be an option. And the third reason is the Pokedex. It would be easy to think that the Pokedex is just another victim of the rush, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. First of all we’ve known about the cut for a long time - it seems like there was never an intention to include all the Pokémon in the game. Secondly Game Freak has blatantly lied about the reasons of making the cut (”we need more time to build these Pokémon models”, when in truth apparently many of the models were just reused and polished versions taken from the last gen) so the real reason of not having all Pokémon available must be something they’d rather not tell to the players. Thirdly, and where this all comes together, is the launch of Pokémon Home. Now that the Pokémon many players have taken from game to game ever since gen three can’t be transferred to a main series game anymore, the only solutions are to either leave them behind or transfer them to Pokémon Home - a monthly subscription service. There was a similar service before, Pokémon Bank, but apparently they weren’t making enough money with it when people bought it, transferred everything they wanted through it, and cancelled the service after one month. So now they are making sure you can’t cancel Home, unless you want your, what, 15 years old Pokémon to simply vanish to thing air. They are boldly taking advantage of the same thing they have utilized in many advertisements recently - people’s nostalgy towards the Pokémon they have owned for so, so many years.

So yeah, that’s about it. There are other things that bother me about these games, inluding their story that has the most unbalanced pacing I might have ever seen and how it leaves so, so many questions open, but I think I want to start closing this rant at this point. Because it leaves things to the same note as what is playing most loudly in my head after finishing the game: I’m worried about the future of this franchise, and for completely new reasons than ever before. Previously I and many others have been worried about the direction of the Pokémon designs, increasingly gimmicky game mechanics and similar things, but all those seem such tiny worries compared to how badly things are now. Now I’m worried about if all the future games will be made short-sighted monetary gains as their main goal. Because that, my friends, would be what finally could kill Pokémon.