#like a singular bat you could hold in your hand and give a little pet

[vriibot]

do you think fenn can turn into a bat? 🦇

#fennorian #house ravenwatch #turns you into a little creature that is just so small #like a singular bat you could hold in your hand and give a little pet #eso #tes #elder scrolls online #the elder scrolls #elder scrolls #tesblr #tes art #vampire #bat #greymoor #art #servers were down so #halloween month time 🎃 #men were invented to be tiny and petable #not accepting answers besides 'yes 🥺' #someone please open his flask for him he doesnt have hands... #dont ask me whats on his flask i have like 1 tiny image to squint at #if this wasnt quick id have looked for a proper reference

[coeurdastronaute]

Either/Or: WWC

“Jess?” 

“Yes, Ms. Luthor?” 

Squinting behind her glasses, the CEO peered at her schedule on her computer screen and furrowed as she read, but failed to comprehend the words under the seven o’clock time slot that seemed to take up majority of her evening. There should have been nothing there. She carefully kept track of every second, trusted her secretary to do the same, and suddenly, she had to be somewhere on a night when she could have been home. 

Leaning back in her chair, Lena Luthor scrolled and clicked on the offending task highlighted in a deep forest green. National City FC. 

National City Fire Council?

National City Financial Committee?

National City Freedom Conference?

“What the hell is National City FC, and why is it taking up 3 hours of my evening?” 

“The team you had us buy a few months ago. It’s their home opener.” the secretary explained, filing a few things in the drawer in the closet in Lena’s office. 

She didn’t bat an eye at such questions. It was her job to know those things, to take care of things, like when her boss came in with a circled article from her ride into the office, and told Jess to fix it. This somehow included a struggling council measure to bring another sports team to the city and help the underfunded women’s program develop. 

There were no follow up questions to how it got done, as Lena was immediately onto the next thing, but for Jess, there were hours spent meeting with officials and the in-house entertainment division to see how accumulating a women’s soccer team would diversify their holdings. This meant weeks pouring over spreadsheets and crunching numbers until the small team that was created for just this singular task, that again, came from a circled three inches of newspaper print, developed a plan to make it a success. 

“What did I do?” Lena asked, looking up from her computer as her assistant continued her work of pulling and rearranging to prepare for end of month reports. 

“You gave me an article about how the city wanted a team but couldn’t drum up the money to commit, and they were going to lose the bid for an expansion team.” 

“That sounds somewhat familiar.”

“You said that expansion and bringing professionals into the city was how we continued to grow.” 

“I’m sure I did.” 

Quickly, Lena googled the team and found a few headlines praising the companies initiative to help grown equality within the sport, to bring jobs and joy to the community, to expand programs for children and sports, to bring a championship to the city. It was all news to her but still made her smile. 

“I put together a team who did everything from polling to scouting locations to permits and projections,” Jess explained as Lena scrolled. “You helped pick out the colors and design the logo.” 

“I did?” 

“No,” she chuckled. “I did all of that. It’s been my pet project. I played in college, you know.” 

The webpage was green, deep and royal. A white logo with the crest of the city and an outline of a roaring bear over it sat in the corner. The banner had the team picture with rows of tough and smiling girls looking back. A schedule followed and links to tickets. It was an actual thing. 

“You did all of this?” 

“I delegated,” Jess explained, handing over a folder. “Take a look at this so you have your talking points.”

“This got past the board?” 

“A bit of community outreach, your name on the field, the logo on the jerseys, community services, tax breaks, and city-wide gratitude. It went a long way, and was a sound investment, set to see returns as early as six years.” 

“Are you sure you don’t want that promotion?” 

“I’ll just take another raise,” the secretary smiled as her boss looked over the papers in the folder. 

“This still doesn’t explain why it’s on my schedule though,” Lena decided, closing it and laying it back on her desk. 

“It’s the inaugural game. You have to go show your support.” 

“I don’t like sports,” she reminded her. “That’s why I created an entire division of this company to manage such things.” 

“You wanted more photo ops, and I’m creating that moment for you.” 

Jess was right, which was something Lena still wasn’t particularly fond of admitting. Ever since her brother’s implosion and her ascendence to help the company two years ago, it felt as if her full-time job wasn’t being a CEO but rather a figure head looking to make people believe that she was just as strong, just as capable, just as, if not moreso, credible as the leader of a multi-billion dollar organization. 

Lena looked back at the file on her desk and sighed, invariably giving in. 

“Fine, but I’m not going to wear a jer--”

Smiling, Jess held up her personal jersey with DANVERS printed in big white letters over the number eleven. She wiggled her eyebrows and tried to hide her amusement. 

“It’s to support the team.” 

“That’s not even my name.” 

“You don’t play for them, just own the team. You don’t get your own name on it.” 

“I couldn’t get a custom one? I don’t even know who that is.” 

“This is your star player, Kara Danvers. Got her in the expansion draft. She’s amazing. Led the league in scoring the past three years, only been in it for four.” 

“This is soccer, right?” 

With a heavy sigh, Jess tossed the jersey across the desk. 

“Keep reading. I’ll have the car here at six.” 

Lena smiled to herself as she held up the jersey, happy to have her name on it anyway with the logo of the rebranded L Corp. She never got used to seeing that, her accomplishments come to fruition. Somehow she accidentally bought a sports team, and though she wasn’t thrilled about having to spend her evening not at home on the couch, she was excited to see what her assistant created, excited to have done something for the city she grew to call home. 

Not the biggest sports fan on the planet, Lena looked back at the screen with the team on it and found number eleven and gulped slightly, deciding that sports couldn’t be that bad. 

XXXXXXXXX

The music blasted in the headphones, so loudly that nothing else could be heard, not even a thundering heartbeat or heavy breathing. The world and its honks and horns and yelling and voices and city chatter completely disappeared to nothing outside of the stadium, outside of the pitch of fresh grass. 

Before the first fan would be welcomed, before they thrust open the grates on the concession stands, before the lights were tested and left on, a single player began her routine, sitting in the stands alone and taking in the world around her, as soon it would be chaos-- screaming people on the sidelines, lines calling changes and plays in the heat of the moment, chirping from those coming to disrupt her home. The soccer player’s head nodded to the beat of the song as she prepared, washing the rest of it away and focusing, centering herself. 

The stadium was beginning to breathe again, with works appearing, setting up for the sell-out crowd. By the time the first few teammates began to filter out to warm up, Kara was warming up, making her way from side to side with a light jog, stretching muscles and coming back from her solitary centering. 

“Are you getting nervous yet?” Nia asked as she sat on the ground, working hamstrings into something more tenable. 

“I’m getting excited,” Kara corrected. 

She was a leader on the team, and she took the responsibility very seriously. That included measuring her responses for the younger teammates, making sure that she was always on. It also meant that she played her heart out and left every ounce of energy on the field. She was going to lead the league again. She was going to keep her national team spot. She was going to accomplish great things, just as her parents always told her. 

“I’m getting nervous,” her teammate confessed. “Sarah Lance is a terrifying defender. And Foster is a sniper.” 

“But you’re Nia Nal,” Kara smiled, helping to pull her goaltender up. She didn’t let her escape though. She held her shoulders in her hands and gave her an intense look. “You are a brick wall. You are unstoppable. You are a fortress. That’s your goal, and no one is going to score today.” 

“I know.” 

“I don’t think you do,” the captain disagreed, grinning a little wider now. “Hey, Allen, tell Nal what she is.” 

From over her shoulder another teammate immediately chimed in. 

“Nia Nal is a force to be reckoned with! She’s not allowing one point this entire year.” 

“See that?” Kara grinned, turning back to her goalie. “Everyone already knows it.” 

“I know,” Nia nodded, a little less worried and a little more serious. 

“Good. Let’s run some drills. I’m no Foster, but I’ll try to make it hard for you.” 

Leadership was a role Kara felt both thrust upon her and eager taken up, as if it were second nature. She didn’t think about it, not directly, but often her time was spent planning her moves within the team to make them successful. It showed on the field. 

On the pitch though, Kara was completely untouchable. She was focused on her goals and she was ready for anything. She was the captain, the heart, the everything for her team, and she gave her all because for so long it was all she had. 

“Danvers, lets go,” the coach’s voice called as the player finished getting ready, completing the final tasks of her routine. “I need you for some press stuff.” 

“I thought that was after,” Kara furrowed as she trotted over to Cat Grant as the rest of the team finished up in the locker room. 

“Opening day means a lot of parading around,” she explained as they walked through the corridor. “You know this team is precarious at best. We have to do everything we can to appease the money bags.”

“I was going to do some appeasing on the scoreboard. Try to put on a show.” 

“If you could do both, I’d appreciate it.” 

“You know I can.” 

With a comparable grin, Cat nodded and tugged open a door that led to a lobby area, where post game interviews would be held, where the team would meet before the huddle, only this time it was nearly empty save for two women. 

“Ms. Luthor,” Cat held out her hand as she approached the striking woman that Kara was stuck staring at. “It’s an honor to have you out here to see our first game.” 

“I’ve heard you’ve done amazing things. I’m excited to watch,” she smiled back, clasping Grant’s hand with both of hers. 

Dimples were there, right on her cheeks. There was also red lipstick. Cherry red and full on the lips. And her eyes. The green of the jersey was absolutely perfect for making her eyes seem like never-ending forests. Kara cleared her throat when she remembered to swallow and looked away from her face quickly, afraid of gawking too long, though her own cheeks grew a bit warm with the observations. The problem was that looking anywhere else was just as bad. Skin-tight black jeans betrayed hips, and the jersey was enough to not hide her chest, and Kara wanted to pluck out her own eyeballs. 

While she introduced her assistant, Kara looked helplessly at the door and shifted on her feet, hoping to avoid the weird feeling in her chest and head. 

“This is one of our stars, Kara Danvers. She’ll be doing some press with you after the game, so I thought it’d be better to look as if you’ve met before.”

“Good thinking,” Lena smiled and held out her hand. “It’s a pleasure.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Kara nodded, curt and polite enough, the handshake not lasting very long. 

“I will confess I don’t know much about soccer, but I’ve done my research on you,” the money explained. “Jess was telling me how brilliant you are, and I’m excited for you to share your talent with the city.” 

“Me? Yes, um. I am as well. Excited. I love this city. My second home it is.”

With a funny look on her face, Lena just nodded and turned back to the coach, her glance following a beat later as Kara looked away, her cheeks full firetrucks. 

“I wont interrupt anymore of your prep time,” Lena explained. “Thank you Cat.” 

“Enjoy the view from the owner’s box.” 

“I get one of those?” Lena asked, her voice going a little low as she asked her assistant. 

Kara lingered for a moment as her coach made her way back toward the lock eroom to prepare. She met Lena’s lok and offered another shy smile before hurring to turn around. 

“See you later,” she offered and cringed as she turned around. 

The entire walk back to the locker room, Kara hung her head, oddly confused about the very short but very weird meeting. She didn’t know what to do or what she had done, just that she had a game to win and now knew that Lena Luthor existed. 

XXXXXXXXXXX

“Good evening National City!” the CEO cheered from the edge of the pitch, a giant television of herself played just behind her for everyone to see in the sold out crowd. 

The sun was beginning to set behind the city, the stadium sitting on the edge of the water with a view of the skyline and the lake behind it. It was all so new and clean and nice, that Lena took a little bit of pride in the fact hat she had some hand to play in it all even if she wan’t acutely aware of it. 

“I am so happy to introduce you to your National City FC!” 

The crowd roared again as she smiled into the microphone and surveyed the edge of the field with the waiting players and their tiny equivalents. 

“It has been an honor to be part of bringing the next great franchise to our wonderful city, and I know these women are going to make you all so proud!” 

The cheering was awfully addicting, and Lena was going to try to figure out how to get twenty thousand people to follow her around and agree with everything she said. 

“What do you say we get this inaugural season underway?” 

Lena smiled and waved, handing over the microphone to the emcee. The deep voice began to introduce the team as the owner walked off of the field toward her assistant who smiled, much too knowledgeable about the fact that her boss was actually having fun despite her inability to admit it. 

“You looked good out there,” Jess nodded as Lena stood beside her, shielding her eyes from the squint of the sun as she looked at her team. 

“Sports aren’t that bad,” Lena shrugged. 

Despite herself, the CEO found Kara Danvers in the lineup, a little girl standing before her as they did the anthem and introductions. Even though everyone was quiet and preparing for the game, the little girl was antsy. Kara held her hands and lifted her up slightly, swinging her a bit, her shoulders and biceps straining. Lena swallowed as she watched Kara giggle with the little girl, and wondered how someone could exist that was insanely hot and also a big old goober. It didn’t seem fair. 

“Let’s get to the box,” Jess offered, interrupting the absolute dehydration Lena was experiencing and hoping to hide. “We can go over some of the basics and I can finish explaining the strategy.” 

“I trust your judgement, but I should learn a few things for press. This is going to take a lot more of my face than previous expected, I guess?” 

“I was hoping a few showings of your face, and if we win, we’ll solidify the team. National City is lacking a prestigious championship caliber team.”

On the field, Kara hopped slightly before stretching out her legs and getting out the jitters. Hair pulled back tightly, her armband meant she was the captain, and she commanded her team with precision. 

“Is this our first championship team?” 

“I think so.” 

“This is a much more enjoyable investment than all those property deals and some of those research labs I have to hear about.” 

“Says the engineer?” 

“It pains me to admit it.” 

The whistle blew and Kara sprinted out, capturing the ball and immediately making her way toward the other goal. Lena’s heart jumped into her throat at the sheer force and speed of it all before she allowed Jess to tug her back to her box. 

“How much do you know about Kara Danvers?” Lena asked, hoping it as subtle enough to be taken as small talk. 

“It’s all in the folders.” 

The CEO nodded as the elevator ascended, and she didn’t dare to chance a look at her secretary. 

XXXXXXXXXX

No matter how many times she played, the adrenaline from a game was still mildly addicting. No matter how many goals she scored, the elation of scoring another was a fix that Kara Danvers chased perpetually. Nothing compared to it. 

After the final whistle blew though, after the game ended and there was nothing left to give, she found herself full of these things, and no matter how tired her muscles and body became, the high was slow to come down from. It did make everything happen quicker though, and somehow, not long after winning, and a hat trick under her belt, Kara found herself seated in the media room with the team logo behind her and her new owner beside her. 

“You must be fairly happy with the game tonight,” one reporter began, “any worries about the team as a whole that you will be working on this week at practice?” 

“We’re always looking to be better, and I can’t say we were flawless, but I’m so excited for where we’re at as a team, that I’m just going to bask for the evening before we get back to work in the morning.” 

The group chuckled slightly as the PR director called on the next hand. 

“Ms. Luthor, how important was it for this team to get a win tonight? Was it validation for your involvement? Vindication maybe for all the naysayers who were against the expansion?” 

“I can honestly say I haven’t paid any attention to anyone who was against this project,” Lena smiled as she earned a laugh from the audience. “It’s important to win as many games as possible for any team, let alone this team. We have a lot to prove as the new kids on the block, but I think Ms. Danvers is right, and we should celebrate and come back ready to continue in the morning.” 

For the life of her, Kara wasn’t sure why the mention of her name or the corresponding look from Lena made the tips of her ears burn, but she smiled awkwardly and tried to ignore it. 

“Ms. Luthor, what made you invest in this team and this  opportunity?” 

“The excitement in my advisor’s face when she talked about the team,” the CEO explained, nodding to the woman Kara didn’t remember officially meeting. “I can’t take credit for doing much more except being completely taken with Kara.” 

The player snapped to look at the CEO for the pause that seemed to last much too long. 

“Wait,” Lena shook her head and laughed. “Kara and her team. The sport really. The little girls that come out with the team. My advisor was one of those little girls, and she is now one of the most admirable and driven people I have ever met. If a team like this can give her joy and hope, imagine what it can do for all of the other little girls.” 

“How does it feel to have the most powerful woman in the world behind you, Kara?” 

“I’m quite taken by it,” she offered humbly with a smile, earning a laugh from the group and Lena in particular. “To be honest though, it is a truly empowering fact. To have someone with such kindness and tenacity as an example, it’s amazing.”

The pair shared a smile, and Kara looked back at the crowd, preparing for the next question.

next

[boymeetsweevil]

For Science 2/7

Grouping: Reader x Nerd!Jungkook

Word Count: ~8.6k lmao where is this going idek

Warnings/Themes: not much honestly just some good old fashioned heavy petting and dry humping :) because why not?

Summary: Jungkook asks you to let him watch you get off. For science.

part 1, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

The next time you see Jungkook is a few days later when classes have started back up for the week. You spent a good 20 minutes that morning staring up at your ceiling wondering if today would be the day that the consequences of your drunken voyeurism party would come back to haunt you. Jungkook isn’t necessarily someone that can’t keep secrets, but given that he’s a bit of a novice when it comes to sex, you’re not sure whether he’ll keep his mouth shut. And as appealing as cutting class would have been, you can’t risk your grades in your junior year and with applications for jobs looming over your head with one year left.

When you emerge from the food court holding your lunch tray, you head to the patch of grass on the quad that you and the guys like to frequent. From the short distance away, you can see that Tae has just sat down to join Hoseok. Jungkook is nowhere to be found and you’re secretly glad you don’t have to deal with him watching you walk over. You give them a nod as you sit down, careful not to spill your food or the precious brownie wrapped up in the corner well of the tray.

“How was Friday night,” Tae asks over a mouthful of tuna sandwich.

“It was fine, why do you ask.” Your voice remains level as you unwrap your sandwich, but you don’t make eye contact.

“What do you mean ‘why’? Jungkook can’t handle his liquor and always throws up if he has more than one beer. Did he even make it to your apartment? No one heard anything from either of you for the whole weekend.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about that after the uber left,” Hoseok nods sympathetically.

“Shut up,” you laugh, throwing a crumpled wad of plastic wrap at him. “You weren’t thinking about anything. You were knocked out like your BAC was .9.”

“At least I wasn’t…”

“At least you weren’t what? Because whatever you’re going to critique me for, I didn’t do.”

“Didn’t do what,” Jungkook asks as he approaches the area where you’re all seated on the grass.

“Didn’t do you,” Hoseok snorts.

Jungkook pauses with his chicken nugget in midair. “What exactly are we talking about?”

“You don’t remember asking her to deflower you so you’d be a better lay for Yoori? Man, you really are a lightweight. I don’t get it. You’re tall and muscly, it makes no sense.”

“You really don’t remember?” Tae leans over to look at Jungkook with concern.

“I remember what I remember,” is all he says before digging into his lunch without another word. Your relief is short lived because the topic switches only slightly when Taehyung asks about Yoori.

“When did you say she was coming back, again?”

Jungkook’s eyes crinkle with subdued excitement. “She said she was coming back in a month.”

“Well, you’d better start working on that v-card issue then.”

“I’m sure that I’ll come up with some sort of solution,” he shrugs and pushes up his glasses with his middle finger. “Can you go back in line and get me more chicken nuggets, Hoseok?”

“Why me?”

“You’re the only one who’s done eating.” When Hoseok refuses to budge, Jungkook brandishes his ID card like it’s a thick wad of cash. “You can buy whatever you want while you’re up there. On me.”

“Deal,” he snatches the card away before turning to Tae. “Come stand in line with me.”

You turn to watch the two of them go, snorting at how much they resemble tweedle dee and tweedle dum.

“You couldn’t stand in line yourself, hotshot?”

“I just wanted to talk with you privately,” he mumbles while playing with the grass.

“Oh. Is it about this weekend?”

“Yeah. I’ve been giving it some thought and honestly...”

Here comes the rejection, you think. But technically you weren’t even dating, much less together, so how could you be getting rejected? And it was his idea in the first place, so he definitely can’t reject you. The thoughts come at you all at once, inundating you until you’re staring above his head at nothing, trying not to shriek in frustration.

“Hello? Where are you right now, Mars?” Jungkook lays a hand on your shoulder, breaking your reverie.

“What?”

“Did you hear what I said?”

“Uh. No, sorry. What did you say?” You raise your shoulder so his hand slides off on its own, bracing yourself for his next words.

“I said I think we should make it a weekend thing instead of just one day a week.”

“Really? Why?”

“Think about the math for starters. We’d meet maybe four more times if Yoori’s actually coming back in a month. But that’s not nearly enough time to test for variables or come up with a formula. Much less master technique. And think of all the instruments I still don’t have a good familiarity with.”

“Jungkook--”

“I figure with weekends, we could triple the amount of raw time we have. And if we’re really being sticklers for detail, we could more than triple the amount of practice situations if we operate under the assumption that it will be mainly just you acting as the test subject.” His hands flutter as he talks until they land like birds in his hair and turn it into a deranged looking nest.

“Jungkook.”

“I read on Sunday that vaginal orgasms can occur in series and since most of the sessions will be focused on you, we don’t have to factor in the more singular penile orgasms or refractory periods and--”

“Are you really talking about your dick like it’s a limiting reagent right now?”

“Yes,” he stops his rambling to look at you through his lenses, the glass making his eyes appear even rounder and shinier. “Should I not do that?”

“You know what? It’s fine. Weekends are fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Are you sure? Your voice is starting to sound a little...hysterical.”

“No, it’s really fine. I’ll just stay over at your place this week after Fortnite.”

“Crap, I forgot about Fortnite. We were so close to being able to compete in the town tournament.”

“It’s fine, just move it to another day of the week.”

“But how will I explain that to Tae and Hoseok without raising suspicion?”

You gnaw on the corner of your lip until an idea comes to you. “Just tell them that my test scores went down a lot and you have to tutor me. Happens to Hoseok all the time.”

“But there’s no way your results would go down enough for you to need tutoring all weekend long for a month’s worth of weekends. You’re way too smart for that.”

“Y-you think so?” His words make your cheeks warm up and you smile up at him shyly.

His brow furrows. “Of course you’re smart. You know that.”

“Obviously I know, but I��didn’t know you thought that way too.”

“I’d be crazy not to,” he smiles softly at you.

“Here are your damn nuggets, you lazy baby.”

A tray piled high with nuggets and baked goods comes crashing down from Hoseok’s hands with a scary accuracy into Jungkook’s lap. Hoseok never ceases to amaze you with the speed at which he can ruin a nice mood. There’s no sense in mourning a one-sided moment, though, so you just scoop up a stray nugget and nibble. Hoseok sits down roughly onto the green with chocolate stains around his mouth, the cherry tart in his hand seems to be his next victim. Jungkook chokes on a lettuce leaf.

“Just how much did you troglodytes buy!?”

“Not that much,” Tae looks guilty as he peels the wrapper off a drumstick ice cream cone.

“Don’t act like you can’t just reload the missing funds,” Hoseok points a syrupy finger in Jungkook’s direction, “You have that programming money, asshole.”

You shake your head and gesture for Tae to grab what he can and leave them to it.

The most daunting thing about the whole arrangement is that during the rest of the week Jungkook manages to act like he’s hasn’t come over to your apartment to watch and help you get off for the sake of being better lover to Yoori. He’s completely nonchalant in the way that he sits next to you when you all get together to strategize for robotics competitions, his elbow brushing yours the entire time. When Hoseok uses Jungkook’s newfound virginity again to knock him down a peg during a study session where he keeps mock-grading Hoseok’s answers down, he doesn’t bat an eyelash. It’s not like Jungkook has suddenly become cool, though. He still eats like a 5-year-old weight lifter. And he still falls asleep on the floor of Tae’s room only to wake up with the shape of his glasses imprinted onto his face. He still looks across the room with lightning speed and holds out his hand like he did when you were kids because he wants you on his team when you guys stumble upon a spontaneous Super Smash Bros being hosted in Tae’s dorm lobby. Jungkook is still just as much himself as he was before you spread your legs for him and you can’t tell if that makes you happy or sad.

Friday rolls around and you spend 2 hours more than usual getting ready for Fortnite at Jungkook’s. The funny part is that you never ‘got ready’ before. But now you’re taking a 40 minute shower to shave basically every hair that grows below your eyelashes and using the previously unopened lotion your mother bought you from the Clinique store a birthday ago. You even put on a mud mask you bought on a whim once and sing a little song called ‘this isn’t a date’ the whole time it dries on your face. By the time you leave your apartment to head over, your whole body is moisturized, glowing, hairless, and fragrant. You empty out your backpack and fill it with the things you’ll need for the weekend so as not to raise suspicion with an overnight bag. Though it’s significantly lighter because its not filled with textbooks and toolkits, you still feel like you’re carrying a huge weight on your shoulders as you knock on Jungkook’s door.

Taehyung is the first to greet you because he’s the one who gets sent to open the door.

“Weird,” he blurts out. He quickly regrets saying anything when your mouth drops open.

“I look weird?”

“I don’t know,” he studies you as you both make your way to small set up of consoles in the middle of the dorm’s living area. “Guys, doesn’t she look weird?”

“Excuse me. I don’t want to do this right now. Nothing’s weird.”

“You do look weird,” Hoseok chimes in and puts down his controller to stalk forward. “But your hair is doing that same…shape it always does. And you’re not, like, wearing something nice for a change.”

All you can do is gape at their rude comments as they circle around you.

“Kook, come check this out. She look different to you?”

Jungkook approaches slowly and looks you over with the rest of them. When it was just Taehyung and Hoseok, you could at least make angry eye contact and flick them in the forehead when they got too close. But with Jungkook also looking at you, it feels like you’re glued by your feet to the floor, unable to move.

“You don’t really look all that different. You smell a little different, though.”

The other two sniff the air before letting out matching yells of agreement and crowding you further to guess the smell. You have to give Hoseok a purple nurple when his nose starts to tickle your neck but you’re too exhausted to shake Taehyung off and endure him linking arms with you as you walk to your seats to continue sniffing your hairline.

“What’d you do? Run out of that dollar store lotion you use,” Hoseok jokes as he tosses you a controller.

“Yes,” you deadpan just to get him off your back. Jungkook scoots his chair next to yours, getting into the normal team pairings. When he gets close enough, you lean over, sheepish, and ask, “Do I smell weird? Be honest.”

“No,” he pats your thigh reassuringly before redirecting his gaze at the TV. “You smell good.”

Although you’re relieved that no one really questioned your slight change in presentation, you can’t settle fully into the game night because you’re practically vibrating with excited nerves. You’ve stayed the night with hookups in the sense that you were too tired to leave directly after a one night stand so you crashed with them in their beds and snuck out at dawn. But this would be different. While it wasn’t a full-on sleepover with a main squeeze, it was still better than doing the walk of shame from a stranger’s apartment at 6 am. And it would be a weekend with Jungkook. After a few hours of trying to hide the childlike smile on your face and having your character nearly die every round, the gang calls it quits.

“Hey, what’s up with you,” Hoseok calls from across the room. “Why do you suck at playing tonight?”

“Just thought it might be interesting to play like you do for a change,” you snark. Taehyung and Jungkook both grimace for Hoseok, who opts for flipping you the bird instead.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say this is just misplaced passion between us.”

“Good thing you know better.”

Thinking of Hoseok as anything other than an annoying friend has your skin crawling, but you do give him a pat on the back as a silent ‘good game’.

“Should we go out for ice cream? The night is still young. And you’re out of ice cream,” Taehyung calls from where is head is practically buried inside the freezer.

“Sorry, guys. I’m video calling with RealiCorp tomorrow at 8am about some software updates and I have to get to bed so I can be sharp.”

“You don’t have to come. We can get ice cream just the three of us,” Taehyung says as he slips on his shoes.

“I think I’m gonna have to take a rain check as well,” you perch yourself on the armrest of the couch facing the consoles. “I’m on a diet, so I think I’ll just go home.”

“And the reason you’re not getting up go now is?” Hoseok eyes how comfortable you look in your spot and raises an eyebrow.

“It’s dark outside and it’s not safe for me to walk back. I’m calling an uber.”

“Lame, but safety first, I guess.” He wraps an arm around Taehyung and pulls the door open. “You gonna treat your senior to a snow cone?”

You wait for their figures to disappear down the road before turning to look at Jungkook.

“You don’t really have a RealiCorp meeting.”

He grins. “How’d you know?”

“Easy. RealiCorp offices are in New York and 7pm their time is way too late for a minor business call.”

“You caught me. Are you really on a diet?”

“What do you think?” He snorts and raises his palms in surrender.

“I’m gonna go shower, but I’ll see you in a bit.”

You watch him retreat to the bathroom and suddenly you’re glad he’s gone because there is very little time before he watches you get off again.

Quickly you bring your bag to his bedroom and settle on his mattress and wait. To kill time, you look around the room. The superhero movie posters that cover a generous amount of the wall space and the wall length bookshelf that is covered with stacks of comic books depicting the same stories the movies do all scream ‘nerd’. So does the giant monitor with a large terminal blinking on it and pair of laptops on his desk. The laundry basket has three different shirts with Big Bang Theory quotes on them. You shake your head and recall the day you’d bought them for him off Etsy. You weren’t a fan of the show yourself but he loved to watch it for the jokes and to poke holes in the scientific jargon the characters would spew.

“You notice anything new,” he asks as he walks in, shutting the door behind him while he scrubs at his wet hair with a towel.

“No. Did you add something?”

“Yeah,” he says, pointing to the wall that holds the room’s sole window. There’s a large felt flag with the RealiCorp logo embroidered onto it.

“Oh. Nice flag.”

“Not that, that’s old.” He walks over and gestures a hand underneath the flag. Beneath the flag are a handful of photos off you, Taehyung, and Hoseok from over the years. You remember each of the specific moments in which they were taken.

“You’re not in any of them,” you murmur.

“I know. But I don’t need a picture of myself. I know what I looked like and what I was feeling. Having a photo of you guys is the main thing.”

The softness of his tone makes your heart ache. Jungkook is a sentimental genius, a rare breed. With every fiber of your being you wish that he could be yours. You’ve spent around a decade of your life loving him from afar despite the fact that you’re best friends. But you’re prepared to spend another decade doing it if that’s the way you can stay in each other’s lives. The sooner you commit to that fate, the less cloudy this weird thing you have going on will make your brain and the less it will hurt when it’s over and you watch Yoori get to have him.

“Oh, I have something for you.”

He retrieves a brown paper bag from under his desk and dumps the contents on the bed while you strip off your loose joggers. From the bag fall a giant tube of lubricant and a few sex toys. Your peer down at the trinkets with an amused expression while he putters around his room. When he sits down again, you finally take note of his outfit.

Junkgkook is in his mottled and self-distressed hoodie and threadbare sweats that his dad bought him from the school co-op when he got his acceptance letter 4 years ago. It’s an outfit you’re very familiar with because he often wears it whenever you all are dealing with messy things. Like oil changes, painting the exterior of fighter bots, or baking with Hoseok. Now that his hair isn’t soaking wet, he has his bangs pushed away from his face with a thin headband and sleek goggles replace his chunky black frames. You weren’t going to say anything but then you saw the small notebook and pen clutched in his grasp.

“Okay. What the hell is that outfit?”

“You act like you’ve never seen me in my researching clothes before.”

“I have, but you’re not dissecting a drone you found in a dumpster, you’re looking at my vagina.”

“Proper lab attire is an integral part of any successful experiment,” he waves an admonishing finger at you.

“You’re calling sweatpants with cheese stains on them ‘proper lab attire’?”

“This isn’t an efficient use of our time,” he huffs.

“Oh my god, okay fine.” The energy in the room is a little more chaotic than it was before but it provides you with the push needed to get your panties down and trapped around an ankle and you clambering into a half prone position. “Let the experimentation begin.”

Jungkook waits for you to part your knees before shuffling into his spot between your legs. He ducks his head to peer at your exposed folds before scribbling down some notes.

“What are you writing?”

“Nothing much. Just making note of the initial appearance so I can compare towards the end. Can I touch you? My hands are clean, I promise.”

“Uh, yeah, go ahead.”

Clearly he remembered more than he let on from that first night because he goes straight for your clit like you mentioned before. Slowly, he reaches a pointer finger out to poke. The sudden pressure, though light, has you jumping.

“Sorry,” he looks up at you from behind his frames, “I forgot how sensitive it is.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him as you focus your gaze on the ceiling. You’re trying hard to maintain a semblance of professionalism.

When his finger stops skimming, he’s a little too far south and you tell him so. He adjusts and manages to find it the second time around. He looks at your face carefully to gauge the reaction and is a little disappointed to see that you look bored. He tries circling his fingertip around the little nub, but the pressure is too light and almost ticklish. You snicker quietly and he gives up.

“This isn’t working. You don’t look like you’re having any fun,” he pouts.

“Kook, this isn’t about me. And this is supposed to be educational, not fun.”

“But its only educational for me if you’re having fun. What else can I do?

“What do you mean, you’re doing fine.”

“I did the finger thing and it didn’t do anything. All you did was laugh.”

“No one is laughing at you, though.”

“What about this,” he asks and you have to look back down to see what he’s talking about.

You realize he’s talking about the small bullet vibrator that lay amongst the things he brought in the brown paper bag. He holds it up to your face so you can get a better view of what it is. You look away, already very familiar with it because you have a blue version in the shoebox under your bed.

“Some people do use those to get off, that’s true.”

“Then let’s put this in. It has a USB in it. Will it collect data?”

“Slow your roll. That thing is more for direct clit stimulation than insertion. It’s the same thing I used on myself last time, remember?”

You watch him inspect it. He finds the power button and turns it onto its lowest setting. The low buzz fills the room and reminds you just what type of activities you’re engaging in. Without a warning he lays the vibrating toy where he thinks remembers your clit is. He’s right and the sudden vibrations have one of your legs kicking out involuntarily. You let out a yelp and try to scramble backwards, but the headboard keeps you in your spot.

“Fuck!”

Jungkook throws back his head and laughs. It’s the type of laugh he does where its strong and high and rolling. In most situations its infectious, but here you’re mad that he’s taking advantage of your natural reactions.

“Your leg did that last time too,” he giggles before quickly writing down your reaction. “This is fun.” 

He approaches you with the toy again, this time remembering to circle your clit like you had demonstrated before. You just barely keep a moan from escaping. This time your eyes roll into the back of your head at the feeling assaulting your clit.

“Wow,” he breathes.

Again, he hurries to jot everything down in quick script with his free hand. In the porn he’d watched, it seemed like all rubbing a woman’s clit would get you was a coy smile and a musical lilting moan. Your reaction was far more visceral than he had expected. The way your back arched upwards looked almost painful, but there was something graceful about the way your body just took over.

“Okay,” you say harshly. You can feel the pricks of sweat creeping along your hairline and spine. Your body thinks its getting sex soon, but its mistaken. “I think that’s enough learning for today.”

“Oh, come on. We only did one round,” he whines.

“Pfft. That wasn’t even one round. I didn’t cum.”

His nose scrunches in confusion as he jots that down. “You didn’t? Then what was all that flailing you did and the stuff with your face.”

“I’m just…responsive. That’s all.”

“Well, you can’t quit. We agreed to do this all weekend, remember?”

“I know,” you sigh, and cover your eyes with your hands, “Let’s…just move on, okay? What do you think the next step is?”

He frowns a little, the corners of his mouth turning down anxiously. He reaches for one of the toys he brought, a slightly larger than average size dildo, and clutches it in two hands before inching it towards your pelvis.

“No,” your hands come out quickly before he impales you. “Jungkook, think. What’s missing from this situation? Why might it be too early for that?”

“Hold on,” he asks picking up his pen and paper and pinning you with a quizzical look. “Say that again?”

“You can’t just jump to inserting foreign objects.”

He furrows his brows. You watch as his thinking face comes out: the cute scrunched nose, cute pursed lips, cute round eyes filled with confusion. After a few beats, he comes up with something, his fingers snapping with the small victory.

“If I were jerking off right now,” you fight to keep the image from surfacing in your head, “I would need to make sure the friction wouldn’t cause lacerations or inflammation. And I bought this.” He hands you the gaudy pink bottle of lube and you frown once you read the label. Upon further inspection, you can see that its actually just hand cream. Cherry scented.

“Partial credit,” you say, handing it back to him.

“What? Why?”

“Because it’s not real lube and I don’t want a yeast infection.”

“But this is the only one I got,” he pouts.

His dejected face makes you want to wrap him up in the duvet. There is a solution he’s not thinking of, and you suppose there’s no better time than the present for someone to learn about foreplay. The possible complications that could arise are present in the back of your mind, but you figure since you’re doing this all for Yoori, you should go big or go home.

“Jungkook, are you forgetting the vaginas are self-lubricating? That’s a rookie move, even for you.”

His bright smile returns. “How could I forget. But how do we jumpstart the lubrication process? What’s the catalyst?”

“Well, you have to be,” you search for an elegant word but can’t find one, “You have to be turned on.”

“Well, what do I have to do to turn you on?”

The question is innocent in and of itself. But the way that Jungkook tilts his head like an eager puppy, lip trapped between his even, white teeth, smelling like soap and safety makes your stomach do flip flops. He looks up at you, and ponders what it would take to get your folds to become sticky with arousal like they were last time. His hands fidget with the pen and notebook, clearly at a loss for ideas about what the next step is.

“I-it’s different for every person. But foreplay is generally the best way to work someone up.”

His pen moves at an impressive speed as he writes down your words. “Fourplay? Like the number four?”

“Not really, no. I mean if you adhere to, like, the four bases, then sure.”

“What bases?”

“You know what I mean. The bases. The four F’s.” When he merely blinks up at you, no recognition suddenly lighting up his eyes, you realize he’s way more inexperienced than you thought. “French, feel, finger, fuck? Never heard of them?”

“Nope,” he says.

“Okay. Um, it’s a baseball metaphor for sex. Or, more accurately, the events that can lead up to it and then sex. The first one, French, refers to french kissing.”

“What’s Feel stand for?”

“Feel as in feeling someone up or groping them. Finger is pretty straight forward, it stands for fingering but really could be anything you do with the hands. And I guess oral falls into that category too.”

“Fuck is the whole sex, right?”

“Yes, it’s…the whole sex. But maybe just call it sex from now on?”

“Right,” he says. “Which ones would you need in order to lubricate?”

Your cheeks heat. “They’re all pretty much fine for me. I mean the order is pretty appropriate.”

His expression slowly morphs into one of intense thought before it contorts again into nervousness. “I’ve only ever kissed someone once. In middle school. I don’t remember it, but I don’t think I was very good at it.”

“Well, we don’t have to if you’re—”

“No, no, I wanna do it. It’ll be good if we do this now, so I can spend the rest of the time improving. You can help me. I’m sure Yoori likes to kiss people as well,” he says resolutely.

You shake your head to dislodge the idea of Yoori sitting on a throne and watching the evening’s events play out.

“Okay. Maybe we should just focus on one at a time, then.”

“Yeah.”

He tries to shuffle up next to you with his notebook and pen, but you make him leave them by the foot of the bed, explaining that he likely won’t be able to take notes anyway. Once he’s sitting next to you by the pillows, he awkwardly turns to you, neck craned at an uncomfortable angle. You sigh. He’s really not doing anything to help build an ambiance and you have to do it all yourself. You start by reaching out to take off his lab goggles, trying not to laugh at the pink lines they left on his face.

“I can’t see,” he pipes up as soon as you become a blurry shape in front of him.

“You weren’t wearing your contacts under those?”

“I don’t wear contacts. They’re too much of a hassle. And the goggles have prescription in them. It’s easier that way.”

“It’s fine. Most people close their eyes for this anyway.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It’s easier than trying to focus on someone’s face an inch in front of you. Plus, it feels nice so you just kind of…close them.”

He merely nods and you turn to face him fully. His eyes are squeezed shut and his shoulders are nearly brushing his ears with how tensely he’s holding them.

“Kook,” you whisper, “Why are you all hunched up?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I just got scared for a second. I don’t know.”

“It’s okay. There’s no need to worry.”

“How do these things normally begin?”

“Honestly? You just feel it coming when the mood is right. For now though, either one of us could just start.”

“Maybe I can start,” you’re surprised to hear him volunteering, “And you can take over if I get stuck.”

“Okay,” you whisper as he inches towards you.

You relax your jaw and let your eyes fall closed. Clearly he’s close or else you wouldn’t be able to smell his clean shower gel scent, but a few moments pass and he hasn’t done anything. You’re about to open your mouth to ask him if he’s alright when he finally swoops in and plants a swift peck on your lips before backing away. It was too fast to really be anything close to a kiss. More just a dry bump of lips. You open your eyes again to find him peering at your nervously.

“I got stuck,” he mumbles. Even though he’s a few months older than you, the small way he sits after having had his second kiss makes you feel powerful. Not superior, just capable of taking care of him and showing him ‘the ropes’, whatever they may be.

“That’s okay.” You reach a hand out to glide across his cheek and settle in the hair at the nape of his neck and guide him forward. “You’ll get the flow in no time.”

The kiss starts out dry once again, Jungkooks lips are still closed a bit tightly due to his clenched jaw. But some gentle strokes of the shell of his ear with your thumb help coax him into following the way your lips caress his as best he can. It is, admittedly, a bit awkward at first because his rhythm is off, and you can tell he’s frustrated when you open an eye to peek at him and spy his hands scraping at his knees. He tilts his head, nose brushing yours softly, and then suddenly things slot into place. He manages to sync up with you when he pivots a bit and traps your bottom lip. A little surprised breath leaves you as the kiss stops feeling so one-sided and he pushes forward, emboldened by your response. You let the kiss carry on for a while now that the locomotion seems stable enough to be self-sustained. It’s not until his hands bump against your knee for the third time that you pull back minutely.

“You know, in a situation like this,” you bring one of his hands to rest at the curve of your neck, “It’s okay to consider touching her too.”

He can only nod at you, eyes hooded and a little cross eyed as he tries to focus on your silhouette without his glasses, before licking his lips and edging back in. This time he takes the lead. It starts softly, but you definitely don’t mind. His hair feels like silk in between your fingers and the hand you lay on his ribcage doesn’t scare him off. In fact, he seems to want to even the playing field now that you have both your hands on him and moves his free hand to your waist. The weight of his hand feels heavy and hot, and the area of his grasp as his fingers splay out over you reminds you just how big they are. 

Jungkook, being as affectionate as he is, doesn’t need to be told he can wander and soon his hand starts to pet a path down your side and across the small of your back in a mindless, slightly oblong cycle. You can feel the butterflies you felt earlier in your belly getting replaced with a familiar pressure, a faithful precursor to the exact slickness between your thighs that started this heavy petting session. But you figure, there’s all weekend and you’re in no rush. If you had a little devil on your shoulder it would be telling you to draw things out, reminding you that learning is something that takes time, and Jungkook loves to learn more than anyone else you know.

Your pull away again slightly, opting for pressing small iterative kisses on his lips and he chases your mouth, not ready to stop. Pushing forward, you leave kisses like stepping stones until he gets the hint and allows you to guide him into lying propped up on his back.

“It’s easier like this. Easier than sitting up, I mean,” you mutter when you finally have him gazing up at you from the pillows. You lay a hand a few inches below his heart, feeling how it races as he lay under you. “It’s also easier for me too if I sit like this.”

“Right.”

He watches you intently as you swing a leg over so you can straddle him and sit yourself in his lap. As soon as do, his hands return to your waist and yours settle on his biceps. Neither of your keep your hands in your initial starting positions and soon your hands end up back in his hair again. A long while passes before you realize that you still haven’t quite reached the first F.

“Jungkook,” you breathe between kisses.

“Yes?”

“You know what French kissing is, right?”

“Y-yes.”

“Do you know how to do it? It might seem like a strange concept so if you want to skip—”

“No, I want to. I mean I want you to show me.”

“Okay.”

Keeping the mood is important, so you don’t jump into it right away. You’re very much aware that no one responds well to a tongue being shoved into their mouth. With that in mind, you kiss him like you did before, but sneak in a small swipe of the tip of your tongue against his bottom lip. He gasps and in the small moment of surprise, you probe a bit further. He gasps again when the muscle moves across his, but the movement is similar enough to how your lips molded against his earlier that it doesn’t take him too long to get the hang of it. When his tongue slides to edges of your teeth you can’t help but let out a tiny moan. Almost as if a switch was flipped, Jungkook’s arms come to wrap around you tightly, crashing you to his chest and he moves like he’s trying to devour you. At first, there’s a bit too much saliva, but with a well-placed hand on his jaw, you maneuver him into a pattern that’s a little less like a washing machine, but he gets too close-lipped. Another well-placed turn of his jaw puts him right on balance. It’s damn near perfect and, in truth, you’re certain that you could get off like this; with the slick sounds of your mouths working together and the sounds of his periodic gasps fill the room like a symphony underneath you. You dig your blunt nails into the muscle of his thigh and use all of your willpower not to beg him to let you pull down his pants and sink down on his length.

You plant a trail of kisses down his neck before pulling back, suffocating in your pullover. He blinks up slowly at you, about to ask if he overstepped his bounds, but then you grasp both his hands and bring them to where the hem of your baby tee ends. You’re about to take advantage of the whole ‘For Yoori’ situation, but you’re so desperate you don’t care that you’re being an ass.

“What is it?”

“Yoori might be the type of girl to want her boobs played with a little.” You reach behind yourself and under the shirt to unfasten the bra underneath. He squints and then his eyes grow wide as he watches you slide the bra off without ever lifting your shirt. “I mean, that always does the trick for me.”

With that, you lift his hands the last few inches until he’s cupping your breasts. He squeezes a little, tests the weight of them in each large hand. He’s fascinated at the way your nipples seem to appear from out of nowhere to push behind the fabric. He brushes his thumbs over the two peaks and smiles when you’re head drops forward and you scrabble to clutch at his shoulders.

“They’re soft,” his tone is dumbstruck and he squeezes again.

“Yeah, they are. Hey, if you pinch them, she might get really wet. Try--mmm--rolling them between your fingers.”

He heeds your suggestion and plays with your chest until you realize you’ve been grinding against his sweatpants covered leg, completely soaking the fabric with a growing dark spot.

“Looks like you’re ready,” he says softly, the wetness finally accumulating enough to be tangible. “Do we stop now?”

“Do you want to stop?”

He chews a bit on his lip and debates lying so he doesn’t seem needy before remembering it’s you he’s dealing with.

“No,” he finally says.

“We can keep going,” you pull him by his collar to help him sit up. “Are you comfortable like this?”

He nods before sitting up a little, dragging you with him as he moves. You settle back and then you’re pinning him with a look. Curiosity keeps you from immediately going back in to kiss him despite the fact that he just admitted to you that he wanted to continue. The air fills with challenge, the light experimental feeling replaced, and he senses it just like you do. He doesn’t try to steer things back to the way they were though, and instead he takes a moment to enter your space. His breath puffs against your cheek while he gathers his bearings.

“You said you can tell when the mood is the right one for a kiss.”

You hold your breath and think of what to say. Everything feels so fragile and you can practically see the way things are headed but you don’t want to break the tumultuous balance.

“Does right now seem like the right moment to you?”

“Yes.”

“Then do it.”

Jungkook is definitely a prodigy or something. Never in your life have you seen someone so good at picking up new skills as quickly as he does. This is something you’re familiar with and yet you still bury your hands in his shirt out of surprise when his own hand suddenly appears at the back of your neck to pull you in. He tilts his head and kisses you like he’s dehydrated and you’re a softly babbling stream. Each time his lips work over you, you feel as though he’s drinking, like he’s pulling something from you. Something you’ve been dying to have him accept from you for a long while. There’s something soft about the way his tongue slides over yours and it’s so tender and everything you want but its also not enough.

He’s solid underneath you and his skin feels almost feverish with how warm it is. There’s strength in the sinewy bundles that cord under your roaming touch and you want to see him put it to use on you so badly that it frustrates you and bleeds into your kiss. You forget where you are and nip at his lip harshly, though not enough to damage. You forget that you haven’t introduced Jungkook to the rougher parts of amorous activities until he tenses underneath you while letting out a low and guttural groan, hands clutching at your hips tightly and then releasing with a nervous flutter.

“Sorry,” he says shyly as his hands come to rest in the part of his lap that you’re not occupying.

“Why are you sorry? I’m the one that bit you.”

“I just meant sorry for…poking you” he can’t finish his sentence because his tongue is tied with embarrassment. You figure he’s talking about how he grabbed you when you bit him and brush it off. Then you feel him thick and hard, nudging your inner thigh.

“Oh. There’s no need to be sorry.”

“But this isn’t about me, this is about--”

“Jungkook,” you stop him with a light hand on his collarbone. “I know your main goal is to be able to please Yoori, but sex is a two-way street. You’re allowed to feel good too.”

“I—okay.” His shoulders are still rounded into himself in a way that makes it clear to you he’s still dwelling on his erection. On instinct you’re moving back in to plant soft kisses on his cheek. You know you’re blurring lines a little by doing so, but you want him to stop feeling so bad.

“Hey, it’s really not an issue. In fact,” you kiss your way to the plush corner of his pouting mouth, “We can really work with this. Let’s try something.”

“What are we going to—Oh!”

His breath leaves him in almost pained huff as you move to slot your dripping center over the bulge in his sweats. A moan sublimates between your mouths and you’re honestly not sure who it came from as you relish in the feel of the drag of the material against your clit. You press kisses to the line of his throat before sucking a bruise at the place where shoulder meets neck. The feeling of your tongue laving small cycles into his skin has his eyes fluttering shut.

After a certain age, Jungkook knew that despite having skipped a few grades, and never having an unweighted GPA of less than 4.46, there were things that  some of his peers were becoming aware of but would remain mysterious to him. A few petty classmates had also reminded him on a regular basis that he may only ever know the feeling of relief when it was supplied by his own lubed up right hand. It didn’t worry him much because he assumed that was the fate all those who devoted their lives to science until he watched his peers begin to date as well. Suddenly he was monitoring the freshman night lab by himself on Friday nights because his shift partner was going on dates.nQuickly after that, he was convinced that he’d never get to feel the warmth of another body under his palms. 

So as his hands move to stroke your up your sides to your ribs, over your breasts, and back down again while bucking up into your heat, he feels a swell of something towards you. It must be gratitude because you’re giving him a gift. The ability to feel and hold someone while they’re in the throes of an orgasm he produced. And because of this, he’ll be able to do it with Yoori, the girl of his dreams.

He opens his eyes to stare up at your face which is scrunched up in pleasure. It’s amazing, he notes, how easy it is to do all these new things with you. Even the initial fear of failure that he often gets with new subjects fades away in an instant when you put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

You’re warm above him and soft under his hands where he kneads at your chest. He flexes a thigh to give himself so leverage to hump up against you and you whine at the way he now presses firmly against your core. You bury your face in his neck and snap your hips forward. The abrupt onslaught of friction takes him by surprise and he’s coming in his pants after not ten minutes of dry humping with you in between his Thor sheets. The pleasure is so intense that his vision whites out as he cums and he throws all caution to wind as it rips through him. His arms wind around you and pull you closer, a whine leaving him as he slumps back into the pillows.

You fall back with him and let out a small ‘oof’. A quick glance at his sweat drenched and flushed face tells you he must have had a good time. Strong arms are still locked around your waist and the surprise of falling distracted you from chasing your own high, so you merely wriggle out of his grasp and sit back on your heels.

“Good?”

He gives you a wry smile that you usually only see when he’s been drinking. “Yeah.”

“Good,” you say as you hop of the bed and pull on your forgotten joggers before picking up your backpack.

“Wait! Where are you going?” His tone is open and clearly distressed. He fumbles for the prescription goggles that rest on the night table by the bed and shoves them onto his face roughly.

“To shower? My stuff is in my backpack.”

“Oh. Well…did you bring a sleeping bag?”

“No, but I brought a blanket and a pillow for the couch.”

“Don’t sleep on the couch,” you raise an incredulous brow and he backpedals. “We all spent 4 hours farting into that couch because no one wanted to pause the game.”

“Not me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” your face heats up. Whether or not you’re lying is none of his business and you’ll fart where you please without feeling shamed for it. “I’ll just sleep in here. I guess.”

Your time in the bathroom is stressful. Leaving his bedroom, you had a mean case of blue balls and you weren’t sure you could deal with them in his bathroom. It’s never something you imagined you’d have to do while you were at his place, though its not the first time you’ve spent the night or showered there. Game night can get long and you’ve spent many a night fighting Hoseok for hot water in Jungkook’s dorm. After some long and hard thinking about the long and hard thing in Jungkook’s pants, you decide he isn’t the only person who gets to do things for the first time and guide the detachable the shower head between your legs with a fist in your mouth to muffle your moans.

Jungkook is exactly where you left him when you return from the shower, but you can’t face him as you turn back the covers on your half of the bed.

“How was your shower?”

“It was a shower, it was fine.”

“Okay,” he says after a beat.

“I’ll try to be quiet when I leave for yoga. You can keep the light on if you’re not going to sleep right now.”

Up until you said that, Jungkook was tired, but he stays up until your breathing slows and deepens with sleep. It’s drastically different from the way your breath hitched loudly in the shower. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, he just wanted some water before bed. But there was something almost musical about the sounds of your choked off moans as you tried to be quiet in the bathroom. He’s proud to say that he didn’t linger once he realized what was going on. He went straight back to his room when his dick twitched in his pants.

Now that you’re asleep, he ventures out the clean himself up before returning. You’ve stolen his pillow to clutch over your face by the time he’s come back. Your pillow from home is still wedged safely under your head and he doesn’t want to wake you. He’s left with no other option than to rest his head on your stomach. If he doesn’t, he won’t sleep at all without a pillow and that’s no good. This is clearly the only solution. Clearly.

When you wake up the next morning 5 minutes before your alarm because you can’t breathe because there’s a giant weight on your chest. The weight is actually Jungkook and you’re not sure what to do. 

Apparently, you spend 5 minutes not sure what to do because your alarm starts, waking Jungkook with more confidence than you ever could. You watch with fascination as his eyes open slowly, and wriggling out from under you to wipe at the corners. He turns, resting his chin near your belly button and blinks sleepily at you, gears turning slowly before registering where he is and what he’s doing. You chance a small smile at him.

“Morning.”

“Good morning,” he says. His stare is intense and you wonder if maybe you look haggard or messy.

“What is it?”

He doesn’t respond and instead inches forward with a look of determination. When he’s an inch in front of your face you realize what he’s doing, but its too late to complain about morning breath or being late to Saturday morning yoga. 

It’s not long before he’s licking into your mouth slowly, giving you a chance to pull back, change the pace, tweak something. But there’s nothing to change. It doesn’t taste great but it feels amazing and your hands reach up to pull him down onto you without a thought. He groans and tentatively rubs his thumb over the swell of your breast that peeks through the side of your sleeveless sleep tank.

You miss yoga.

#bangtan bookclub #networkbangtan #btssmutclub #bttnetwork #btswriters #bangtan fanfic #bangtan imagines #bangtan scenario #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts smut #bts imagines #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenario

[honeylikewords]

may i request miguel getting snuggled/hugged? because he's lovely and he just looks really huggable and aaa!

Aw, that’s so cute! Sure, here’s some Miggy snugs!

An interesting thing about Miguel is how much his body has changed over the years, and that he never really had a ‘soft’ or seemingly super-cuddly-shaped phase; he wasn’t a round child, instead being surprisingly skinny even in his youth, then growing into a lanky, tall-for-his-age adolescent, before becoming the tall, sculpted man of his adulthood. He never was pudgy or squishy or especially soft to the touch. Even now, post-spiderbite, clocking in at 6′2′’ and over 230 pounds of muscle, Miguel seems like he’d be at his least cuddly stage of life.

But this is actually when he’s his most cuddly, and getting snuggled, hugged, cuddled and kissed by his beloved every day.

For example…

It’s a quiet Saturday afternoon and Miguel doesn’t have to go into the lab, so he’s taken the day off to stay home. He’s laying in bed in his boxers, stretching so that his tight back pops a little, and when it does, he relaxes with a contented sigh. His sweetheart wanders into the bedroom from the living room, carrying a plate with a sandwich on it, and Miguel sits up on his elbows, smiling at her.

“Here you go,” she says, setting the plate on the bedside table nearest Miguel. “Thought you might be hungry. It’s nearly noon and–”

But instead of replying, instead of taking the sandwich, Miguel reaches for his beloved’s hands, twining their fingers together and tugging at her arm, pulling her towards the bed wordlessly. She follows his lead and allows him to guide her into a position where she’s cuddled up to his side, her head resting on his broad chest, their still entwined hands sitting on his hard stomach with his thumb gently tracing over the hills and ridges of her knuckles.

Miguel kisses the crown of her head and nuzzles into her hair, humming with pleasure as he smells her shampoo, smells the warm, singular scent of her, feels her heat radiating into his skin. He adjusts his free hand so that his arm encircles her shoulders and folds her closer to his chest, then skates his fingers up and down her side, tracing the curve of her waist.

His beloved smiles into his chest and nudges her nose against his collarbone, burrowing into the thick column of his neck lovingly, and Miguel makes a little shiver as a deep chuckle vibrates in his sternum, the tickling sensation of her breaths on his sensitive neck making him squirm a little.

“Mmm, Miggy,” she breathes, feeling Miguel once again writhe as her breath passes over his neck, “Has anyone ever told you what a good cuddler you are?”

“Not especially,” he replies. “I think I tried to hug a girl in college and she told me I was all elbows and shoulders and that it hurt to get snuggled by me; I think the phrase she used was “like trying to cuddle a pile of steel rebar”.”

At that, Miguel’s sweetheart coos in sympathy, freeing her hand to pat his chest lovingly before grazing her palms up and down his pectorals, noting the number of thin, pale-tan scars lining them. He has scars all over from his altercations throughout the years, scattered over his arms, legs, back, chest, and hands. He even has a few small ones on his face, but as she gazes at his chest, she can see a jagged scar arcing across his pectoral. It looks new. She eyes it, blinking slowly before making her reply.

“Well, I think you’re wonderful to hold, wonderful to be held by. I always feel safe and comfortable when you’re holding me, you know? Like everything is going to be okay. Plus,” she grins, looking up from his chest to meet his ruby-red eyes, “You’ve got… these to cuddle!”

She swings a leg over his abdomen and pulls herself into a sitting position abruptly, then throws her hands down onto Miguel’s prominent pecs, squeezing them and making him burst into resounding peals of laughter. He tosses his head on the pillow as she squishes his pecs around, listening to her comments on how comfy they are to rest on with a huge smile on his face.

“And don’t even get me started on that butt,” she teases. “Ooh, man, what a cuddly butt. Big Butt O’Hara, that’s you. King of the cake.”

“Stooop,” Miguel half-heartedly whines, batting his hand in the air like a faux-humble Southern belle. “You’re fit to make me blush.”

“And your big ole’ thighs! My goodness, how could I forget to mention the thighs!”

“Come on, down you get,” he says as he places his hands on her waist, squeezing softly. “We were cuddling so nicely, too, before you launched the compliment crusade.”

“But I wanna compliment you! You’re cute when you’re flustered!”

This gives Miguel pause, and as he looks up into the face of his lover, sees the sincerity in her eyes, the warmth of her smile, the sweetness of her gesture, he melts a little, and can feel heat flushing his cheeks. She bends down at the waist and gives him a soft, slow kiss, one that makes Miguel feel simultaneously excited and at ease, racing and relaxed at once.

His hand cups her cheek, then inches towards the nape of her neck, coasting up into her hair and tugging her in to deepen the kiss. A soft groan rumbles in his chest, and he feels her pull off to breathe as the last notes of the groan tumble out of his lips, making him sound disappointed that she’s stopped kissing him. He is, of course.

 But he feels comforted when he looks up into her warm eyes, seeing them glitter with mirth and enjoyment. Miguel cups her jaw and strokes along her cheekbone, admiring the shape of her face, the way the light reflects off her skin, the shapes her hair makes as it shifts with her movements. Miguel stops for a moment, holding her chin in his hand; he’s realized how large his hands are compared to her.

She looks so small, even as she sits above him, and Miguel caresses his hand down her chin, along her neck, across her shoulder, and down her arm to her hand, then lifts her hand up, comparing the size of their fingers, the breadth of their palms. He massively outspans her, practically able to fold his fingers over the height of hers, and he cocks his head to the side, looking at the union of their hands.

“You’re tiny,” he remarks.

“You’re big,” she replies. “You’re the outlier, here!”

“That’s fair,” Miguel says softly, not really paying attention to his words, more invested in comparing their sizes, noting the differences between them. “But you’re still absolutely tiny, in my opinion. I mean, look at this!”

He puts his large hands on the smallest part of her waist and lifts her up, raising her without strain. His powers make her lighter than a feather to him, and he flaunts how easily he can move her around, able to lift her like a toy.

“You’re a doll!,” he chuckles, holding her above him vertically. “I could put you in my pocket!”

“I’m a very normal-sized woman!”

But Miguel just continues smiling, setting her down on the bed and scooping her close to his side, rolling so that he’s turned to face her. They face one another and grow quiet as they settle down, a calmness re-entering the room, and soon each of them putting their hands on the other and slowly, experimentally, soothingly touching what they find on their partner.

Miguel’s hands seek out her skin, his fingertips brushing along her forearms, her shoulders, even up to her lips, where he traces his index and middle fingers along the sensitive skin, following their natural curvatures and delicate shapes. Her hands find his hair, finger-combing through his locks and gently tugging in the way she knows he adores. 

His hair is curlier than it used to be; he used to straighten it for appearances’ sake, embarrassed of his curls, but he’s been growing more confident in his natural state as of late, letting his curls come back in, and she couldn’t be happier. She loves the curls, but more so loves that Miguel is finally starting to love himself, too.

For Miguel, he strokes his hands along her body, feeling how wonderfully solid she is, how unfleeting, how real and present. He caresses his hand along the plateaus of her back, rubbing at the spots where he knows she carries tension. He wants to ease those aches she gets, and smiles to himself when she makes a relieved murmur as he rubs at a sore knot in her back. In thanks, she scrapes her nails along the underside of his cut jaw, scritching his growing stubble lovingly, as if he was a well-behaved pet getting his reward for being such a good boy.

They continue their ministrations for one another for several minutes before Miguel pauses, his hands stilling and rubbing small, barely noticeable circles into the small of her back. Breathing out through his lips, Miguel takes a long, slow survey of her face, then speaks.

“I love you.”

They’ve said it before– by now, Miguel must have said it hundreds of times– but he always feels something deep and intrinsically powerful whenever he tells her that. For so long he struggled to allow himself to love, much less to say it aloud to the object of his affections, but now, with her, he feels safe enough to do it. And he really, truly does love her; he hopes she knows that.

“I love you, too,” she murmurs back, leaning in to press her forehead against his, a sensation of protection coming over Miguel as she says the words he needed to hear.

He rubs her back hard, trying to ground himself in both the emotional and bodily experience of this moment, then pushes on her back so that she’s pressed against his body, intimately close. His arms wrap around her and he squeezes her in as near as he can get her, ducking his head into the crook of her neck. She raises her hand and gently passes over his hair, humming something as she soothingly brushes at his dense, red-brown curls.

“I love you, Miggy,” she repeats. “Always and infinitely.”

“Always and infinitely,” he mirrors, mumbling into her neck, nearly shy.

After a few minutes in that position, Miguel shifts, rolling her onto her back and crawling so that he’s hovering above her, staring down at her with a loving smile on his face, slightly tinged with mischief. She can see that glimmer of rapscallion in him, but lets it slide; Miguel is nothing if not playful. He lowers his head and kisses her, then, both of them melting into one another. She tangles her arms around his neck, and his hands find purchase on her, allowing them to deepen the kiss.

She’s beginning to lose herself to the sensations of his kissing when, slowly, Miguel’s hands leave her shoulders and trickle towards her waist in that tell-tale kind of lightness; she jolts and breaks the kiss as Miguel gives her his troublemaker smile.

“Don’t you da-ARE–”

But she can’t get it out in time; Miguel has already started tickling her sides furiously, making her shriek and wriggle as he locks her into a pinned position with his legs and arms.

“MI-G– MIGUEL!,” she screams, laughing wildly as she tosses and turns on the bed beneath him, writhing in tickled agony, “ST-OP IT!

He just bends down and kisses her face playfully, still ravaging her sides with tickles, and both of them know there’s nowhere else in the world they’d rather be than right here, in this moment, with the one they love.

#messages #anonymous #long post #miguel o'hara

[hazkiwislutt]

chapter four: performances, running through the dead of night, and more cuddles

{ hey friends!! it’s athena. i’m sorry i didn’t post last week, but i was just so slammed that it completely slipped my mind. i hope you enjoy this chapter, the plot is going to pick up a little after this, and i’m sorry if it seems a little slow but i promise there’s gonna be all sorts of angst and drama and secrets and all SORTS of crazy stuff that’s gonna give you all the feels. thank u for reading, i loaf u }

“What if they don’t like the way I sing it live?”

Y/N paced back and forth vigorously in her dressing room, hands fidgeting wildly as she pulled her lips between her teeth harshly. She was set to perform her single from the previous month on The Late Late Show, and while she’d performed a good handful of shows and completed her own small tour, she had never performed knowing Harry was there, and Harry was watching.  

“Well then,” Harry mused, “I think their ears might not be fully functioning, right, love?” She tutted at him, shooting him a small smile as she glanced back at him sitting on the couch, legs spread carelessly and floppy hair pushed back by a pair of sunglasses. He was wearing light wash jeans and black vans, with a white t-shirt under an open floral button up.

“I’m serious, Harry,” she whined, fiddling her fingers aggressively as she stopped her pacing in front of the mirror vanity in the room, staring herself down worriedly. She leaned against it with both of her hands, hanging her head down defeatedly and sighing as she closed her eyes.

“M’serious, too, baby,” he replied, low voice right next to Y/N’s ear. She startled a bit as she felt his arms encircle her waist, but she opened her eyes and straightened up so she could lean back into him, reveling in his comfort. “Yeh so bloody talented, an’ yeh song is amazing. No matter wha’ happens out there, yeh know m’always going to be rooting for yeh.”

Y/N sighed once more, leaning back against Harry’s broad chest and lolling her head back to look up at him. He looked down at her adoringly before ducking his head down to brush his nose against hers, which turned into him pressing his lips softly to her mouth. Y/N slackened in his grip, pulling away with a big grin as she giddily smiled at him, reaching up to steady herself by grabbing his arm.

“Better stop that,” she warned, “Otherwise we’re not going to be leaving this room for awhile.” Harry smiled at her, rubbing his nose against hers again.

“Would tha’ really be a bad thing?” He tried to chase her lips with his as she pulled away from him, holding him at arm’s length so she could look at him in the eyes. His dimple was prominent as he sulked for her kisses.

“After the performance, how about?” She reasoned with him, to which he responded with a dramatic groan, flopping his hand to his forehead and throwing his head back.

“Be a big boy and wait,” she scolded, poking his arm with her finger, to which he grabbed and brought up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to it.

“Can’t,” he pouted, “Not when yeh look so fuckin’ gorgeous. Who gave yeh the right?” She rolled her eyes, but she could feel her face heat up a bit at his accolades. Y/N’s song, Flower, was incredibly raunchy and charged, but her outfit was a different story. She thought it added to the dynamic of it.  

She was wearing a baby pink long sleeve that was tied in the middle at the bottom and was unbuttoned a fair amount, showing off quite a bit of what Harry was going to indulge himself in later. She wore a black skirt that stopped a little above her mid-thigh, and the look was completed with fishnet tights and clunky combat boots that looked as if they were made for stomping.

“Look so fuckin’ hot, baby,” Harry breathed, advancing one step so she was pressed up between the vanity and his body. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt Harry’s hands sear her neck as he situated them there to make her look up at him, only to make their way down toward her thighs. His gaze was almost too intense for her, but she stared unblinkingly back at him. He began to lower his mouth down to hers once more.

“Y/N!” A loud knock on her dressing room made Harry jump nearly nine feet in the air as he quickly broke apart from her and scurried into the dressing room closet. It was Celeste, probably giving Y/N a time update on her performance. Although Y/N and Harry had been inseparable since their first date, the only people who really knew were Andrew, Hannah, and Niall. They wanted to keep it that way, so that what they were trying to do together wouldn’t be ruined by anyone before it was even started.

“Yes?” Y/N called back weakly, leaning back against the vanity in slight irritation and a good amount of worry.

“You’re on in five! Get out here, what’s taking so long?” Celeste pounded on the door once more before her footsteps trailed off down the hall. The dressing room closet creaked open slowly, revealing a very sheepish Harry. Y/N glanced at the clock above the dressing room door which revealed that she was, in fact, set to perform in five.

“Duty calls, bub,” Y/N said, opening her arms to him, “Gimme a good luck kiss. I’m going to need it.” He chuckled, walking toward her and enveloping her in his arms, swaying her back and forth lightly before pulling away and pressing his lips to hers fiercely.

“Yeh don’t need it, love, I promise yeh. I’ll be watching from in here, but m’going to have to leave as soon as yeh done so no one sees me. I’ll see yeh back at mine, right?”

Y/N nodded, smoothing out her skirt and adjusting her blouse, which caused Harry’s eyes to dart downward and darken. She tutted and put a finger under his chin, causing him to look back up at her.

“Uh, uh, Mister. Eyes up here.” Harry giggled before kissing her once more, pulling away and prodding her toward the door with a light spank. She gasped, turning around and holding her bum.

“No time to chastise me,” he wheeled, “Go put on a show, love o’mine!”

...

Harry was in pain. Anyone would be, too, he thought, if they saw the way Y/N performed, especially the way she did tonight. He had sat in anticipation on the dressing room couch, biting the inside of his cheek excitedly as his knee jittered and he watched the show from the TV in the dressing room, James’ voice cheerfully announcing his girl.

The stage was completely dark as the soft guitar solo’s vibrato began and ended, and suddenly, Y/N stepped out of the shadows into the singular spotlight where the mic was positioned, grabbing quickly and clutching it to her body as she let out a lewd moan and breathy “yes” before sliding down the mic with her knees slightly parted while the rocking beat of the song came in.

Harry’s eyes bugged out of his head as he felt his breath leave him; he hadn’t watched any rehearsals, and he knew Flower was raunchy in nature, but he didn’t expect a performance so bold right off the bat.

Harry growled as he watched Y/N lick her teeth seductively before pressing her lips to the mic and beginning to belt out the words to the song that inspired their second night together. His jeans were too tight, and his body began to warm up as he watched Y/N strut, and dance, and sway deliciously.

A few times, she looked directly at the camera that catered to the view Harry saw on the dressing room TV, smirking and tossing her hair as if she just knew how much pain Harry was in waiting for her performance to be done.

Well, Harry thought, as his forehead began to bead with sweat and his lips began to sting from biting them so ferociously, she was going to know pain when he was done with her, too.

…

“Harry!” Y/N gasped in surprise as she was pinned up against the door of the dressing room by his body, hot and desperate. She’d walked down the hall, buzzing from the performance she’d just given. Harry had told her he was going to leave and meet her back at his home, but she was pleasantly surprised to see he was still there, even if he was gently rutting against her as he praised her performance.

“Thought you were going to go home, babe,” she asked, squeaking as he rolled his hips into hers harshly.

“Couldn’t.. I couldn’t...God, who taught yeh to be such a fuckin’ tease,” he whimpered, burying his face in her neck as he moved himself against her body. He was breathing hard, and Y/N was rendered speechless, because she’d never seen anyone so desperate for anything, ever.

“F-fuck, gonna,” he swore, swallowing harshly, “M’gonna cum in my pants like m’fuckin’ seventeen again, what’re yeh doing t’me, love, I-”

“Hey,” Y/N soothed, placing her hands on his heaving shoulders, causing him to pull back and look at her, eyes wild and lips bitten red, hair tousled and shirt crinkled, “Baby, calm down, come on. Come back to me, that’s it.” She gently ran her fingers along his cheeks as he closed his eyes and breathed her in deeply, relaxing a bit.

“M’sorry,” he apologized lowly, eyes fluttering open,”Yeh just looked so good out there, in front of all those people. The world was watching yeh, an’ just knowing tha’ m’the only one who gets yeh at the end of the day, knowing tha’ yeh mine, m’girl…” Harry trailed off, peering at her worriedly, because ever since that night they’d run into Daniel, they hadn’t talked about their relationship much. Pet names and cuddles were always a part of the agenda, but there was no substantial talk of how either of them were progressing in their emotions, and Harry hadn’t wanted to scare her.

Before he could apologize again, Y/N kissed him softly, laughing against his lips before whispering, “I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I really like the sound of me being your girl.” Harry’s eyes lit up and his lips parted in a brilliant smile, giggles bubbling from inside him out into the air.

“Yeah? Yeh wanna be m’girl?” He nuzzled his nose against hers, grinning when she scrunched her nose cutely and said his name.

“I’ve always been your girl, Harry.”

They stood together for what seemed like ages, even if it was only mere seconds, before Harry piped up questioningly, “S’this mean we’re… tha’ we can be serious?”

Y/N shifted from foot to foot before humming in affirmation, carding her fingers through his hair. “Would it be okay if we kept us a secret, still?”

Harry smiled in relief as he pressed his lips to her forehead. In all his life, privacy was a point of contention between anyone he had ever dated or wanted to date. They just didn’t get it. They wanted to be public with him, but that wasn’t something he was willing to risk, so it would never work out. He should have known (and he was endlessly thankful) that Y/N would be different, and would be on the same page as him.

“F’course, love. Anythin’ for m’girl.” He smiled as he said it, and he could physically feel her swoon. Another loud knock interrupted the moment once more, and Harry practically flew into the dressing room closet, shutting it softly. Y/N was stunned; she’d never seen anyone move so quickly or silently in her life. It was funny.

“Y/N? There’s complications with the car. Brian can’t get through the fans that are crowding the street. It’ll be awhile until we can get you out of here safely.” It was Celeste, once again.

Harry opened the closet door, waving wildly at Y/N, mouthing “me, me, me” over and over again, as if she didn’t already get the message.

“Celeste,” Y/N called, “Tell Brian he can turn around. I’ll find my own way home.”

“What? Are you sure? Y/N-”

“I’m sure, Celeste. Please, don’t worry about me.”

…

“When you waved at me from the closet, I thought you meant we were going to take your car, go back to your place, maybe watch a movie and cuddle… I didn’t know we were going to run through the back alleys and hide every time we see a car light, like rats.”

Y/N was huffing, her performance outfit had been exchanged for a pair of jeans and a t-shirt with some Vans. The summer wind was slowly changing into a fall breeze as the season prepared to shift. Harry was dragging her through the back alleyways of downtown LA. He had driven them in an incognito car to Downtown LA, only to park in a nondescript lot before pulling her out and taking off.

“M’hungry, love, an’ there’s only one place open right now tha’ I trust we could get a burger without being swarmed. We can watch a movie and cuddle after. M’not letting yeh out of m’sight.” He looked back at her, flashing her a bright smile, before repeating a little quieter, “M’not lettin’ my girl out of my sight.”

He tugged her down one more alleyway, where she squawked as she splashed into a random puddle, only to come out on a sidestreet that was dimly lit by two streetlights. A dilapidated burger joint had a flickering sign above the entrance, and Harry hurried them in.

“Laura,” he called, as soon as they burst in through the creaky door, “M’so hungry tha’ my stomach’s about to eat itself. Yeh got enough time left fo’ two more orders?”

Y/N peered around at the small shack, with two or three booths complete with cracked seats and a jukebox at each. The ordering counter was in front of a long grill and an ingredient and condiment bar, with rusty barstools situated at the counter. Harry led Y/N over and prompted her to sit. There was no one at the counter, until the backroom doors swung open and a middle-aged woman waltzed through, smiling warmly. She had medium-length, mouse brown hair that was pinned back sloppily in a black clips, and she wore jeans with a red t-shirt sporting the logo of what seemed to be a daycare.

“No, Harry,” she said airily as she fired up the grill, “I’m about to kick you out.”

Harry laughed, before pulling Y/N out from behind him. “Laura, this is-”

“The girl you keep talking about? Finally. I was wondering if I was ever going to meet her.”

Y/N looked quizzically at Harry, who bashfully looked at his feet.

“This one talks about you loads. He’s not normally here when he’s off other places, but when he’s in LA, he always makes sure to stop by a few times. I didn’t know he could actually talk that much. His mouth is normally used for eating my food, and belting out his lyrics. It was a little unnerving to hear him actually use it to talk, and even more unnerving was the fact it was about someone special.” Laura had put two burger patties on the grill, talking over the sizzle of the meat. She turned around while they cooked, leaning against the counter with her forearms and smiling at Y/N.

“I’m Y/N,” she said, offering her hand out timidly. Laura shook it, still smiling, and turned back to the grill to flip the burgers.

“I, uh,” Harry began, “I was at a party when I was like, eighteen, maybe? The boys and I had time off, an’  I’d gone to a party in Downtown, but I had an anxiety attack and jus’ ran. Ended up here, an’ met Laura. S’been like, one of my LA moms ever since. The route we ran together was the same route I’d taken to get here. Jus’ wanted to show yeh.” Y/N reached for Harry’s hand, squeezing it lightly and smiling softly at him. She mouthed “thank you” to him, before leaning in and kissing him on the cheek. She wasn’t scared to; it seemed that Harry trusted Laura enough to bring her here and talk about her, so she figured they were in the clear to act like a couple.

“Poor thing was shivering and sweating, so I offered him a burger and he scarfed it down. I was pregnant with my first kid then, and the father had just run out on me earlier that night. Harry was a godsend, he just sat and talked to me. He’s about fifteen years younger than me, but it felt like he was light years older.” Laura served them their burgers, complete with fries that looked so good Y/N swore she saw a piece of heaven. “Milkshakes, anyone?”

“Mmmph mm mmnnp!” Harry choked out through a stuffed mouth, to which Laura rolled her eyes and handed him a napkin.

“Um… what did he even say?” Y/N laughed, chomping down on a few fries as she watched Harry struggle to swallow down his mouthful.

“Cookies and Creme, dear,” Laura replied, already turning to scoop ice cream for Harry’s drink.

“I’ll take one too, please,” Y/N decided, before sliding her eyes to Harry, who was shoveling food into his mouth as if he wasn’t going to have another chance. She was so… she had fallen so hard for him in such a short amount of time, and everyday she found out more about him that captivated her entire heart. He was so kind, and interesting, and sweet, and she couldn’t believe he was a real person. She couldn’t believe he was her person.

She couldn’t imagine a life without Harry anymore, and she hoped with all her heart she wouldn’t have to experience one.

“Yeh staring, love. S’not nice.” Harry had finally pushed down his burger and was working on his fries. He cocked an eyebrow at her as he tossed a fry into his maw.

“Is it a crime to stare at my boyfriend?”

“Well, when yeh put it like tha’, s’not bad at all.”

…

“Harry, I really, really like you.”

Y/N’s voice was muffled where she pressed her lips against Harry’s bare shoulder. They’d made it up the stairs into his bedroom, only for him to toss her on the bed and ravage her the way he’d wanted to after her performance. They were tangled up in the sheets, pressed together skin to skin, breathing in the beauty of being with each other.

“Yeh like an old man like me?” Harry was joking, but there was a bit of truth to his question. He was eight years older than her. He didn’t see it as a perpetual problem, but it did cross his mind every once in awhile.

“You aren’t old, Harry. You’re twenty-nine. But if you think you’re old, then yes, I do like an old man like you. Ew, that sounds weird.”

Their bodies shook with their giggles, and Harry encircled his other arm around his waist so she could be pressed against him completely with no escape.

“M’lucky to have such a talented, intelligent, beautiful, powerful, an’ strong girlfriend… Even if she made me wait for it.” Y/N gasped and sunk her teeth into his shoulder, which made him squawk and tap her nose with his pointer finger.

“Asshole, it’s been only a month. If that’s a long time, we’re going to have a few problems.”

“Wha’ problems?” He shifted so he could look down at her a bit more comfortably.

“Well, if a month was a long time to wait, I don’t know how we’re going to do this, ‘cause I plan on keeping you for a lot longer than a miniscule month.” Y/N mumbled, and began to turn her face into Harry’s shoulder so he couldn’t see her.

“Oi, yeh always do tha’. M’pretty girl’s always running from me. S’enough. I plan on letting yeh keep me for a lot longer than a month, ‘cause I want to do the same.”

Y/N turned her face back toward him, one eye still smushed into his shoulder cutely. Harry cooed and brushed his fingers against her face, causing her to keen.

“Really?”

“Silly girl. Gotta realize m’not going anywhere.”

{ @lovableah }

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[spidergwenstefani]

@claraxbarton I heard you were having a long day so I wrote you some unrepentant fluff. Idk anything about professional costuming, but I do know some stuff about school theatre. So here’s college AU winterhawk where Bucky is also having a long day. Sorry in advance for all the typos that are definitely in here.

Bucky swears, pulling the seam ripper through the next stitch just a shade too viciously, catching his thumb with the stabby bit as thread gives way.

“Fuck,” he shouts, because the costume shop is empty save for him and this dupioni nightmare. Even the other student employees went home sometime after the witching hour, each classmate shooting Bucky a look of tragic sympathy as they individually decided witnessing Coulson’s stress hurricane wouldn’t be worth the sheer amount of caffeine they would have to chug to get through the day tomorrow. “Motherfucking shit. God damned son of a fuck. Fucking Christ on a-”

“Um,” somebody says from the doorway.

The headrush Bucky gets from looking up tells him that tomorrow will be another Gender in Shakespeare lecture skipped. There’s a guy hovering in the doorway, a small pink purse wedged under his arm and a look of… fear? Maybe? Probably fear on his face.

“What do you want?” Bucky snaps, because he doesn’t have time to spare on conversation. He still has the shoulder seams to undo, still needs to open up the sleeves, and the basement of the theatre building is drafty on the best days. Bucky’s a little worried his fingers will freeze stiff if he pauses for longer than a minute.

“Oh,” the guy in the doorway says. “Well, I came to get Bobbi’s purse for her. She said she left it here during fittings.” He gestures to the sparkly clutch under his elbow, and Bucky realizes he’s on the way out, not in.

“Okay?” If this is another one of Bobbi’s boys (pretty, fratty, and not a singular brain cell,) Bucky’s in danger of getting ensnared in a friendly conversation. He keeps his voice cold, putting on what Natasha calls his Fuck Off Face. The guy does a sort of shuffle in the doorway, physically swaying with the weight of whatever mental battle he’s having about staying or leaving.

“It’s just,” he says, stepping a little further into the fluorescent lights of the costume shop, and fuck Bobbi sure can pick them. “You seem a little. In distress?”

“In distress?” Bucky repeats, and the ice in his voice impresses even him. “In distress? Well, I have to seam rip the rest of these sleeves and salvage what I can for reworking the waist of the jacket, which was a bitch to make in the first place. I also have to take off the appliques that I put my blood, sweat, and tears into stitching on not even a week earlier. Even if I get that done before sunrise, I still have a fucking obscene amount of buttonholes to hand make, and I’ll probably have to modify the appliques for the new jacket. All because the actors are over-dramatic children who throw fits and drop out halfway through a show, and our costume shop assistant is an idiot who ruined half our dupioni right off the bat by steam pressing it. So yes, I’m a little bit fucking in distress.” The frat boy winces a little at the venom in the final word, and Bucky actually feels a twinge of regret, especially when he speaks again.

“I just meant, you look like you could use some help.”

Bucky narrows his eyes, straightening up and ignoring the way his spine pops in protest. The guy is greek life down to his toes, probably never handled anything more delicate than a football. He’s dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, a battered leather jacket thrown on to keep out the January chill.

“Can you sew?”

“I can’t make you a new jacket, but if most of your work is just cutting threads I can offer an extra set of hands.”

He makes a fair point, and if the seam ripping goes fast enough, Bucky can probably make a dent in the buttonholes before morning. He probably can’t fuck things up worse than anyone else has already.

“Okay,” Bucky says, and frat boy breaks into a crooked smile that has Bucky’s stomach feeling kind of fluttery. Maybe he should do more acting next year, see if Bobbi knows any other pretty frat boys.

The jacket is still technically in one piece, so frat boy takes the stool right next to Bucky, his thigh pressing against Bucky’s and reminding him just how much body heat he’s lost to the chill that creeps into the costume shop. Bucky hands him a seam ripper, holding up his nearly-separated sleeve.

“You just cut the threads with this. You have to work to find the stitches at first, but once the seam is cut a little more, it’s easy work.” Frat boy nods, examining his weapon. He looks incredibly serious about the weight of the whole thing, and suddenly Bucky finds himself biting back a smile. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

“Clint,” frat boy says, sticking his hand in the small space between them. Bucky shakes it, and the warm, callused skin makes him notice how icy his own hands have turned. Clint catches his hand before he can pull it back. “You’re freezing,” he says, frowning like he’s actually worried.

“It’s a little cold in here,” Bucky agrees, not sure exactly what to do about Bobbi Morse’s boyfriend holding his hand in the wee hours of the morning.

“I guess gloves would get in the way,” Clint says, taking Bucky’s other hand and wrapping them up in his own. Clint is warm, and Bucky can tell that feeling is already creeping back into his fingertips.

“We have a lot of work to do,” Bucky points out, his voice not quite as commanding as he wanted it to be. Clint hums in agreement, like he’d already forgotten what he sat down to help with, and lets go of Bucky’s hands.

They work well together. Somehow Bucky manages to keep a semi-steady conversation through his sleep deprivation, and Clint doesn’t seem to mind when a particularly tricky part makes them lapse into silence. Bucky fights through the distraction of Clint’s thigh still pressed against his own and gets the rest of the shoulder seam cut through. They switch pieces, Clint working on opening up the sleeve while Bucky separates the other shoulder. It’s comfortable silence, and Bucky’s running on too little sleep to get very panicky about the way Clint’s foot will brush his or the quick glances he keeps shooting him.

They’ve been working for close to two hours when Clint sits back, tugging his jacket off by the sleeves. Bucky surveys their work, noting with surprise that almost all the seam ripping is done.

He feels a sudden weight on his shoulders, freezing up as Clint’s breath tickles the back of his neck.

“What are you doing?” Bucky says flatly.

“I’m giving you my jacket. You keep shivering,” Clint says, like that explains it. Bucky frowns, staring resolutely down at his work and nothing else. He hopes his cheeks aren’t as pink as they feel.

“You’ll get cold,” Bucky points out, because it’s true. Clint’s got nothing more than a worn t-shirt on under the jacket, the collar stretched out in a way that’s a little distracting. Clint just shrugs.

“I run hot. And you’re the talent here, right? Hypothermia can get me first. I’m expendable.”

Bucky doesn’t laugh, finally looking over at Clint and immediately regretting it. It’s a struggle to keep a scornful expression when faced with bright blue puppy dog eyes. Not to mention the shoulders.

“I bet Bobbi doesn’t think so. She’d probably like me to return her boyfriend in one piece.”

Clint blinks once, looking surprised. Surprised, but not guilty. Bucky’s frown deepens.

“I’m not her boyfriend,” Clint says. “I mean, we dated for a while last year but I’m not- I came to get her purse because she had a hot date and didn’t have time to come by. Maybe that makes me kind of a loser, I don’t know. I kind of can’t resist pretty damsels in distress.” Clint laughs a little at himself, then. “Also, Bobbi definitely thinks I’m expendable.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, pulling the jacket tighter around his shoulders. He blinks, Clint’s words slowly worming their way through his sluggish brain. “You think I’m pretty?”

Clint lets out a huff of air, like he was holding his breath as Bucky parsed through the conversation.

“I was hoping that’s what you’d get from that.”

“I am a little tired.”

“Take a break,” Clint says, putting his hand over Bucky’s seam ripper like that would do anything to stop him. “I think I’ve proven I can work without supervision. At least for a little while.”

“I’ll supervise you,” Bucky says, although the salaciousness is lost a little as he yawns hugely. Clint winks at him anyways, his lopsided smile coming back full force. Bucky lets him reach across the table, sliding his work away and into Clint’s space. He crosses his arms on the table, using them as a pillow so he can watch Clint work with minimal physical effort.

“You should volunteer here sometime,” he says, a little entranced by the way Clint’s blunt fingers move almost elegantly. Maybe his sport of choice has a little more finesse than football. Clint shoots him a grin.

“You trying to get more free labor out of me?”

“Oh, you have a price now?”

“The distressed damsel discount is single-use only,” Clint says, smiling down at his work. Bucky falls silent for a moment, biting his lip and enjoying the way that exhaustion has bled all his typical nervousness out of his flirting.

“What’ll it cost me?”

“A date,” Clint says, glancing sideways at Bucky, kind of anxiously. Bucky knew the words before he said them, but his heart still flutters a little now that they’ve been said. Bucky hums like he has to consider it.

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“I would settle for food, too,” Clint says hurriedly. “Or, like, if you had a dog and you let me pet it-”

“If we make it a dinner date, will you volunteer twice?”

“Okay,” Clint pauses, turning to Bucky with a small furrow in his brow. Bucky bites back a smile at how worried he looks. “I was really just trying to be cute with the whole free labor thing. You don’t owe me a date. Or food, or anything. I just want to make sure you know that, because I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.” Bucky snorts, burying his face in his arms to hide his laugh. When he glances back at Clint, there’s a dopey expression on his face. “I would like to go on a date with you, though.”

“Does this count as a date, or volunteering? Who’s tab does this go on?”

“Bucky,” Clint groans, and hearing his name out of Clint’s mouth sets Bucky’s heart hammering again. “You’re stressing me out.”

“I would like to go on a date with you too,” Bucky says, and his face is probably about as dopey as Clint’s is.

“Cool,” Clint says, soft and a little surprised. He turns back to his work with a shy smile. “Cool. Awesome. Cool.” Bucky hides a laugh in his arms again.

“Clint?”

“Yeah?” Clint looks up immediately, his cheeks a little pink.

“I’m going to nap for a little bit.”

>>==========>

Bucky wakes up to sunlight shining directly in his eyes, and Steve shaking his shoulder belligerently. He bats at him uselessly, wincing at the crick in his neck.

“Fuck off, Stevie,” Bucky hisses, grumbling when Steve switches to sharp pokes.

“If you keep doing this, you’re going to have a hunchback by the time you’re thirty. How long have you been sleeping?”

“What time is it?” Bucky asks, petulantly not opening his eyes.

“Eight”

“At night?”

“No, Buck. What the fuck?”

“Oh. Like three hours then.”

“Well, at least you finished those buttonholes you were griping about.”

“What?” Bucky shoots bolt upright, almost falling off the stool in the process. The costume shop is marginally cleaner than it was when he fell asleep, and the jacket is flat on the worktable, the fabric from the former sleeves pressed and lying on top of it. There are other garments on the table, too. The vests Bucky had piled on the end of the table are now next to the jacket, his viciously scribbled ‘needs buttonholes!!!’ note added to in sloppy purple marker.

“I can’t sew a jacket,” Steve reads out loud, giving Bucky a very layered look, “but buttons I can do. Tried to wake you up, but you’re kind of mean when you’re half asleep. You can bring the jacket to our date.” Steve crosses his arms, wrinkling his nose a little. “He also put his phone number and a little heart with an arrow through it.” Bucky feels himself blush, biting back a smile. Steve narrows his eyes at him, doing an impeccable impression of Sarah Rogers moments away from a scolding. “Bucky. Did you give someone a blow job for buttonholes?”

“Not yet.” Bucky grins, feeling a little like he’s floating.

#my fics #winterhawk #buckyclint #claraxbarton #rated: g #but like college g #so there's a bunch of swearing

[mergersacquisitionsadvisory]

Tips On How To Buy A Home In Oregon Coast Shopping

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<h2>Decide Of The Litter Thrift Store</h2>

He stayed as close to humans as he could, in a chilly, shallow bay the place he died of pneumonia at a young age. While vacationing in Lincoln City we discovered a cute little shop that options Rocks.

The workers have been very educated about what was of their store and local options. They have on employees individuals who can establish what you discover on the seashore. The prices had been affordable and the workers have been very friendly. Both Missa and Mike had been enthusiastic, pleasant and very knowledgeable concerning the native rocks on the beaches. Missa gave me a radical but simple to grasp lesson on the different types I may find on the seashore, and one of the best occasions and places to look. She and Mike recognized what I found the next day, and did not bat an eye on the large variety of rocks I brought in--day after day!!

<h3>More Oregon Coast Picks</h3>

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<h3>Clothes And Designs On The Oregon Coast</h3>

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You'll discover over eighty specialty retailers and 12 eateries at this Salem mall positioned simply off of I-5. Stores embody Sears, Macy's, Best Buy, Old Navy, Linens-n-Things, Pier 1 Imports, and Sports Authority.

Newport Liquor Store

Sadly, some properly-meaning idiots figured it might be a good suggestion to try reintegrating a whale that had by no means caught a stay fish into the wild—just like the movie. After bouncing around pods of wild whales and performing like a standoffish weirdo because he didn't perceive their ways, Keiko confirmed up in Norway, offering random children rides on his back.

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<h2>Seaside Principally Hats</h2>

As one of the Seven Wonders of Oregon, the Oregon Coast is full of towering cliffs, sand dunes, sea stacks, mighty waves and evergreen timber. Not to say, the coast is lined with numerous tiny cities, completely positioned to enjoy the Pacific Ocean and all the sweetness and marvel it has to supply.

<ul><li>Cannon Beach’s exceptional specialty outlets, boutiques and galleries are a top attraction in this charming seaside town where you’ll find no buying malls or chain shops in sight.</li><li>You can also hire a dune buggy to adventure through the Oregon Dunes National Recreation Area, which features 40 miles of wind-sculpted sand dunes along the coast.</li><li>During a relaxing stroll by way of our compact village, you would possibly uncover distinctive wines, fashions from regional and international designers and sweets from a fifth-technology candy retailer.</li><li>Situated on the mouth of the Siuslaw River on the coast, Florence is a energetic town with some of the space’s hottest out of doors locations.</li><li>Visitors travel far and wide to explore the Sea Lion Caves, a privately owned wildlife protect frequented by sea lions.</li></ul>

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