#maroon shirt that says “’let the good times bowl’

[silentwillowwhisperer]

Getting a call from Lance while at work was, to say the least, confusing. Keith worked as a cop, mostly doing street patrol and making sure people remained peaceful. Lance never called him at work unless it was an emergency. Which led to the raven-haired man standing inside his home, gazing into his closet. He had been instructed to dress in a comfortable, though nice, set of clothes. Going through his closet led to him choosing a soft, maroon button-up. Rolling the sleeves up some, he fastened it. Black straight pants were next, and the shoes were last. Searching for a pair of black shoes, he ended up throwing all of them out of the closet, eyes roving around for a pair. Lance had, what appeared to be thirty some different pairs that rested in the closet. A half an hour later, and he found a pair. A quick shower refreshed him, dressing up in a pair of sweats and a grey shirt for the time being. Blow-drying his hair was nice, the heat felt good. Combing through it was a bit more difficult, and wrangling it into a nice appearance even more so. He managed it, however. Tying it in a gentle pony-tail, resting at the nape of his neck. A sprit of cologne on his neck and wrists, and he went to the kitchen.

After hunting through the fridge, he pulled a water-bottle out. The cat they had adopted meowed at him from the counter, making Keith chuckle. "Hey Fin, you hungry?" he spoke softly, the house feeling oddly empty without Lance there. Getting the food container from the cabinet, he smiles as the cat rubs against his ankles, recalling fondly how they had found the cat. Fin was a tan and cream-colored cat, having a similar pattern to a cow. Setting the bowl down for Fin, he checked the water. It was still full, meaning Lance had remembered to fill it before he left. Rubbing the back of his neck, he started cleaning up the house. The time Lance had said to be ready was five. It was only four-thirty, meaning he had some time to kill. Cleaning the house wasn't as much as he expected, Lance having left a note inside a couch for him. Reading over it, Keith laughed, his eyes crinkling in amusement at his boyfriends antics.

Keith! I know if your reading this your cleaning! STOP FOR QUIZNACKS SAKE!!! Shower and maybe eat something! Oh and check to see if Fin has any food left too! I love you McMullet!

- Your Beloved Sharpshooter

A giggle escaped him, and Fin meowed questioningly. Keith swore up and down the cat was more human than anything. Letting Fin see it caused the cat to let out a gag, walking away and running up the stairs. Howling laughter escaped him, shoulders shaking. Fin had always done that. A kiss good-bye and he gagged. Any kiss really, caused the cat to act as if it was the worst thing in the world. Setting a timer for 4:50, he flopped on the couch, turning on the TV. It didn't take long for the timer to go off, and he stood up. Walking up the stairs, he admired the pictures on the wall. Memories held within a simple piece of paper. He wouldn't trade them for the world. Several of them were or the other paladins. Shiro laughing, a picture caught just seconds before Lance had tackled him into the lake. Pidge making a face, similar to that a cat would make when they thought their humans where doing something stupid. Hunk caught mid-laugh, pancake batter having splattered on him. Keith smiles, looking over the pictures. This here, this was his family. His gaze landing on one of Allura, standing hunched over, caught with Pidge holding a pillow over their head, ready to smack the princess. Another picture showed Coran, his mustache fried from the electricity that had come off the machine. He snorts, recalling the fond memories. The pictures took up the whole way up the stairs, down the hall. They had put as many pictures as they could, memories caught in a moment. He stopped at a picture of him and Lance, standing at the docks. The dork had shoved him towards the water, and he had grabbed him, dragging him down. The picture showed Keith, his face twisted in surprise, his eyes wide, and Lance, laughing as the two fell towards the water. He chuckled, feeling a sense of fondness wash over him. 

Walking into the bedroom, Fin meowed pointedly, and Keith looked over at the cat, raising an eyebrow. The cat sat near his clothes, watching as Keith went about getting ready. Looking at himself, he wondered if he should've chosen blue, but already knew the answer. Lance was a sucker for him in blue, but when he dressed in darker reds, the blue paladin had difficulty talking, let alone flirting with him. He smiles, then grabs a black flat jacket. Going back down the stairs, he sighed, settling onto the couch. Waiting for Lance's next instructions wasn't as fun as he had hoped. 

The doorbell rang, and he stood up, his eyebrows going up. As far as he knew, they didn't have any packages delivered today, and he couldn't recall anyone saying they were going to come over. Opening the door, his eyes widened. Shiro stood there, dressed in a simple tuxedo that he'd had for years. Smiling at Keith, he spoke. "Well, Lance sent me. You ready?" Keith stuttered, then frowned, "Lance sent you for what?" Shiro's laugh echoed into the house, so simple yet Keith's mind screamed that his brother was here. It had been months since the last time they'd seen each other, since the last time they'd all hung out. "For your ride, of course!" Shiro's smile was wide, and clued Keith in that he knew something about what was going on. However, he didn't ask, just wrapped him in a hug. Shiro hugged back, letting his arms settle around Keith. Walking to the car they both talked, telling each other of the last few months. The drive there was nice, the two of them talking with music playing in the background. By the time they made it to their destination, Keith was all but bouncing in his seat, anxiety starting to fill his chest. 

"Hey, Keith. Don't worry too much about tonight, alright? Things will be okay." Shiro's smile was nice, a broad set. The twinkle in his eyes was there too. Keith let himself relax in his seat, nerves still feeling frayed but much more relaxed. Arriving to the area took Keith's breath away.

The trees stood tall, and he could catch a glimpse of a river. Several picnic tables where there as well. But Shiro drove past them, heading deeper into the park. It easily took another half an hour of driving, but it was worth it. Arriving at a little meadow in the woods, Keith stepped out. It was dark at this point, fairy lights strewn across the area. It would have easily taken hours of setting up, the lights going back and forth above them. It lit the area beautifully, and Keith couldn't help but laugh softly. "Keith, follow the blue lights. I'll see you later." Shiro whispered, mildly startling him. A hug farewell, and Keith turned back around. Finding the blue light was a simple task, but took a bit to find out where it went. Following it onto a trail, he grinned. The trail had been walked through recently, broken twigs cleared from the path. 

Several minutes of following the lights, and Keith ended up entering another clearing, lights again strewn throughout the area. The blue lights his hand had been touching change to red, and a moment of looking lead him to another path. Following the path, it steered sharply downhill. His feet skid slightly a couple times, but he made it to the end without falling. Turning around a corner left him gapping. The area was well lit by a mix of fairy lights, glowing flowers, and candles. Lance stood by a table, looking nervously at his watch. Walking up soundlessly, Keith wrapped his arms around him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder gently. Lance startled, but relaxed quickly, turning and smiling at Keith. His mouth dropped. the dark red standing so beautifully against his pale skin. The hair that wouldn't go into the ponytail framed Keith's face, dark violet eyes watching him. Lance's breath stuttered, but his lips curled into a smile. 

Lance himself was dressed neatly. Grey slacks, black shoes, a simple blue button up with a grey jacket. It still did wonders against his skin, the grey bringing out his eyes and the blue accenting his skin. Taking Keith's hand, pulling him close, both relished the moment. It didn't last too long, however, as Lance pulled away gently. "Mi amor, why do you always look so devishly handsome?" Keith chuckles, letting their laced hands twin together more firmly. "To make you gap. It works, does it not?" he muffles a snicker as Lance snaps his mouth shut, face flushing a bit more. Lance shakes his head lightly, laughing softly. Guiding Keith over to the table, pulling his chair out. Keith smiles at him, giving Lance a small, soft kiss. He was thankful he had remembered to moisturize his lips, the soft press pleasant. Settling into the chair, he let Lance push his chair closer to the table. Words caught in his throat, and he fought down a brief wave of tears. Lance's hand touching his brought him out of his thoughts. Blue eyes observed his own, watching him carefully. Content with what he found, Lance laced their hands more thoroughly, thankful he could eat fluently with both hands. "So, is this what you've been doing today?" Keith almost whispers, the soft music is the air, the atmosphere, he didn't want to break it. Lance smiles, melting Keith's heart. "Yeah, I had some help though. Can't take all the credit." his grin was contagious, Keith's own mouth grinning in response. Blue met violet, and they held eye contact. It was like someone had cloaked them in their own little world, away from the rest of the universe. Their breathes unconsciously matching each other, hands tightening around the others. The song changed again, but the two of them didn't notice. Lance was the first to move, sucking in air lightly, pulling back slightly to get out of his chair. Their hands never left each other’s. Pulling Keith from his chair, he guided them over to the platform. 

The water glistened from the lights, shining around them. The flowers glowed brighter as the two began to slow dance. Lance hums softly, pulling Keith up against him. Holding him there, he laced his fingers more thoroughly with Keith's. It was such a simple movement, yet to the two of them it meant the world. Silent communication was key when they were paladins, and they still used it. A simple shift, a tentative touch. So simple, yet it meant so much to them. Dancing seemed like mere minutes, and yet hours in the same way. In reality, the two easily danced for two hours, the songs melding into one another, letting the dancers get lost within each other. Twirling Keith around, he pulled him back into his arms. "Close your eyes, mi hermosa mariposa." Lance spoke so softly, his lips right by Keith's ear. The warmth of his breath caused a shiver to go through him, the nickname Lance used settling against his mind. Closing his eyes, he felt him move away. Not far, though, as the warmth in the air was still there. "You can open now, mi pequeño gatito." Keith snorts softly, knowing a little bit of Spanish had been helpful. Opening his eyes, his breath was torn from his lips. 

Lance was knelt on one knee, blue eyes gazing into Keith's. A smile splayed on his lips, and he opens a box within his hand. The ring inside was fairly simple, yet beautiful at the same time. The breath refused to move from his lungs, and he stood frozen there, tears brimming in his eyes, yet refusing to fall out.

“I know we’ve only been dating for maybe two years, but I’ve loved you through all of them. I loved you before we started dating, before I fully understood what I felt. Your beauty, your grace. You in your entirety caught my eye. I know I used to always flirt, with whomever came around. But you where different. You….. I couldn’t lose you. I couldn’t stand the thought of messing up and the one person who made me feel alive, leaving. I was so scared, losing you just…. It could never happen. I wouldn’t allow it to.” Lance sucked in some air gently, breathing slowly. Keith could feel his lip wobble slightly. “It’s why Pidge forced my hand. Why we ended up in the closet. Why she placed truth blooms in there. Their the reason we told each other. And I cannot ever thank them enough. I wouldn’t have gotten you without them. You, Kogane, mean so much to me. I thought we had lost you when Red stopped attacking the Marmora base. Hunk had to restrain me from rushing in. When you came back with Shiro, I was so relieved. I don’t ever want to feel that again, ever. Since that day, in the closet, we���ve grown closer. Im so happy you’ve let me into your heart, pequeño ninja. I would be so lost without you, lost in an ocean that I would never make it out off.” Lance exhales softly, gazing at Keith lovingly. “Keith Yurak Kogane, will you remain by my side forever?” Keith’s tears spilled over, rushing down him face. Lance’s eyes were worried, watching the other carefully. It didn’t matter though, as Keith yanked Lance to his feet, crushing him in a kiss. Lance held him gently, running a hand soothingly down his back. Breaking away breathelessly, Keith nodded. Slipping the ring onto his hand, Lance took it and kissed the back of it, letting Keith lean heavily against him. “Nunca te dejaré ir, mi valiente gatito.”

They both fell into the bed, changed into pajamas. Lance combed fingers through Keith’s hair, humming a lullaby. He never thought it would go the way things went. Although he drove Keith straight home instead of the intended area, which was Pidge’s home, he couldn’t help but smile. Texting the others to let them know things went well, thanking them for helping him set things up. It was quite, at first. Then everyone seemed to text back at once, letting him know that it was no problem and that they would do it any day. When provoked by Pidge as to what caused them to go straight home, he just answered by telling them Keith was tired and work had been rough. Plugging in his phone, he rolled over to press closer to Keith. It was a simple movement, but Keith, half conscious, rolled closer as well. His breath fanned across Lance’s neck. Arm thrown over the others body. “Te quiero. Muchísimo. No quiero que me dejes nunca, cariño. Significas mucho para mí. Sé que no puedes entender lo que digo ahora, y que el sueño te está quitando el conocimiento. Pero que sepas siempre que te quiero, y que siempre lucharé por tenerte a mi lado. Buenas noches, cariño mío.”

Here's some Klance fluff I wrote yesterday! ^.^

btw your really cool!

Awwwwwwww so cute! I didn't have time to read this in the morning, but as soon as I realized it was a fic I started giggling maniacally.

This is so cute!!!!!!!!! Thank you for the fluff, it made my day.

And thank you, you're so cool too!

#asks <3 #thanks for the ask! #tawny post #but not really #more like a guest post #links tag

[links-writing]

Fairy Lights

Getting a call from Lance while at work was, to say the least, confusing. Keith worked as a cop, mostly doing street patrol and making sure people remained peaceful. Lance never called him at work unless it was an emergency. Which led to the raven-haired man standing inside his home, gazing into his closet. He had been instructed to dress in a comfortable, though nice, set of clothes. Going through his closet led to him choosing a soft, maroon button-up. Rolling the sleeves up some, he fastened it. Black straight pants were next, and the shoes were last. Searching for a pair of black shoes, he ended up throwing all of them out of the closet, eyes roving around for a pair. Lance had, what appeared to be thirty some different pairs that rested in the closet. A half an hour later, and he found a pair. A quick shower refreshed him, dressing up in a pair of sweats and a grey shirt for the time being. Blow-drying his hair was nice, the heat felt good. Combing through it was a bit more difficult, and wrangling it into a nice appearance even more so. He managed it, however. Tying it in a gentle pony-tail, resting at the nape of his neck. A sprit of cologne on his neck and wrists, and he went to the kitchen.

After hunting through the fridge, he pulled a water-bottle out. The cat they had adopted meowed at him from the counter, making Keith chuckle. "Hey Fin, you hungry?" he spoke softly, the house feeling oddly empty without Lance there. Getting the food container from the cabinet, he smiles as the cat rubs against his ankles, recalling fondly how they had found the cat. Fin was a tan and cream-colored cat, having a similar pattern to a cow. Setting the bowl down for Fin, he checked the water. It was still full, meaning Lance had remembered to fill it before he left. Rubbing the back of his neck, he started cleaning up the house. The time Lance had said to be ready was five. It was only four-thirty, meaning he had some time to kill. Cleaning the house wasn't as much as he expected, Lance having left a note inside a couch for him. Reading over it, Keith laughed, his eyes crinkling in amusement at his boyfriends antics.

Keith! I know if your reading this your cleaning! STOP FOR QUIZNACKS SAKE!!! Shower and maybe eat something! Oh and check to see if Fin has any food left too! I love you McMullet!

- Your Beloved Sharpshooter

A giggle escaped him, and Fin meowed questioningly. Keith swore up and down the cat was more human than anything. Letting Fin see it caused the cat to let out a gag, walking away and running up the stairs. Howling laughter escaped him, shoulders shaking. Fin had always done that. A kiss good-bye and he gagged. Any kiss really, caused the cat to act as if it was the worst thing in the world. Setting a timer for 4:50, he flopped on the couch, turning on the TV. It didn't take long for the timer to go off, and he stood up.

Walking up the stairs, he admired the pictures on the wall. Memories held within a simple piece of paper. He wouldn't trade them for the world. Several of them were or the other paladins. Shiro laughing, a picture caught just seconds before Lance had tackled him into the lake. Pidge making a face, similar to that a cat would make when they thought their humans where doing something stupid. Hunk caught mid-laugh, pancake batter having splattered on him. Keith smiles, looking over the pictures. This here, this was his family. His gaze landing on one of Allura, standing hunched over, caught with Pidge holding a pillow over their head, ready to smack the princess. Another picture showed Coran, his mustache fried from the electricity that had come off the machine.

He snorts, recalling the fond memories. The pictures took up the whole way up the stairs, down the hall. They had put as many pictures as they could, memories caught in a moment. He stopped at a picture of him and Lance, standing at the docks. The dork had shoved him towards the water, and he had grabbed him, dragging him down. The picture showed Keith, his face twisted in surprise, his eyes wide, and Lance, laughing as the two fell towards the water. He chuckled, feeling a sense of fondness wash over him. 

Walking into the bedroom, Fin meowed pointedly, and Keith looked over at the cat, raising an eyebrow. The cat sat near his clothes, watching as Keith went about getting ready. Looking at himself, he wondered if he should've chosen blue, but already knew the answer. Lance was a sucker for him in blue, but when he dressed in darker reds, the blue paladin had difficulty talking, let alone flirting with him. He smiles, then grabs a black flat jacket. Going back down the stairs, he sighed, settling onto the couch. Waiting for Lance's next instructions wasn't as fun as he had hoped. 

The doorbell rang, and he stood up, his eyebrows going up. As far as he knew, they didn't have any packages delivered today, and he couldn't recall anyone saying they were going to come over. Opening the door, his eyes widened. Shiro stood there, dressed in a simple tuxedo that he'd had for years. Smiling at Keith, he spoke. "Well, Lance sent me. You ready?" Keith stuttered, then frowned, "Lance sent you for what?" Shiro's laugh echoed into the house, so simple yet Keith's mind screamed that his brother was here. It had been months since the last time they'd seen each other, since the last time they'd all hung out.

"For your ride, of course!" Shiro's smile was wide, and clued Keith in that he knew something about what was going on. However, he didn't ask, just wrapped him in a hug. Shiro hugged back, letting his arms settle around Keith. Walking to the car they both talked, telling each other of the last few months. The drive there was nice, the two of them talking with music playing in the background. By the time they made it to their destination, Keith was all but bouncing in his seat, anxiety starting to fill his chest. 

"Hey, Keith. Don't worry too much about tonight, alright? Things will be okay." Shiro's smile was nice, a broad set. The twinkle in his eyes was there too. Keith let himself relax in his seat, nerves still feeling frayed but much more relaxed. Arriving to the area took Keith's breath away.

The trees stood tall, and he could catch a glimpse of a river. Several picnic tables where there as well. But Shiro drove past them, heading deeper into the park. It easily took another half an hour of driving, but it was worth it. Arriving at a little meadow in the woods, Keith stepped out. It was dark at this point, fairy lights strewn across the area.

It would have easily taken hours of setting up, the lights going back and forth above them. It lit the area beautifully, and Keith couldn't help but laugh softly. "Keith, follow the blue lights. I'll see you later." Shiro whispered, mildly startling him. A hug farewell, and Keith turned back around. Finding the blue light was a simple task, but took a bit to find out where it went. Following it onto a trail, he grinned. The trail had been walked through recently, broken twigs cleared from the path. 

Several minutes of following the lights, and Keith ended up entering another clearing, lights again strewn throughout the area. The blue lights his hand had been touching change to red, and a moment of looking lead him to another path. Following the path, it steered sharply downhill. His feet skid slightly a couple times, but he made it to the end without falling. Turning around a corner left him gapping.

The area was well lit by a mix of fairy lights, glowing flowers, and candles. Lance stood by a table, looking nervously at his watch. Walking up soundlessly, Keith wrapped his arms around him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder gently. Lance startled, but relaxed quickly, turning and smiling at Keith. His mouth dropped. the dark red standing so beautifully against his pale skin. The hair that wouldn't go into the ponytail framed Keith's face, dark violet eyes watching him. Lance's breath stuttered, but his lips curled into a smile. 

Lance himself was dressed neatly. Grey slacks, black shoes, a simple blue button up with a grey jacket. It still did wonders against his skin, the grey bringing out his eyes and the blue accenting his skin. Taking Keith's hand, pulling him close, both relished the moment. It didn't last too long, however, as Lance pulled away gently. "Mi amor, why do you always look so devishly handsome?" Keith chuckles, letting their laced hands twin together more firmly. "To make you gap. It works, does it not?" he muffles a snicker as Lance snaps his mouth shut, face flushing a bit more. Lance shakes his head lightly, laughing softly.

Guiding Keith over to the table, pulling his chair out. Keith smiles at him, giving Lance a small, soft kiss. He was thankful he had remembered to moisturize his lips, the soft press pleasant. Settling into the chair, he let Lance push his chair closer to the table. Words caught in his throat, and he fought down a brief wave of tears. Lance's hand touching his brought him out of his thoughts. Blue eyes observed his own, watching him carefully. Content with what he found, Lance laced their hands more thoroughly, thankful he could eat fluently with both hands.

"So, is this what you've been doing today?" Keith almost whispers, the soft music is the air, the atmosphere, he didn't want to break it. Lance smiles, melting Keith's heart. "Yeah, I had some help though. Can't take all the credit." his grin was contagious, Keith's own mouth grinning in response. Blue met violet, and they held eye contact. It was like someone had cloaked them in their own little world, away from the rest of the universe.

Their breathes unconsciously matching each other, hands tightening around the others. The song changed again, but the two of them didn't notice. Lance was the first to move, sucking in air lightly, pulling back slightly to get out of his chair. Their hands never left each other’s. Pulling Keith from his chair, he guided them over to the platform. 

The water glistened from the lights, shining around them. The flowers glowed brighter as the two began to slow dance. Lance hums softly, pulling Keith up against him. Holding him there, he laced his fingers more thoroughly with Keith's. It was such a simple movement, yet to the two of them it meant the world. Silent communication was key when they were paladins, and they still used it. A simple shift, a tentative touch. So simple, yet it meant so much to them.

Dancing seemed like mere minutes, and yet hours in the same way. In reality, the two easily danced for two hours, the songs melding into one another, letting the dancers get lost within each other. Twirling Keith around, he pulled him back into his arms. "Close your eyes, mi hermosa mariposa." Lance spoke so softly, his lips right by Keith's ear. The warmth of his breath caused a shiver to go through him, the nickname Lance used settling against his mind.

Closing his eyes, he felt him move away. Not far, though, as the warmth in the air was still there. "You can open now, mi pequeño gatito." Keith snorts softly, knowing a little bit of Spanish had been helpful. Opening his eyes, his breath was torn from his lips. 

Lance was knelt on one knee, blue eyes gazing into Keith's. A smile splayed on his lips, and he opens a box within his hand. The ring inside was fairly simple, yet beautiful at the same time. The breath refused to move from his lungs, and he stood frozen there, tears brimming in his eyes, yet refusing to fall out.

“I know we’ve only been dating for maybe two years, but I’ve loved you through all of them. I loved you before we started dating, before I fully understood what I felt. Your beauty, your grace. You in your entirety caught my eye. I know I used to always flirt, with whomever came around. But you where different. You….. I couldn’t lose you. I couldn’t stand the thought of messing up and the one person who made me feel alive, leaving. I was so scared, losing you just…. It could never happen. I wouldn’t allow it to.” Lance sucked in some air gently, breathing slowly. Keith could feel his lip wobble slightly.

“It’s why Pidge forced my hand. Why we ended up in the closet. Why she placed truth blooms in there. Their the reason we told each other. And I cannot ever thank them enough. I wouldn’t have gotten you without them. You, Kogane, mean so much to me. I thought we had lost you when Red stopped attacking the Marmora base. Hunk had to restrain me from rushing in. When you came back with Shiro, I was so relieved. I don’t ever want to feel that again, ever. Since that day, in the closet, we’ve grown closer. Im so happy you’ve let me into your heart, pequeño ninja. I would be so lost without you, lost in an ocean that I would never make it out off.”

Lance exhales softly, gazing at Keith lovingly. “Keith Yurak Kogane, will you remain by my side forever?” Keith’s tears spilled over, rushing down him face. Lance’s eyes were worried, watching the other carefully. It didn’t matter though, as Keith yanked Lance to his feet, crushing him in a kiss.

Lance held him gently, running a hand soothingly down his back. Breaking away breathelessly, Keith nodded. Slipping the ring onto his hand, Lance took it and kissed the back of it, letting Keith lean heavily against him. “Nunca te dejaré ir, mi valiente gatito.”

They both fell into the bed, changed into pajamas. Lance combed fingers through Keith’s hair, humming a lullaby. He never thought it would go the way things went. Although he drove Keith straight home instead of the intended area, which was Pidge’s home, he couldn’t help but smile.

Texting the others to let them know things went well, thanking them for helping him set things up. It was quite, at first. Then everyone seemed to text back at once, letting him know that it was no problem and that they would do it any day. When provoked by Pidge as to what caused them to go straight home, he just answered by telling them Keith was tired and work had been rough.

Plugging in his phone, he rolled over to press closer to Keith. It was a simple movement, but Keith, half conscious, rolled closer as well. His breath fanned across Lance’s neck. Arm thrown over the others body. “Te quiero. Muchísimo. No quiero que me dejes nunca, cariño. Significas mucho para mí. Sé que no puedes entender lo que digo ahora, y que el sueño te está quitando el conocimiento. Pero que sepas siempre que te quiero, y que siempre lucharé por tenerte a mi lado. Buenas noches, cariño mío.”

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

There's the link to it! If I need to add tags don't hesitate to reach out! Let me know what y'all think! Have a great timezone!

#keith kogane #keith voltron #klance #keith x lance #klance fluff #voltron fluff #voltron keith #voltron lance #its a proposal #lance is like twenty in this #keiths like twently two

[junisfics]

All This Time — Armin Arlert (4)

series masterlist

Pairing: Armin Arlert x Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Series Summary: Reader messages her best friend Armin late one night while she's drunk and needy, but will she remember the things she said to him in the morning, and if she does... will she regret it?

Party Summary: The morning after causes a temporary scare, but once Armin realizes he actually has you… he refuses to stay away

Content: Fluff, Smut / Nsfw 18 +

Content Warnings: Unprotected Sex, Very Slight Choking, Creampie (No Breeding)

You awake with an arm wrapped around your waist, and it’s not yours. It’s Armin’s, and this time you know it’s his, you know that body that’s pressed up against your back and you know the legs that are intertwined with yours.

He’s warm against you, and there’s an overwhelming feeling that washes over you that you can only describe as content.

You could hear him softly breathing, his face nestled into the back crook of your neck. His left arm is draped over your waist and snaked under your shirt so his palm rests against your stomach. His other arm must be curled up between the two of you because it’s nowhere in your sight. 

You don’t feel the need to move for quite some time, just laying with him with your eyes closed and face nuzzling into the pillow. You feel his chest rise and fall steadily behind you, and you try and match your breaths to his. But Armin’s are too slow, too even, and you can’t do it.

You savor his warmth and his touch for a while longer before growing apt for food and water. So, when the sun just begins to set down the horizon, you slip out of his arms, out of your bed, and bring yourself to the floor and towards the kitchen.

You estimate that the two of you laid there for at least a few hours given the sight of dusk. Armin came over in the early afternoon and depending on how long… that… lasted determines how long the two of you slept. 

You try your best to remain quiet as you shuffle about the kitchen, getting yourself a glass of water and opening the pantry for cleaning supplies to attempt to clean the mess of baking goods you had spilled about the floor earlier.

You smile at the domesticity of the whole thing. Armin’s been in your home before, he’s been in your room before and he’s had dinner with you before; but it was all different now. It felt better like this, him sleeping in your bed as a lover as you clean the kitchen.

Armin felt like home, is what you realize. That him being here, was him fitting himself in as the final piece of the puzzle. His little puzzle piece was always there, it was always existent, but somehow it had found itself lost under the table and tucked away in a corner. You’d been the one to drop it, but Armin had been the one who had placed himself in a place where he’d be unable to find.

But you found Armin’s little puzzle piece, and you slipped him right into the spot where he was missing. And you were finally able to see the bigger picture: that he always belonged there, and that no matter how many other pieces you tried, they wouldn’t be able to fill the spot as he does.

Armin awoke alone in your bed, and it took him a few moments to realize it was so. And as he was blinking his eyes open and processing why he was in your bed, he realized that he was the sole being in it. His heart sunk upon recognition, all the way into his stomach, and he was temporarily panicked in thinking that you’ve left him once again.

His spirits perk up a little when he hears faint clattering around from outside your room. So, Armin slides out from beneath your sheets and makes his way over to your bedroom door to peek out of the crack in it.

He can’t see much, but he can see you traveling in and out of his frame of vision. You seemed to be gathering things, followed by putting things away, and ever so often he could hear the running water of the sink.

Armin pulls back the door to leave your room, trying to remain quiet to prevent himself from scaring you. Once he steps out, he can make out what you’re truly doing. You’re cleaning your mess from earlier; the floor already seems to have been wiped clean of any sugar or flour residue, and you were continuing to file away jars while keeping others out. You had also pulled out a new bowl.

You were trying again.

Armin smiles to himself as he quietly makes his way over to you. You nimbly moved things around, so focused and precise with what you were doing. You slinked around the kitchen so skillfully that Armin could almost chuckle at the contrast it was compared to yesterday when you were stumbling around.

His heart pitter-patter’s around in his chest when he realizes you’re still wearing what he gave you earlier: his computer sciences club tee-shirt from highschool and cute little maroon panties that hugged the curves of your backside so well.

That was his now… you were his.

And, yes, it was partially the fact that you were prancing around half-dressed that got him hard again, but more so was the fact that you were doing so as his. His girl was comfortable enough to be walking around half-naked in her kitchen while he was home with her.

You didn’t kick him out this time, you didn’t change into something more presentable, because there wasn’t anything to be worried about. He didn’t put a shirt on because there was nothing for him to be worried about.

There was no awkward stage between the two of you. You’ve known each other and have loved each other for as long as either of you could remember, the only difference now was the fact that you’ve revealed it.

You were comfortable enough in this intimacy to be willing to be physically vulnerable with him. And Armin couldn’t get enough of it.

“What are you making?” He asks, making his presence known to you.

You turn to look up at him, keeping your hands on the silver bowl in front of you. You give him a sweet smile, looking down at the task at hand before looking back up.

“Dessert,” You shy away from him, turning back down to the bowl.

“Same thing as yesterday?” He asks, stepping to the other side of the kitchen island from you. 

He watches you intently, looking at the way your fingers curl around the side of the bowl and the wooden spoon. He looks over the array of baking goods you’ve kept out and pulled together, then he looks at your face; your tongue between your teeth as your stir.

“Maybe,” You let out a little laugh, feeling heat come to your face.

You were both standing in front of each other, making a cake, half-dressed, after you had just woken up from a post-fuck nap. You were smiling like an idiot, Armin’s face turning pink, as you both ignore the obvious flirtatious tension that’s beginning to form.

“I could have helped you clean up your mess, you know. It’s why I came over in the first place.” He says, occupying himself by straightening out the jars into a line.

You nod, “I know, but… I created the mess, so I should’ve been the one to fix it.”

Armin knows you aren’t just talking about baking, you’re referencing earlier. He can tell you feel bad about it, but he doesn’t need to hear an apology from you again, he never needed an apology in the first place.

“Okay,” He says softly, giving you a sympathetic smile and ending the conversation there. 

He doesn’t want to argue with you anymore, even if it’s not even arguing, he truly doesn’t want to dwell on things that are already solved. He knows that you know how he feels, and he knows how you feel, and he doesn’t feel the need to talk about it anymore if both of you know the truth.

You’re a team now.

“Do you want to help me with this instead?” You ask, looking up from the bowl and across the island to him.

He nods without verbally answering you, his eyes and face soften and you can see the muscles in his chest relax as well. His cheeks and neck are still flushed a pretty pink, and his body’s warm as he makes his way around the counter and beside you. He takes the spoon in his right hand, his bare chest pressing against the right side of your back as he reaches around you.

You can feel his head hovering above your right shoulder, his cheek just barely pressing against your temple. And although his whole body isn’t pressed against you, you can feel the presence of it behind you. 

Armin Arlert was flirting with you, and you were loving every second of it. 

Who knew he could get like this? He was so painfully subtle, but so obvious with it at the same time, he was playing innocent but somehow still exuding confidence. It was so incredibly attractive.

There was no need for him to be toying with you or trying to win you over, he’s had a claim on you, whether he was aware of it or not, since junior year. But he was doing it anyway like he was making up for all the times he wasn’t able to do so before.

You hope he can’t feel your body heating up in front of him or see the girlish smile that’s teasing at your lips due to his flirtatious intentions. You couldn’t help the giggle that bubbles around in your chest, threatening to escape. It just felt so different now, it was so much more intense now that he knew what he was doing.

You could feel yourself getting weak in the knees as he takes the spoon from your hand, remaining behind you as he stirs, his presence heavy. His left hand comes to your hip, remaining on top of the tee-shirt.

“I’ll always be here to help you, you know that right? In every way.” He says quietly, lips brushing against your ear as he speaks.

“I know,” You mumble, tilting your head to make contact with his cheek, and sinking into his touch. Your tensed muscles relax as you let your back rest against his chest.

You could stay like this forever, just with him, finally able to be with each other in the way both of you have always wanted. You don’t need to make anything official, you both already know, last night made whatever you two had official enough. 

You liked being like this. It felt true and real and raw, and you couldn’t ask for anything more. You were in your kitchen, in your home, with your lover, making a cake at dusk. It was liberating, exhilarating, and had your entire body feeling like it was floating.

You almost giggle when Armin hands you the spoon back, releasing it so he can fully stand behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, clinging to your torso like a little puppy. He turns his head and leans down slightly to rest his cheek between your shoulder blades. He lets out a deep exhale as he does so, him now being the one to settle into your warmth.

He stays latched onto you while trying your best to continue pouring in ingredients, arms around your torso, and hands fiddling with your tee-shirt. You’re quite productive for a while aside from the occasional bulky awkwardness of his arms around you while you’re trying to move around. But He moves accordingly to make sure he’s not in your way, sometimes he’ll detach an arm from you to move something out of your way or organize something.

How deprived he must have been from your touch if he’s one to latch on like this. He could have always asked you to be close, even in the past when neither of you knew what you wanted from each other, you would have still shown him the affection he needed from you… you wish he would have asked. Maybe you would have told each other the truth quite sooner if you had decided to settle for the physical intimacy.

Armin doesn’t care anymore. He’s forgotten all about the time he’s had where you were just at his fingertips, staying out of his grasp. He now lives, his conscious is steady in the now; where you’re in his arms. All he knows is that you’re in his reach, and you’re letting him pull you in, and he wants you closer, and closer, and closer.

His body is flush against yours, now preventing you from any progressive or purposeful movements. And his hands have slipped themselves underneath the tee-shirt, feeling up and tracing over the smooth skin of the upper sides of your thighs before coming above the fabric and holding your waist.

He just wants to feel all of you all at once, like he had a quarter of the day ago. But it wasn’t just the sexual aspect, he didn’t care for that. It was a plus, yes, but what he really wanted was the vulnerability and intimacy of it. He had no desire for the pleasure that came with or the satisfaction. He just wanted you, and he wanted all of you… with him. Whatever came with it was just a bonus.

His hands slide over the soft skin of your stomach, squeezing the plush flesh on occasion. He can feel the way you shiver in response; the little trembles he pulls from your body with his gentle touch. He can feel your goosebumps prickling against the soft skin of his hands and forearms as they continue brushing against your body.

You can feel his hips grinding against the meat of your ass, not intentionally looking for pleasure, you can tell he just wants closer. It was like he was trying to melt into you, two bodies becoming one. 

“Already?” You tease with a light giggle, setting down whatever occupied your hands to brace yourself against the counter.

He was hard against you, cock already throbbing and desperate for more. He’s never wished so before, but now he truly wishes didn’t have a dick… it always made things sexual when they didn’t need to be.

“Sorry — can’t help it,” He mumbles, pulling his head up so he can nuzzle his face into your neck, pressing kisses to the fragile skin before tucking his head into the crook of it.

He continued to feel over your body sensually, palms sliding over your stomach, your thighs, occasionally retreating between the two of you to squeeze the flesh of your ass before returning to your front to play with the waistband of your panties. The ones he picked out for you.

His touching had you already embarrassingly weak in the knees, all wobbly and unsteady as you latched your hands onto the edge of the counter for some kind of support. The task at hand was completely discarded, as you were focusing all your energy on keeping upright. 

Heat was swirling around in your stomach, pooling between your thighs as you feel Armin’s cock grinding against your ass. His lips were back on your neck, pressing soft kisses below your ear as he was mumbling something that sounded like ‘I love you’. 

And you could only return the admission. Tiny whispered ‘I love you’s escape your lips as you needily push back against his hips, aiding his lazy grinding.

He wasn’t trying to ask for anything more from you, he was satisfied with his feeling over your body and the little kisses on your neck. But you were giving him more, you were feeding into his desire

His teeth are nipping at your neck now and his hands have pushed the fabric of your shirt up past your hips. You’re softly moaning at the feeling of his cock brushing up against your barely clothed cunt and your eyes have fallen shut with your head rested back onto his shoulder.

And when his hands play with the hem of your panties from behind, fingers tickling the fat of your ass as he tries to pull the fabric aside to rut his still clothed hard-on right against your dripping cunt, you only aid his growing desire.

“Need you inside,” You breathe, reaching behind you grip his hip, feeling around only for a moment for his waistband before pushing it down his thighs, “Now.”

Armin grows hasty at your plea, suddenly getting knocked out of his lazy state of just wanting to feel your skin and into another mindset where he just wants to fill you. He wants to give you whatever you want, he wants to help you… in every way.

He takes his hands off of you only to push his sweats and boxers down his legs, just enough to for his cock to slap up against his stomach. And you’re already going to work at your undergarments, grabbing ahold of the inner hem of your panties from behind and tugging them aside to expose yourself to him. 

Armin doesn’t hesitate to grab ahold of the base of his cock, the other hand gripping your waist tightly as he slides the head of his dick through your cunt.

“You’re — you’re so wet,” He mumbles, getting lost in the way your slick coats his dick so nicely. He’s in awe that your arousal is due to his doing.

“Can’t help it,” You whimper, mirroring his earlier words and rutting back against him, desperate for his cock to slip inside you.

Armin pushes inside you steadily, with a low groan leaving his lips as he does so. Both of your bodies tremble and you can feel your arms shake beneath your weight. His fingers press into your hips, gripping them tightly as his head falls back onto his shoulders. His eyes squeeze shut as his jaw falls open, trying to prevent himself from prematurely cumming again.

How much change a few days and some honesty can bring a relationship. Your intimacy in the past was limited to lengthy hugs, cheek kisses, and falling asleep on each other while watching movies. And now you were letting him take you from behind, over your kitchen counter… raw. 

“God, Armin, you’re so big,” You cry, grinding yourself against his hips in a desperate attempt to adjust to this angle. You swear you could feel him in your stomach, literally shifting around your fucking organs.

He pulls out slow, shutting his mouth and taking his bottom lip between his teeth, furrowing his brows and exhaling through his nose. He tilts his chin down to his chest, cracking his eyes open just enough to be able to see the way your cunt stretches around his cock and clenches around the length of him.

You were slicking him up so nicely and enabling his dick to slide back into you so smoothly that it has a moan ripping from both of your throats. You fall down to your elbows, for your arms are no longer able to hold you up the way you need them to and splay your palms across the counter.

He opted for a steady pace once more, fucking you slow and long over quick and shallow. He loves the way you squirm when he reaches his hilt, unable to take his cock so deep, and the way you mewl out in the painful pleasure it brings.

But he wanted to take his time as well. He wants to cherish this sexual intimacy; take it whenever and however he wants it now that it’s his.

“Fuck — do you like it like this, from behind?” His voice strains as he leans over your body, his bare chest pressing against your back and his lips back against your ear. 

He’s warm, overpowering, and for a moment, you feel small both mentally and physically. His words hit you like a train, and you're sent melting once more, cunt squeezing his cock again while tremors wrack through your body.

It wasn't dirty talk, but it was talking. It was confident talking with lewd undertones, from Armin of all people. And it had your entire body lit on fire. You were subconsciously rocking back against his hips, trying to get him deeper and trying to pull more of anything from him.

“Yeah?” He asks again, murmuring against your skin and sending goosebumps across your flesh.

“Mhm,” You nod, barely able to pick your head up.

“I can feel it, you know, when you get tighter,” He seethes, pulling out but filling you again with a little more force.

It sends your front knocking against the counter and your arms reaching out in front of you, blinding searching for something to grab onto. But it only causes your forearms and elbows to bump into jars and bowls, spreading them across the counter.

You can't stop the choked-out moans from escaping, even though you've taken your lip between your teeth in an attempt to muffle them. 

“Fuck — you feel so good,” His right-hand reaches around your front, sliding up your stomach until it reaches your right breast. He squeezes it softly, using his thumb and forefinger to pinch at the nipple.

You gasp at the sensation, jerking upright, your back hitting his chest and hands coming back up with you to hold you up. It sends your whole body buzzing in reaction, the final drop of water that sends everything spilling over.

“Armin, fuck fuck fuck,” You choke, left hand flying back to his hips.

He’s going harder, deeper, and you swear you feel the head of his cock bumping against your cervix. It hurts, hurts so fucking good. And he doesn’t let up, but you don't want him to.

Then, the hand on your breast continues up your shirt, over your heaving chest until it rests at the base of your neck. It doesn’t squeeze, he doesn't go higher to grab your throat, he just holds the area where your chest meets your neck. 

“I — I’m gonna cum,” You stutter, nails etching into the skin of his hips where your hand remains latched to.

He continues to rock his hips against you, pulling you a little father upright until your right hand no longer has a hold on the countertop and your fingers are just brushing against the granite. He’s pressing on your chest to keep your back to him, refusing to let you squirm away. 

“Please, cum for me,” His voice goes soft again, ditching the sharp confidence for whiny pleading.

You struggle for thoughts, mouthing out words that aren't there, but somehow Armin manages to hear an “Inside — cum inside me,”

His hips stutter for a second, and only a brief wave of panic washes over him as he realizes he's not going to be able to pull out even if he wanted to. But then he remembers that you're on birth control. Christ, he's even picked your prescription up for you once or twice.

“You want it?” He asks, breath hot against your ear.

“Yes, please, please, please,” You beg

So, only after a moment of hesitation where he takes the time to hope you take your pills, he grits his teeth and buries his cock inside you until you’re yelping as you cum around his cock. The way you clench around him is what finally tips him over. And with a shaky groan and stuttering hips, he cums inside.

You can feel your stomach heat up from the inside out, in more ways than one. You can feel his release pooling around hot and thick inside you, and it sends warmth spreading all throughout your body. 

Your fingers are tingling with electricity and your legs are visibly trembling as you suck in air. Armin can feel your pulse fluttering sporadically beneath his fingertips, and every inhale and exhale you take shifts his forearm atop your chest.

He gives you a few moments to catch your breath, releasing his hand from your throat and dropping both of them down to steady your hips. Your palms meet the countertop once more, and you have to lean over them to stop yourself from crumbling to the ground.

He can feel his cum seeping out of you, dripping down the length of his cock. And when he pulls out, it’s almost unsettlingly slick around him.

“Shit —” He hisses, sharp pleasure running up his stomach due to the overstimulation.

He hears little gasps from you as you lean over the counter on your tip-toes, head lolled forward and still breathing heavily. Your panties are still pulled to the side, the fat of your ass keeping you exposed. And once his sweats are pulled back over him, Armin reaches out to pull them back in place.

“I love you,” You say, voice still a little shaky in your post-orgasmic state. You don’t look back at him while you speak, but Armin still looks at you.

“I always have,” You continue, “And… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just — I love you too much to lose you over it.”

“I know,”

“Stay with me,” You straighten up, pushing your hair out of your face as you turn around to him.

“I will,”

Armin grabs ahold of your wrist and gently pulls you to him. He wraps his arms around your shoulders and there’s not a moment of hesitation where you don’t do the same. Your face is pressed into his chest, still warm from earlier, but you don’t mind. 

You don’t ever want to go without his warmth again, in both a physical and spiritual state. And you won’t have to, because he feels the exact same way.

He holds you, with his lips pressed to your hairline and arms holding you tight, only pulling away to speak playfully.

“Let’s finish dessert, yeah?”

#armin arlert x reader #armin arlert x reader smut #armin x reader #armin x reader smut #armin arlert smut #armin smut #all this time #1k

[zealous-whispers-of-us-redux]

something wicked this way comes

A/N: Thanks for being so patient with me. My spring semester has officially started. Anyway, I hope you are doing okay! I love u all, and thank you so much for readin'! <3 <3

___

Summary: Halloween means Steve and Peggy's party and a costume contest.

"Hold still, Cal," Bucky says.

The tiny puppy wriggles in Bucky's arms, trying to break free from his grip, but he holds tight as he carries the naughty thing back inside. The little guy had danced through a massive pile of mud, and his feet were covered in the stuff. Bucky goes and grabs a towel to scrub at the muck. Calidore squirms harder at the motion- he hates having his paws touched after an awful experience with the nail clippers.

Sir Calidore, Knight of Courtesy, was a gift from Wanda. She'd found the abandoned puppy in an alley on her many trips to the city. She'd brought the little guy home, and Bucky's omega fell in love instantly. No one is sure what breed Calidore is, but all Bucky knows is that the little guy is growing bigger and bigger every day. He is sure little Cal will be bigger than his mom when he is fully grown. As it is, he is growing quickly, and his teeth are something else. Calidore has ripped holes in many sweaters already.

Satisfied, Bucky sets the clean puppy down. Cal scampers to his water bowl and drinks thirstily, splashing all over the floor. Bucky sighs and mops that up too. After making sure there are no muddy footprints anywhere, Bucky makes his way up to his bedroom, Cal hot on his heels.

Bucky and his omega have been pretty quiet over the last twelve months. Their days have consisted mainly of group therapy, cuddling on the couch, spending time out in the woods, and reading together. Bucky has been on a few pack trips, but he finds it hard to leave her when he knows she's upset. She'll spend time with Wanda or Natasha, though the latter is adopting a pup of her (and Sharon's, of course) own, and Bucky's omega is struggling with it. In fact, it seems like almost everyone is either having a pup or planning to have pups. But tonight, Steve and his mate Peggy are throwing a Halloween party, as they do every year, no pups allowed. Bucky and his omega agreed that going to the party would be good for them.

Naturally, Steve was elated when he heard. Peggy was too, and it had been her idea to have couples' costumes. A few days ago, she'd texted Bucky instructions that he was to be Shaggy and his omega was to be Velma. She wasn't thrilled with this choice because she had no idea who Velma even was. After teasing her about how old she was, Bucky'd made her watch the old cartoons and his favorite Scooby-Doo movies until she was caught up.

“Sunshine?” Bucky says, opening the bedroom door, “Cal an’ I are back.”

“Just a second!” she calls. "I'm almost done!"

Flopping on the bed, Bucky inhales her scent, noting that she is content. His hindbrain settles down and relaxes at that knowledge. Bucky thinks of the support group they'd found and wants to hug everyone there. Without them, neither Bucky nor his omega would be able to get out of bed, let alone go to a party. They'd been told that healing from such a tremendous loss is hard work, but that the two of them have so many people willing to support them. Bucky is grateful.

Bucky scratches Cal's head as he reaches for his Shaggy costume. It's nothing to write home about, but Bucky is pleased that he managed to find the exact color of maroon bell-bottoms. Accuracy is essential, after all. He puts on the pants, tugs at the shirt, and messes up his hair.

"You ready yet?" he asks as he slips on a pair of black shoes.

"Yeah," she answers, sounding upset.

Bucky jumps to attention, thinking that it's some awful thing.

"What's wrong?"

She emerges from the bathroom in a skirt shorter than he's ever seen her wear, and Bucky's jaw drops. She tugs on it self-consciously.

"The stupid skirt shrunk in the wash," she says. "And I've realized I look terrible in orange."

"No, you look incredible," Bucky says. "I just- wow, you look hot as fuck."

"I can barely walk in those heels."

"Damn, where have you been hidin' those legs?"

She sighs. "You've seen them before."

"Right."

Her skirt is so short that it should be fucking illegal. Bucky has to swallow back a growl the longer he looks at her. He likes looking at her all the fuckin' time, likes watching her gain confidence when she realizes that Bucky thinks she's the prettiest thing he's ever seen in his life.

She straightens up and grins. "Will you put the glasses on me, Buck?"

He takes the plastic frames from her hands and slips them over her ears. He swallows.

"You look so sexy. Holy shit," Bucky groans, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in between her breasts.

"Gods bless tight turtlenecks?" she asks.

"Fuck yeah. We gotta roleplay more."

"What, as Velma and Shaggy?"

"No! Like, as a schoolgirl-teacher thing or somethin'. I dunno; I can't think right now. Gods damn."

"I'm taking that as a compliment."

"You fuckin' should. You're gonna make me hard."

"Gross," she says, but she's grinning. "Are you ready to go?"

“Yeah -it ain't gross, by the way- I’m gonna look stupid in comparison to you, though.”

"Shaggy's my favorite Scooby-Doo character. Besides, T'Challa just decided to throw on a crown from Burger King as his costume. You have put in at least twenty percent more effort than that," she says.

Bucky continues staring, not that she can tell anymore. She’s too busy bending down to grab her heels and letting Bucky see up her skirt. Not really purposely, but Bucky can't help but take a peek. She's wearing a pretty pair of underwear that he'd picked out for her. Bucky chews his bottom lip, wanting nothing more than to get his mouth between her legs.

“The correct answer is supposed to be ‘No, Buck, you make the sexiest Shaggy ever.'"

"Okay, but Shaggy isn't necessarily sexy."

"He is when I'm him," Bucky says.

She stands and turns to catch him looking at her. Bucky raises his eyebrows.

"What are you staring at?" she asks.

In response, he reaches out for her, and she throws herself in his arms. He grins, his eyes darkening as he runs his tongue over his bottom lip.

"You can't go out like this," Bucky says.

"May I remind you who shrunk the skirt in the first place?" she says.

"Touche. But everyone's gonna be lookin' at you tonight."

"Yours are the only eyes I'll notice, Buck."

"Why's it you always know what cheesy thing to say?"

"Ah. I can read your mind."

"I'd believe that even without the bond."

She kisses Bucky's chin, but he pulls back with a frown as he realizes something.

"Crap, I shaved. Shaggy has a beard, damn it. How're we gonna win the contest now?"

"Does it matter?"

"For accuracy sake, yeah," Bucky groans, flopping his head on her shoulder in defeat. "Damn it. I'm an idiot."

"I always forget how competitive alphas are," she mumbles to herself before poking Bucky on the cheek. "Hey. Will it count against us if I draw one on with eyeliner?"

"Mm, probably not."

"Good."

She takes Bucky's hand and leads him into the bathroom. He sits on the edge of the bathtub at her urging as she draws on his chin. Bucky closes his eyes, enjoying the touch of her hands on his face. He'd been worried he'd never feel it again.

The first few months after they lost their pups was difficult. It had felt like Bucky and his omega were going in two separate directions. One would cry while the other sat stoically. Bucky thought she had dealt with it all long before he did, which made him feel like a failure of an alpha. Little did he know, she hadn't dealt with it at all (as she was wont to do) but thought he had. Things got so bad at one point that they didn't talk to each other about anything. Bucky felt their relationship crumbling under his feet, and he didn't know how to stop it. But one day, he caught her in her favorite reading chair, sobbing into her book. And when she saw him watching her with her tears reflected in his eyes, she'd thrown herself in Bucky's arms and they finally cried together. That was the first step on the arduous journey of healing- at least according to their support group leader.

"You're all done," she says, patting his cheek. "You look like Shaggy."

"Think we'll win?" Bucky asks.

"We better. I'm never wearing this garish shade of orange ever again."

"But you'll wear the skirt again, right?"

"Maybe," Her lips quirk, "Just for you, though."

Bucky wraps his hands around her legs, sliding them up until the tips of his fingers hit the hem of the skirt.

"You look so good. Please wear this skirt around the house. Just this an' nothin' else, okay?" He nuzzles her clothed stomach. "My pretty omega. Got half a mind to skip the party you look that good."

Of course, Bucky's phone starts ringing. He scowls at his pants pocket.

"Buzzkill," he complains to it.

"I'm going to go get Sir Calidore's costume ready," she says, kissing him, being careful of his eyeliner goatee. "See you downstairs."

Bucky pulls his phone out. It's a text from Steve asking where the hell they are. He responds that they are on their way, grumbling under his breath as he does so. Steve's always been a fuckin' cockblock, the bastard. Bucky stuffs his phone out of sight and follows the sound of barking. She's in the kitchen trying to put on her shoes as Sir Calidore sits at her feet with a Scooby Doo collar clasped around his neck.

"What even are these shoes?" she complains, stumbling then catching herself. "Jeez!"

"C'mere an' hop up," says Bucky, patting the counter.

She does, and Bucky goes about helping her with her heels.

"Should Sir Calidore wear a t-shirt?" she asks. "I mean, I don't know what else to do. He isn't colored like Scooby."

"Scooby doesn't wear clothes," Bucky points out.

"Gods, I knew we should have gotten the full Scooby costume we found online."

"He wouldn't wear it. He nipped me when we tried to make ‘im wear those swim goggles, remember? Put your head up, I wanna scent you."

"Why?" she asks but does it anyway.

"You know why," Bucky says as he sucks a mark into her neck.

“You’ll be a good boy tonight, won’t you Sir Calidore?" she says to the puppy as Bucky goes about doing whatever alpha thing he feels like he has to do. "Your dad needs this party. He hasn’t seen his packmates in a while. I told you about the babies I lost, right? Well, your dad is still very sad about that, though he pretends not to be."

She catches Bucky's gaze: "I love him so much; you know that, Sir Calidore? I want him to be happy again.”

“Daddy wants your ma to be happy again too, Cal. Because I love her so damn much."

"I love you too, but not the 'Daddy' part."

"Still a no, huh?"

"Still a hard no."

"I'll get you one of these days, omega-mine. An' there, hey, just like that, your shoes are on."

She hops off the counter. "Thanks. If I twist my ankle-"

"-I'll carry you around."

"All right, deal. Ready to go?"

Bucky nods but reaches back and smacks her on the ass. She doesn't respond in any way, but he can see the corners of her mouth lifting when he smacks her a second time.

“This fuckin’ skirt’s too short,” he says for probably the thirtieth time.

“Gods' sake, you shrunk it!”

“Yeah, I know, I know. An' I guess I like showin' you off, so's long as you come home with me."

"Always, you dummy. We're married, remember?" she teases. "You good?"

"All good," says Bucky. "Let's go, Cal."

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #abo au #alpha bucky barnes #omega reader #fluff #bit of angst

[inkandpen22]

Dazed and Confused ( S1: 3/?)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Female!Reader

Warnings: mild language and violence 

Word Count: 3.1k

Part Summary: At Tina’s party, Y/N wants to forget all of her problems. Things take a turn when Billy makes a move on her, angering Steve

Masterlist

Arriving at Tina’s after dropping Dustin at Mike’s, I am in much need of some good old spiked punch. I yank down my gray oversized sweatshirt some more so that it hangs low off my shoulder. As I cross the threshold into the house, the heat of the crowded living room slaps me in the face. Directly to my left, the kitchen AKA the alcohol hub. I slip between bodies and end up at the counter covered with semi-empty bottles and old plastic cups. Most importantly, a bowl of maroon punch sits in the corner. I grab a cup and make my way over. A boy stands in front of it but I reach around him and scoop up some of the mystery substance.

“What’s in this?” I hear a voice holler behind me.

I turn around to answer but freeze when I realize it’s Nancy. She stares at me equally stunned. My face falls, this is awkward. Seriously universe? I couldn’t have at least one drink before bumping into her?

Steve appears behind her looking slick as ever in his black sunglasses and matching blazer.

“Everclear is my guess,” I answer, acting civil.

She nods timidly, “thanks…”

I step out of her way so she can get some of her own. Steve’s head travels up and down slowly with a blank expression. I can’t see his eyes but I assume he’s studying my costume. A gray oversized sweatshirt that hangs off the shoulder, red heels, matching earrings, and some shorts, though they’re unnoticeable. I can feel him starring me down through those stupid Ray-Bans. Silently, I beg for him to not bring up our encounter in the parking lot. All I wish for tonight is to drown out reality and try to forget. He’s a human ticking time bomb. The tension between us could be cut with a knife.

“Are you finally going to tell me what you are?” Nancy jumps in, forcing me to break my staring contest with her boyfriend.

I open my mouth to answer but Steve beats him to it.

“Flashdance,” he answers for me. “It’s one of her favorites.”

He acts distant, unattached, distracted by the party but I see right through it. There’s something he’s not saying. He says things like this as if it’s common knowledge. A random person wouldn’t describe my eyes as Y/E/C but gray depending on the lighting. One minute, he calls my eyes beautiful and the next he’s starring me down like a disapproving parent. The hell Harrington?!

Nancy gushes, apparently she and I are okay all of a sudden, despite early today with the whole Barb thing. Plus, I think she’s already been drinking for awhile so buzzed Nancy is fun Nancy.

“That’s so cute! You look hot!” She pulls me into a hug.

Over her shoulder, I glimpse up at Steve as he lifts his glasses to rest of his head. His brown eyes threaten to expose my upset from earlier. I get that he’s pissed about my neglect for my feelings. He wants to talk about what was wrong but right now we’re at a party and parties aren’t meant for depressing conversations.

“Let’s go dance!” Nancy suggests, already tugging me into the living room.

Steve calls after her but she ignores him. He follows behind us through the crowd with a groan. In the center of the living room, Nancy stops and turns to me with a bright grin. She cheers as she tosses her head back.

“Woohoo!” She laughs.

This is what I wanted, normalcy. We’re surrounded by our friends, drinking, dancing, being stupid! We did this before everything so why can’t we do it now? Perhaps after tonight, everything will fall back into place.

_______________________________________

On my third game of flip-cup, I’m beyond buzzed. In fact, when I walk I float. I’m on cloud nine. Here, this carefree and lively state is exactly where I wanted to be. Naturally, I’m competitive and amazing at drinking games so I finish my third game with yet another win. I cheer as Tommy from algebra hands me a cup of who knows what as my reward.

“Hey there beautiful,” a husky voice greets from behind me.

I spin around and kind of become dizzy from the action but catch myself.

It’s Billy.

“Hey hottie,” I smirk.

He snickers and closes the space between us to whisper in my ear. “How about you and I go somewhere a little more private?”

That’s a nice thought. He is cute. His ass could have its own zip code. Plus, he has no shirt on under that leather jacket, hello washboard like abs. His California tanned skin glistens under a thin layer of sweat. Damn, he’s a human Ken doll.

He’s no Steve though. Wait… what? I don’t think of Steve like that. Why would I think that? Um, yeah, that’s a no! Then again, Steve is always there for me. Sometimes it can be annoying how he’s always there. It means he cares but I don’t want to dump all of my drama on him. Then, he gets upset when I don’t open up. I hate it when I hurt him. I love him so much that when he’s in pain so am I.

“Okay,” I blurt out without truly thinking.

“Cool,” I hear him whisper as he takes my hand and starts pulling me toward the stairs across the room.

Wait, what? What am I doing? This isn’t me. I don’t like Billy. He treats Steve like shit. If anything I should kick his pretty ass. Though if I tried he’d probably murder me.

I glance down at his hand engulfing mine. It’s all rough and twice the size of my own. If we make it upstairs, it’ll be just him and I. I’ll be defenseless. I may be drunk but I’m not oblivious. My intuition is still working and it’s screaming for me to pull my shit together.

“Hey Billy? I don’t think…” I press my heels into the floor, slowing him down just as we reach the bottom of the stairs.

Aggressively, he whips around and purposefully towers over me to act intimidating. “What? Now, you’re saying no? Are you messing me? Playing with me!” He accuses.

I shake my head dramatically, “no! No, that’s not what-”

“Oh, so you still want to do this,” he presses.

Too impatient for an answer, he continues up the stairs. The grip he has on me has shifted up to my wrist. I attempt to tug myself free but fear dislocating it, his strength is too great. I stumble up the stairs behind me and I startle to feel dizzy. I think it’s safe to say I’ve had too much.

“No,” I whine, “I don’t want to! Stop! Please! I don’t want to! No!”

“Hey!” A booming voice echoes from the bottom of the stairs.

Rapid footsteps approach from behind me and a rush of relief consumes me when Steve appears beside me. He places a protective hand on my back.

“What the hell is going here?” He directs at Billy, taking note of his fist wrapped around my wrist.

“Nothing that concerns you, Harrington. Y/N and I were just heading upstairs.” He jolts his hand forward, causing me to traveling with it.

Steve instantly pries Billy’s hand from my body. Then, shoves him in the back, flying him forward to land with his ass on the stairs. “Don’t you ever touch her again! You hear me?!” He sneers. His face turns this deep red as he pants angrily.

The two start bickering but I can’t keep up. I see three Steves and a couple Billys shouting in each other’s faces. I lean against the railing unsteadily and slide down to sit on the steps. My eyes suddenly feel very heavy.

“I’m going to go to bed now,” I announce to no one in particular.

I decide to get some rest and shut my eyes. It’s okay, Steve’s here. He’ll protect me.

I’m not sure how much time has past when I hear Tommy and some of the other basketball boys come to break up the fight.

“Come on Y/N,” I hear Steve whisper to me, “let’s get you home.”

Feeling as light as a feather, I’m picked up like a sleepy child off the ground. For a moment, I fall asleep again. I rest my head on his chest and ponder the rare opportunity to sleep without being afraid of being eaten by a monster.

“Y/N?” I hear someone repeatedly call my name. “Y/N, wake up!”

I ease open my eyes and at first my vision is blurry but then they eventually adjust. Steve glances down at me as he we cross the threshold hold to the front yard.

“You smell like sunshine and all things exquisite,” I mumble to myself, adjusting myself in his arms to curl closer to his warmth.

“Even when hammered you still manage to be a walking thesaurus,” he teases.

Opps, he heard me. Oh well, I wasn’t lying. He smells like vanilla, the ocean, sugar, spice, and everything nice.

Goosebumps course over my skin as a brisk October breeze hits me. I shiver slightly and Steve holds me closer.

“We’re almost to my car. I’ll turn on the heat high. You’re okay,” he promises calmly.

Playing the hero, Steve places me into the passenger seat gently and straps me in. I toss my head to the side and rest my eyes again. He shuts the door for me before jogging to the driver’s side. The car drowns out the sound of chaos coming from the party and creates a sense of security. Steve slides behind the wheel and for some reason I choose now to act reasonable.

“Have you been drinking? If so, you shouldn’t drive,” I state like a health textbook.

He chuckles, popping in the keys. “I’m sober. Promise.”

“That’s nice. Good to know,” I yawn.

The last thing I can remember of the ride home is Steve turning on the car.

______________________________________

I wake up silently as Steve pulls up in front of my house. He’s unaware of my stare as he finishes parking and turning off the car.

“Hazel,” I tell him, announcing my woken state.

He looks to me with scrunched eyebrows, all confused. It’s cute when he does that. He’s cute. Geez, what the heck am I saying? He’s dating my best friend! Steve is Steve and Katherine, we don’t mix, at least that way.

“What?” He questions, turning to face me.

“Your eyes… they’re hazel…” I repeat softly with a yawn. “But, it really depends on the lighting.”

He snickers, and astonished expression blesses his features. The subtle blush forming on his cheeks makes me smile to see him all bashful because of my comment. He has no idea how gorgeous we truly is, inside and out. He glances down at his lap, at his hands fidgeting with a button on his jacket, then back up at me with hooded eyes.

“See, right now!” I point out, “they’re a dark brown like a burnt caramel, basically black. When you’re really focused on a task or upset about something, they go dark. Then, when you’re really happy or excited, they turn to a light hazel… like seaglass. It’s how I can tell if something’s bothering you. You don’t even have to tell me half the time. All I have to do is look into your eyes and I know,” I state a matter-of-factly with a light snicker.

I shift you see him directly and tuck a few strands of my hair away from my face. He watches my every move patiently, eagerly, for me to say something more, anything. I can’t speak for him but my heart won’t stop racing. Is it possible to have stage fright in a conversation? I feel like a mannequin, on display. Nervously, I twirl my hair at the ends and find myself unable to meet his gaze anymore.

“Your pupils are rarely small,” I add quietly. “They’re usually really big and take up most of your eye giving off the illusion they’re black. One thing that never changes is…”  I make a circle with my finger in front of my eye to demonstrate, “is the gold rim around each of them.” I lower my hand into my lap and play with the end of my sweatshirt. “That’s my favorite part… ” I confess timidly.

I wouldn’t be saying these things if I were sober. I wish he would say something, anything. He must think I’m crazy. He finds me with Billy heading up stairs. I can only imagine what he must think of me now. Embarrassed beyond belief and sobering up, I excuse myself.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say as I unbuckle myself. “See you Monday!”

Swiftly, I climb out of the car. As I walk toward my front door, I curse myself for acting so stupid! Geez, what was I thinking? ‘The gold rim around each of them, that’s my favorite part!’ What kind of mushy, guhsy, marshmallow fluff is that? Ew! If he never spoke to me again I would judge that as completely reasonable! He has a girlfriend! He’s taken! Completely off limits! Why did I spew out this creepy nonsense to him like a total idiot? I’m not some lovesick teenage girl! I’m going to go to my room, put in some Guns N’ Roses, and just scream into my pillow all weekend! It sounds like an excellent plan to me because I just ruined my friendship with Steve forever! Add Nancy to that list because once he fills her in on what I said I’ll lose both of them!

“Y/N!” He calls after me.

I ignore it as I march faster toward the door. He’s only going to call me crazy because I was acting crazy!

“Y/N, wait!” He repeats as I hear him shut the car door and run toward me.

“Goodnight, Steve!” I urge him away without turning around.

His footsteps speed up until they come to a halt directly behind me. I reach for the door handle, my freedom. Desperately, he grips my forearm and steps in front of me, blocking the front door.

“Look, could you just slow down for a sec?” He yells at me as he pants to catch his breath.

“No! I can’t slow down! I just want to go inside, get in my pajamas, and forget tonight ever happened! Alright? Now, excuse me,” I gesture for him to get out of the way.

Reluctantly, paired with an overly dramatic eye roll, he steps aside. Despite wanting his to leave, I thank him quietly for cracking open the front door slowly, making sure not to wake anyone.

“Nance and I broke up…” Steve drops on me.

My heart leaps and I stop dead in my tracks. Unsure of what to do or say, I remain still in the doorway and wait for him to say more.

“She never loved me,” he explains with a heartbroken tone. “At least… I don’t think she did…”

Shit. Please don’t tell me that, Harrington. It only makes me want you more. He’s always so close but too far out of reach. I care about him more than anything but he’ll never mine. I’m just the friend.

I spin on my heels and offer him a sympathetic smile, “would you like to come in?”

He nods, clearly miserable. I step aside, allowing him in. After shutting the door behind us, I warn him to be quiet so we don’t wake my parents. He nods slowly and slips his hand into mine. Never breaking eye contact with me, he leads the way through the moonlit house toward my room. His platonic touch is so blissful, I can only imagine what it feels like otherwise.

_________________________________

Steve and I sit on my bed in our usual positions with my record player going quietly. He lounges like a patient in therapy and me, acting as his therapist, criss-cross beside him. He explains everything. He describes how drunk Nancy got and how he followed her to the bathroom. It was there they got into a fight. She admitted feeling guilty for the loss of Barb. Then, she called all of it bullshit. Us acting like carefree teenagers, never telling Barb’s parents the truth, her love for Steve, all of it is bullshit. He asked Jonathan to take her home and that’s when he stumbled upon me and Billy.

Watching Steve relive it all and hearing the pain in his voice breaks my heart. How could Nance do this to him? I get that she’s going through something, we all are. I’m by no means normal. I’m hiding everything for Pete’s sake! I haven’t been myself for over a year. Steve was just now becoming truly happy again! He was putting on a brave face for Nancy for so long! Now, she crushed it. She crushed him.

I reach and place my hand over his as they rest intertwined on his stomach. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am.”

“I really loved her. At least, I think I did. I don’t know anymore. I thought she loved me too.”

“I did too,” I tell him honestly.

He glances away from the ceiling down to me, “what can I do?”

I wish I knew the answer. I wish there was a way I could take away his pain. Yet, I have nothing. I shrug, “I’m not entirely sure. I think you should at least talk to her.

Tomorrow, of course, when she’s sobered up. Perhaps, she was just drunk and didn’t mean what she said. She wasn’t in the proper mindset.”

“So I shouldn’t take what she said to heart?”

“Well, there’s also the argument that drunk words are sober thoughts.”

“Does the same go for you?” He snickers.

I laugh, “sometimes.”

“So you don’t like the gold in my eyes? I thought it was your favorite part?” He smirks, turning to lay on his side and face me. My hand would’ve fallen off his hadn’t he flipped his over to catch it.

Ugh, he’s such a sneaky jerk! His cheeky smirk only grows with my silence. Warmth rushes to my cheeks as I bashfully hide my face.

“Yeah… about that…” I laugh nervously, “let’s just pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“Should I forget that you also said I smell like sunshine and everything exquisite?” He adds to the torment.

I groan, tossing my head back. This must count as torture. “Preferably, yes,” I request shortly.

We share a laugh at my annoyed reaction. He’s impossible! Even he should be mopping he still manages to tease me!

A comfortable silence fills the air and I stare down at the pillow in my lap as I play with the lettering on it.

________________________________

Masterlist

#steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #stranger things #stranger things smut #stranger things image

[teasty]

kiss yourself (01) | h.js (m)

● pairing: han jisung x (female) reader 

● genre: angst, smut, fluff  ||  fwb to lovers au 

● warnings: consumption of alcohol | degradation + praise | reader and jisung are not in a relationship at the beginning! | choking | semi - public sex | suggestive dialogue | profanity | hair pulling |

● words: 6.9k ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

→ summary: 

It all started when you and your best friend for life, Han Jisung, got a little bit too tipsy at a party and ended up waking up naked in the same bed. After that unfortunate night, you and Jisung confirmed there be a distinguished “friends with benefits” relationship between the two of you, with a few rules. 

Number One: No one else is supposed to know about this relationship. 

Number Two: The minute one of the two of you starts a serious relationship with someone, the benefits are cut off immediately. 

Number Three: Have to respect the other’s wishes, if one doesn’t want to do it, then there’s no argument.

Number Four: No falling in love.

But, when Jisung starts crushing over your classmate, you start to break the rules. One by one.

a/n: first story here :D my dirty mind couldn’t resist smut so here we go

CHAPTER ONE | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

“Oh, fuck, baby… you feel so fucking good.”

It was a stupid way to start of a weird relationship with one of your best friends, Han Jisung. A stupid way to let yourself succumb to his stupid antics and a stupid way to let him be more than a friend, but less than a lover. 

It was a few months ago, and your second year of university was just starting up. Jisung had convinced you to go to some party the week before school would start. But, you were reluctant at first. Unlike Jisung, you were never too much of a party animal. Never too much of a social person to begin with. Jisung was another story entirely. He would always be out late and wouldn’t go back to his house or his dorm room until late, according to his roommate, Jeongin (who thankfully kept tabs on Jisung for you whenever you were suspicious that Jisung wasn’t telling the truth to you and would go out to some party, when he would tell you that he’s just going to meet up with other friends. You didn’t want to overbear him, but you worried for his health at times). 

It was your first party, too. You had never bothered going to one in high school, not wanting to be crowded by drunk teenagers, being thrown up on or spilled on, or watching two people fuck in the corner of the room. It was never your go - to, but Jisung had convinced you to go after he promised that he’d never leave your side, even if he was being dragged away by “some hot chick trying to hop on his dick”. Even if you had wanted to say no, you couldn’t get a “no” past his pleading eyes. So, you had hesitantly agreed to go, and he was beyond excited to take you to your first party. 

He even helped you pick out an outfit, and had taken hours finding the right one for the occasion. You’d never been very fashionable, unlike Jisung, who usually decked out in expensive clothes and accessories (you preferred comfortable, classic clothes like hoodies and leggings instead of skin - tight jeans and overly designed shirts). Jisung had basically tore your closet apart trying to find the “right outfit”. It was tiring, but you will admit that you had fun with trying on new clothes and hearing the praise from Jisung. He had eventually chosen an outfit for you that you felt quite uncomfortable in, but nonetheless beautiful. You had worn a tight pair of black leather pants, a maroon red tank top (that was tucked into the leather pants) and a black jacket. You will admit that it was sexy, and Jisung seemed to like it. 

A lot. 

But, he claimed that guys there would be drooling over you and trying to sleep with you, but he’d be there to keep you safe. Even so, you wondered why he’d make you wear such an outfit to a party if he was only going to keep you away from a one night stand, one you wouldn’t even remember anyways. He did claim that he wanted you to ‘keep your innocence’, which was total bullshit since he knew you weren’t a virgin (you lost it to some jock in high school who had been eyeing you during a football game) and definitely not innocent, as you both liked to constantly make dirty jokes here and there. 

The party was at some rich kid’s house, and their parents were out of town. Their house was gorgeous and big, but filled to the brim with loud university students, some you had even recognised as your classmates. Jisung had kept his hand interlocked with yours as he pulled you through the crowd at the entrance and to the living room, where there was a table full of food and drinks, and even a cliche bowl of spiked punch. You were glad not as many people crowded the table, but Jisung obviously had some friends there, since he hugged one of them before going back to you. 

“Hey, Hyunjin. Felix. Have you guys met (Y/N)?” Was the first thing he had said to them, and you were somewhat flustered by the sudden attention. But you suspected that you should have expected that kind of attention, since Jisung seemed oh - so excited that he’s taking you to a party. 

“I don’t think we have,” said one of the two. You were taken aback by how deep his voice was. It wasn’t forced either, his voice was so relaxed, you almost felt like you’d be pulled into a deep sleep if you were to listen to his voice for hours. He was handsome, too. His bleached hair was a little long, but not as long as the other man’s, with brown roots peaking through the top of his head. “The name’s Lee Felix. I didn’t know Jisung kept such pretty friends away from us.” 

“Oh, don’t be a flirt,” says the other man with long hair, which was tied back in a ponytail. You had concluded that he was Hyunjin, if the other was Felix, “And, no. I think I’ve seen you around though. But not in… those types of clothes.” 

“Yeah, and you call me a flirt?” Felix cocks a brow at Hyunjin, who only glares back. 

“It’s not flirting if it’s just stating a fact. I’ve seen her around… but in oversized hoodies and leggings,” Hyunjin counters. 

“Alright, alright, pipe down,” Jisung interferes, stopping what would have become a petty argument about who’s flirting and who’s not. “Well, since you both can’t make a decent introduction… (Y/N), this is Felix,” he points to the man with the deep voice, “and this is Hwang Hyunjin. I think you guys might be in the same chemistry class last year, am I right?” 

“Oh, yeah…!” Hyunjin claps his hands together, “You’re the one who nearly blew up the whole class! Oh, I remember, now.” Hyunjin and Felix laugh together, and Jisung gives you a weird look. 

“It’s a long story,” you sigh, chuckling along with their contagious laughter, “Let’s just say that I was too tired to function and got mixture A mixed up with mixture B and almost made a really severe chemical reaction. I don’t think it would have blown up the whole school, though.” You fold your arms, and Hyunjin shrugs his shoulder.  

“Who knows,” Hyunjin says, and you squint at him. “I’m not a chemistry genius, but it could have been bad. That’s not the point. I’m glad to meet you, (Y/N). I hope we can be closer.” 

“Ditto,” Felix smiles down at you, and you chuckle awkwardly, flustered, “You seem like an interesting person. How did you and Jisung meet?” 

“We used to be neighbors, like, a decade ago,” Jisung answers for you, leaning against the table filled with drinks and food, “Since we were the same age, we stuck together. Even after I moved again, we still talked like every day over the phone until university hit. Thankfully we got into the same school, and we both are going to live on campus, so… It’s been a lot easier.” 

“Surprised you two were able to stay close even through distance,” Felix comments, and you and Jisung share a brief look and smile, “Not a lot of people are able to hold a strong relationship when the only thing they have is a phone or computer. Take Hyun for example, he couldn’t stay friends with this one chick even if he tried.” 

“Wasn’t my fault she sucked at holding conversations. She always expected me to make up all the interesting shit. Kinda glad she ghosted me, now,” Hyunjin laughs, almost defensively, as if embarrassed by such a situation. 

“It was your fault for trying to cling to her,” Jisung intervenes.  

“Oh shut up, shortstack,” Hyunjin grumbles, and Jisung’s brows raise in challenge. 

“Say that again, pretty boy, I dare you,” Jisung threatens, and you glare over at him, but he didn’t seem to care for your glare. Hyunjin and Jisung did end up getting into a petty argument about it and you had to stop it by asking Jisung to show you around the place. But, not before trading numbers with Felix and Hyunjin, since they insisted that they wanted to get to know you better (Felix still grumbling irritably about how Jisung kept “such a pretty friend” away from them for so long). You wouldn’t deny new friends, even if they were Jisung’s party animal friends and flirtatious, it didn’t really matter to you. You could use some new friends, anyways. 

You had met a few more of Jisung’s friends (who all seemed to be so handsome that your heart would race every time they’d smile down at you or talk to you), three seniors,Seo Changbin, Lee Minho and Christopher Bang, and another, younger man named Seungmin. Out of all of them, Seungmin and Christopher seemed the most genuine. Minho, Felix, Changbin and Hyunjin just seemed pretty flirtatious. You could admit that you were intimidated by them, and by the party in general, but with Jisung next to you the whole way, you had at least some sense of security. 

Your first drink of the night wasn’t until a few hours into the party. You were a little bit more comfortable with the setting. Jisung had sat you down in one of the living rooms, as you learned there were many. Not as many people were in this room other than people talking or flirting. It felt nice to finally sit down on such a comfortable couch, since you had been standing on heels the whole night, and relax. Jisung had already had a few mixed drinks, and you could see his face getting redder and redder due to the alcohol. 

He handed you a plastic red cup filled with something orange that stunk of different kinds of liquor. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing too strong,” Jisung reassured, and you huffed softly. A bit nervous to drink it, but you did, anyway. It wasn’t terrible, but you could taste the liquor clearly through the citrusy taste. Jisung watched you as your face grew from confused to scrunched up from the bitter taste. You had alcohol before, but every time you had it, it was like the first time all over again. But, when you got used to the taste, the cup was empty in a flash. 

You didn’t know when it started kicking in, but after you had Jisung fetch more drinks and you tried to stand up, you immediately plopped back onto the couch as an instant wave of fatigue washed over you. Your head started to ache, and it was getting warmer than it should have been. Sure, it was nearly the end of summer, but it was like someone shut off the air conditioning. So, you took off your jacket while waiting for Jisung to come back. It felt like forever until he came back, and you instinctively began to miss him. He’d stayed by your side the whole night, and it was weird without him. It was lonely, too, even if there were other people in the same room. You were too nervous to talk to them, though.  

When he did, and handed the drink to you, the minute he had sat down, you clung to him. 

“Woah, you alright?” Jisung laughs it off as you take the red cup in one hand and the other latching around his strong bicep. You were never usually one for skinship, but now was a different story. Each time you looked at Jisung, you felt like he was going to magically disappear. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol that made you so anxious or just you being lonely, but you weren’t really going to let go anytime soon. At first, Jisung was tense, and it took him a minute to get used to you huddling so close to him. 

Like the first, the cup you had was empty sooner rather than later, even though Jisung advised you to sip on it instead of gulping it down, like you had been. After that drink, you didn’t order him to get another drink, you were too focused on the feeling of his bicep to ask for another. 

“You can’t be drunk after two mixed drinks,” Jisung said after a while. 

“Not drunk… just a bit tipsy, is all,” you responded, more of a low grunting than a talking voice. You liked how you could hear Jisung’s voice loud and clear the closer you were to him. 

“Sure. Your tolerance isn’t very high, you know,” Jisung chuckles, and your body moves along with the bounce of his for each laugh. You only grunted in response, having already known that. “And, by the way, you don’t have to cling onto me like that. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Shut up,” you snapped, but you didn’t really want him to. You just didn’t want him to talk about you letting him go, since you didn’t want to. To prove your point, you squeezed harder onto his arm, “I’m comfy. Lemme have this moment.” Jisung deeply sighs and complies. After that, there’s a comfortable silence. 

You were staring at the way your legs pressed against his as his legs relaxed in a (hot) manspread. His head leaned back, slightly tilted towards yours, which was squished against his shoulder. His hand rested delicately against your thigh, not moving much but sometimes his hand would press against your thigh. It was nice, and you could faintly hear his heartbeat. 

You and Jisung weren’t strangers to cuddling, as you both had a lot of sleepovers before (with a strict talking to from your parents about having sex, and why not to do it), but this was different. Almost intimate. You’re both adults now, so cuddling like you would years ago when you were both barely teenagers wouldn’t be so innocent. Especially with Jisung’s obvious sex drive, things wouldn’t go so well. You both had never done anything like that, either. You both have never even kissed before. Well, there were times when he’d kiss your cheek or hand and vise versa, but nothing more than a peck and nothing more than that. 

You wouldn’t deny your attraction to Jisung. You couldn’t really see yourself in a serious relationship with him, but damn is he attractive. He really matured over the years, too. His beautiful brown hair is in need of a cut, but you liked it a bit long. He might not be the tallest man alive, but his face made up for it. Even if he had the cheeks of a chipmunk, his jawline was as sharp as a knife. You could stare at him for hours, just admiring how he was built. You wondered if he felt the same about you. If he could stare at you for hours just admiring your beauty. Of course, it would probably never even cross his mind, even if Jisung would say how pretty you looked with a specific hairdo or how you looked beautiful in a certain outfit. 

You found yourself staring at him as your thoughts carried on. Your arm unhooked from around his, and you watched how his eyes were closed. He looked like he was sleeping, but you could tell he wasn’t by the way his hand gripped you just above your knee. You were staring at him, and then at his neck. The way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed. 

Your mind grew hazy, void of thought as your lips parted slightly, your breath fanning his neck. His hand squeezed harder around your leg and you could faintly see his brows furrow. He doesn’t do anything nor say anything, but you watch as his bottom lip catches in between his teeth. You want more of a reaction. You don’t know why and you can’t form a reason why, but you do. You push yourself a little bit further until your lips connect just underneath his jaw. Your warm tongue pressing against his warm skin. You can feel how his hand trembles and the way his leg twitches underneath your own. Jisung emits a breathy groan, and you can feel it against your tongue. 

“(Y/N)...” Jisung musters out, but you only press wet, slow kisses along the side of his neck, “What the fuck are you doing?” His voice is deeper, raspier and darker. Almost scary. If you weren’t so blank in the mind, you would think he’s mad. But all you can think about is urging him on further. You don’t want to answer him. You don’t have an answer to begin with. 

“Just relax,” You whisper closely to his ear, nipping at the skin below his ear, and he sharply inhales. At this point, you don’t care who’s watching or why you’re doing this. The soft, breathy sounds Jisung emits makes you feel different, and the feeling of his warm skin against your tongue is addicting. “Don’t push me away.” You whisper again, one of your hands creeping up over his defined chest and along his neck. 

“You have no fucking clue what you’re getting yourself into,” Jisung groans out, and you only chuckle against him. Briefly halting your wet kisses to his neck to smile lazily. “I’m being serious, (Y/N).” You know he’s serious just by the tone of his voice. 

“Mmm…” was all you responded with as you pressed your body against the side of his. Your hand gripping his shirt as your leg creeps over his more and more. Edging yourself on top of him. “Sunggie…” you teased him by groaning his nickname into his neck. Sucking gently on his skin, giving it a blue and purple hue. You gave him multiple marks, and his hand caressed your arm gently as you breathily moan his name against his neck, “Sunggie… Jisung - ah.”

And that seemed to break him. His hand snaps up to grip your cheeks, aggressively pulling your head away from him to make you look him in the eyes. And it’s a look you’ve never seen in him before. It wasn’t anger or disgust in his half lidded eyes, but a pure sense of utter lust and desire. His hand grips your chin, his fingers pressing against your cheek as his eyes examine your face. His face is a pretty pink from the alcohol and you guessed from him blushing. Now, you’re on top of him. Straddling his lap, and you can feel his hard - on underneath you. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game, (Y/N). I’m giving you one last chance before I take you back to my place and break you,” Jisung says, and you liked this side of him. Sure, you’ve seen him being aggressive, but not like this. No, this is different. You don’t have much courage to speak, so all you can do is let your tongue fall out of your mouth and guide his index finger in between your lips. His mouth parts slightly in shock as he watches your mouth engulf his finger. 

“Fine, you wanna be like that,” Jisung brows furrow, and he stands up quickly, and you let out a yelp as his hand yanks itself from your mouth as both of his hands latch around your thighs. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and your arms around his neck, “We’re going home.” 

It wasn’t easy, leaving without being spotted by one of Jisung’s friends. Felix had come over to see us when he saw Jisung’s arm wrapped around you as your head stuffed into his neck (teasingly kissing his neck). “Oi, Jisung. Everything good?” 

“Yep,” Jisung gives Felix a convincing smile, and you smile against his neck, “I’m taking (Y/N) home. She got a bit too crazy tonight.” 

“Really? She’s been pretty quiet,” Felix notes. 

“Well, she has her different sides to her,” Jisung laughs, “Uh, yeah, well, I gotta get her home, Felix. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, alright? Let Hyunjin and everyone else know that I’m leaving.” 

“Alright, I’ll catch you later, bud. Take care of her for me, alright?” 

“Oh, I will,” Jisung smiles, and you squeezed tighter onto him. 

After that, it was foggy. All you could remember was how Jisung treated you. Calling you dirty things all while praising you. Making sure you were alright while tearing you apart blissfully. 

It was the next morning where everything was decided. 

You were the first to wake up, having the sun shining brightly in your face. You had a blazing headache, and you could feel your head pulsing that morning. You couldn’t even open your eyes after you woke up because it hurt so bad. You hadn’t even considered where you were or why you were completely nude at first. But, when it hit you that there was only a thin, soft blanket covering you, you had the courage to open your eyes and see where you were. 

It was a familiar room, that’s for sure. The bed was much bigger than your own, and you usually had more pillows and blankets than this, so it wasn’t your room. It didn’t really hit you where you were before you looked to your side. You nearly screamed when you saw Han Jisung, your best friend laying next to you. His back turned to you, and completely shirtless. You held the blanket around your chest. You stared at him for a moment, brief memories of last night running through your mind. You wanted to cry as embarrassment and shame powered through you, but a sense of want overpowering it. A part of you didn’t want this to be just a one - time thing. 

“Jisung!” You whispered, nudging his shoulder. He didn’t budge, “Han Jisung! Han Jisung - ah, wake up!” Your voice raised as you shook him, “Jisung!” 

“What, what? Is everything okay?” Jisung bolts up after you yell his name. Sitting up straight, he hisses when the sun makes contact with the sun. His hand rubs his eye, and you try not to note the scratch marks on his back, the hickeys littering his neck and chest or how he was just as naked as you, only being covered by the comfort of the thin blanket. “Fuck, (Y/N), don’t scare me like that.” 

“Why are you acting so calm?” You didn’t raise your voice, as your head ached terribly because of it, “Look at me Jisung.” 

And, so he did. He looks up. He didn’t seem as tired, as he saw the blue and purple hickeys lining your neck and what he could see of your breasts as well as red scratch marks on your shoulders. You both don’t say anything for a while. You’re both an uncomfortable distance away from each other, and you didn’t want to admit that you wanted to cry right there. 

“I’m sorry,” Jisung is the first to say something after that tense silence, and your brows furrow, “I… I shouldn’t have… I’m so fucking sorry. I’ll… I’ll.” 

“Why are you sorry?” You asked softly, and Jisung seemed hasty. His hands were trembling as he gripped the blanket, and he didn’t make eye contact with you. 

“I shouldn’t have done anything to you. Everything’s ruined now,” Jisung’s head dips, “I shouldn’t have let the stupid alcohol guide me. Fuck, (Y/N), I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry. Hey, nothing’s going to change between us,” You crawl towards him, still keeping the blanket firm around you as your free hand cups his cheek and lifts it up towards you. “It was both of our faults…” Jisung stares up at you, “I was the one to make the first move. If anything, it was my fault.” You let go of his face, as he watches as you sit on your feet. You swallow the lump in your throat, and utter out, “And, besides… I don’t regret anything.” Jisung’s mouth falls open, and his brows lift in what you can guess is shock, “I might not remember all of it, but I how you made me feel.” 

There’s another silence, both of you staring at each other. 

“I want to feel it again.” 

Jisung didn’t answer right away, but his bottom lip got entrapped between his teeth subtly. 

“You don’t know that,” Jisung whispers, “You don’t know what you’re saying.” 

“Of course I do,” your brows furrow, almost angrily. “I know what I’m saying, Jisung. And I’m saying that I don’t want this to be just a once in a lifetime thing and never think of it again.” You look away, resting against Jisung’s headboard. “I know that we don’t share romantic feelings for each other. I know that, Jisung.” You look over to him, “So, I want benefits.” 

“You mean…? Friends with benefits?” Jisung musters out in a low, unsure voice, “I don’t know, (Y/N). I don’t want to ruin this friendship.” 

“But, that’s the whole point of it, Jisung,” you chuckle, “I know that you don’t want our friendship to weaken, and neither do I. But, Jisung, I’ve always been attracted to you. Not exactly like I want to be your girlfriend, but I want you in some way. I just don’t know if you feel the same way, so I’m saying it now. Do you want me, Han Jisung?” 

He doesn’t answer right away, which makes you nervous of his answer. But, his answer satisfies you, thankfully; “Yeah. Yeah, I do. I hate to admit it, but I do. I couldn’t resist last night.” 

“I know. It was my fault for urging you to do that even when you warned me not to,” you chuckle. 

And, from then on, you two concluded that whenever someone needs to let off stress or steam in the form of sex, the other should be open for it. Of course, there’d be rules along with it. You didn’t want this to just be a ‘come by for sex and leave’ kind of thing, or thinking the other is romantically attracted to the other so you wanted to make some ground rules. Jisung agreed, thankfully. 

There were four rules. Number One was that no one is to hear about this relationship. Not only would it cause rumors amongst school and your friends, you both agreed that it should be kept top - secret. Besides, you both didn’t want people to think you’re both in a secret relationship and that it’s more than just a friends with benefits type of relationship. 

Number Two was that the minute one of you gets into a serious relationship with someone, all benefits cease. This one is quite obvious. Neither of you wanted to be defined as a cheater if either of you do end up in a relationship with someone else. No matter how much the other person wants it, if one of you is in a serious relationship, until that relationship ends and both are single, there’s no sexual activity. 

Number Three was that both had to respect each other’s wishes entirely. No matter how bad they want it or how horny they might be, if the other person is uncomfortable with something or doesn’t want to have sex, then the other must respect their wishes. Again, no matter how horny or how much they want a certain thing. This also leads to a safe word between the two of you, which was just basic yellow and red. Yellow being to slow down or to take a short break and red being to stop completely without argument. 

And finally, Number Four was that there’s no falling in love. This one was actually Jisung’s idea. Everything else was yours. You agreed with him, but was still skeptical about it. If you did catch feelings, you’d have to hide it. Jisung seemed pretty serious about it, though, which kind of scared you.

And, those four rules led to the present day, months after this event. You lean against a family bathroom sink with Jisung’s fingers curled around your hair, keeping your head up to watch him in the mirror as he slowly pushed himself into you. Your leggings and panties barely pushed down past your ass as Jisung undid his belt and pushed his pants down. Not even prepping you before he pushes himself into you. His cock, covered by the condom, which he had learned to always carry around, slowly dragging against your wet, oversensitive walls. 

He’d been teasing you all day in the movie theatre he’d taken you to with his friends. While watching the movie alongside Hyunjin, Felix and Christopher, he was slowly playing with your clit, edging you on and on. Finally, the movie ended and after half an hour of pure torture from Jisung’s sinful hands, you dragged him to the family bathroom (which was one bathroom with a lockable door). He didn’t even hesitate before bending you over the sink, making you watch him and yourself as he fucks himself into you painfully slow. 

“Oh, fuck, baby… you feel so fucking good.” 

You delicately whimper at the sound of his words from behind you as he fills you. Jisung liked to call you by pet names during sex, like baby, babygirl or babe (anything with baby in it, really). 

“Oh, fuck… I’m not gonna go slow, baby.” Jisung warns the minute his pelvis presses against your ass. 

“I don’t care,” you groan in response, eyeing him in the reflection in the mirror, “Break me, Jisung. You’ve been teasing me all fucking day - oh my god!” you would have screamed if it wasn’t for Jisung stuffing the end of your hoodie into your mouth before his hands grip your waist before pulling out and ramming himself back into you. Once his hand lets go of your hair, your head dips down in pure bliss. Your teeth grinding against the fabric of your hoodie and your hands gripping the sink. 

“I know you like it, baby,” Jisung grunts out as he starts to thrust into you, “I know how much you like it when I play with your little pussy in front of everybody like the little fucking slut you are. I know you like it, baby.” You let out choked moans at his words. The degrading words only make you wetter as you move your body back to meet with his thrusts. One of your hands reaches back to grip his wrist as Jisung’s hands dig into your hips to move your body with him. The way his cock rammed into your tight cunt burned in a blissfully sinful way. 

Jisung had pulled your tank top and bra underneath your breasts so he could lean over you to play with them harshly. His hands gripping your bare, warm breasts as his chest presses against your back. His head presses against your shoulder as he breathes heavily against your neck. His tongue occasionally jutting out to lick stripes up your sensitive neck. Sucking gently on your skin, trying not to leave too many marks.  

“Fuck, fuck…” Jisung curses breathily, and you try your best not to scream as he ruts into you as if it were the last time he’d ever have the chance to fuck you again. Your saliva coats the part of the hoodie that stayed in your mouth for you to bite onto. Your hands weakly grip the sink to try and hold you up, but your legs can barely hold your waist. “Oh… my god, babygirl.” Jisung sweetly moans into your ear. 

Your mouth opens to let the hoodie fall out of your mouth, and you utter out, “Jisung… Jisung I can’t… oh, fuck… I can’t stand.” Jisung is quick to fix the situation by turning you around so that you’re sitting on the sink, legs thrown over his shoulder and your back and head leaning against the mirror as he fucks himself into you. Jisung doesn’t hesitate to grip onto your neck, but careful not to let off air flow, just pressing his fingers on either side of your neck as he rams himself into you. Your hands creeped up to grip his wrist, which only seemed to make Jisung more and more confident.  

He pressed his hand against your core, slowly down slightly to allow himself to focus on pressing his thumb against your extremely sensitive and extremely erect clit. The minute his thumb makes contact with your sensitive bud, waves of pleasure and chills run through you, and your eyes roll into the back of your head as your back arches up, your nails digging into Jisung’s arm. 

“Oh my fucking god, Jisung!” You pitifully cry out, trying your very best to contain your moans so no lingering ears would hear. But, it was getting difficult with Jisung’s hard cock thrusting ever so quickly into you and his thumb pressing firmly against your clit as his hand wraps around your neck. 

“Shh… babygirl, you don’t want anyone to hear, do you?” Jisung chuckles darkly as he looks down at you, no mercy in his eyes as you clench around him. Beyond sensitive to every touch. “I want you to cum on my cock, but be as quiet as you can, baby. Try and be quiet, but I want you to cum.” His hands move from your neck to your mouth, his middle and ring finger slipping between your lips and pressing down against your tongue. 

The moment his hips start to stagger and his thumb pressed harder and harder against your sensitive clit, your hip bucks violently as you feel your climax approaching. Jisung doesn’t slow down when he feels your warm walls clench around him tightly. He speeds up despite how his hips falter and tense as his own orgasm edges up, you let out a series of high pitched moans, muffled by Jisung’s finger, and Jisung lets out a string of low groans against your neck. His thumb softens against your clit, rubbing small circles to ease you out of your climax. 

Your stomach twitches as Jisung pulls out of you, his thumb finally coming off your clit to gently press against your abdomen as he eases out of you. You let out a sigh as let your body relax once Jisung’s no longer in you. His fingers pull out of your mouth to deal with the condom, and you catch your breath. Your hands clutching the sink as your legs stay limp on his shoulders, but he doesn’t seem to mind. 

“You made such a fucking mess. How horny were you?” Jisung teases as he eyes the cum and pure wetness still seeping out of you. You glare at him. 

“Very. And it’s your fault.” You snap, and Jisung raises his hands in defense. 

“Hey, guilty as charged,” Jisung chuckles and pulls up his underwear and pants, not bothering to tighten the belt around him before he reaches over to grab paper towels to help clean you up. 

“Still. You were the one teasing me during the movie,” you utter out as Jisung wipes away the cum with the paper towel, “Couldn’t even focus on it. You seemed to enjoy every bit of it, though.” 

“You know it,” Jisung jokingly winks at you, and you playfully hit his head. 

Once he’s finished cleaning you, you get off the sink to pull up your underwear and your pants, sighing deeply at the sore feeling in your core. “Fuck… Jisung, you’re carrying me back to my dorm.” Jisung couldn’t argue with you, since you’d always have the upperhand, especially since Jisung knows he can become an animal when fucking you, and usually blames it on ‘not being able to hold back’. 

“As you wish, princess,” he teasingly calls you, and you glare at him as he buckles his belt before turning his back to you and crouching down for you to get onto his back. 

When you do, he unlocked the door and started heading out, both of you not really caring for the wandering eyes of people who were curious why two adults came walking out of the family bathroom. Luckily, Felix, Hyunjin and Christopher were all gone, since you couldn’t spot them anywhere. The movie theatre was in the center of a mall, so you had suspected they were somewhere, roaming the stores of the mall. 

“I swear, I’m going to have arms bigger than Changbin’s at some point. Having to carry you everywhere,” Jisung complains, and you groan. 

“It’s not my fault all you do is go rough,” you counter, and you can see Jisung roll his eyes, “Maybe if you were a bit more gentle you wouldn’t have to carry me. But, hey, you need the workout.” 

“Do you not like it rough?” Jisung teases.  

“I never said that,” you mutter, and Jisung laughs triumphantly. 

At first, things were a bit awkward between the two of you, but that was to be expected. It wasn’t until Jisung was knocking on your dorm room door at three in the morning and railed you while your roommate was out grabbing groceries (at three in the morning? You didn’t know why, either.) because he had just gotten into a fight with one of his friends and “needed to let off steam”. After that, everything even related to the benefits you both have turned into a normal thing, and you both seemed to get even closer with each other. You both could talk about information that would be considered weird between normal friends, but since you’ve both seen each other completely nude over a dozen times, it wasn’t as weird anymore. 

“But I don’t just like it rough, you know? If it’s intimate and slow, then I don’t care,” you sighed, resting your chin comfortably on his shoulder. Jisung doesn’t respond. In fact, he frowns at you. Why? You had no clue. All the more, it was a silent walk back to the dorm buildings. Jisung dropped you off at your dorm, and your roommate, a geeky, yet strange, girl named Jeo Jeongja thanked Jisung for taking you home. 

“And, by the way, (Y/N),” Jisung said before leaving, and you raise a brow as you climb up onto your bed, “I expect you to meet me at the D.R. tomorrow night. Jeongin’s gonna be outta town for the weekend.” Jisung winks at you, and your breath catches in your throat. 

D.R. was your secret word for ‘dorm room’. Since saying directly, especially in front of others, that you’re going over to a boy’s dorm room when they’re roommates going to be out of town is suspicious to say the least, you both decided to come up with that. 

“Are you alright with that?” Jisung asks, his tone lacing with a delicate worry. 

“Definitely,” you shoot him a playful smile. 

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow. See ya, Jeongja,” Jisung waves at Jeongja, who gave him a subtle wave back, not really interested or immersed in the short lived conversation you and Jisung were having. And with that, Jisung left, closing the door behind him. 

There’s a subtle silence between you and Jeongja. You both might be roommates, but you could never really consider her a friend. The most you two talk to each other is when you help each other study with whatever topic. Once Jisung leaves, Jeongja sits up on her bed and stares at you with a playful smile. 

“Oh my god, I don’t get how you’re not crushing on him” Jeongja giggles. 

“He’s my best friend,” you sigh, laying down on your pillows to try and soothe the ache in your gut from your last session with Jisung, “I could never picture myself with him, you know. If you want him, have at it. But, be warned, he is a player.” 

“Oh. I know that much,” Jeongja laughs shortly. You should’ve known, since Jeongja seemed to have ears all around the school. Every rumor eventually gets to her, and through your ears, whether you want to hear about it or not, “I heard he’s been fucking with most of the popular girls.” 

“Oh, really now?” your brows raise. For some reason, it sparks an angry flame in you. Sure, you might not be in love with him, but the fact that you both have an intimate relationship makes you jealous when you hear that he’s been with other girls, but you try not to show it as much. 

Jeongja shrugs a shoulder, “Just what’s been going around. I only report what I hear. And, apparently, Jisung knows all of the rumors. He just hasn’t said anything about it.” 

“Well, he hasn’t talked to me about it,” you sigh, taking your phone out of your pocket, debating whether or not to talk to Jisung about what you're hearing. After a few brief moments of staring at your locked phone, you decide against it and let it fall onto your stomach. “Do you mind keeping me updated on this shit?” 

“Why? Is someone jealous?” Jeongja wiggles her shoulders and brows at you, smirking. 

“Hell no,” you groan, your head falling back, and you rub your eyes. Exhaustion crashing over you, “I’m going to bed, Jeongja. Do whatever you want, but don’t turn the lights back on.” You get up briefly to shut the lights off before climbing back under your blankets, slipping off your bra. 

“But, it’s only nine!” 

“I don’t give a shit. I’m tired.” 

But, a part of you wasn’t. A part of you was beyond eager for what Jisung had in mind for tomorrow. Your aching core began to throb at the thoughts.

#han jisung #stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #han jisung x reader #han jisung x you #han jisung x y/n #han #stay kids han #hwang hyunjin #bang chan #lee know #lee minho #seo changbin #lee felix #fwb to lovers #au #college au #non idol au #jisung han #new writer #smut #skz #skz smut

[cuebooks]

A Night of the Lonely

Main Character: Alastair Carstairs

Series: No, but two parts separated by: {}{}{}{}{}

Word count: 2,542

Reading time: 3-5 minutes

Any questions? Ask them in a reblog or in the comments and I’ll happily answer them

Hope you enjoy!

The cold winds caused Alastair’s skin to prickle and flush red with the bitter temperatures. He had taken these roads every night for the past week to find his father in the rundown bar. Sipping whatever drink infatuated him that night.

Alastair wanted to head home and see if Elias could make it alone. If he could survive in this cold without Alastair. But Cordelia was tucked in her bed. Her soft snores echoing from her bedroom to his ears. He and Sona had finally read her to sleep, getting her just calm enough to slip into it. She was waiting for Elias. So was Maman. They wanted to see him in the morning.

So he continued on. Letting his cheeks get whipped by the winds. His hands shivering in the pockets of his maroon coat. His favorite coat that Cordelia picked out for him. It showed off his complexion and his beautiful eyes, his Maman had said. He always wore it during these treks to remind himself that someone cared for him. It was his armor against his father.

He walked into the rundown bar, a mix of discolored woods, a lively hearth, and soft chattering from the small crowd filling it. He looked up to the bartender that was maybe a foot or more taller than him. Her hair tied back into a plait allowed him to see her face. “He’s over there, Alastair. Be careful; he’s had more than usual tonight. I took the last drink away from him, and he….”

“It’s okay. Thank you, Anira. How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing.”

Alastair stared up at her. Her features soft and shaded from the light of the flames. “I can pay, I promise. Besides, I don’t want you to get in trouble again.”

The look in her eyes told him she wasn’t going to say anything, so instead, he handed her a few bills that were more than enough. “Plus tip.” He grinned, showing his missing tooth on the left side of his mouth. He had lost it two days before, an achievement that made him proud; his mother smile, and Cordelia gag. She only offered a smile and said thank you.

As she walked away, he heard her mumble something along the lines of ‘he shouldn’t have to.’ He didn’t ask for her to repeat it. He’d heard it before. He knew he shouldn’t have to fill a role other than big brother and child, but he did. What was he supposed to do? Let his mother and sister handle Elias? No. At least it only hurt him. At least he could protect someone.

He found his father on the same stool as yesterday. His hair a mess, and his jacket off, strewn somewhere. His beard had started to grow back, and Alastair made a mental note to help him shave later.

His feet made small sounds against the wood, his weight not enough to make much noise. He placed a hand on his father’s, and Elias looked at him and smiled. “Esfandiyār!” He slurred, and Alastair wanted to step back. But he didn’t. Maman and Cordelia, he repeated in his head. He did this for them. For their happiness. Besides, Elias wasn’t as bad as he could have been. He seemed happier than he had earlier in the day.

“Come on. I want you to read me a bedtime story. Like you used to.” His voice was soft and warm, mimicking the way his mother spoke when she was reading them bedtime stories or in her children’s blanket forts.

“You’re old enough to read on your own. Let me finish this.” Elias said, staring into the bottom of his glass filled with a tinted brown liquid.

“Cordelia wants you to read to her.” Alastair tried again; usually, her name helped catch his attention more than his own. He didn’t know if it was because she was younger, his little daughter with her bright smile, or if he favored her. Maybe it was simply because she wasn’t the child in front of him. Elias set down the glass at her name, and turned— falling off his stool— and headed for the door. Alastair righted the stool, thanked the bartender, and left. His short legs falling behind.

Elias started to wander down the street aimlessly as if he didn’t know where he had come from. “This way,” Alastair waved him over, and Elias straightened his back. The cold wind righting him. Or alerting him. “Did you know brother Zachariah has a meeting in town soon? I could summon him if…” Elias only gave him a disapproving glare. Elias did everything to keep Alastair and Cordelia away from Jem. Maybe because he had left Jem. Maybe Jem— Zachariah, Alastair corrected himself, knew that their father wasn’t alright.

Elias told Alastair stories about the silent brothers— how they crept into your mind and tore into you and corrupted your sanity. Alastair knew it wasn’t true, but the seeds had already been planted, and the vines only continued to grow. But still, Zachariah was family. Alastair always asked the angel to protect him when he heard of his travels. He recalled the kind stories he heard of him, hoping one day to carry the Carstairs name half as well as he did. Kindness, open-mindedness, and honesty, he thought. That’s what makes Zachariah amazing, along with his never-ending love and strength. Never-ending love Alastair remembered. Love the man in front of me.

So with love in his fragile heart, he slowed down and held his father’s hand. “I don’t need your help. I can make it home just fine. I’m not you,” Elias grumbled and pulled his hand away from Alastair’s, and stalked ahead down the wrong street.

Another piece of his heart broke off. He wondered how many were left. How much more could his father break his heart?

Alastair looked at his father ahead, “I only wanted to hold your hand,” he whispered. The cold wind whistling over his quiet words.

The door unlocked, and Alastair held it open for his father.

Elias walked in and stumbled a bit to a table pressed against a foyer wall, but it was barely noticeable if it hadn’t been Alastair who was watching. His father was good at hiding when he drank too much; of course, he always pushed his own limits. But Alastair knew him too well. Watched it happen too often. He had to. It’s how he knew when to pull Cordelia and Maman from him and distracted them when Elias went too far. Like always, he fixed himself a drink, and Alastair went to fetch water to refill the liquor that had been poured.

The only footfall was from Alastair’s tiny feet. He couldn’t hide their sound. He was too tired, too— he should have been in bed hours ago.

He went to the couch and found his father asleep. Snoring softly like Cordelia did. He smiled a little at the reminder that Elias was a father to Cordelia; people could tell— she looked like him and Maman. Alastair had always been happy he garnered his looks from his mother’s side— at least, that’s what Maman had always said.

Alastair slowly moved to sit on the floor by his father’s hand and pried the glass from his grip, and returned the glass to the table. He took the water he collected and poured it into the alcohol bottle along with the remaining liquor from the short glass. Filling the bottle so no one would notice the sunken level.

Alastair pulled a blanket from the closet and carried it to the couch, laying it on the floor and pulling Elias off the couch carefully. A small thud of his father’s body to the blanket made Alastair look around to make sure Cordelia hadn’t woken up. He pulled the corners of the blanket off the floor and tugged. Tugged the blanket into the guest room, through the halls, and past the stairs.

Alastair eventually got him on the bed. The covers pulled to his father’s feet.

Alastair had finally untied his father’s shoes and placed them under the bed. Undoing his shirt next, spraying a scent to cover up the sour smell his father radiated from the night before. Alastair knew you didn’t smell drunk until the next day when you started to sweat it out. He sighed— he hated that he knew that.

He changed Elias’s pants next. His mother hated when people slept in items that had been worn outside to bed— the distinct smell of dirt, she passed the disdain onto Alastair.

He set down a glass bowl filled with water. And slowly grabbed a razor and shaving soap. Dabbing Elias’s face with a washcloth wet with warm water. Elias only groaned.

Alastair gently lathered the soap onto his face. Shaving where his father preferred. Gentle and with the grain. Never nicked or cut. Perfect like it had to be. And wiped the rest off with the cloth.

Alastair’s hands were tired as he shakily poured the water out as he was tired and barely tall enough to see over the counter to the bathroom sink.

He reset the bowl under the sink—the razor on the side of it, next to the shaving soap.

When he returned to the bedroom he placed the covers over his father. “Night, baba. Sleep well and have only good dreams.” He crawled back off the bed, careful to close the door behind him quietly. He left the water on the nightstand and moved back to the couch. He picked up the bottle of alcohol and placed it back where it belonged. The sun hadn’t started to rise, but as he moved to the steps, he saw the moon passed halfway across the sky. He wished there was a rune to transport him instantly to his room, under his soft blankets.

The stairs were quiet underfoot. But something stopped him in the halls— Cordelia.

Cordelia stepped out from her door and looked at Alastair.

“Layla? What’s wrong?” He asked, moving beside her.

“I’m thirsty, Ali.” She whimpered as she rubbed her eyes. Her hair was falling out of the braid their mother had styled.

“Come on, Layla.” He offered her his hands, and she jumped to him, giggling lightly as he picked her up. Her small frame was easy to hold for him. As he walked to her bed, she asked him, “may we play ‘save the castle’ tomorrow? You always play a great knight. Always so protective and kind.” She giggled as she struggled to say the words coherently at her young age. Their mother taught them big words, working with their speech every day like she had when she learned English. She was determined to make them perfectly fluent in Farsi and English, among a few other languages.

Alastair tucked her back in. “I’ll get you some water, and of course, we can play ‘save the castle’ tomorrow, but you have to sleep.” She nodded softly as she recrawled under her sheets and smiled at him. He slipped out of her room, saying he’d be right back.

He didn’t want to make her wait, so he went to his room, where he had a few glasses of water for Layla. She always did this. Sometimes knocking on his door for help. His hair was a darker red than hers for now. He knew it would turn black soon, and he was excited about it. He would look more like his mother and his mother’s parents— something his mother told him to be proud about. He hoped he would always be proud to be Persian.

He placed the glass on the nightstand. “There you go, Layla, be careful; it’s only a glass. There is no lid.” She smiled at him and grabbed the glass. She was slowly drinking the water. Then carefully placed it back.

“Thank you, dadash.” She cuddled back under her blankets, and he kissed her forehead like their mother always did. He sang her a short lullaby in Farsi. His voice carrying around the room, and her eyelids became heavy.

“Sleep tight, Layla.” He let go of her hand.

“Sleep tight, Ali!” She whispered.

He closed her door again and passed his mother’s a few doors down, and checked on her. Her deep sleep let his heart settle a bit more. And he moved on to a dark room, where he lit a candle. His father’s study. He opened a book and looked at the latest news of silent brothers. His father had some connections, and Alastair had written to them and asked about Zachariah. He knew if his father found out, he’d threaten to kill Jem, but Alastair couldn’t help it. Jem was a Carstairs. He was family. He read over the latest news. Jem had just gone off to London again for William Herondale, claiming that Gabriel had demon pox. He shook his head and laughed softly.

Mr. Herondale had the dedication he had to admit. But Jem had made it there, safe. He smiled, happy Jem was okay. He put the book away and pulled out another piece of paper— to write a letter to Mr. Herondale. Asking, just like his father would have, when Cordelia could see Lucie again. Cordelia missed her and Lucie’s family. Alastair had to admit he missed them too. He always laughed and felt happy in London. Not the place but the people that surrounded him. He admitted that he also liked how the Herondales and Mrs. Gray were buffers between his father and his family. Cordelia had been asking, and he could tell Maman wanted to get out of the city. So he wrote. Over and over— perfecting his handwriting, his diction, his grammar. Making everything perfect.

He placed it in an envelope and left it for Raisa. She would send it off in the morning. He scrambled off the chair. Lowering his feet off one at a time since they couldn’t reach the floor while sitting yet.

After doing some of his father’s work, he left the office, and the sun had started to rise. He huffed softly and frowned but shook his head and moved toward his room. He could get a few hours before he had to wake up and help Raisa get breakfast ready.

Maybe tomorrow, his heart will heal, and his father will help put it back together— not destroy it. But he knew better than to give himself false hope. He knew better than to trust the man that was weak. That had put the weight of the family on Alastair’s shoulders instead of holding it himself.

He pulled the covers over himself. His maman, sister, and father were all tucked away by him, and yet he sat in the dark room. Alone. No light. Wishing for hope.

But he knew better.

Just one more day, he said. Like he had for the past several months.

The shadowhunter academy, he thought. Just make it there, and you’ll be okay, he whispered into the dark.

He hummed himself a lullaby his mother taught him, and when he finished, he drifted off to sleep. His tired bones and aching heart settling into the mattress. Accepting the dark.

Tag List: @itsjusta-j-really @magigingercal @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1

(Let me know if you want to be added or taken off, please)

#the last hours #tlh #chain of iron #tsc #chain of gold #alastair carstairs #coi #the shadowhunter chronincles #chog #cog2 #ivy’s fics #cassie clare #tmi #the mortal instruments #sona carstairs #cordelia and alastair #cordelia carstairs #william herondale #lucie herondale #elias carstairs #tw alcoholism #tw alcohol #tda #the dark artifices #tid #the infernal devices #tessa gray #jem carstairs #tsc fanfiction #the shadowhunter chronicles fanfiction

[thestraggletag]

Virtual Session, A Rumbelle Zoom Fic

Rating: Explicit.

Summary: Town meetings were usually drab, boring events, and having them over Zoom hadn't improved them much. Or so Mr Gold thought, until he forgot to log out of the meeting after it ended, only to discover a half-naked Belle French had also forgotten to do so.

SOMEONE PLEASE COMMENT WITH A BETTER SUMMARY I HATE IT.

Based on this prompt.

“We will review your presentation and hold a virtual vote before the month is up, Miss French. Thank you very much for your time.”

The mayor adjusted her suit jacket, her shirt riding up as she did so and unknowingly displaying the telltale white check of her Adidas yoga pants. Royce snickered, taking advantage of the fact he was muted.

“As there are no other pending topics on today’s agenda this virtual session is adjourned.”

He half-expected her to produce a gable out of thin air and bang it against her marble countertop. All around him people began to say their goodbyes and log out of Zoom, lest Regina decide to spring a surprise motion at the last minute. There was no need to flee, however, as Regina herself was one of the first to log off. Given the amount of smoke he had spotted coming from behind her right before she exited he did not need to guess what had caused her sudden departure.

“I guess no apple turnover for dessert at Madame Mayor’s.”

He heard an adorable chuckle and did not need to glance at the screen again to guess who it was. Very few people found his brand of dark humour palatable, but the librarian seemed to love it. It was nice, he soon found out, to have someone appreciate his often ill-received quips. It was one of the things he had first noticed about her. Well, other than her stunning eyes. And perhaps her hair, which was a lovely shade of reddish-brown. Her legs too, he acknowledged reluctantly, so nicely-displayed by her short skirts and high heels. And her-

He stopped himself. That way lay madness and he knew it. It was one thing to admire in an unattached way, from a distance. He was a connoisseur of beautiful things, after all, and Belle French was certainly beautiful. Unfortunately she also happened to have a lovely personality. Kind, generous, open, but also bold, defiant and the littlest bit dark. She flaunted the rules of smalltown society by wearing what the matrons around town considered “inappropriate clothing” for a librarian, and speaking to anyone and everyone, including those that polite society would urge her to shun. Drank beer with the miners, for example, men deemed “too coarse” for genteel women, and stocked the library with altogether undesirable books, be it because they dealt with unseemly issues or because they were from traditional authors. Which, he was sure, was code for “white men”, even if Mother Superior never quite spelled it out in such terms.

She was altogether dangerous for him, with her mix of light and dark, so he was always on his guard, lest his thoughts veer too far into dangerous territory. He didn’t fear scorn or derision if his feelings became too obvious for her to ignore. Belle was altogether too kind for that. But to be gently yet firmly rebuffed, and have their subsequent interactions laced by the barest hint of pity from her, would be unbearable. 

“I’m pretty sure that at least Mr Spencer didn’t hear a word I said. His camera was off during the whole of my presentation.” The librarian huffed, clearly bothered that her proposal to increase the library’s budget to repair the East Wing’s leaky ceiling wouldn’t get a fair shot. The wing was currently closed, and had been since she had taken the post of librarian, but with the newfound need of social-distancing, particularly in enclosed spaces, she hoped she could change that, make the town council see the need for more space in the library. “Though perhaps he didn’t want to be yelled at again for not being in a three-piece suit for a virtual town meeting.”

He briefly paused to remember Spencer’s red face when Regina had chastised him for wearing a white polo shirt instead of a shirt and tie during the last meeting.

“Kinda hypocritical of Madame Mayor, given she was a couple of clothing articles shy of a full tracksuit tonight.”

They shared a conspiratorial laugh, and he hoped the camera somehow toned down the stupid look on his face. He tried to avoid direct eye contact, looking instead mildly-interested in her living-room. Her laptop seemed to be perched somewhere on her dining-room table, giving him a great view of the rest of her flat, which was a loft, so it was open space, with exposed brick and tall ceilings. Though small it was tastefully-decorated, and with enough bookcases to make it seem like it was a part of the library he had never been to, if it weren’t for the kitchen area and the- and he told himself to stop looking at it- queen-size bed.

“Well, Miss French, at the risk of getting ahead of myself I can confidently state that things are looking good for your project. It was an excellent presentation and I could see Midas and Hopper were clearly in favour. That leaves the Mayor and Spencer outnumbered. Hell, I think even Regina will vote yes on this one. I know she’s keen on finding a place for students with connectivity issues to go do their homework and attend some classes. Fingers crossed the voting goes your way.”

He smiled at her, trying to look reassuring instead of besotted, and they exchanged their goodbyes. He closed his laptop, deciding that he needed a stiff drink first and a cold shower later, and went over to his wet bar, where after some debate he picked up a bottle of Ardberg and poured himself three fingers of Scotch, opting to forgo the ice and drink it straight. The alcohol burned pleasantly on its way down, making him loosen up almost immediately. He went over to the window, undoing the buttons of his vest and slipping it off as he did, feeling warmed by the whiskey. He chanced a glance outside, where the night remained crisp and clear, thankfully devoid of snow. It was still bitterly cold, though, and he hoped the library’s heating system, which was in need of maintenance as well, would not fail. The money for its maintenance had already been allocated and the budget for the work set, but perhaps he could email the person in charge of the job and… persuade them to make it a priority. The work should’ve already been done, but the pandemic had put a temporary stop on jobs like that with the exception of emergencies. Now that things were slowly returning to normal he was confident he could get the people working on the library by the end of the week with three sentences or less.

He went back to his laptop, determined to send the email as soon as possible. He opened it up and noticed, at first, that his camera light was still on. Almost as soon as his brain connected the dots and realised that he had forgotten to log off Zoom he noticed something else: so had Belle French. She was walking around her house, seemingly tidying things up and humming as she went along. It was a lovely, domestic little display, and though he knew he needed to log off fucking Zoom and stop intruding on what Miss French clearly thought was the privacy of her own home, he didn’t move the mouse. Surely there was no harm in indulging a bit. He was a lonely man, partly by design and partly by circumstance, and though he often told himself he wasn’t missing out on anything, he had to admit it was nice to- albeit accidentally- share an intimate moment with someone he had an affinity with. He imagined, for a moment, that instead of her living-room he was seeing her in his, picking up discarded books or perhaps the remnants of a tea they had shared together. He quickly shook himself out of that fantasy, alarm bells ringing in his mind, and refocused in the present, where Belle was taking off her cardigan. Well, surely, that meant the heating system was holding, which was a good thing. Which reminded him of his idea to write-

He glanced at the monitor again, where Belle French was now shimming out of her skirt.

He blinked, idiotically-confused for a second, as if the thought of a woman undressing was news for him. After the initial shock he took in all the details, fixsting on the black stripe on the back of her sheer black stockings, which she rolled down with painstaking care, the gesture almost painfully erotic. She started on the buttons of her sheer maroon shirt, undoing them with ease and shrugging out of the garment. The black camisole she wore underneath did nothing to conceal her lacy black culotte, which hugged her perfect ass like it was made for her. She went to unpin her hair next, letting the bobby pins that kept it off her sides of her face drop into a little ceramic bowl on her vanity. He was surprised at how much seeing her walk around her house with bare feet, shaking her hair out and stretching her limbs affected him. There was nothing inherently sensual about her movements, yet he was transfixed, unable to look away. Any hope of containing his attraction or attachment to the librarian vanished into thin air at that moment, leaving him equal parts scared and turned on.

It was then that his mostly-unused sense of decency decided to let itself be known, a wave of shame washing through him at the notion of what he was doing. Miss French had every right to her privacy, and here he was, violating it in the worst possible way. He should log out immediately and stay away from the librarian for a rather long time, enough for-

“Royce?”

His heart lurched painfully in his chest at the sound of her voice. Slowly, reluctantly, he turned his head towards the screen, telling himself that he deserved the scorn and disgust he was sure to see in the librarian’s face. But whatever hasty apologies and half-formed excuses he was about to blurt out died on his lips the moment he saw her: she was standing in profile, arms crossed in front of her chest and hands grasping the hem of her camisole, prepared to take it off, and her head was turned to the side, her eyes on her laptop screen. She didn’t look accusatory, or disgusted. She didn’t even look embarrassed. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone, but it looked more like… like... 

Arousal.

“I’m here, sweetheart.”

He could hardly recognise the low, growly burr as his voice. It sounded uncouth and harsh, like the way he used to speak back in Glasgow. He had worked for years on toning down his accent, letting only the barest hint of it show when he was trying to intimidate someone. Never enough to sound too much like he did back in his youth, and yet he hadn’t managed to quite rid himself of it. 

On screen Belle lifted the hem of her camisole a few inches, exposing supple, creamy skin. Royce tried hard not to swallow his own tongue. She bit her lip, suddenly hesitant, and fuck him if that sliver of vulnerability wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. 

“Is this… Is this okay?” 

It took him an embarrassingly-long time to understand that Belle fucking French was asking him if it was alright for her to strip in front of him, presumably for their mutual enjoyment. He reminded himself that he had had only one glass of Scotch, not enough to dismiss whatever was happening as a drunken daydream. Which he might have had, from time to time. About Belle. Maybe.

“It’s perfect, sweetheart.” 

Her lips curled into a coy smile, the growl in his voice making her shiver, and in one swift motion removed her camisole, revealing a lacy black bandeau bra with delicate details done in leavers lace. It matched her knickers, he noticed idly, and the black contrasted amazingly with her pale, softly-blushed skin. His keen eye noticed the exquisite craftsmanship right away. It was an expensive set, no doubt, and given how she was wearing during a commonplace day where she planned to stay home it led him to the conclusion that Belle French simply owned a lot of fancy lingerie, to the point that she wore it as an everyday sort of garment. He was very sure he would never again be able to look at her and not think about that.

“You’re gorgeous.”

In any other situation he would’ve been embarrassed to sound so… Reverent. So incredibly not in control of the situation. He might be fully-dressed, a man of means with a position of political power in their little hamlet and she might be a half-naked small-town librarian but he was absolutely powerless at the moment. And what was worse, he enjoyed it. 

“Thank you, Mr Gold.”

Though he loved the way she said “Gold”, with enough irreverence to turn her tone teasing, he desperately wanted her to say his name.

“Call me Royce, sweetheart.”

She walked over to the table, flipped the chair and sat down, draping her arms loosely around the backrest, the position loose and cocky. There was no doubt in her now, no hesitance. She had assumed control of the situation, for which he was grateful. She tilted her head to a side, sizing him up.

“You’re wearing a lot of clothes, Royce. I feel at a disadvantage.”

She smiled, looking supremely unconcerned, but there was a glint in her eyes he recognised quite easily. Greed. And not the kind he was used to seeing in people who frequented his shop to strike one of his infamous deals. It was different. It certainly felt different to him, hit him right beneath his gut in a way that felt both uncomfortable and pleasant. Without quite thinking his fingers went to the knot of his tie, already loosened, and tugged expertly, untying it in seconds. The silk made a soft, hissing sound as it slipped off his neck, which sounded loud in the otherwise dead silence of the room. Belle followed his movements avidly from the screen, and the look of utter absorption on her face gave him the surge of bravery he needed to tackle the buttons of his shirt till he could shimmy out of it. He was wearing a white undershirt beneath, but his arms and throat were bare, making him feel ridiculously exposed. 

“You have many layers. I like that about you.” Belle dropped her gaze, looking coy and vulnerable at the same time. “I like a lot of things about you.”

“Me too.” He tried to stop himself, but it was easier said than done. “Too many things, actually. But I’ve always understood that it would be foolish to expect anything to come of that.” He looked at Belle, draped over her chair and in her underwear. “Well, perhaps I was wrong.”

Belle smiled.

“You’re finally getting it. Good boy.”

He forced himself not to react visibly to those words, even though the moment he heard them it was like being struck by lightning. Thankfully the camera caught him from the waist up, hiding the embarrassing way his cock had perked up a second earlier. He could not hide his flushed face, however, or the way his eyes glazed over the slightest bit. 

“Tell you what. I’ll take off my bra if you lose the t-shirt. It’s a fair deal.”

It wasn’t. As far as he was concerned he was getting the far better end of the deal but he would never dream of telling her that. Tipping his hand was not his style. 

“Deal.”

He said it in the pleased, soft burr he usually reserved for his less savoury business arrangements, the kind that needed to be sealed in the cloak of night in some remote, deserted location. Belle shivered, and he enjoyed the thought that his voice made her react so. Feeling bold he grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked it off,      baring himself from the waist up. He saw and felt the librarian’s eyes roam over his torso. It wasn’t a pretty sight. He had scars from his dodgy upbringing in Glasgow, and some from his learning days restoring antiques. He was fond of the sun so at least he was not pasty white, or overly hairy, but he didn’t have much in the way of muscles. Belle, however, seemed to appreciate his more lean physique, if the heat of her gaze was any indication. After she seemed to have her fill of staring she leaned back and deftly unhooked her bra, letting the straps slide down her arms till the garment was on the floor. 

He stared. Couldn’t help himself really. Belle French’s tits were perfect. Fucking perfect. Just the right size, incredibly soft-looking and with the loveliest nipples he had ever seen, a rosy-pink that he would never be able to get out of his head. The kind of breasts that would ruin a man for other women. He certainly felt like no other breasts could ever tempt him again. 

“Royce, are you okay?”

Her voice sounded a delightful mix of amused and slightly worried, so he forced himself to nod, still unable to look away.

“Fucking perfect.”

Fuck, was that his voice? He sounded… dazed. He fought the instinct to slap some sense into himself. Belle draped herself across the back of the chair again, and though the position hid her breasts somewhat it didn’t do so completely. 

“I love how soft you are. Underneath the hardass pawnbroker exterior, I mean. Soft, and kind and funny. So funny. It’s one of your most attractive qualities.”

Most people wouldn’t think so. His brand of humour was dark, sometimes too much. And yet Belle always laughed, always caught on to his quips and seemed to appreciate them in a consporatory way. She could also dish it out, but in a far more subtle way that he was sure most people didn’t catch on to. Softly-spoken sarcasm delivered in a lilting accent. 

What was not to love?

He told her so. Unburdened himself completely, caught up in his own physical vulnerability and hers. It felt safe to tell her of his feelings, of how days where he knew he would see her were brighter, and how he liked when they shared a smile or exchanged a comment on a book. How his heart fluttered when he watched her read to the children, and how another part of his anatomy altogether reacted when she strutted around town with her short skirts and devil-may-care attitude. Liked how she thumbed her nose at the pearl-clutchers in town, doing things her way. Completely unsuited for boring, conventional small-town life, and yet wholly at home in Storybrooke, to the point where he could not imagine the town without her.

He shut up after that, noticing how she seemed to have changed, her mood going from loose and flirty to… anxious? No, that wasn’t the right word. Unsettled, perhaps.

“I can’t do this.” The sudden sentence felt like a slap in the face, but the moment his face dropped she seemed to backpedal. “No, no, not like that! I mean… I wanna touch you. I want to be in the same room. With even less clothes on. This… It suddenly doesn’t feel like enough.”

She was fucking right, he realised. He felt itchy all of a sudden. Unfulfilled. Empty.

“Come over.”

“What?”

Belle seemed genuinely surprised, but the way her skin flushed and her eyes got big let him know she was very open to the idea.

“Come the fuck over. It’s fucking cold anyway and the heating system at the library is shite at the moment. Come over and I’ll keep you warm, sweetheart.”

He was rather impressed with his blunt bit of bravery, born out of a consuming need more than anything, and even more impressed when it looked like it worked. Belle scrambled out of the chair, throwing a lovely little nightie on before getting her coat and scarf. 

“Be there in a few. See you!”

She disconnected before he could tell her to bundle up. It was fucking freezing outside and that nightie and her stockings and shoes would do nothing against the cold, coat or no coat. A moment later he realised he was sitting down in his pants, socks and shoes and nothing else while Belle fucking French was coming over to... 

Fuck.

He scrambled up, fishing for his cane in a hurry and having just enough presence of mind to disconnect from Zoom. He went upstairs to his room, deciding that it would be awkward for him to still be wearing pants. And socks. And shoes. So he chucked all that off, throwing a dressing gown over his boxers, pausing to put on his house slippers, glad beyond words he had recently bought new ones. After that he went downstairs to the kitchen and popped a bottle of champagne, looking into his pantry for the box of chocolate truffles from Kreuther, a treat he had gotten himself after visiting a state sale in Midtown Manhattan a week ago. He arranged the impromptu offerings on the dining room table, and when the bell rang he told himself he was ready. He opened the door, finding a rosy-cheeked and clearly shivering Belle on the other side, hair windswept, as if she had run there. Taking into account her heels it was rather impressive.

Belatedly he thought about the scene she had walked into. He in his dressing gown, with champagne flutes and truffles on the table and a fire roaring in the living-room, a scenario ripe for debauching. But perhaps she wished to talk more, to explore their emotional intimacy. Perhaps the trek there had killed her ardour and all she wanted and needed was to get warm and comfortable. He didn’t want to come off as… expecting anything.

Belle, however, seemed to not share his concerns. She took one look at him, one look at the softly-lit space behind him and the food laid out and smiled.

“You brilliant, wonderful man.”

A second late she was in his arms. Cold, but soft and smelling of orange blossoms and frost. She tilted her head up, slanting her lips across before he could blink and it was… wonderful. The coolness of her lips contrasted with the searing heat of her mouth, making for a rather delicious contrast of sensations. He used the hand not clutching his cane for dear life to find the buttons of her coat, undoing them one by one with barely-contained impatience. Finally he had the coat opened and could snake his arm around her waist. The silk of her small camisole was soft to the touch, and let him feel the warmth of her skin beneath.

He needed to feel more. Now that she was safe in the warmth of his house she didn’t need her coat or scarves and went about the business of removing both without separating himself from her. It took a lot of tugging and pulling and a couple of missteps that landed her up against the wall, to his utter delight, but she was finally rid of both. Her skin, despite the toasty temperature inside the house, was still chilly from the outside.

“Come close to the fire, sweetheart.”

They managed to stumble across the hallway and into the living room, where they seemed to come to the mutual conclusion that remaining standing was not conducive to their current situation. The rug near the fireplace, thankfully, was thick and soft, and the couple of throw blankets he quickly spread over it made it more so. Once he was satisfied she would be comfortable he let her tackle him to the ground, enjoying having her above him. She was small, especially once she wrestled her heeled boots off. A tiny slip of a woman, shorter than him even, but there was a presence to her, a strength, that he couldn't help but surrender to. Beautiful, terrifying Belle.

“I’ve dreamed of this.” Her voice was low, husky. “You weren’t wearing a dressing gown in my dreams, though.”

“And you weren’t wearing anything in mine.” His accent was so thick he feared she might not be able to understand me. “Tit for tat, dearie.”

She ground herself against him, causing him to hiss and arc. Enough pressure to elicit a response, but not nearly enough to satisfy him.

“Don’t call me that. That’s how you call everyone else, and I’m not everyone else, am I?”

Her confidence slipped for a second, exposing a hint of uncertainty that he was quick to dispel.

“No, sweetheart. Of course not.”

He untied the belt of his dressing gown, managing to slip it off while still pinned by Belle. He didn’t imagine it was a very sexy spectacle but she seemed to appreciate it nevertheless. To reward him she yanked her nightie off, revealing her glorious breasts once again to his hungry stare. She was absolutely perfect, made even better by the way the fire lit her skin and hair, and turned her eyes a deeper blue. She looked fierce yet soft, a magnanimous mistress looking down fondly at a favoured pet. Idly she traced a scar near his right shoulder with the tip of her index finger, frowning the slightest bit.

“I want to know the story behind this. I want to know… more. About you. All there is to know that you wish to tell me.”

“Yes.” Usually he’d balk at the idea of such intimacy, of being so bare. Yet it felt like something he could do with Belle, something he wanted to do. “Yes, of course, sweetheart. And I want to know everything about you.”

She smiled, the gesture slowly turning sultry as she crossed her elbows over his chest.

“We’ll talk… later.”

She kissed him then, slowly and thoroughly, sinking one hand into his hair so she could tilt his head just so. Her fingernails felt delicious against the sensitive skin of his scalp and were a welcome distraction from the uncomfortable pressure of her ass against his groin. He wanted to last, desperately, but she was every wet dream he’d ever had come true. He needed to redirect his attention to anywhere but his aching cock. So he forced himself to focus on anything else. The soft, silky feeling of her skin against the rough pads of his fingers, and the taste of her, faintly sweet. She kissed like it was an art, managing to somehow find every spot that made him want to rip her panties off and just bury himself in her, foreplay be damned.

He startled when he felt her hands trail down his body and grasp the elastic of his underwear, tugging on it to hint at what she wanted. He obliged her before he could talk himself out of it, raising his hips so she could slide the boxers off his legs while still kissing. He felt her touch his mangled ankle and forced himself not to flinch or pull back. Blessedly she seemed to notice his discomfort, tugging his boxers off completely and reaching out to place his hands on the sides of her hips, against the scratchy fabric of her underwear. The message was clear, especially when she propped herself against the floor with her hands so she could raise her hips. He gently tugged her pantied down, with slow, careful movements to avoid accidentally ripping the delicate lace and not simply to watch in aroused amusement as Belle fidgeted above him. 

“Patience, sweetheart.”

She whined, kicking her panties off when they reached her ankles and pushing him back a second later, her expression demanding.

“No more delays. We’ve had months of foreplay.”

He found himself agreeing with her. It certainly felt like they had been teasing each other for months, with the shared jokes, the furtive glances, bitten lips and coy smiles. Not that he had even dared dream of it before that night. Belle was too good in every way for a bitter old cripple like himself. Her hands on his cock chased his self-deprecation away, leaving his mind in a blissful state of blankness. Slowly, torturously so, she took him in, her hot, wet cunt enveloping him with the right amount of pressure. It was almost too good a feeling, leaving his nerve-endings too excited to register much else. She was fucking perfect, the feel of her the weight of her above him. Like she was made for him, only he wasn’t that lucky. 

He needed to somehow make it up to her, make it so good she would not regret it. So he focused on establishing a rhythm, steady enough to build up their pleasure, but not too perfect to make it boring. He concentrated on the sounds she made, the perfect little gasps and the occasional, shivery whine that let him know she was enjoying herself. Soon enough, however, coordination and any form of higher thinking went out the window, the pleasure getting to be too much to focus on anything else other than driving himself as deep into her as he possibly could. He had enough presence of mind to sneak a hand between their bodies, slipping it across her wet fold to stimulate her further, determined not to come before she did. When he finally felt it, the blissful fluttering of her inner walls accompanied by a triumphant cry, he let go of his last shreds of self-control, letting his body seek out its needed release, the feeling travelling up his spine and leaving his whole body boneless with satisfaction. 

He grunted when she practically fell on top of him, though he welcomed the reassuring weight of her and the heat from her body. He thought about the champagne and the truffles waiting for them on the dining room table and decided they could wait. As soon as he was able to move he would wrap his dressing gown around Belle and take her and the food and drinks to the bedroom, where they could recoup their energy and talk. And perhaps much later, if he was good, Belle would let him drink champagne from her navel. 

Thank Regina and her fucking Zoom twon halls. He would never complain about them again.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #Thestraggletag fanfiction #Virtual Session

[bonelymonsterclub]

(1) Branded For Carnage

“No, no, no...” you moaned, desperately twisting the rusty knobs of your cramped shower.  The pipes groaned within the walls, water trickling from the shower head, then with an ominous rattle, the water stopped.  Again.  “Shit.”  You raked your fingers through your hair, grimacing at the built-up grease from a weekend of vegging on the couch and wishing for the sweet embrace of death.  Now the weekend was over, and in little over an hour, you were to begin your new job at a bar-slash-restaurant called “Grillby's”; it was a monster-run establishment, but over the five months since monsters were freed from beneath the mountain, it was quickly becoming one of the most popular eateries in Ebott City.  You wanted to make a good first impression, and you certainly couldn't do that if you showed up looking like Death himself had personally paid you a visit, not to mention your probably smelled like sweat and junk food.  “Shit!”

You paced the limited width of the room, biting at your thumbnail, before you finally slumped against the sink and succumbed to your fate: you'd have to suck up your pride and ask one of the neighbors to take pity on you and let you clean up in their bathroom.  That wouldn't normally have been a problem, except you'd only been existing in your apartment for about two and a half weeks and, being so busy between job-hunting and unpacking your shit, you hadn't bothered to introduce yourself to anyone.

What a great first impression I'll be making, you thought sarcastically as you finally left the bathroom, your clothes for the day tossed over your arm.  You'd never had to do a walk of shame, but you imagined that it was something similar to how you felt as you exited your apartment and dragged your feet until you were in front of your neighbor's door.  You knocked lightly on the worn wood and popped your knuckles as you waited.  Thumping footsteps sounded from within and when the door swung open, you looked up... and up.  Before you stood a monster made of bone and pure spite, if the way he was glaring at you was any indication.  He was dressed in really tight-looking black pants, a long-sleeved maroon shirt, and curiously enough, despite it being the beginning of summer, a tattered red scarf and a pair of red gloves.

“Human,” he growled, crossing his arms.  “What Reason Could You Possibly Have For Interrupting The Illustrious Papyrus' Morning Routine?”

You swallowed thickly.  Now, you had no problem with monsters, considering you'd be working under one for the foreseeable future, but this had to be the most intimidating one you'd ever laid your eyes on – the deep scars across his eye socket enhanced his terrifying appearance.  Your mind couldn't help but compare him to the image humans held of the Grim Reaper.

“I See.  I Should've Known That A Mere Human Would Be Struck Speechless In My Awesome Presence,” he sighed, sounding greatly put upon.

“N- no!” you finally managed to stammer.  “That's not it.  Sorry, um... Papyrus, was it?  I'm one of your neighbors and my shower isn't working, so I was hoping I could possibly use yours?  It'll be quick; ten minutes at the most.”

Papyrus stared at you inscrutably for a moment before scoffing.  “Nice Try, Human.  You've Underestimated My Brilliance.  I Am Not Foolish Enough To Allow You To Infiltrate My Home So You Know The Layout To Raid It Later.”

You gaped at him in disbelief for a moment.  Is he serious?  “But-”

“ENOUGH!”  You jumped.  “Scurry Back To Whatever Hole You Crawled Out Of And See To It That You Don't Pester Me Again.”  He appeared to deem the conversation finished after that because, without giving you a chance to speak further, he stepped back and slammed the door in your face.

You bit your lip when you heard another door somewhere behind you click shut softly.  Papyrus' words were probably heard by all of the occupants of your floor – the whole apartment building, perhaps, considering your apparently lackluster luck.  You weren't sure you wanted to take a chance with anyone else after that – perhaps you could call up your sister, but though she didn't live very far, the travel time in addition to your shower would likely make you late.  Before you could slunk off to hide away in your apartment and try to wash up with the kitchen sink, the door in front of you swung open again, making you flinch.

“I- I was just going!”  you yelped; however, it wasn't Papyrus who was staring you down this time, but another skeleton who appeared quite a bit shorter, rounder, and all-together too tired.

Clad in a red turtleneck, black shorts, and fuzzy pink slippers, this new skeleton didn't seem quite as threatening as Papyrus.  He was a few inches shorter than you and had prominent fangs on display; he also had a scar, though it was on the top of his skull rather than directly on his face.  However, it wasn't his appearance that sent a chill down your spine.  This skeleton had a presence that not even Papyrus had managed, and it made you all the more nervous when he apparently finished his silent assessment of you and made eye contact.  (Well, you thought he was making eye contact; his eye sockets were as empty as Papyrus'.)

“*come on in,” he said, stepping aside slightly.

Whatever you expected him to say, it wasn't that, and you gaped at him for a moment.  His brow furrowed after a moment and your panic began anew, thinking you'd offended him, but he just opened the door wider.

“*well?  you wanted t’ take a shower, didn't ya?”  His mouth was set in a permanent grin, but somehow, you could've sworn it grew a little bigger as he teased, “*we ain't gonna bite, sweetheart.”

You grew flustered and shuffled past him when he waved you through the doorway.  You peered around meekly as he nudged the door shut.  The layout wasn't much different from your apartment, though they had a lot more stuff cluttering the floor.

“SANS!”

You would forever deny the startled squeak that escaped you when Papyrus barged out of the kitchen area.  He glared at you so hard that you thought you might combust on the spot.

“Sans,” he repeated in a quieter, much eerier tone.  “What, Exactly, Is That Human Doing In Our Home?”

“*they're gonna use our shower,” the shorter skeleton – Sans – replied casually.  “*geez, paps.  ya realize that makin' a good first impression ain't just not killin' someone on the spot anymore.  ya gotta show some kindness.  ‘member?”

“But Not Killing Them On The Spot Is A Kindness!”  Papyrus insisted.

“*ya wanna take that up with the kid?”

Somehow that seemed to mellow Papyrus out.  He returned his gaze to you and sighed heavily.  “My... Apologies, Human,” he said lowly through clenched teeth.  “Please, Feel Free To Put Our Shower To Good Use.  Heaven Knows That Sans Doesn't.”

Despite how... forced the apology sounded, it sort of felt like he was attempting to joke around at the end.

“Thank you so much!”  You could've cried with relief.  “I promise I'll be out of your way as soon as possible.”

Was it you or were Papyrus' cheeks turning red?  “See To It That You Do.  Sans, Breakfast Is Waiting.”

Sans pointed out the bathroom to you – though you could've located it yourself, seeing as their apartment layout was similar to yours, you were grateful for his help – and you hurried into it, locking the door behind you for good measure.  You set your work clothes on the counter, turned the shower on as hot as it would go, then stripped and hopped in.  There weren't any cleaning products you could use – just a large bottle of Mettaton's Patented Bone Bleach, which you were sure wasn't made for humans –, but you weren't too concerned.  You had post-shower products you could put in your hair and deodorant, so you scrubbed yourself down thoroughly before getting out.  It was only after you shut off the shower and stepped out that you realized that you hadn't even checked to see if there were any towels, but you saw a fluffy white one folded and set on the other side of the sink from your clothes.  You were pretty sure there hadn't been one when you walked into the bathroom, but considering that you locked the door, it wasn't like your hosts could've snuck in and set it there.  You marked it down as you being oblivious to it on your way in and set to drying yourself off before redressing.

When you stepped out of the bathroom, dirty clothes bundled under one arm, you almost collided with Papyrus’ rib cage.  You shuffled back enough to look up at him, though he stubbornly refused to meet your gaze, glaring a hole through the door behind you.

“Human, Allow Me To Make Up For My Discourteous Manners By Treating You To Breakfast.”

He gestured towards the kitchen, where you could see Sans sitting at a high-set table, groggily shoveling spoonfuls of red mush into his mouth.

“There’s really no need,” you protested.

“I Insist.”

You had a feeling you weren’t going to win this argument, especially with the way he was now scowling at you.  That’s how you found yourself seated at the table, next to Sans and across from Papyrus, with that aforementioned red mush piled onto a plate in front of you.

“Can I ask what this is?”  You prodded at the paste with your fork, thrown off by its jello-like consistency.

Papyrus scoffed as he dug into a bowl of oatmeal with dinosaur eggs.  “Honestly, You’ve No Eye For The Culinary Arts.  It’s Lasagna, My Personal Recipe!”

You stared blankly at the heap of… lasagna on your plate and wondered if it was even safe to consume.  But Sans was eating it with no problem - he’d even gone for seconds -, so it couldn’t be poisoned at the very least.  You briefly met Papyrus’ expectant stare, then scooped up a forkful of the stuff and shoved it into your mouth before you could second guess your decision.  As soon as the slop touched your tongue, you had to clamp your jaws together tightly to fight off your gag reflex.  It took everything you had to not let your face scrunch up in response to the indescribable flavor.  You somehow managed to choke it, and the next several forkfuls, down, sending Sans a grateful look when he slid his half-full glass of milk over to you, and you took a swig before daring to look Papyrus in the eyes again.  Sans had finished his meal at this point and was slumped over the table, his face buried in his arms, but you could somehow feel the threatening expectations he held for your next words.

“It… was great, Papyrus,” you said, offering him a smile.  “Nearly as great as you.”

Sans began to snore as Papyrus sat ramrod straight, looking proud - and was that a hint of relief you saw there?

“W- Well Of Course It Was!” he boasted.  “It Is The Only Meal I Learned To Cook Back In Snowdin.”

The only meal?  No wonder Sans could handle it without a problem; his poor taste buds had probably been rotted away from Papyrus’ concoction.  (Did skeletons even have taste buds?  Did they even have tongues?)

You dared to tread into unstable territory.  “This is the only meal you know?  But surely, with your cooking prowess, you’d have more in your repertoire.”

Papyrus sputtered and though he didn’t look up, Sans’ snoring ceased.  The taller skeleton’s face was turning all kinds of red and you knew you had to conclude this quickly.

“Oh, I have an idea!”  you announced with a gleeful clap of your hands, as if a thought was just coming to mind.  “I happen to have went to culinary school for a time, and I know how to make all sorts of food.  Let’s make a deal, Papyrus.  In exchange for me using your shower until mine gets fixed, how about I teach you some recipes I know?”

Papyrus mulled over this - visibly putting a hand to his chin and humming aloud -, then seemed to come to a decision with a firm nod.  He stood from his chair and leaned over the table to offer a gloved hand to you.

“You Have Yourself A Deal, Human.”

You stood as well, shaking his hand and altogether relieved your risk would be well-rewarded in exchange for something you genuinely enjoyed doing.  Your phone began buzzing insistently in your pocket - your alarm alerting you to head for Grillby’s now or you’d be late - and you gathered your clothes once more from where you’d set them beside your seat.

“I have to go now,” you said.  Papyrus’ eyes darted to your uncleared plate with barely disguised disappointment and though you knew you’d probably regret it later, you stole another large forkful of food.  It was worth it to see the spark of surprise and delight on the intimidating skeleton’s face.  “I’ll come see you later to set up our dates.  Thanks for breakfast!”

“D- DATES!?”  Papyrus’ shriek exploded behind you as you escaped their apartment to beeline to yours to deposit your clothes and slap on some deodorant before you headed out.

#underfell #underfell sans #underfell papyrus #underfell x reader #sans x reader #papyrus x reader #undertale #undertale au

[kitkatd7]

Carnival

Summary: Your first date with Steve. 

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings: None? Maybe a curse word and then it’s all fluff

Word Count: 853

A/N: I’ve had this idea forever and I’m finally writing it! Feedback is cool :)

My works are not to be posted on any other platform without my consent!!!

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

5:58. He should be here any second, You tell yourself, rechecking your appearance in the mirror for what must be the 10th time. You're wearing a maroon v-neck with black skinny jeans and you're converse. Is this too casual? Should I change? You ask yourself, going back and forth in your mind. Too late, you think as you hear a knock on your apartment door. Opening your door, you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face when you see Steve, dressed in dark blue jeans, a white t-shirt and a leather jacket. Good. He went casual too. Despite how relaxed his clothes are, you can’t help but admire how good he looks. Little do you know he’s thinking the same thing about you. “Are you ready?” He asks, giving you another smile.

“Absolutely.”

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

You’ve been at the local fall carnival for a while now, playing games and sharing funnel cakes. You can’t help but smile as you walk next to Steve, who’s holding the stuffed animal you won for him with a goofy smile on his face. “So whatcha gonna name him?” You giggle, looking at the mostly brown and partly white puppy. His eyebrows furrow in concentration as he stares at the stuffed animal and you can’t help but laugh at him. 

His eyes light up and he holds the puppy in the air triumphantly. “Dodger!” He exclaims, the look of an excited 5 year old on his face. 

“That’s a great name, you tell him, still laughing at his antics.

Shrieking excitedly, you grab his hand, pulling him towards what’s caught your attention. He huffs in laughter at you as you drag him towards the ferris wheel.

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

As the Ferris wheel jolts to a stop at the top you squeal, grasping Steve’s arm in surprise at the sudden movement. Blushing, you let go of him when he smiles at you in amusement. You sigh when over the loudspeaker you hear that the ferris wheel is having ‘technical difficulties’ so you guys are basically stuck up there. 

You shiver unconsciously, looking up in surprise as Steve slips his jacket around you. You smile gratefully, pulling it tighter around your body.

Hearing your sigh, he smiles at you again. “Hey, look on the bright side, we can watch the sunset,” he says warmly, gesturing to the pink, orange and yellow skyline in front of you.

You look over at him in surprise as he timidly slips his fingers between yours. Squeezing slightly, you turn your attention back to the beautiful view in front of you. Steve does the same, but he isn’t looking at the sunset. He’s looking at you. 

He breaks out of his trance at the sound of your voice and the warm smile that lights your lips. “So, would you go on a date like this back in the 40’s?” You ask curiously, your head cocked to the side as you wait for an answer.

“I didn’t go on dates then. No girl wanted to go out with a guy they might step on while dancing,” he says honestly.

“I would have,” you murmur, looking back at the view.

“So you aren’t going out with me just for my body? That’s good to know,” he jokes, shooting you a lopsided grin that has your heart beating just a little faster.

Despite his light-hearted tone, you can’t stop from saying, “Nope. I’m going out with you because you're the sweetest, kind-hearted, gentlemen I’ve ever met.” He looks at you in slight surprise. 

“But the fact that you're hot is a nice bonus.” You smile as he laughs. You’ve never heard a sound quite like it, and you want nothing more than to hear it for the rest of your life. Right as you both lean in the Ferris wheel jolts to a start again and you both pull back, blushing.

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

As you open the door to your apartment, you turn around, a sweet smile meeting your own as you look up at Steve. “I had a great time tonight.”

“So did I,” he beamed, leaning against your door, his large frame coming so close you can feel the heat radiating off of him. As he leans closer your eyes flutter shut, waiting for what is an eternity and no time at all before his lips brush yours gently. 

“So um, same time next week? I was thinking maybe bowling?” He murmurs, eyes somewhat pleading as he smiles at you.

“That sounds amazing.” You smile in return as he turns and starts to leave. 

“Oh Steve!” You call after him as he turns and looks over his shoulder at you in question. “You forgot your jacket,” you say, starting to slip it off of your shoulders. 

He shoots you another smile before continuing to walk and calling over his shoulder, “keep it. It looks better on you anyway.”

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

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#kits writing #carnival #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #fluff #steve rogers x y/n #steve x reader #steve rogers x you #steve x you #steve x y/n #fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel fanfiction

[shipskicksandgiggles]

Title: Fireworks

Pairing: Harley Keener x Peter Parker

Summary: Spending New Year's alone was perfectly fine with Peter. That changes when his best friend shows up at his door with a couple of glasses and a bottle of champagne

Warnings: none

AO3 link: x 

~~~

Peter was just considering popping open the bottle of sparkling grape juice his aunt bought him early when his phone rang. 

“Hello?”

“Peter!”

“What’s going on, Harles?”

Harley Keener, his best friend and partner in crime, was supposed to have something to do tonight. “I’m bored.”

“It’s New Years Eve. Don’t you have a party to go to?”

“I got out of it. What are you doing?”

Peter clicked his tongue as if he was thinking. “Well, I was about to flip the TV channel over to the countdown thing, and I’ve got a bottle of that shitty, non alcoholic grape juice shit I’m gonna open up here in a few minutes. Why do you ask?”

“You’re not doing anything special?”

“Well no? May is out with Happy and I honestly didn’t feel like dealing with the crowds. I did consider dressing up though, just to be dramatic.”

“You should. Why celebrate anything unless you’re having fun?”

It was a fair point. Peter got up and stretched before heading into his bedroom and putting Harley on speaker so he could rifle through his closet. “So why aren’t you at Mr. Stark’s party?” he asked. 

“I lived through one of those last year and I’d rather not do it again. It was fun, but too many people want me to be something that I’m not, and I don’t want to make small talk with people who don’t know me.”

He hummed as he buttoned up his shirt. “Which tie should I wear?”

“Wear the maroon one. Compliments everything about you.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, darling.” He tied a simple Windsor knot with ease before looking around for a jacket. “Jacket?”

“None.”

“Interesting choice. None it is.” Peter made his way back into the living room, picking up the remote and changing the channel on the TV. 

There was still a solid 15 minutes before the ball dropped, so he walked into the kitchen and tried to find a champagne flute, listening to Harley complain about shitty bureaucrats all the while. 

“Wouldn’t it be nice to just have a normal News Years for once?” Harley asked.

“Normal like ‘get drunk with people our own age and make out with the person closest when the clock strikes midnight’ or like ‘in Times Square surrounded by asshole tourists?’”

“Wow, I always forget how different New York is. Our normal was watching either celebrating at a bar or bowling alley, or if you were younger, you’d have a movie night and watch the ball drop before passing out.”

“Sounds fun,” Peter laughed. “Definitely different.” He cursed quietly. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I just can’t find the champagne flutes.”

The doorbell rang. 

“The hell?”

“Was that the doorbell? You should probably get that.” He sounded like he was smiling. 

Peter rolled his eyes and went to the door. Sure enough, he opened it to Harley standing there, leaned against the doorframe, phone pressed against his ear, a bottle and champagne flutes in his hand. 

“So? Anyone important?” he said, still speaking into the phone. His smirk was so annoying.

“Ass. Get in here, moron.”

He grabbed his wrist and pulled him over the threshold. 

“I brought champagne flutes. And champagne.” Harley set both down on the kitchen counter. 

“We can’t have champagne. Underage drinking is illegal, remember?”

“Never said there was alcohol in it. Bruce helped me develop it. Tastes exactly the same with none of the shit that makes you tipsy.” 

Harley hung his coat by the door, and Peter noticed he was also wearing a suit. “You had this all planned out, huh?”

“Mostly. You not being about to find the glasses was just a lucky coincidence. Watch yourself.” He popped the cork off the bottle and poured a glass for both of them. “C’mon. I wanna watch the ball drop.”

Peter took one of the champagne flutes from his hand and leaned against the couch, watching Harley as he took the armchair. He took a tentative sip of the champagne.

The taste was… interesting. He coughed. “I don’t know why, but I was expecting it to taste more like soda. Ginger Ale maybe.”

Harley laughed and took a sip of his own. “It’s good. Sweet.”

He nodded, still unsure of how to describe it. Silence was fine too, he decided. 

The TV droned on between them. Some celebrity that would be obsolete next year was talking about New Year's Resolutions. 

“Do you have any?”

“Have any what?” Peter glanced in Harley’s direction and caught his breath at the sight of his suit rumpled, tie slightly loosened. 

He gestured to the TV screen. “Resolutions. Things you want to do better this year.”

Peter thought about it for a moment before responding. “Honestly? I don’t think so. Just to keep up with everything that made this year great and I’ll play it by ear. You?”

“Maybe start making an effort to adjust to the New York version of normal.”

“What, like the New Year’s shit I was talking about?”

“I mean I wouldn’t be opposed to the things you were talking about. A New Year’s kiss sounds great, but other stuff too. Tennessee was more, I don’t know. People were nosy, everyone knew everything about everybody else. Everyone here tries to mind their business and ignore the people around them. It’s strange, but I think if I put a little more effort into actually leaving the past in the past, it’ll get easier.”

Peter took another sip of the champagne, hoping Harley couldn’t hear the blood roaring in his ears. He didn’t know what to make of the comment about New Year’s. Honestly, it was probably nothing.

Neither one of them said anything for what felt like forever. More celebrities whose names he’d forgotten made appearances, talking about best moments of the year. 

Two minutes to midnight, Harley spoke up again. 

“You’re quiet tonight. Everything okay?”

“I’m fine. Just thinking,” Peter answered honestly.

“What about?”

“New Year’s.”

Harley’s eyebrow twitched up. “Why? You want me to kiss you at midnight?”

“You offering?”

Both of them froze. Peter had no idea what compelled him to say that, but fuck it. He couldn’t take it back now.

Harley didn’t say anything. Instead he got up and went to refill his glass, offering up the bottle to Peter, who took it graciously and did the same. He passed it back to Harley who replaced the cork and put the bottle away. He moved to sit back down, but hesitated at the last second.

“Come here.” He motioned for Peter to follow him and pulled him into his lap as he sat back down. “This okay?”

Peter didn’t trust himself enough to speak, but he managed to nod. 

“Okay.”

There was 30 seconds left on the clock. Peter had to make a conscious effort to breathe. 

Time seemed to pass slowly, dragging the seconds into hours. 

Harley started counting down. 

“Ten,” he whispered against his neck, making Peter shudder. 

“Nine, eight, seven, six-” 

Was Peter counting too? He wasn’t sure if he was actually speaking aloud. 

“Five, four, three, two-”

At the very least he was mouthing the words, the last semblance of control he had finally breaking through. 

“One.”

Harley clinked their glasses together. 

“Happy New Year.”

He made eye contact with him over the rim of his glass, letting the sweetness of the champagne calm his nerves. 

Peter lowered his glass slowly, still holding his gaze. Harley took it from him, setting it on the end table before winding his arms around Peter’s waist. 

Before he could second guess himself, Peter brought his arms up and around Harley’s neck. He was beautiful like this, eyes shining in the low light, mouth ever so slightly open, just… looking at him.

The kiss was sweet, reminiscent of the champagne they’d had. 

He could hear fireworks. He wasn’t sure if they were real or not.

#parkner #harley keener x peter parker #peter parker #harley keener #Happy New Year #fluff #getting together #ellis writes

[onmykneesforhotdilfs]

#14

Preferably Valtor blushing pls and thx :)

P14. "Are you blushing?"

Valtor doesn't remember the last time he was this nervous. His hands shook as he raised an arm to ring the bell of Mike and Vanessa's house. A muffled 'Coming!' was heard and his stomach seemed to jump into his throat. He swallowed a lump in his throat and his face took on his signature smirk and calm look in his eyes. The door opened and a brunette woman with kind brown eyes stood on the other side of door step. "Valtor! C'mon in, don't stand there, you'll catch a chill. Bloom is almost ready."

At the mention of her adopted daughter's name another wave of nervousness rippled through Valtor and he had to resist the urge to bite his lip. Vanessa looked at him with knowing look in her eyes and she tilted her head on one side as a fond smile appeared on her lips. "Nervous?" She asked.

Seeing she saw right through him Valtor dropped his guard he took a deep breath before finally managing, "Yes." His fingers dug into his palms and he ran his tongue over his lips to wet them. He took another breath in before speaking again. "Very. It's not every day I get to take the most beautiful woman I've ever laid my eyes out on a date."

Vanessa opened her mouth to say something, but whatever she was about to say was cut off by a scuffle in the living room as Mike's made his way over to them. "Vanessa, where did you put those sandwiches - oh! Hello Valtor." Mike offered his hand to Valtor and he took it without thinking, hoping only his palms weren't sweating, into a firm handshake. "So... here to pick up Bloom?"

"Um, yes." He tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear because it was starting to annoy him, another tell tale sign of how nervous he actually is. Vanessa slapped Mike's chest and murmured something to him, something Valtor wasn't particularly interested in because he heard the door of Bloom's room open and a clicking of high heels as she descended to the ground floor.

Blue stilettos appeared first and long creamy legs, covered only from the mid thigh by the silky fabric of the same color, followed them until Bloom's vibrant head of hair appeared as well.

Valtor stopped breathing.

Her light form was draped into expensive looking blue silk, her hair was gathered into a messy bun, few strands escaping to frame her face that looked fresh and youthful with minimal amount of makeup. She stood there on the stairs, equally stunned, taking the sight of Valtor dressed in an obviously expressive and probably tailored black suit with maroon colored shirt. His hair, usually loose, was gathered in a low ponytail giving him more sophisticated look.

A cough next to Valtor snapped them both out of a trance they had fallen into and as Bloom descended the last few steps, Valtor could feel heat rushing to his face and he had to physically stop himself from rushing to the nearest mirror to check if he was blushing. That, however, seemed to be futile because as soon as Bloom laid her eyes on him her lips shaped into a dangerous and teasing smirk. "Are you blushing?"

Valtor closed his eyes and groaned as Vanessa and Mike laughed next to him and Bloom herself almost joined. "Can you blame me?" He let go of his embarrassment at his lack of control after he decided that he can tease her back as well. He took hold of her hand and kissed the back of her palm in greeting. "You look absolutely stunning."

Bloom smiled and moved closer to him. "Thank you. You don't look so bad yourself." That earned her a scoff and a slight eye roll on his part but he moved to place his hand on her waist and pull her even closer. He grabbed her coat from the hanger and helped her get into it before he offered her his arm.

"So..." Mike's voice broke the silence. "Should we expect Bloom back home tonight?" Valtor raised an eyebrow and Bloom turned as red as her hair. An embarrassed 'Dad!' left her mouth but Mike and Vanessa were laughing too hard to acknowledge it.

Bloom grabbed her keys from the bowl and stuffed them in her purse as she grabbed Valtor's arm and said good bye to Mike and Vanessa, hell bent on proving them that she will be back later, before grabbing Valtor's offered hand and leaving the house. A cold breeze outside seemed to sober her up a bit and she turned her head to give him a kiss on the cheek as a greeting. She slipped her hand into Valtor's as he helped her down the stairs. "You know," he murmured into her hair as they made their way slowly down the street, "maybe you won't need that keys later after all."

He bent over as bloom sucker punched him in the gut and another vicious blush took over her face, but he could only laugh at the fairy that tried to play his game. He hugged her with one arm and kissed her forehead as the only thing that could be heard in the silence of the night was the synchronized beating of their hearts.

#baltor x bloom #bloom #bloom x baltor #bloom x valtor #sparxshipping #valtor #valtor x bloom #winx #winx club #fluff #sparxshipping requests #sparxshipping questions #sparxshipping prompts #sparxshipping fluff

[ratedbangtann]

𝐅𝐚𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬 | 𝙅𝙪𝙣𝙜𝙠𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙭 𝙋𝙡𝙪𝙨 𝙎𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 

"𝙵𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚍 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚜, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚘𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗' 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚐𝚘 𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍..."                                 

Pairing: Jungkook/Plus Size Reader Word count: 8.1k Warnings: size kink, body worship, spanking, switch!jk, oral sex (f), finger fucking, squirting, multiple orgasms, creampie

a/n: any and all teasing directed at Jungkook in this fic is merely friendly banter. i DO NOT believe any of the boys have a problem with plus size girls, and they do not in this fic either. any teasing is simply banter directed at Jungkook to make him shy and blush. they would tease him just the same if he had a thing for girls with piercings etc. 

in no way are any of the comments made meant to hurt or offend anyone. this fic was written in the hope that it would boost some people’s confidence and be inclusive of larger framed girls (like myself!)

                              "Seriously, you want to watch this again?" Hoseok pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration as Jungkook excitedly presses play on the remote, sitting back down on the couch between Yoongi and Jimin with his bowl of mixed candies.

"You're obsessed," Yoongi states with a monotonous groan.

"It's a good movie though, Jin hyung; back me up!" Jungkook tries to gather support from his hyung. Luckily, Jin was also a fan. In fact, it was he who insisted the group watch it to begin with.

"I'm with you, Jimin. I love it. Remember when we played Wembley in July? I had to do Freddie's thing!" Jin slaps his knee as he laughs at himself, the others smiling and shaking their heads at their elder.

Yes, the boys had been coerced into watching Jungkook's favourite movie, Bohemian Rhapsody, for the nth time. He was mesmerised by Queen, completely in awe of Freddie's stage presence and his ability to control a crowd, but also by the way he had dealt with all his demons and never showed it professionally. He often repeated the show must go on in his head in times of stress or hardship.

Scene after scene played out on the screen, song after song that Jungkook sang along to, word for English word. He knew them all; he'd listened to them enough. He understood now how international army had the patience to learn their lyrics when they didn't speak Korean; when you love something enough, you'll find the patience it takes.

And while the others had protested originally at the thought of watching this damn movie again, by the end, they were all feeling that same inspiring emotion elicited by watching Freddie prancing around at Live Aid, knowing full well he was dying. Both Jin and Jimin had joined Jungkook in wiping away tears before they had fallen, whilst Taehyung hadn't bothered to hide them. The poor boy was sobbing as he clutched onto Namjoon's arm.

"I never get tired of this, damn," Jungkook smiled.

"What's your favourite song then, Kookie?" Jin asked. Jungkook thought for a moment, musing over the various tracks he knew and loved so well, until he settled on one.

He wasn't sure he should tell the truth, it'd be easier to say it was Bohemian Rhapsody or Another One Bites The Dust, because he knew he'd be made fun of for his real favourite. The song that hypnotised him into lewd imagery in his head that he so badly wished he could experience. The song that, quite frankly, played up to one of his biggest fantasies.

"Fat Bottomed Girls," he had said timidly, avoiding eye contact from his hyungs for fear of their reaction.

Hoseok broke the silence that followed, unable to contain his giggles. Damnit, Jungkook thought, I knew I should have lied...

Namjoon nodded in understanding, smirking to himself at the admission. Tae barely paid attention, still trying to calm himself. Bless him, he never could get a hold of himself once he started to cry... Yoongi barely reacted, a simple "hmm," escaping.

"It's a damn good song," Jimin agreed, slow clapping with approval.

"It is, a big butt is appreciated in this christian household," Jin laughed, but he meant what he said sincerely. He loved a large, perky butt.

Jungkook however, loved a little more than that...

"Aw Kookie, you're blushing. Someone's got a thing for a big girl, huh?" Hoseok continued to laugh, never meaning any harm of course but teasing the younger like he would a little brother.

It was true though, Jungkook loved big girls. He was hypnotised by them; just how their bodies moved, the little jiggle of their curves with every step... He dared to imagine how a big girl would feel under his touch; the squish of her flesh, able to grab handfuls of her as he worships her from head to toe. The ripple of flesh as he'd spank her bare behind, fucking into her from behind... The after-sex cuddles, nuzzling into her soft, warm flesh so comfortably. God, he loved the thought.

The boys teased Jungkook mercilessly after that evening; even when he had thought they may have forgotten about it. Nothing would be mentioned for a few weeks, until a larger girl was walking past their table in a restaurant, or a big girl appeared on their television; it gave each member ammo to tease poor Kookie until he was a brilliant shade of beetroot.

His hyungs never meant to upset him, and they certainly had nothing against anybody who was plus sized, nor did they ever mock anyone for their weight. They knew, of course, that beauty goes much deeper; but it was so fun to watch Jungkook blush.

Weeks passed since his half-admission, and Jungkook still adored the song that triggered his fantasies. Every time it came on shuffle, his mind was filled with images of beautiful big girls, dancing to it in a bar with their friends, singing to it at karaoke, humming it whilst cooking breakfast for the him after a long, hot steamy night, moaning out sinful expletives to it as it played as he ravaged them...  

"JUNGKOOK!" Namjoon banged on his bedroom door, scaring the shit out of him as he lay on his bed, palming himself through his sweats to the song and his imagination. "Stop jacking off to the Michelin man and get out here." Shit.

Jungkook paused the music on his stereo and waited a moment in order to conceal the very obvious hard on he had given himself with his own imagination, and made his way out to the living room, dragging his feet in a sulk.

"What?" he grunted.

"Pleasant greeting, especially seeing as we're about to give you your birthday present," Jin scoffed, an envelope in his hand.

"S-sorry... Birthday present? It's not for a week?" he rubbed the back of his neck, confused and still slightly groggy from his earlier states of consumed lust.

"Yeah but, we need to give it to you now..." Jin held the envelope out in front of him, and the younger gladly took it, opening at as the rest of the boys looked on in anticipation for his reaction.

"No way..." his eyes widened, reading over the words on the page over and over. "London?! We're going to LONDON?!"

"Yeah, all of us. We've never really done any real touristy things there, and well, seeing as you're totally obsessed with Queen we thought you might like to spend some time where they came from? Visit some of their history, if you will?" Namjoon smiled, giddy with glee at the younger's happiness.

"I'd love to, yeah. Whoa... London," his eyes gleamed with joy as he continued to stare at the plane tickets in hand. "We leave tomorrow? Jesus it's so sudden."

"Yeah, so you should get packing. Two weeks, Kookie, Pack for two weeks," Tae shooed him back into his room. Jungkook went to turn, but decided to run at the group and pull them all into a ridiculous and awkward seven-way hug.

"This is awesome, thank you so much."

The brothers loved seeing him so excited, each wishing him an early happy birthday and patting him on the back or ruffling his hair.

And then Jungkook scurried back off to his room to find an empty suitcase and stuff it in the most chaotic organised mess known to man.

***

Jungkook spent days dragging the boys through London to different spots of significance to queen's legacy, giddily jumping from target to target. Along the way, they hit up bars, a couple of typical tourist spots, but the majority of the time was spent doing what Jungkook wanted; this was his birthday trip, after all.

But today, was Jungkook's birthday. And the boys had something... planned.

9pm rolled around, and the boys had eaten and gone back to their hotel rooms, telling Jungkook to dress up relatively smart ready for a night out.

Where, he had no idea. But he trusted his brothers, and knew whatever it was would be fun.

Looking at his reflection in the mirror in the ensuite of his room, Jungkook was pleased with his outfit. His black jeans clung to his muscled thighs, the maroon silk shirt he was wearing tucked into the waistband with the top two buttons undone, revealing a little skin and a gold key pendant. His long hair drooped in front of his eyes, parted in the middle.

He fiddled with the strands, seeing if they looked better tucked behind his ears or not; he couldn't decide.

A knock at the door to his room stopped him messing with his hair, knowing full well it was his brothers ready to take him to wherever they had in mind.

"Jungkook, open up! Come on!" It was Jimin, yelling through the door.

He grabbed his leather jacket that he'd flung over the end of his bed and made his way to the door.

***

"Please say you're joking..." Jungkook whined in the back of the cab, looking out at the neon light that spelled out 'Burlesque' flashing above a staircase leading down into a basement club.

"Nope," Hoseok grinned, opening the door and letting out the four of them. Jin, Namjoon and Yoongi had followed behind in a separate cab.

Jungkook stepped out last, reluctant and shy.

"Hyung, seriously... I'm not so sure about-"

"What, you shy? Embarrassed? C'mon, this is like, British at it's best, right?" Hoseok encouraged.

"I thought it was French?" Jin argued, coming up behind the group.

"Actually the term started in Italy, like 400 years ago..." Namjoon, ever the intellect, started to reel off a history lesson.

"Okay fine I'll go in, if it'll stop this," Jungkook waved his hand in Namjoon's general direction, making a bee line for the door to the steps. The others followed, grinning and giggling at Jungkook's already flushed cheeks.

They had done this on purpose. He was surprisingly coy about anything sexual with them; the others? Overtly sexual. As open as you could be. But Jungkook never got over his shyness. He . could have a laugh and a joke but the second it got serious, his cheeks would flush, his hands would get clammy and his heart would race.

Perhaps, because he was a kinky little fucker, and he didn't want people to know just how much...

But the boys still liked to mess with him. He was the baby, after all. So, burlesque club it was...

When Jungkook reached the bottom step, he stopped at the cloakroom, seeing a man in a booth waiting to take admission.

"How many, sir?" he had asked. Jungkook looked at the man for the moment; a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a red waistcoat, black lined eyes and a small tuft of hair sticking out from under a black bowler hat, reminiscent of the kind Charlie Chaplin wore.

Jungkook thanked his lucky stars that he'd been paying attention to his English tuition lately, not wanting to wait for Namjoon to translate. In fact, he'd gotten pretty damn good at it... Fluent, even.

"Uh, seven please."

"Have you booked?" he opened a diary.

"Yes, we have. Under the name Kim," Namjoon appeared beside Jungkook, smiling kindly and offering up ID of his passport. The attendant nodded, striking the name off the book.

"Okay, booth number four, front and centre," he grinned at the group of men that had now gathered, "Enjoy!" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Jungkook had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. He was just doing his job after all.

The men wandered into the club, Namjoon finding the table with the golden number four at the edge. The men settled in the booth, with Jungkook placed strategically in the middle. The cloakroom attendant had been right; front and centre.

The lights to the club were dim, a spotlight trained on the stage at the front. Large red velvet curtains with gold trimmings hid most of the stage from view, waiting for the first act. Waiters and waitresses, all wearing black dress shirts and red waistcoats like the doorman, wondered the floor freely, taking drinks orders from the tables that were sat waiting. Punters were sat along the bar, mostly middle aged men there alone, or couples who hadn't booked a table.

Almost every table was full, both men and women alike. Groups of women were just as frequent as the men; girls' nights and bachelorette parties side by side with working class men out of an evening and bachelor parties too. The atmosphere was likened to that of a concert, before the lights go down and the artist walks on stage; the dull hum of conversation and anticipation filling the space.

A waitress came to take the order for the table, hurriedly scurrying off to collect their drinks and returning around 5 minutes alter, a tray perfectly balanced in her hand.

The boys got chatting, passing the time before the real show started. Jungkook sat nervously, an anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure about all this, he felt so vulnerable. He understood that burlesque was a beautiful art form and not just stripping; this was different. But something in him just felt uneasy about watching girls dancing and stripping, and he was sure it was because his hyungs were there to make fun of him for it.

He watched the time on his watch, ticking closer and closer to 10pm; he was sure that was when it was due to start. It must be...

And he was right. 10pm, and the bar lights dimmed, the spotlight shone, and the curtains slowly drew back, revealing a stage covered in beautiful girls, poised and ready to move as the music began. Their outfits were damn near sinful, and had all of the boys drooling into their cocktails; the beautiful red rhinestones that covered every inch of their bras, corsets and panties, the huge black feathers that fanned out behind them and stuck out of the top of headdresses, the black fishnet stockings held up by the red suspender belts, the classy red heel pumps... All were taken off one by one to the music, leaving each beautiful lady stood in underwear, stocking and vibrant red nipple tassels, swinging around suggestively.

The audience clapped and cheered as they finished the introductory number, the first act done with after 15 minutes of teasing, dancing, contortion and stripping.

The next act was introduced by a host; a male dressed like a ringmaster, of all clichés. This was acrobatic; two beautiful blonde women, performing beautiful movements in aerial routines, backflips, front flips, splits, cartwheels and using each other's bodies to create shapes the natural body should never be able to form.

Jungkook was of course, in awe at the show, watching as act upon act did their thing after the host's introduction; dances, teasing, acrobatics, lip sync routines, live singers; it was incredible to watch. And yes, very, very sexy.

He couldn't help but let his mind wander, much like every other person watching. What would it be like to be with one of these dancers for an evening? What would it be like to have someone put on a show like this in private?

Another show ended, and all seven of the boys clapped in appreciation of the group of girls who had just finished their rendition of Marilyn Monroe's 'Lazy'.

The host wondered back onto the stage, clapping too.

"Beautiful, just beautiful. Well, next up is the girl you've all been waiting for... Ms. Devereaux!"

The place erupted.

A standing ovation as the lights went down, cheers and whistles filled the air and Jungkook and the others sat in quiet confusion, clapping and waiting for something to happen on the stage to explain the incredible reaction from everyone else in the room.

The noise died down, people sat in their seats once again, and the music began...

"Aaaaaaare you gonna take me home tonight?"

Jungkook sat bolt upright, suddenly very aware of himself and surroundings.

"Oooohhhh, down beside your red fire light."

He had to be hearing things.

"Aaaaaaare, you gonna let it all hang out?"

Nope, this was happening.

"Fat bottomed girls you make the rockin' world go round!"

The spotlight hit as the familiar guitar started to strum, landing on you, your back to the audience, shaking your hips and tapping your foot to the guitar's rhythm.

Jungkook could feel the heat rising in his face, knowing full well that every pair of eyes at his table were now focussed on him, and yet, he couldn't tear his eyes away from where you stood on stage. He hadn't even seen your face, but god, he knew you were beautiful.

Your outfit was all black, elegant and yet so delectably scandalous. You wore a steel boned corset, moulding your delightful rolls into an hourglass figure to be envious of. It was black, laced at the back by black ribbon with small ruffle details alone the top. It dipped at the front, a clear v-line to show off the deep cleavage create by pushing your breasts together. From the hips to the back was covered in a feather train, cutting off at the back of your knees.

Suspenders hung from a garter belt hidden underneath the corset that attached to simple black stockings, the stitching running up the back of each of your legs following every little bump of cellulite and the natural curve of your calves.

Black satin panties covered your most important areas, the material shining against your beautiful round ass as you shook it in the spotlight to the music. Shiny black pumps stomped on the stage to the beat, along with a fancy cane you were holding in your right hand. Gloves made of the same sheer material as your stocking covered your forearms up past the elbow, an air of such sophistication added to your ensemble. And finally, a top hat with a couple of black feathers sticking up from the back.

Jungkook's jaw was hanging open, a comical 'o' shape of absolute shock etched into his face. The rest of the boys mimicked him, except they were looking at him, not at you on the stage.

The song continued, Freddie's oh so familiar voice singing out about beautiful big girls while you strut across the stage, flirting with the table in the front, dancing and hitting every beat, using your pure sexuality to entice every member of the audience as they whistled and clapped with glee.

"I've been singing with my band, across the wire, across the land, I seen every blue eyed floozy on the way, hey!

But their beauty and their style, went kind of smooth after a while. Take me to them dirty ladies every time..."

Jungkook was bewitched, watching as you continued your number; so sexy, swaying your hips and using your cane as you slowly took one glove off, followed by another. He loved the red lipstick you were wearing, imagining it smeared across his own neck with you biting and nipping at his skin to leave purple bruise marks... He watched you slowly taking off the smaller accessories of your ensemble, wishing so damn hard that it was him who would be able to do it instead.

When the chorus kicked in again, the club erupted to sing along. Skilfully, you undid the bow in the ribbon lacing your corset together, and started to undo the clasps at the front with one hand as your twirled your cane with the other. Before you let it fall, you threw it to one side, twirling so the audience didn't quite see your bare breasts covered only by black nipple tassels. You had more to take off before you finally revealed yourself...

At his table, the other members were getting rowdy like the rest of the club. They knew the song well, thanks to Jungkook, so sang along where they could, waving their arms around and dancing in place. But Kookie sat still, staring, mesmerised and imagining all the sinful activities he would just love to do with you.

He couldn't help himself; watching the way your hips swayed, your ass bounced, your thighs jiggled... It was turning him on to no end, and he was so desperate for you. To him, you were an absolute goddess, everything about you so beautiful. He'd never seen anyone like you before.

As the song neared its end, you were practically nude; the heels had been kicked off, the stockings taken off with the garter belt following, the top hat discarded and flung into the audience.

You kept yourself fairly concealed, your back to the crowd until Freddie shouts "GET ON YOUR BIKES AND RIDE", and you span around dancing to the guitar and Freddie's ad-libs as the song drew to a close, the tassels spinning and swaying, every beautiful roll of yours jiggling so perfectly.

Jungkook watched in awe as your danced around with your cane, practically nude, showing off your beautiful body. He could feel himself hardening, straining against the tightness of his jeans that he was grateful were so tight, there was no way anyone would be able to tell he was actually hard...

He had to meet you. He had to. If nothing else, just to tell you how beautiful he thought you were.

As the number ended, you posed at the edge of the stage, looking front and centre at Jungkook. Everybody in the room was cheering, clapping, whistling, all on their feet. But Jungkook stayed in his seat, and it caught your eye. You noticed just how dark his eyes were, how hooded they looked. You knew that look; it was lust. He was totally under your spell. So, being the showgirl you were, you smirked at him and winked, with a little blow of a kiss in his direction, before the lights went out and you exited the stage.

You had a few other numbers that night, a couple of different songs to do; some solo, some in groups, but each time you noticed Jungkook still staring, still spell bound. You found it quite amusing; such a handsome, muscled yet lean guy, incapacitated by a plus size burlesque dancer.

Cute.

The final number included all the performers, wrapping up the night in a beautiful display of acrobatics, live vocals, contortion, dancing and of course, mild nudity amongst a blur of feathers, rhinestones and tassels.  You took your final bow with your colleagues and friends, and made your way backstage to turn yourself back from Ms. Devereaux into y/n, ready to step back out into the club to mingle with the regulars and staff you knew and loved so much until closing.

Back on the floor, Jungkook felt almost like he was floating. It may have been the precarious amount of cocktails he had sipping on throughout the night, but he was sure that it was you he was intoxicated by.

As his brothers sat chatting and continuing to drink, enjoying the night - and occasionally making jabs at Jungkook for his reaction to your numbers, - Jungkook sat dipping in and out of the conversation, he attention elsewhere. He kept looking over to the corner of the club, a door with a 'stage door' sign on and a man clad in all black with an earpiece in one ear standing watch outside. He had to try...

He excused himself from the table, Namjoon and Tae having to stand to let him out of the booth. They assumed he was on his way to the bathroom, until they watched him head straight for the stage door.

"What the hell is he doing?" Yoongi asked, confused.

The others shrugged, watching intently.

The bouncer at the door held a hand out to Jungkook, who stood awkwardly, hands plunged into his pockets

"Can I help you, sir?" he asked, hands crossed in front of him.

"I-I was... um, is it possible to speak to one of the dancers?" he asked, nerves making him stutter over his words.

"Which one?"

"Uh... Ms. Dav-Daver..." he couldn't quite remember your name completely

"Ms. Devereaux?" the bouncer knew who he meant, thankfully. Jungkook nodded. "I'll let her know she has a fan," the man smirked, pressing a button on a radio he pulled from his back pocket and speaking into it, "Mr. Vandross, I have a gentleman here who would like to speak to Ms. Devereaux." The radio beeped and static poured out.

"Okay, 10 minutes," a male voice came back through the device.

"Now worries," the bouncer replied, shoving the radio into his pocket again. "10 minutes, sir. If you'd like to wait by the bar. Ms. Devereaux's will have a mojito."

"O-oh, okay..." Jungkook wasn't sure exactly what just happened, or what he expected to happen, but he turned back towards the bar and took up an empty stool near the end, ordering a drink for himself and your favourite cocktail. He watched the hands of his watch tick by minute by minute, anxiously tapping his foot against the bar stool, until he saw movement beside him, taking the stool next to him.

"Hello," you smiled, taking the mojito that Frankie the bar tender had brought to you as you sat down and taking a sip. Jungkook was taken back a little bit, still very much in awe of your beauty. You had kept your make up on, but now were wearing a knee length bodycon dress that hugged you in every place you had so proudly shown off throughout the night.

"H-hi..." Seeing you up close like this, being able to take in every feature of your face as well as your body, created a tsunami of nerves Jungkook hadn't expected. You were even more beautiful now, if that were possible.

"I was told you wanted to see me. What can I do for you?"

So much, Jungkook thought.

"I just wanted to say that... well, um- y-you're really beautiful and very talented." He played with the cocktail stirrer in his glass as he spoke. You smiled sweetly at his kind comment. Clearly his first language was not English; you could tell by the way he paused between words to think. It was endearing to you, something so cute. He was trying so hard, trying to talk to you as best he could.

You could tell you were making him nervous by the way he bit his lip and fiddled with his long hair, pushing it back and letting it flop back into place.

"What's your name?" you asked, curious to know more about this absolutely gorgeous man who looked like such a confident soul by appearance, but was downright terrified now he was in front of you.

"J-Jungkook," he stuttered again. Aw.

"I like it," you mused, and he hung his head as he smiled at your compliment. "Jungkook, you seem nervous," you placed your hand on his knee, feeling just how tight those jeans were. His eyes darted to your hand, electricity sparking at the contact.

"S-sorry, Ms. Devereaux. I just think you're so..." he wasn't sure how to finish that sentence. Beautiful wasn't enough; in fact, he was sure he didn't have an English word in his repertoire that could describe how gorgeous you were.

"Please, Ms. Devereaux is my stage name. I'm y/n, call me by that," you removed your hand from his knee, taking hold of your cocktail and taking another sip. "I'm flattered you think of me so highly. I noticed you, y'know. On stage I mean. The way you looked at me..." you leaned a little closer to him, so close he could smell the perfume you had sprayed before meeting him, "like you just wanted to fuck me," you whispered.

Jungkook's head snapped up, making eye contact with such shock...

"I-I'm sorry?"

"The look on your face, it was...primal. You wanted me, you were thinking about it, picturing it. Were you not?" you challenged, leaning your elbow on the bar and leaning into him a little more, keeping your voice low and so god damn seductive he was falling deeper and deeper into that imagination again.

"I-I..."

"It's okay, you can say it..." you teased, pressing your free hand against his thigh and feeling the taught muscle straining. Wow, you thought, those thighs... You would be more than happy to let him use those thighs against you however he liked. "Do you want to fuck me, Jungkook?"

He took a moment, thinking carefully of the pros and cons of this situation. Not that it mattered, he answered without paying attention to either.

"So much," he practically growled. You smirked, watching that darkness return to his eyes.

"Then why are we still sat here?"

Immediately Jungkook took your hand, downed his drink and without a thought to the rest of his brothers - who had all been watching from their booth in awe - took your hand from his knee and pulled you out of the club.

On the surface, you hailed a black cab down, climbing in the back with Jungkook in tow.

"My place or yours?" you had asked, and Jungkook barked the hotel name at the driver.

The whole car ride was laced with so much sexual tension. You had a moment of what the hell are you doing, y/n? that you brushed to the back of your mind. No, this wasn't like you. You had never taken a punter home before, never slept with anyone you met at work. But this guy... You couldn't pass this delicious specimen up.

You placed your hand on his thigh once again, a little higher than before, squeezing the muscle as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, using the close proximity to nuzzle your hair. Whatever shampoo you used was intoxicating to him. You could feel his hot breath on your ear, taken by surprise when he started to nip at the lobe and suckle lightly.

He wasted no time when the cab pulled up outside the hotel, passing far too many notes to the driver as he pulled you out with his arm around your waist. Already, he loved the way it felt under his touch, the squish just as delectable as he had imagined.

The both of you had been holding back since the cab ride but when he finally got you in the elevator alone, he couldn't stop himself.

Catching you off guard, he pushed you into the corner, looming over you with such animal lust you thought he might take you right there and then. Instead, he crashed his lips down onto yours, finally getting to taste you. His hands groped at your hips pulling them closer to his own in an attempt to grind on you, but the tightness of his jeans meant the friction he desired was further away than he thought.

The elevator dinged and doors opened on Jungkook's floor. He was too caught up in you that he didn't move; you had to push him with a giggle and direct him out into the corridor.

"Which room is it?" you laughed, looking both ways as if the room would be basking in a golden glow and obvious to you if you just looked hard enough. It wasn't.

"This way," he pulled on your hand in the direction of his room, digging in his pockets for his wallet and key card to get in.

Pulling you into the hotel room, he slammed the door shut behind the two of you, kicking it shut. You surprised him by pushing him up against it now, getting him back for trapping you in the elevator.

You kissed him again, going a little slower than Jungkook may have liked, but you wanted to savour the moment. Besides, you had been teasing all night; it was your job. Why would you stop now?

Using your tongue to lightly graze against his lips, you silently told him to open up, diving in further to deepen you kiss. Jungkook chuckled to himself; you tasted like your mojito. He pulled back for breath, resting his head back on the door and looking down at you through his lashes.

Your red lipstick had barely smudged, only the slightest trace he was ever there. I'll have to try harder, he thought.

A few deep breaths and Jungkook resumed the kiss, cupping your rounded face with one hand to create an intimate moment between you. It was sweet, but you were running out of patience and the lust was building and building.

Grabbing hold of his leather jacket, you slipped it off his shoulders, throwing it to the side. Grabbing fistfuls of the silk shirt, you pull him as you step back further into the room until the edge of his bed hits the back of your knees. Your hands make light work of the buttons on the shirt, undoing them and exposing his chest and abs. Holy shit, the abs.

Untucking it from his jeans, he rips the material from his torso for you, his lips never leaving yours as they moulded together so desperately.

He breaks you apart once again, spinning you round to have you stood with your back to him. His hands trace from your hips, up your waist to the zipper at the back of your dress. Slowly, he dragged it down, undoing the material to expose the bra straps and flesh hiding beneath. You pulled the sleeves off your arms pushing the material off you, down your hips, wiggling them as you slipped out of it. The dress hit the floor, and you're now stood in front of him, your back to him, in simple lace lingerie; a stark contrast to the rhinestones, glitter and feathers from hours before.

Jungkook's hands slowly lifted from beside him, slipping around your waist to feel you, needing to touch the beautiful ripples of flesh around your hips and tummy.

"You feel so soft," he whispered into your ear, trailing kisses down your neck and shoulder, his hands wandering over your body. You reached behind you, unclasping your bra to drop to the side of you, leaning back into Jungkook's touch as his lips trailed back up to your neck, suckling on the skin.

His hands raised from your waist to meet your now free breasts, loving the way they felt in his hands. And you had to admit, this was possibly the most erotic foreplay you'd had in a long time. Jungkook was skilled with his hands, and you core ached to find out just how good with his hands he could be...

You turned to face him once again, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close to you, pressing your bare chests together as his arms enveloped you, loving how squishy you felt.

Your lips reconnected, your tongues doing that same familiar dance as before as he pushed you again, forcing you to sit on the edge of the bed below him. You crawled back, enough so that he had space to kneel between your knees on the mattress and hover over you, his long hair tickling the skin on your forehead and his key pendant dangling between the mounds of your breasts.

He kissed a line of wet, sloppy kisses down your neck again, suckling and biting but using his tongue each time to soothe the sting of his teeth. Before long his mouth was on your breast, suckling at your sensitive nipple with an outrageous amount of care. his actions elicited the first real moan of the evening, unable to contain your pleasure any longer.

His lips continued their assault south, leaving little red marks along your chubby tummy that you were sure would turn purple given time. He spent time there, simply kissing, biting suckling at your chub, and despite the intimate actions, you never felt at all insecure about your weight like many other sexual encounters had made you feel. In fact, you felt empowered.

He was worshipping you, in all your beautiful rubenesque beauty.

Your core was aching for him, the wetness pooling in your panties the longer he spent adoring your body. You wriggled a little under him, uncomfortably aroused. He must be feeling it too, the strain against his jeans getting too much to bare, but he soldiered on, only caring about you and your wellbeing. He wanted to please you so much.

His kisses lowered again, reaching the space where your tummy protruded the most just above the lace of your panties. He looked up at you again through his lashes, his eyes as dark as they had been when you were performing. He was asking - begging - for your approval... And of course you gave it, spreading your legs wider for him to settle between.

His lips touched your thighs, peppering the flesh with kisses. He loved the way they jiggled a little with every small movement you made, every squirm under each kiss.

Suddenly, his kisses concentrated on your lace covered pussy, the heat of his breaths sending such wonderful shivers up your spine; finally some contact. He pulled the fabric to the side, revealing only part of where you needed him most. He kissed the bare skin, your juices coating his lips in a beautiful gloss; it suited him well.

He sat up momentarily, pulling the fabric off your legs before he lunged forward, pouncing on you like a cat on its prey. He had tasted you on his lips and immediately needing more. He couldn't stop himself.

His lips covered your mound, his tongue darting out between your folds to lap your juices up, tasting that sweet taste oh so completely. Your breath fell short as your back arched, the warm wetness a brand new sensation that you could only describe as emphatic.

"J-Jungkook," you whined, breathless as his tongue circled your clit, the nerves reacting accordingly.

"Mmm," he hummed from between your thighs, using his strength to hold them down, squishing at the flesh. He knew how to used his mouth, and every damn part of it; his lips, his tongue, even his teeth, grazing the bundle of nerves gently to elicit another reaction.

"Oh, fuck, it feels so good..." your hands bunched in his hair, pulling at the long strands. The sting he felt only spurred him on, loving the feeling of you controlling him like this.

One of the hands clutched around your thighs let go, snaking around to plunge two long fingers into your entrance. The intrusion was surprising, but most welcome, stretching you out so well as his mouth continued attacking your clit. He curled them, tapping up on the soft cushion inside you that made you pulse with need. Fuck, he was too good at this.

That delicious feeling was growing in the pit of your stomach, your pussy throbbing rhythmically as he brought you closer and closer to the edge; tapping and curling his fingers, working his mouth harder, sloppier on you.  

"Sh-shit... Oh, my god. I'm- I'm gonna..." you weren't making any sense audibly, but your body's reaction was translating enough. Jungkook knew you were close, and somehow, he kicked into high gear as he fucked your pussy with his fingers harder.

Something inside you burst, like someone has gripped a full water balloon tighter and tighter until it exploded. The metaphor was spot on, the sheets completely soaked as your pussy got over-excited, squirting more arousal around Jungkook's hand and dripping down his chin.

No one had ever made you do that before; even Jungkook seemed shocked as he sat up, wiping his mouth, watching you regain some modicum of stability.  

"H-how? What did you do?" you asked. "I didn't know I could do that," you laughed, trying to gain your breath back.

Jungkook just grinned in response, a shit-eating, smug grin, before he was attacking your lips with his own again, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue. You'd barely had any time to recuperate, but you absolutely were not going to stop him.

Now it was his turn for some relief.

He wasted no time undoing the leather belt on his jeans and popping the button and zipper. You tried to help, your hands getting in the way a little but eventually taking lead to pull the tight material from his hips, exposing the thighs you marvelled at earlier that night. He scrambled to remove the rest, pulling off his boxers as he did so. Versace, you noticed. Very nice.

But now, he was like you; completely nude, completely exposed.

As soon as you saw the size of him, your cunt ached again. You needed him, to feel full. He was of average length, but certainly thicker than any man you had been with before. You could practically already feel the stretch...

"Turn over," he demanded, all worship lost on you and now, he needed this; his fantasy. You did as you were told, flipping over onto your stomach and raising your ass into the air for him, giving him a delicious behind view of your pussy and outrageous bubble butt. "Fuck," he whispered as his hand grazed the skin of your cheek; this is what he wanted, what he'd always wanted.

Gently, he tapped the flesh, testing the waters but watching as the skin rippled, just as he had imagined it would. His cock leaked a drop of pre-cum at the sight.

When you giggled a little in response, he took that as the consent you had meant it to be to spank a little harder. When he did, you squeaked a little, reacting to the sting. You loved it. you wanted it harder. You wanted branding.

"Fuck, you're incredible," he said, lining his head up with your entrance, ready and dripping for him again already. The delightful stretch you felt as he pushed into you was euphoric, sending your eyes rolling back into your head and your arms almost giving way underneath you. His fingers dug into your ass, his nails creating little crescent moon shapes in your skin.

It took all his willpower not to lose control right then, knowing you'd need a second to adjust having only been used to two of his fingers before. You silently thanked him, and when you were ready, started to bounce your ass against him to gain the friction you both needed.

Jungkook needn't move; you were doing the work for him, every pound of glorious jiggle bounding in front of him. He watched in amazement, feeling nothing but pure pleasure as you moved on his dick, but he could only take it for so long until he needed control back.

He needed to pound into you the way he had imagined. And so, he did.

Gripping onto your love handles, he pulled your hips back onto him, his balls slapping hard against your pussy. It felt fantastic, and god, did you love being controlled like this. You cried out at the movement, egging him on to please, please keep doing that.

He pulled his hips back again, before slamming back into you with force. Your ass rippled at the action and my god did he love it. He needed to see more of it, that beautiful jiggle.

As he fucked into you from behind, his hand collided with your ass check with much more force than before, sure to leave a red hand print like you had hoped. You cried out, biting down on the sheets underneath you to keep the screams from getting too loud.

With him spanking at your ass and drilling into you with such ferocity, you knew you wouldn't last long. Especially after the first powerful orgasm he had given you.

But he pulled out of you completely, using all his strength to flip you over again. He crawled back on top of you, positioning his hip in-between your thighs before pistoning his hips forward and impaling you on his length again. Jungkook had decided he needed to see your beautiful face, your fucked out eyes and your pink flushed cheeks when you came around his cock. He wanted the intimacy back that you can't get from behind. He had got his wish, and now he needed to be close to you.

The sweat on his forehead had gathered and matted his hair to his face, making him look even more fucking god-like than you even thought possible. You pushed the hair out of his face as he thrust up into you, grinding your hips together as he did. His eyes were glazed with lust and staring straight into yours that you could barely keep open. He loved how you looked, how you bounced under him.

Your hand moved from tugging his hair back to the back of his neck, pulling him down to meet your lips desperately as the two fo you got so close to your untimely end. You wished you could both go for longer but there was too much to get excited about, too much to turn you on to be able to prolong the inevitable.

"Y-You're so beautiful, y/n. So, so fucking beautiful," he mumbled against your lips between groans and grunts of animalistic nature.

"K-Kookie," the nickname rolled of your tongue without thinking, followed by a moan that told him you were getting close again. He knew he wouldn't last much longer the second your walls clenched around him. But he didn't want you to miss out on your second high, not on account of him.

"Touch yourself for me," he instructed, "please..." his begging tone was surprising but so charming, and you'd be evil to ignore him. You slipped your hand between the two of you, drawing pleasant circles over your clit as he continued to fuck into you.

With the new sensation, you had seconds left. Your back arched up into him, pressing your bodies together. You couldn't control your squirming anymore, knowing that what was coming was going to be earth shattering.

Jungkook growled as you clenched again, lowering his head to your breasts and biting gently down on one of your nipples, kneading your breast with his hand. Too much; it was all too much. You could feel yourself dissolving into pleasure beneath him.

Your nerves seemed to to catch alight, like a burning ember had met gasoline inside your body. Your breath hitched in your throat silencing your moans and every muscle clenched tightly as it all hit at once. As stage one of your orgasm played out, stage two came in what felt like electric shocks hitting you multiple times, rocketing through you and pulsing. Your legs convulsed, muscles twitching and the like someone had pressed unmute on you, you let out the most tremendous moans of bliss.

Jungkook kept thrusting, losing his rhythm as he watched you come undone. It turned him on so much, and when your pussy started to pulse around him that was it for him; beautifully warm spurts of cum painted your walls as his body went rigid. He grit his teeth, a long, low grunt erupting from the very pits of his stomach.

It took you both a few moments to regain some sense, breathing hard and heavy. Jungkook had to use all his upper body strength to keep him from collapsing on you, still reeling from the most intense orgasm he thinks he had ever had.

"Shit..." he huffed, looking up to see you beet red, panting and completely fucked out. His arms ached so much he couldn't hold himself up anymore, collapsing into your soft body and snuggling into you with exhaustion.

"Are you okay?" you asked, still panting away like a dog in ferocious sunlight. He nodded against you, still breathing hard himself. "Well... that was- that was incredible. You're incredible."

"Thanks..." he chuckled. "I... I'm here for another week, y'know..." he looked up at you, waiting for a response. You hummed in approval.

"Thats at least another... six or seven shows," you grinned. If he was insinuating that the two of you were going to continue these little hotel escapades for the remainder of his stay, who were you to say no...

"Tomorrow, you're bringing all that shit back here with you." He wanted the feathers, the rhinestones, the glitter, and he wanted it littering his hotel room floor. "And that cane, too..."

"A private show, huh? I'm sure we can arrange that. Any song requests?" you teased.

"Fat bottomed girls," he replied. "Absolutely, every fucking time. Fat bottomed girls."

#bts #bts au #bangtan sonyeondan #bangtan #jungkook #jeon jungkook #smut au #plus size #plus size smut #plus size au #size kink #burlesque

[calif0rnia-lovers]

Tell Me What to Do.

Don't wanna leave, I just wanna be here by your side You make me feel and believe that we in paradise

summary: when Connie begged Javi to join her and Steve on a double date, he didn’t think much of it. he did it because he couldn’t say no to Connie, not because he was looking for a relationship. fast forward four months, and he’s in deep and you’re heading back to the states. 

a/n: haven’t posted in forever but this came to me. you can thank pedro pascal's face for this one. smut with a side of plot?

words: 6K 

“Fuck-”

The knock on the door has caused you to jump. It is also responsible for the knife in your hand slicing into your finger, and the stream of blood now trickling onto the cutting board. Dropping the knife onto the counter, you quickly cross the kitchen towards the sink.

Holding your finger beneath the water, you roll your eyes as the knocking on your apartment door continues. You don’t bother yelling a response. You know who it is.

Only one person could make a casual knock seem as though he has the intent of knocking the door down.

Turning off the water, you hastily dry your hand instinctively placing your bleeding thumb in your mouth. 

The knocking continues as you cross the room. You attempt to stand on your toes to see through the peephole. Although you can only think of one man who will show up at your past nine o’clock, you can never be too careful. Only, you’ve never been able to see out the peephole without your heels. Giving up, you unlock the door.

Taking note of the dark brown eyes, and raised eyebrows, you pull the door open enough for Javier to peek over your shoulder.

“You got someone in there?” He nods over your shoulder and into your apartment.

Glancing over your shoulder, you lightly shrug your shoulder, the action causing his brow to furrow. You cross your arms over your chest. The urge to smile tugs at your lips as a slight tension sets into his jaw at your response. Although, Javier Pena is great at keeping his cool you know him well enough to catch the flick of his eyes as they briefly drift over your shoulder.

“So what if I do?” You tease, the action causing Javi’s eyes to return to your face.

“Then I got this beer for nothing,” he responds, lifting the six-pack in his hands. 

You shrug for a second time, your hand resting against the door frame preventing him from stepping around you to enter.  

“If you ever thought to call before just showing up at my apartment, you wouldn’t have to worry about someone else being here.” 

Javi’s eyes roll at your remark. A smile spreads across his lips as you hold your stance. 

“I’m serious, Javi. Stop showing up at my door, banging like it’s a fucking raid. You make my neighbors think you’re about to kick the door down.” 

“It is part of my job description,” he chuckles as your eyes roll.

Dropping your arm, you step aside and motion for him to enter.

Javier steps inside, his eyes scanning your apartment. He listens to the lock sliding back into place. The music playing softly across the room, paired with the smell of a late dinner simmering on the stove lets him know it’s just the two of you here. 

Ever since Steve teased him that you might be looking elsewhere for “company” after Javier disappeared for three weeks he couldn’t get the thought out of his head.  

The apartment, itself, was nearly bare. In your time apart, you had nearly packed up the entire place. Boxes were neatly stacked against the front wall, notes written neatly across the sides.  

You rest your back against the door, watching as Javier silently takes in the changes. Whatever he is thinking, he doesn’t share it. Instead, he turns to face you.

He lets his eyes study your face for a moment, his expression unreadable. His gaze passes over your entire body, from head to toe. You find your weight shifting from your right foot to the left, your fingers self consciously toying with the hem of the t-shirt you wear. You knew the reaction was stupid. Javier has seen you in less, more times than you can count, but you can’t deny the heat slowly creeping across your skin. You hadn’t expected company, so the t-shirt was all you bothered throwing on after returning home and showering. 

He waits until his dark eyes have returned to yours to speak. His brows furrowed. 

“That my shirt.”

“Oh…” Your own brow furrows at the statement. It wasn’t what you were expecting him to say. After nearly three weeks of speaking, you were hoping your first face to face conversation would hold more...substance? “Is it?”

Interestingly enough, it is his t-shirt. One from Javier’s college days. 

The maroon shirt is faded, the ink slowly seeping away with each wash. The Texas A&M University logo was no longer white, it was more a dull grey. There is a hole, the size of his thumb, on the right shoulder where the stitching has begun to come loose. The hem you’re absentmindedly attempting to pull further down towards your thighs has threads that need cutting. 

In all honesty, Javier forgot that you had. So had you. 

It was in his car the day he picked you up from work.

Your piece of shit car was on its last leg and refused to start after you had worked a double shift at the hospital. Normally, you would have sucked it up and walked the way home, but it was pouring out. Colombian weather is not something you plan on missing when you return to Miami. 

His alma mater t-shirt was in the back seat, along with his bag for work. He’d offered it to you when you reached his car, your entire outfit soaked through. 

Javier’s head tilts to the side as he steps in your direction. 

You find your spine instinctively straightening beneath his gaze. Your arms cross over your chest, the look in his eyes reminding you that your bra is still in your room. 

Stopping in front of you, Javier reaches forward. His finger toys with the thread hanging above your left thigh. A soft smirk rests on his lips as your gaze studies his face.

“It is.”

Javier’s eyes lift to yours, his tongue passing over his lips as his gaze drifts down to your mouth. He knows he is close enough to duck down to kiss you. He would be lying if he tries to say that’s not the true reason for his arrival. 

“What?” Your brow arches. “And you want it back?”

Your words cause him to smile. 

“I hadn’t given it much thought,” he smiles, his shoulder-shrugging softly. His gazes drift back down to your mouth, causing you to bite your lip. “but now...I think I might actually want it back.”

“Okay.”

His right-hand slips from the hem to your leg. The cool metal of his keys blazes against the heat of your skin. Guiding the fabric up towards your waist, Javier smiles as you swat his hand away.

“What? Now?”

Ducking down, Javier closes the distance between your lips. A soft breath of relief passes from his mouth to yours. 

He’d thought about what he’d do to you upon your reunion for the past couple of weeks. Having to help Carrillo out meant he was away from home. Most importantly, you. 

He was almost certain there would be no exchange of words. In fact, he’d thought you’d both be in bed by now. But now, with his lips against yours, the only thing he can think about is how much he missed kissing you.

The kiss is soft and playful. It holds no sense of urgency. He allows the warmth of his lips to draw goosebumps across the surface of your skin. He kisses you until he feels your fingers toying with the hair resting at the nape of his neck. Pulling back, he smiles as you reluctantly open your eyes.

You bite your lip. A soft breath leaves your lips.

“Was that supposed to make me give it back now?”

Javier smiles, his lips brushing against yours for a second time. 

“Depends,” he chuckles. “Did it work?”

The slight shake over your head brushes your nose against him, his lips instinctively closing the distance to meet yours for a third time.

This time, his softness is gone. His tongue teases your lips, expertly slipping into your mouth the moment you grant him access. His hips shift against yours in a way that will cause you to cave if he can kiss you for a few more seconds.

The case of beer in his left, and his keys still in his right, prevent Javier from letting his hands make taking off both of your clothes a quicker task. 

He releases a groan of protest as you turn out of his kiss, his lips having to settle for your neck. Your eyes flutter shut as his tongue teases the soft skin. 

“Te extrañé, mía,” he mumbles as his lips press a final kiss against the crook of your neck.

“I know you did.”

A soft scoff escapes his lips as Javier rests his hand against the door behind you. Your hands instinctively fall to his waist as his stance eliminates any personal space.

A soft smile finds his lips as his eyes find yours. They say what his mouth isn’t willing to.

I mean it. 

“I was cooking,” you say quietly, your eyes drifting over his shoulder towards the kitchen.

“When you said you were hungry, I took it another way,” he smiles, the last of his sentence coming out muffled against your lips.

“So....” Allowing him to steal another kiss, you bring your hands up his chest to rest on his shoulders. “If you wanna eat something that’s not burned to hell...you’re gonna have to keep your dick in your pants.”

Allowing his head to fall against the crook of your shoulder, Javier groans for a second time tonight. Taking a deep breath, he inhales your scent.

Gently pushing against his shoulders, you smile “I knew you could do it,” before slipping from between him and the door.

Rolling his neck, Javier allows his eyes to follow you across the room and disappear out of view. Kicking off his shoes, Javi follows you around the corner into the kitchen. Resting against the entryway, he admires the fabric of his t-shirt, and how it falls differently on you and your curves.

You stand on your toes, retrieving a second bowl and glass from the cabinet. Turning, you smile as you find him watching you. Placing them on the counter next to your bowl, and a half-empty glass of wine, you find your eyes finding him again.

“It just looks fucking good on you.”

You lightly roll your eyes, the gesture not enough for him to know his words have set a heat across your skin.

You feel a smile forming, your teeth coming down to stop it in its tracks. Instead of giving him what he wants, you allow yourself to concentrate on retrieving a clean knife from the drawer.

You wait until your heart has returned to normal to speak softly. 

“Why are you here, Javier Peña?” You continue cutting the peppers you were tackling before his arrival. Suddenly, you are glad to have something to distract your mind and hands. “And please don’t say ‘to get my shirt back.”

Javier smiles to himself.

“Truthfully, I came to say “you should’ve joined me and Steve tonight.”

“That’s it? It could’ve waited till morning.”

He knew it could’ve. He didn’t have to drive all the way across town to tell you that. Especially not at nine-thirty at night. 

Earlier, in the evening, Javier had called to ask if you wanted to join him and Steve for a night out, and you’d declined.

“I’m hungry, Javier,” you’d responded when he’d asked why not.

“Okay,” he shrugged when slipping his jacket from the back of his desk chair. “There’s food at the bar.”

“Yeah, but I’m not hungry for that. It’s fine. Maybe another time. Plus, I gotta pack.”

Thinking back over your conversation from earlier causes Javi’s gaze to shift into the living room. The lively decorated area was not just bare walls and boxes. It wasn’t...you. It was already ready for the next tenant. And you, your new life. One that didn’t involve him.

He looks over the half-packed boxes, his eyes resting on the sofa. The same sofa he spent many nights buried between your thighs on when he claimed he was coming over to innocently watch tv. It was now pressed back against the far wall, wrapped up and ready to be carried away. 

“Javi?”

Glancing over at you, Javier can tell from the look on your face this is not the first time you’ve called his name.

“Huh?”

“You can put the beer in the fridge.” You smile before turning back to the stove.

Nodding, Javier steps inside into the kitchen. He tosses his keys aside and focuses on removing his jacket. Draping it across the surface, he removes a couple of beers before crossing the kitchen to house the rest in the fridge.

He stops along your side, his hand instinctively reaching for one of the freshly cut peppers

“No,” swatting at his hand, you giggle as he lets his hands find your waist. 

He pauses to kiss your neck, softly. You shrug, in an attempt to shake him off but he simply guides your waist back to meet his. Javier knows well enough that if you’re kind enough to feed him when he’s shown up unannounced he has two options. Help cook, or stay in the background. The exhaustion from the day causes him to choose the latter. Kissing your skin a final time, he allows his arms to wrap around your waist. 

He stays that way, arms around your waist as you cook. His body moves with yours, hands leaving you long enough to allow you to retrieve whatever you need from the fridge or the pantry before returning to your waist.

“How’s everything at work?” You ask after a few minutes of comfortable silence. 

He shrugs into you. 

“Still haven’t caught the fucking bastard,” he mumbles against your hair.

It may not be as sunny as “great, how about you” but it is enough to know nothing too crazy has happened since the last time you’ve seen him. If it had, you’d been having a different interaction.

The two of you eat, on the floor in the living room, heads resting against the wall. Shoulder to shoulder. His fingers occasionally brush against your thigh, each time pulling a smile to his lip as you attempt to move out of his reach. You’re seated next to the open window allowing the sounds from below fill the empty silence anytime your voices die out. 

Javi’s uncharacteristically quiet.

He avoids questions directed towards work, forcing the topic to be you. He wants to know what he’s missed in his absence. Trying to gauge if your mind has changed about leaving Colombia to return to the states. 

You lightly bump his shoulder with yours causing him to roll his head so that he can glance over at you.

“Hmm?” 

You wait until his gaze meets yours to ask the question that’s been on your mind since his arrival. Although you haven’t seen each other in a while, Connie still felt it necessary to give you daily updates about Javier. Intel shared with her courtesy of her husband, Steve. But something told you whatever was passed along to Connie was the water-downed version. 

“Are you okay, Javi?” You ask quietly, the concern in your eyes causes a smile to form on his lips. 

But it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“I’m full,” Javier chuckles as he redirects his attention to the beer in his hand. "Thanks for dinner."

He downs nearly half the bottle. He lets the bottle rest against his thigh as your gaze leaves him. 

Reaching over you take the bowl from his lap before getting up and crossing the room. You take the time to dump the scraps and wash out both bowls. When you finish, you pick up your wine glass. Finishing the contents, you sit it down watching as Javier finishes his second beer. His eyes drift shut as he sits the bottle aside.

You know him well enough to know something is on his mind. Whatever it is, it won’t come out of him without you asking. 

Crossing the room, you stand over him. His eyes open, hooded once your shuffles come to a halt on the floor.

A soft smile forms on his lips as his fingers lift to lightly circle your ankle. Tracing the delicate skin of your calf, he smiles “come here.”

His hand is on your waist before you can rest against his lap. His fingers slipping to your neck guiding your mouth to his. Wrapping his arm around your waist, he grunts as your weight shifts against his. He allows his hands to gently massage your thighs, his hands welcoming the softness of your skin. His touch drifts up the base of your spine before disappearing beneath the fabric of your shirt. 

“Am I gonna have to fuck it out of you?”

Javier chuckles at the soft tease, his head resting back against the wall as you lightly press a kiss against his nose. Moving to each of his eyelids, you smile as he tilts his head in an attempt to return your lips to his.

His brow arches, eyes opening, once you leave his lips cold. Biting your lip, you smile as you let your thumb brush against the curve of his bottom lip.

For a moment, he watches your expression as your fingers drift along his skin. His hand drifts between your thighs, his brow furrowing as you shift to get up.

“I know it’s been a while, but I thought I was better at reading you than this.” 

Reading the confusion on his face, you shrug your shoulder.

“Javi, you show up after nearly three weeks-”

“Didn’t realize you were keeping track.” His cocky smile is back. His brow arches. “Me extrañaste, cariña?”

Your eyes softly roll as you guide his hand back to your waist. 

“And per usual you want to get right to it.”

“I’ve never heard you complain before.”

“I’m not complaining,” you sigh. Ignoring the confusion on his face, you press a kiss against his lips. “I just wish…”

Letting his eyes meet yours, Javier silently waits for you to finish your statement.

“...that for once, you didn’t start on one thousand.” 

You shift out of his lap, resting your weight on his thigh. His tongue passes over his lips as realization sets in. 

“There’s a first time for everything, huh?”

He shifts the position of his leg causing a light gasp to escape your lips as your body shifts forward, your hands coming up to press into his chest. 

Your giggle is muffled by his lips, as Javier's hands begin to guide your hips. He sets a pace that allows you to feel the pressure begin to build deep in your stomach in a matter of seconds. 

Javi focuses on your breathing, his guidance switching the motions of your hips once your eyes drift shut. He lets his left hand find your neck, his touch drifting to your lips as your nails dig into the fabric resting on his shoulders. 

It is in moments like this, where you allow him to open you in this way, that he finds himself thinking back to the first night you met. He’d misjudged the soft-spoken woman he’d been introduced to that night. It was hard for Connie to make friends upon leaving Miami, so when she met you she was thrilled. She talked Steve’s ear off for the entire month about how perfect you’d be for Javier. And how nice it would be for him to have a stable relationship. For him to be matched with a woman who could force him to settle down. 

Caving, Steve told his wife to bring you to dinner. 

Funny enough, you didn’t hit it off instantly. At least not in your eyes. 

You knew men like Javier, he was used to women throwing themselves on him. You weren’t interested in meeting him. Why would you be when you were scheduled to leave for Miami in four months? The only problem is, you aren’t immune to his charm or smile. No woman on this earth is.

“You gotta be open to change, baby,” you giggle, the friction between your legs hitching the breath in your throat. Resting back against the wall, Javi forces his mind to tell the rest of his mind to breathe. He knows he needs to suppress the selfish thoughts drifting into his mind. Now is not the time to take control. He also knows the sight of you right now, is one that will be on his mind when Steve glances across the cramped office tomorrow morning to snap his fingers in Javi’s face.

You with me, Pena?

Javi attempts to unbutton the jeans his erection is uncomfortably straining against, but you shake your head. 

“No,” you breathe softly. 

“No?”

Shaking your head, you giggle as Javi opens his mouth in protest.

“Jesus Christ, Javier. I know Steve and everyone else lets you have your fucking way.” He rolls his eyes in protest. “But you really need to learn to share attention sometimes. And to listen...”

“I listen,” he groans, his eyes drifting shut as your fingers slip into his hair. 

“But practice makes perfect. Right?”

The corners of his lips turn up. Nodding he tilts his chin to meet your mouth. 

Kissing him, you allow your tongue to brush against Javier's lips. If there is one thing Javi knows you have it is stronger will power. So instead of pinning you down, against the floor and fucking you, he allows you to continue the movements of your hips.

“...Tell me what you want, y/n.” You smile, your arched brow causing him to chuckle softly. “Within reason, of course. I’m still learning.”

“Just focus on putting that mouth of yours to good use.”

Javi chuckles. He lets his grip rest against the base of your jaw, the slight tightening of his grip adding to the warmth spreading across your skin. 

"Sí, señora.”

He pauses, silently deciding where he wants to start. He knows you’re right. He usually has you pinned between the wall or mattress this far into his visits, the stress from work allowing him to fuck your brains out. He usually takes things much slower the second time around. 

With a smile on his lips, Javi leans forward to softly kiss your pulse. He pulls a soft groan from your lips as your grip tightens on his shoulders. He lets his hands leave your waist. An unfamiliar itching sensation creeps to his fingertips once he forces himself to keep his hands to himself for once in his life. 

Your fingers drift into the hair at the nape of his neck. Your grip tightening as your head falls back allowing him better access to your neck. 

He sucks against your skin until the heat matches that between your thighs. The bruise he pulls to the surface will be impossible to cover tomorrow in the Colombian heat. His tongue swipes over the sensitive skin, his lips pressing a final kiss to your skin before switching to the other side of your neck. He repeats the process. the movements of his mouth matching the slow and steady pace of your hips.

When he’s pleased with his work, Javi moves down to your chest. He kisses against the fabric, a groan of frustration escaping his lips once a thought dawns.

“Can I use my hands now? Or is that taking control?” Shaking your head, you giggle as he groans in frustration. “Unless you want your whole fucking neck covered, I’m gonna need a little help here, y/n.”

Noting the darkening of his eyes, you can’t help but shake your head for a second time. He knows teasing him is something you enjoy. His tongue passes over his lips as his gaze moves to the soft rolling of your hips.

Only, the teasing comes second nature to Javi. And sadly, you’ll never beat him at it. 

Javier shifts his leg causing your body to shift further up his thigh. The sensation pulls a rewarding gasp from your lips. 

You lift the shirt over your head, Javier’s lips attaching to your skin the second he can. He’s licking, kissing and sucking against your shoulders and chest in a way that clouds your mind. 

Your movements become sloppy as the sensations of his lips on your skin send sparks jolting from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. 

As you quiver against him, he tests you, his hands find your waist steadying you as your body trembles.

“Dime que mas quieres, mina?”

It would be easy for you to give in to the voice responsible for the desire coursing through your veins. 

She is screaming for you to whisper the words, “for you to fuck me...preferably senseless.”

Being apart from Javier has had more of an effect than you thought it would. 

“We can’t be serious, Javi,” you’d told him after he’d convinced you to have dinner with him without the Murphys for the first time. “I’m leaving in four months.”

You both stuck to those words. Most of your lust-filled nights ended with him falling asleep, face nuzzled against your neck arms around your waist. But he was always gone when you awoke the next morning.

That’s why you want to tell him to just get it over with. So that he can be gone in the morning, and you can go back to packing your boxes.

Instead, you find yourself shaking your head. Allowing your forehead to rest against his, you softly smile.

“For you to kiss me.”

And he does just that. 

It’s all-consuming. 

He’s kissing you in a way he’s never done before. A way that seems to re-awaken every nerve in your body. By the time he’s finished, your fingers are knotted in his hair. Your teeth are tugging against the softness of his lips, begging him to give you more. He allows you to rid him of his shirt before returning his mouth to yours. 

Your grip tightens around him as he leans forward. His arm secures around your waist as he shifts until he can lift you from his lap. He lays you back against the floor, your back arching into him as the cool wood touches your skin. 

“Where?” He breathes against your chest. 

His grip is on your neck. Turning your chin his lets his tongue grace your skin. Kissing the bruised skin, he causes your fingers to dig into his hips. 

“Aquí?” His voice comes out soft against your skin as he moves to your chest, sucking softly and leaving sensual kisses against your skin. He continues to the curve of your breast doing the same until he’s pulled a high pitched gasp from your lips. “How about here?” 

The heat of his mouth strategically covers your entire chest. It drifts across your ribcage, down to your navel.

“Aquí?”

Your breaths are shallow, your body trembling beneath his lips. Your fingers drifting into his hair, brushing lazily against his scalp before tightening around the thick strands. Biting your lip you release the air in your lungs. 

“Not the right spot?” His eyes lift to glimpse your rising chest. “Debo seguir buscando? Hmm?”

“Yes.” 

The softness or your voice matches that of the kiss Javi presses against the curve of your left hip. His teeth teased the soft skin, before moving to your right. 

His lips follow the fabric of your underwear down your thighs, his lips sucking against the nerves of your inner thigh until he’s pulled his name from your lips.

“Javi-”

“Fuck, look at you, baby.” His voice comes out low, as he allows his thumb to gently circle your clit causing your back to arch. “Estas tan mojada...eres hermosa.”

As much as he loves to feel the warmth of your walls as they clench around his fingers, Javier settles for using his tongue. He allows the grip of your fingers in his hair to guide his movements. Anytime your fingers flex, he teases you softly until your encroaching high has nearly faded. But he pulls its right back the moment it’s nearly gone. It’s not until your entire body is trembling, and you’re cursing him breathlessly that he allows you to welcome the wave of pleasure that you’re both chasing. 

You giggle as he kisses your neck, his lips pressing his smile against your cheek.

“Qué quieres de mí?’

Surely, the grip on the waist of his jeans is enough of an answer, but you know that he wants you to say it. 

“Dime que hacer, mi dulce.”

“Whatever you want, Javi.”

He moves to unbuttons his jeans, his hands abandoning the task as you hastily shove the fabric down and over his waist. His grip hook beneath your knees. Guiding them back towards your chest, he traps your gasp in your throat as he slides into you.

His grip goes slack against the back of your thigh, as he inches deeper into your folds stretching you open. 

Javier releases a breathless string of curses, his English sloppily blending with his native tongue as your walls clench around him in welcome.

Slipping his arm beneath your waist, he lifts your hips off the ground allowing you to take all of him. The shift in pressure digs your nails into the muscles of his back, your legs instinctively clenching around his waist to prevent him from moving away.

Not that he had the willpower to do such a thing. Not when your eyes are clenched shut, back arching as an unsuspecting orgasm ripple throughout your body.

He leans forward, his hair brushing against your skin as his lips latch onto your neck. He lets you ride out your wave. The sound of his name rolling breathlessly off your lips encouraging Javier to roll his hips into yours until his name has morphed into a high note he’s almost certainly would have made him cum if he wasn’t concentrating so fucking hard.

He doesn’t give you time to recover. The feel of your palm pressing against his torso, as he continues to push his hips against yours, does nothing to halt his movements. It encourages him to continue. Your entire body is oversensitized making each brush of his skin and lips against yours be felt in each inch of your being. 

“Nunca he tenido un coño tan bueno como el tuyo. I fucking swear.”

His words are breathless, his hips thrusting into yours with a relentless force you’re far too accustomed to. His fingers are tangled in your hair, his lips biting and kissing every inch of flesh they can reach. 

“Fue hecho para mí. Solo yo.”

Your words and gasps echo off the walls of your nearly empty apartment. They drift out of the window, and down to the busy streets below. Through the floorboards to the neighbor who complains every night, Javier comes to visit. 

“No one wants to hear you two fucking like rabbits every night, y/n!”

But neither of you cares. Javier sure fucking doesn’t.

In fact, he always makes sure to give Ms. Rothschild a smile when she glares at him as he sneaks out every morning on his way to work. 

Nothing ever fucking matters when he’s buried deep inside of you. Nothing that weighs on him at work. Escobar...Carrillo...nothing. They all fucking disappear. 

Because when you were beneath him, clinging to him as though your life depends on it, face buried around his skin in a feeble attempt to muffle your screams, the only thing that matters is you. 

You and how, in these moments, you seem to need him just as much as he needs you. 

The “fuck, baby,” which slips from his lips is the only warning you get before his hips jerk forward burying deep inside of you. His undoing is always enough to push you over the edge. He lets out a groan, his breath hot against your ear.

“I fucking missed you,” he huffs as he allows his hips to get off a few more sloppy thrusts before his body begins to feel heavy “...te extrañé tanto...”

Javier allows his weight to press into yours, neither of you bothering to move as you allow your breathing to return to normal. 

Grunting, he sucks in his breath as he slips out of you. Rolling off of you, he rests on the floor alongside you.

Your eyes drift shut as his drift to the ceiling. 

Neither of you speaks as Javier reaches down and lazily drags his jeans back over his hips. You listen to the drag of his zipper, the huff of irritation as he struggles with the buckle of his belt. 

“The only time you’re ever speechless,” you giggle softly as his lips press against your shoulder.

“It’s because you’re fucking perfect,” he mumbles against your skin.

You open your eyes long enough to catch a glimpse of his cheeky grin. Rolling your eyes you lightly push his face away. He tugs his shirt back over his head, before placing a kiss against your lips. 

“Whatever.” Your eyes drift shut as Javier pushes himself up from the floor. You listen to his feet shuffle across the room to his jacket resting on top of the kitchen counter. “It didn’t work, you know.”

Retrieving the pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, Javier fishes around for his lighter. He waits until the cigarette is lit to glance over his shoulder at you. 

Tugging his t-shirt back of your head, you smile as Javier blows the smoke from his lungs. He rests back against the counter, tossing the lighter aside. 

A smile spreads across his lips as you cross the room towards him. 

“Hmm?” Passing you the cigarette, Javier allows his hands to find the curves of your hips. “What didn’t work?”

Your weight instinctively rolls to your toes as his touch drifts to the small of your back, his face inching down towards yours. 

“You’re still not getting your shirt back. A for your effort, though.” The soft giggles that escape your lips tug the corner of his mouth up into the lazy smile you love so much. Leaning forward, you press a soft peck against his lips. You’re turning away before he can reciprocate the action. 

Javier recovers, his grip tightening around your waist preventing you from taking more than two steps forward.

The soft squeal that escapes your lips turns into a groan of protest as he guides your body back into his. 

Taking a drag from the cigarette, you allow your eyes to drift shut as his face buries against the warmth of your shoulder. You hold the smoke in your lungs until they start to burn. When you release it into the air, you find that your eyes remain closed.

Javier’s lips ghost over your shoulder, the curve of your neck, the ridge of your jaw and to your earlobe.

A single word comes out softly against your skin. So uncharacteristically low for the man whose arms are wrapped around your middle as if he’d afraid you’ll slip away if he loosens his grip. 

“Longer.”

“Hmm?” You attempt to tilt your head to get a look at his face. Before you can do so, Javier’s face is back against your neck. 

You can feel his heart racing against his chest from where you rest against him. 

“Stay longer.” The softness of his voice almost does the job. It almost masks the plea behind the words he’d been working up the courage to say the past month. 

You listen to the softness of his breathing, your silence pulling his face from the security of your neck. 

Turning in his arms, you put out the cigarette in the ashtray resting on the countertop. 

Javier lets your fingers brush against his chest. He allows you to lift his head, his eyes opening as your touch drifts to his cheeks. 

“I’m not ready for you to leave,” he admits quietly, his voice soft beneath the sounds of life just beyond the window he’s constantly trying to escape. “I’m not ready to give..to give you up yet.”

#i'm shit at posting #let me know what you think? #javier peña x reader #javier peña #narcos imagine #pedro pascal imagine #imagines

[ashintheairlikesnow]

“Ummmm... happy 11 or full-on-freakout 11?” Yes. The answer is yes. All of that. Both

You want happy Chris? Here’s happy Chris!

CW: Some brief references to Chris’s time with Sir, implied alcohol use at the end. Look, this is real actual fluff and you can’t tell me it’s anything else.

Tagging Chris’s crew:  @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @stxckfxck , @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout, @doveotions

The letter comes in the mail addressed to Christopher Stanton, but he’s too scared to open it. Instead he just puts it on the kitchen table and then stares at it, off and on, through the whole fucking day while Jake is gone at meetings and doing all the stuff that Nat used to do, only this is Jake’s house now so he does it all for himself.

Antoni went with him, and officially they don’t take in other rescues yet until everything is ready, so it’s just Chris bouncing around Jake’s house, restless and unsettled, unable to sit still or stop or think about any one thing, he can’t stop thinking about everything.

He’s not sure if it being a big letter is a good sign or a bad one, and he’s too scared to look. He moves from room to room trying to pretend he’s not sneaking glances at the letter every time he has to go back into the kitchen to grab cereal to pour himself a bowl, or makes a sandwich with some chips for lunch.

Or just gets extra glasses of water so that he has to look at it again.

Jake texts to say he’ll be home at four and Chris groans, forcing himself to go outside. Four o’clock is so long, so far away, and he can’t bear to open the letter before then. If he opens the letter and it says bad things, he’ll die. He knows it, he will just curl up on the floor and die.

Outside is a little better. Chris is a flash of blue hair and a swinging silicone feather pendant as he climbs the big tree in the backyard - it’s his favorite thing about the house and when they’d gone looking for houses, Chris had carefully written CLIMBING TREE - reading and writing came back, but reading came back first and is easier than forcing his hand to move in all the ways it used to know without thinking - on the list of pros about this one after they visited. 

Each time his hands curl around a branch and his arms stretch, digging the rounded toe of his sneakers into the tiny spots that only he knows about and feeling the muscles of his thighs tense and push, he feels some of his restless energy dissipate, like the tree is soaking it up.

Somewhere in the tree’s rings, maybe, there will be a little bit of Chris’s energy written a hundred years from now. He has no idea how long trees live, he just likes the idea. He hums to himself once he’s up on the little wooden platform he built with Antoni and Jake to put up here, sitting with his legs crossed, tapping idly with hollow thumps on the wooden slats, listening to birds and squirrels and the breeze.

Somewhere nearby, a dog barks. Sirens, faint, and Chris closes his eyes. Cop car, ambulance, firetruck. Sometimes he can tell which siren is which. This one sounds like cop cars. 

It’s been years and still Chris whispers, “They’re not coming here. They’re, they’re not coming here. They’re not for us.”

His name is Christopher Stanton now, and all his documents are faked but they look real enough, and they’re real to him. The inside of his left wrist is wiped clean, a bit of scarring all that’s left of the way they took his first name but they won’t take his name again.

Not this one, the one he picked for himself. They won’t take that name away.

He gets to keep this one.

He earned it.

He lets outside soothe his jangling nerves, his dancing mind. He doesn’t try to make himself still, but sways a little, back and forth, one hand tapping, the other gripping onto the feather to run fingertips in a constant motion over the ridges carved carefully into the silicone plastic. 

He doesn’t try to think one thought but lets all of them crowd in, trains running on tracks that feel more natural than a single thought ever had. He can think about the way the veins of leaves look in the sunshine, lit from below when he holds them up, a tracery that Antoni draws again and again, murmuring something about what lives under the skin. He can think about that and still hear the squirrels and there’s a white one that lives in the other big tree, and a California scrub jay calls and calls and calls, soft sweet cheeping sounds, or maybe it’s two of them talking to each other.

He thinks of these things and he thinks of the envelope on the kitchen table and even if it’s bad, if they say no, he’ll be okay. He’ll stay here with Jake and Antoni and maybe he can be a shelter worker, too. He can learn to do those things, even if the letter says no.

He’s calmer, outside, with the blue sky above him and the green grass below, suspended on the platform in the tree, like he’s something that doesn’t belong in either place, but instead belongs in both.

If he had wings, Chris thinks, eyes closed to imagine, he’d want to have red-tailed hawk wings. Pretty and reddish - oh, but maybe no, maybe blue jay wings to match his hair. Except he read somewhere about how big wings would have to be to make a human body fly but wouldn’t people have to have hollow bones so they’d weigh less so the wings wouldn’t have to be so big.

There’s a story he reads online about a fairy with wings, curled against his back most of the time, sneaking through human places with a human person he loves. Chris grins at the memory, swaying lightly back and forth in the breeze, letting the cool of it touch his face.

He likes the story about the fairy and his human person. Both of them touched and broken until they didn’t want to be touched anymore. 

Chris likes to be touched, but he understands the feeling.

Somehow the hours move away from him - time in his tree melds with time doing yoga on the grass, feeling it tickle his head during handstands, his hair a pool of blue against the green, the feather on his necklace nearly sliding off his head. He twists and bends and pulls his body into any shape it wants, reminding himself that there are ways to move your body that don’t require someone else to tell you what to do.

It’s been almost two years, he thinks, but that’s what they tell him in therapy, it takes years and years to stop hearing the training, feeling its gentle urging to fit himself back into the narrow mold of Sir’s perfect statue boy in the bed.

He won’t be that, anymore. Ever again. 

He wears himself out with the moving, with a body in constant motion, until he’s coated in a thin film of sweat and his shirt sticks to his back and sweat trickles in drips down the back of his neck, catching in the blue hair and sticking it against skin, too.

This is the way to sweat, he thinks. Not the other way. This is the way he wants to move, and it’s his body to move however he wants to, forever and ever, from here on out.

By the time he’s showered and changed into a black T-shirt and ripped-up black jeans kind of like the ones Kauri wears sometimes when he comes by to visit, Chris feels calmer, and he keeps his eyes off the envelope as he drinks more water and goes to lie down on the couch and wait for four o’clock.

Four o’clock takes so so long to get here, but when he hears Jake’s car in the driveway, Chris pops up and all his nervous is back in full force. He’s pulling the feather on the cord back and forth, back and forth, back and forth as he meets Jake and Antoni at the door.

“It’s 4:13,” Chris says instead of hello. “You came home late.”

Jake laughs, unbothered, and pulls Chris into a tight hug. “Yeah, well. Blame an accident on Belladonna. Some fender bender took up both lanes and they had us going past on the shoulder.”

“It was very annoying,” Antoni said, moving into the kitchen, humming to himself at first, then coming to a stop.

Chris’s heart beats out of time, as he watches Antoni slowly pick the envelope up to look at it.

“Chrisha, what is this?” Antoni asks, confused. “Colinas Blancas University...” His voice trails off, and then he turns around, and Jake’s arms tighten around Chris as the two men realize at the same moment “But this is early! It is not supposed to come yet!”

“Do, do, do do do you think that’s, um, that’s bad?” Chris asks, voice small, uncertain. He taps on Jake’s side, a reminder, and Jake gives him a quick, breezy kiss to the hair before he pulls Chris into the kitchen with him. 

“Nah, it doesn’t mean anything but that they got the letters out earlier than they thought,” Jake says, but his voice is strained. He’s nervous, too, and his arm around Chris’s shoulders is holding him tightly. “Did you open it yet?”

“No,” Antoni answers for Chris, turning it back and forth. “He has not. It is... has lots of paper in it. Is that good or bad?”

Jake doesn’t answer right away, just licks his lips and holds out his hand for Antoni to hand it over. He looks at the university’s logo and return address in the top corner, and then takes a deep breath. “Here, Chris. It’s your letter. You open it.”

The envelope paper is smooth and very white, bleached-bright, except for the deep maroon of the school’s logo. His own name is written in thin black text on the front. Christopher Stanton.

He bounces on his toes with the nerves that need expressing and have nowhere to go, tearing at the corner of the envelope where the adhesive isn’t strong and then ripping the top of the envelope open, ragged-edge tears. Somewhere in his mind, he hears a woman’s voice, light with humor. Too excited to take your time, baby? Well, nobody gets birthday presents for the wrapping paper, I guess.

There’s a flicker of pain, but he ignores it, doesn’t let it crowd him in. Things he doesn’t remember anymore aren’t going to take this moment from him.

He drops the envelope carelessly to the floor and for once neither of the older men says anything, they just watch Chris, heart in his throat, slowly open the letter up, unfolding pure white paper from inside.

  “’Dear Christopher’,” Chris reads, his voice shaking, and he hears a sound from the side of him and thinks Jake is sniffing. “’D-Dear’... J-Jake-”

“Keep going,” Jake says, softly. Antoni leans in and Jake takes his hand with his free one, and the two of them look like the parents Chris might have had, once upon a time, but can’t remember.

“‘Dear Christopher,” He starts again, eyes skipping down to the next line. “‘It is... it is with great pleasure that I offer you admission to the Colinas Blancas University cl-class of two-... two-thousand and...’“ He takes in a breath, and looks up, vision blurring over with the tears. “I got in.”

A smile widens across Jake’s face, and Antoni’s eyes are glittering, too.

“I got in.” Chris jerks in breaths, his heart rabbit-fast, and he starts bouncing on his toes, the excitement curling up from his feet and making its way into his pelvis and his stomach and his heart and his brain. “I got in, in, in in I got in, I got in it’s a yes I’m going to college!”

He pulls away from Jake, clutching onto the paper, scanning the rest of the letter but he doesn’t care, all that matters is the first sentence, the first words, the CONGRATULATIONS that blinks black from the bottom at him before the signature from the Director of Admissions.

Chris drops the letter, he can’t hold it anymore, and his hands start to move with the happy that he can’t keep in, he spins in a circle and taps on the wall and on himself, bouncing up and down on his toes, swinging his body forward and back because he has to get the happiness out and his body wants to move.

“I got in I got in I got in I got in I got in-”

Jake is breathing hard, like he just ran a race, wiping a hand over his face and turning to Antoni, sniffing back his own tears and Chris thinks that Jake is proud, he’s proud of him, he’s happy too, he and Antoni are so happy, too.

“He got in,” Jake says out loud to Antoni, who only grins back at him a rare wide smile that flashes slightly crooked teeth. “Fuck, he-... Christ, Antoni, he’s in!”

“Yes, I noticed, I heard you both,” Antoni teases, picking the letter up to scan it over himself, as if his face isn’t reddened, too, as if they aren’t all three of them nearly dancing with happiness at a thing that Chris had been so scared to even dream about.

“‘We are thrilled to welcome you to the Colinas Blancas community...’“ Antoni reads, but Chris barely hears him, spinning in a circle again, his leg bouncing even when he tries to stand still, finger-twist-tap-tap-tap against his own sides, the wall, Jake’s arm, anything within reach before his hands start shaking again.

Too much, too much happiness, he has to move to get it out, has to move.

“Congratulations, man,” Jake says, his voice thick in his throat. “I’m so fucking proud of you, you worked so hard for this.”

Chris looks up at him, blinking rapidly to try and wash the blur of tears, to focus Jake’s face, and when he blinks they find their way out and run down his face. Jake hugs him, strong arms tight around him, and he hugs back, but he can’t stop tapping even so, has to tap Jake’s skin, because he’s so happy and he tried so hard and it was terrifying and he got in.

“I’m going to, to, to to college, Jake,” Chris whispers, and feels Jake’s arms tighten around him. “I’m going to college. Like everybody else.”

Like a person.

“I knew they’d let you in,” Jake whispers against his ear. “Who could ever meet you and not want you around forever?”

Chris rests himself against Jake, like he has since he was brought thinner and terrified and wrapped in a blanket years ago, but he taps and he taps and the world is bright and the birds are singing outside the window and he’s worked so so so hard for the life they’re going to let him live.

“I got in.”

“Good.” Antoni pulls a bottle out of the freezer with a crooked half-smile, wiping at his eyes. “I think this deserves a toast.”

“He’s twenty,” Jake says, warningly. “We think.”

“And he got into college, Jascha,” Antoni replies with breezy good cheer. “Let the boy have a toast for celebration.”

Jake raises an eyebrow.

Antoni smiles serenely back.

Jake finally sighs and lets Chris go. “Fine. But just one.”

“Of course,” Antoni says, and winks at Chris. “Just one.”

Chris sits in the chair with his legs crossed in front of him, watching Antoni pour clear liquid into a glass, and he’s never felt any happiness like this before. 

“You did it,” Jake says, sitting heavily down himself. “God. Fuck. You did it. I love you, man, I’m so proud of you.”

I love you.

Chris melts into three small words.

I love you.

“I love you, too,” He whispers, as Antoni pushes the glass at him across the table. “Both of you. Forever.”

Antoni pours two more glasses with a small bit of his best vodka, and then pushes one at Jake and holds one himself. “To our Chrisha,” He says, softly. “And going to college.”

“To Chris,” Jake says, firmly, lifting his glass in the air.

Chris echoes the motion, his heart is beating so fast and it’s such a good day and the world is wonderful to him.

“To, to, to college,” Chris says, and the three of them move their glasses towards each other.

Clink.

A cardinal calls outside the window.

#trauma recovery #recovering whumpee #chris the strawberry blond romantic #jake the shelter guy #antoni Sings Lullabies #pure unadulterated fluffiness here #all comfort no hurt #happy stuff #original fiction #stimming #happy stim #my sweet boy getting good things #trauma recovery whump #found family #box boy #box boy universe #box boy multiverse #because sometimes things just work out #okay

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Everything

For @lemonfodrizzleart, featuring her oc, Jackie Asante. I hope you like it, sweetie! The comic that inspired the first half can be found here.

~~~~~~~~~~

Stan gave his girl an impressed look when she downed another shot of tequila and she asked for her second blue pineapple margarita. He brought his second jug of Angry Orchard up to his lips, reminiscing on the brown sugar that laced the rim of the glass, his eyes up at one of the many TVs playing different ball games. Stan was drawn into a football game and he winced with a smile as one guy got tackled by seven different guys, so close to a touchdown.

Jackie gave her guy a soft smile as he let the heavy glass land on the wooden bar with a quiet clunk. He looked very handsome right now, relaxed, sitting back in his chair while watching the game, the soft bar lights highlighting his beautiful features, like his soft brown eyes and matching mullet, his contagious smile. Sure he only sported worn jeans, a dirty white t-shirt, and a maroon jacket that look like it had been through the mill, but to Jackie he looked like a million bucks.

The bartender scooped up Stan’s first empty jug and asked, “‘Nother round?”

Stan shrugged casually. It was pretty late, the two coming in after a long day, so he guessed he could handle another pair before heading back to the motel. “Sure, why not?”

The bartender nodded, finished Jackie’s rita, slid it to her, and then quickly fetched two jugs and dunked the rims in a small bowl of sugar before filling it with beer. Thank Moses for Happy Hour, Every Hour. She dropped off the two glasses and asked, “Anythang else, lovelies?”

“Nope.” Jackie answered after the two exchanged looks and she happily munched on a tortilla chip spooning salsa with extra hot sauce mixed in.

The bartender smiled and let the most sober of everyone in the bar do as they please; it was pretty late and this odd but adorable couple had come in just a few minutes ago, so while others should probably be cut off these love birds were fine for a few more drinks.

Jackie and Stan were close, but not close enough. Jackie looked at her boyfriend’s toned body again and desperately wanted to feel it, be closer, so she leaned towards him, resting her head on his shoulder, and Stan smiled and wrapped his arm around her. Jackie was grateful he was looking at the escalating football game, so he couldn’t see the stupid grin on his face.

Stan privately considered himself pretty damn lucky. Not only had he been in a town for five days without making enemies (a new record), and he actually had enough money for a room and he didn’t have to sleep in his car, but he had an amazing woman on him who not only wanted to be around him, but was willing to go anywhere in order to do so. Jackie didn’t have to travel with him across states, looking for something and nothing all at the same time, but she did. One day Stan would make it up to her. One day he would actually manage to not be a screw-up and buy her a house and her own car and give her kids and whatever else she wanted.

Unfortunately, natured called and Stan had to stretch and have Jackie sit up. “Bathroom.”

“K’.” Jackie grinned as he snuck a quick kiss on her cheek before leaving her alone, but her smile was soon gone.

Stan felt a little colder with her gone from his hip, and as he washed his hands he thought that maybe they should finish their drinks, pay the bartender, and go back to the motel so he could hold her and show her how much she meant to her, however she wanted him to. Stan grinned in the mirror at the idea and emerged from the bathroom just in time to have the color in his face drain and his heart stop at a horrifying scene.

Jackie was facing a man much bigger and bulkier than her (even a little bigger than Stan), and she punched him in the face, leaving a bruise on his face. Stan wanted to be proud, but the guy was way bigger than her and could hurt her. “JACKIE, NO!”

Jackie tried to land another punch, but her wrist was grabbed to stop her, and in retaliation the guy punched her in the face.

Stan saw red. He didn’t need context or to know what had happened for this whole mess to even occur. He didn’t care. Somebody had punched his girl.

Stan charged across the room and just as Jackie kneed the guy in the balls and shoved him away, that left an opening for Stan to pounce on him and go ham. All those years of boxing practice were paying off as he wailed on the guy left and right in the face, over the jerk as he laid on the floor and kicked Stan off of him.

In an instant, Stan spun, grabbed Jackie’s hand, and ran out of the bar with her as fast as they could for the Stanmobile, which soon made screeches against the concrete and sped away.

After a few breaths in the passenger’s seat, Jackie looked over at the conman driving and she knew her instincts were correct. The dead-pan look on his face, how tightly he held onto the wheel, the anger fuming from his spirit. He was mad. And Jackie wasn’t stupid, she knew who he was mad at. So she crossed her arms over her chest and watched the world outside zoom by.

At the motel room, Stan pulled out the first aid kit from his suitcase and pointed to the bed. “Sit.” His voice was low and cold, but not completely harsh, which was a good sign.

Jackie plopped down at the foot of the bed and Stan knelt before her, eye-level to get a good look at her face. She had a bruise forming under her eye. It was a little bit swollen, but it could have been much worse. No cuts or torn skin, which was good, so Stan walked off for the bathroom and ran a washcloth under some cool water, then came back and started to clean up the eye. Jackie closed her eyes, both as a sign of her discomfort, but to make Stan’s job a little easier.

This wasn’t the first time Jackie had gotten into a fight, and Stan knew exactly what she had been fighting about.

Jackie had her arms crossed over her blue t-shirt covered chest, silent and waiting for the lecture. Usually Jackie would let Stan rant until he was done and then make a snappy remark that would end his argument, but tonight Jackie was angry. Not like Stan was, fuming and growling and shaking. She was an icy kind of angry, the cold, distant kind of angry. (Stan was painfully reminded how that was the kind of angry his brother got.) Jackie made up her mind that tonight she was gonna say something, and she was begging for her boyfriend to pick a fight.

After cleaning her up and helping the swelling go down, Stan tossed the damp washcloth aside and stood. Here we go. “Jackie, you can’t keep gettin’ into fights!”

Jackie quit looking down at the ugly carpet and she snapped back. “He was talking shit!”

“So what?!” Stan yelled back. He had heard what that guy was spitting behind his back while he watched the game. And, believe it or not, he had chosen not to make a big deal about it. Not with Jackie there. “I hear that shit all the time! Don’t fuckin’ fight for me!”

That only made Jackie more pissed. “Well excuse me for giving a shit about you, Stan!” She screeched. “I can handle a fight, especially when they diss you!”

Jackie was startled when Stan grabbed her by her shoulders, but rather than shake her or yell at her like other men might, she was even more alarmed when his head was bowed and his whole body was quivering. The little fire inside of him was slowly dying due to lack of fuel. Jackie opened her mouth to ask him what was wrong, but his voice stopped her, meek and quiet and desperate to be heard.

“Jackie… please…” He looked up at her and Jackie’s face softened to find tears in the corner of his soft brown eyes. “I don’t wanna lose you, too.”

“Hey,” Jackie whispered and slowly brought her hands to his cheeks, cupping his strained, tired face. “Hey.” She cooed softly. “Stanley, you couldn’t lose me if you tried. You’re stuck with me.”

Stan snorted and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Good.”

Jackie smiled and gently pulled him closer. “C’mere.”

Stan crawled up onto the bed and laid down as Jackie leaned back, wrapping her arms around his shoulder and placing a hand in his hair. Stan hugged her around her waist, his ear over her heart and listening to the beautiful beat. He took in some deep breaths, trying to calm down, and it was easier with her breathing to copy.

Jackie had known for a while that Stan had a crippling fear of not only heights, but of losing what little he had. He never talked about his past, but from what little Jackie had picked up from the taboo subject, he had lost everything. He wasn’t like some where they never had anything. He was like her, both of whom once had something or everything, but it was now gone. At least Jackie walked away, chose to leave what she had; she got the impression that Stan didn't have a choice.

She kissed his soft mullet and began to comb it as she whispered, “Stanley, you’re not gonna lose me. Not ever.”

“I think I’d believe you if you’d quit gettin’ into fights, sweetheart.” He joked.

Jackie rolled her eyes and chuckled.

Stan’s smile dropped. “Seriously though, if anything happened to you…”

“I can look after myself.” Jackie reminded him.

“I know you can. But you don’t have to anymore.”

“Then let me look after you, too, okay?”

“I will, but there’s a difference between helpin’ me wake up with both kidneys and gettin’ hurt all for some nobody on the street.”

“Hey,” Jackie said, this time not as soft as before, a bit more firm. Stan was reminded of a stern warning a mother might give. “You’re not a nobody. You’re my everything.”

Stan’s hold tightened ever so slightly. “And you’re mine. Which is why I need you safe.”

Jackie took in a deep breath and let it out through her button nose. She knew Stan had a point. And it was only fair. After all he gave up boxing matches for cash when he came home bloody one night and reduced Jackie to tears. She had certainly noticed how less inclined he was to fight or get into serious trouble. Sure, he had no issue stealing toilet paper or scamming suckers for an extra buck, but his Colombian prison days were far behind him.

Jackie scratched his shoulder comfortably and whispered, “Alright. I promise, no more fights. Unless they swing first.” She added cheekily.

Stan laughed quietly into her chest and nodded. “Unless they swing first.”

Just as Stan had hoped for, they laid on that bed for hours and snuggled. A few minutes after their agreement, Jackie began to hum a soft song as she continually combed his hair with her fingers. Stan smiled drowsily and was more than happy to fall asleep in the arms of the woman he loved.

~~~~~~~~~~

The young couple left Pueblo, Colorado and stopped at a little motel in Moab, Utah. It was a little bit nicer than the last room, accompanied by a small balcony with a sliding glass door to a view of the rocky red mountains and an iron and board to go with it. These made for good, cheap laundry. Just a little air freshener on the clothes and a quick run-through with the iron and as long as it didn’t have a stain any piece of clothing was as good as new, a free way to do laundry without forking some money for some quarters and some soap.

It was Stan’s turn to do the laundry, and he did so only in his boxers, standing in front of the king-sized bed as Jackie was looking out the huge window that covered most of the wall opposite to the door.

“Lee, do you think I’m pretty?”

Stan nearly burned his fingers when he looked up from his work. He had enough sense to turn off the iron and not rest it on his shirt, but just enough. Her back was to him in a baggy t-shirt (that he probably stole from him) and faded pink yoga pants. Her reflection was in the glass window and Stan not only saw how depressingly she held her hands and gazed ahead, he realized Jackie’s attention wasn’t on the view.

“Babe, what do you see?” Stan asked gently.

Jackie snorted and shook her head. “Not much.”

“That’s not what I see.” He said firmly and left the ironing board to be with her, standing behind her and tenderly wrapping his arms around her so her hands were lightly trapped to her chest. “I see everything a man could ever want in a woman.” Jackie pressed her lips together and freed a hand to hold Stan’s. But he wasn’t done.

“Eyes so deep and dark you can get lost in ‘em, skin the color of mahogany and soft as satin, a body fit for a goddess.” Stan kissed her forehead, cheek, and then neck slowly, softly. And then joined her gaze at their reflection and smiled at what he saw. “Look how beautiful you are.”

Jackie looked away as she blinked furiously, but Stan wasn’t having it. “Look,” He whispered and gently lifted her head up with his finger to her chin. “Look how beautiful you are.”

Jackie forced her tears away and turned to face her man. “Lee…”

He only grinned and held up a finger. “Ah, ah.” Stan hurried to the TV, turned it on, and flicked on the All Jazz channel. Jackie grinned as he went back to her. “Am I lucky enough to dance with everything a man could ever want?”

“Stanley,” Jackie wrapped her arms around his chest, nuzzling the side of her face into Stan’s hairy body. Her throat was still tight. She forced herself to swallow as they swayed to the music and she managed to croak out, “I love you.”

Stan kissed the top of her head and smiled, rubbing her back and squeezing her shoulder. “I love you, too.”

#GF #gravity falls #fanfiction #gift #JackieStan #jackie asante #stan pines #thank you so SO much for reading!!! #I hope you liked it! #God i love this ship #ship it like fedex #every day all the time