#must i add these relationships flopped to put it lightly

[marcelle-ravensky]

If you ever want to date me you have to sing along with me, dance with me like there's no tomorrow and walk barefoot around the house.

#words #ravensky #seriously of all things being barefoot can be so intimate like #ive been with people whose feet id see like twice for all the time i knew them #i know feet are not necessarily the most attractive body part #but how can you wear socks 24/7 do you shower with them too???? #what are you hiding #must i add these relationships flopped to put it lightly???? #i dont trust anyone who cant just walk barefoot #my mum used to nag me to wear slippers around the house #as for my child. slippers? walk barefoot and dont waste my time #thanks for coming to my ted talk #rant in tags

[dirtykpopsnaps]

Our Rule - Yang Jeongin

Warning: This fic contains 18+ content. If anyone under 18 is seen interacting with this story, they will be blocked.

Contains: teasing. denial. kind of dom!Jeongin

Requested: yes

Words: 2, 569

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In the crowded hallways, students pass me from both sides. People are hurrying passed trying to get to their next lectures. Thankfully, my last lecture for the day just ended and now I just have homework. Calmly, I shoulder my bookbag and leave the humanities building, heading towards my dorm on campus.

Out on the quad, students are still hurrying passed me. Other students are gathered under trees, talking and enjoying the nice weather. A few students come out of the other buildings surrounding the quad. I make my way passed everyone and over towards Lynch, my dorm. When I reach the door, I pull out my student ID and press it against the sensor. The door clicks open a few seconds later.

Heading up to my room, everything is pretty quiet. Most students are in lectures and the few that aren’t are in their rooms working. I walk through the empty hallways, passing a person here or there. In my back pocket, I feel my phone vibrate and I smirk to myself. ‘Oh, he’s gonna be so mad’ I internally giggle. I check up and down the hall to make sure that one is around. Calmly, I pull my phone out of pocket and check the message that he sent. “Sweetheart...you know you’re not supposed to send me messages like that” the text reads. I giggle lightly and press the phone against my chin, thinking of how to reply.

After a few seconds, I start typing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jeonginnie.” I type out. I put my phone back in my pocket and head to my room, unlocking the door. Once I’m inside, I shut the door, put my books away, and decide to start on my homework. However, before I start, I decide to send one more picture to Jeongin. Making sure that the blinds are closed, I look in the mirror and pull my shirt up. I hold up my phone and make a silly face, getting a good shot of my bra.

I look at the picture and nod my head, sending it to him. As soon as it’s sent, I put my phone on my bed, face down, and begin homework. All of my work takes several hours to complete and it’s teaching dinner time by the time I finally get everything done. I put away all my work and pick up my phone off the bed.

As soon as I see the messages on my phone, I stare at them in shock. Within the last few hours, Jeongin completely blew up my phone. There are 60+ messages, most of them relating to me “being a little tease”. Several of the messages consist of what he’s going to do to punish me. The last message is very clear. “Darling, if you’re not at the dorm before 6:30, I will drive to your campus and you won’t like the consequences if I have to do that” the message reads. I immediately type out a message to him.

“I’ll be over in 20 minutes...daddy.”

For several seconds, I go back and forth about the last part. Finally, I simply hit send and set my phone down again. As soon as my phone is down, I head over to my underwear drawer. I shift through it until I find a fairly new, matching bra and panties set. I change into this underwear, then throw my clothes back on top. I quickly throw on a jacket and some shoes before grabbing materials like my ID card, keys, and wallet. As soon as I have everything, I head out the door and lock it before I leave.

The walk to the dorm is very quiet. Not many people are out on the streets and very few cars pass me on my walk. Just to be safe, though, I pull up my hood. My relationship with Jeongin is still hidden to everyone except those who need to know, such as the members and the head of their company. There are a few rules that were set up, but we’re mostly able to be a normal couple. Well, as normal as possible when your boyfriend has to put on a “disguise” every time you go out, and you can only go to “secret” locations. However, although our relationship isn’t “normal”, I still wouldn’t change anything about it.

Before I even realize it, I’m standing in front of the door of their dorm. I knock three times on the door and stand back, waiting for someone to open it. Inside, I hear a lot of chattering before the door is opened just a fraction and someone sticks their eye out from behind the door. As soon as the person sees that it’s me, the door is pulled open fully and Hyunjin welcomes me inside. “Hey, Y/N! Didn’t realize you’d be coming over tonight,” he says cheerfully.

“Jeonginnie demanded,” I tell him. He gives me a knowing look.

“What did you do?” He chuckles. I shrug lightly, trying to play it off.

“Oh, nothing big,” I hum innocently. He rolls his eyes at me skeptically.

“Oh, I’m so sure.”

I fall into a small conversation with Hyunjin and, a few moments later, Jeongin appears in the doorway of the living room. He looks quite frustrated and narrows his eyes at me. “You. Here. Now,” he says, pointing directly in front of him. Hyunjin looks away, smirking to himself and says ‘goodbye’ before getting up. I stand in front of Jeongin and smile up at him sweetly.

“You wanted something, baby?” I ask innocently. He glares at me and points silently into his room. Humming happily, I bounce down the hall, but feel a hard slap against my ass as I pass by. Gasping in surprise, I look over my shoulder and Jeongin smirks.

“Sorry, couldn’t help myself,” he chuckles.

From the living room, I hear Hyunjin add in one last comment. “Just be safe, both of you,” he says. Jeongin nods his head lightly.

“We’re always safe, Jinnie, don’t worry,” he comments smoothly. I make my way into Jeongin’s bedroom and notice Han laying on the bed. He looks up at me, giving me a surprised look. However, before he can ask any questions, Jeongin joins us. He presses his back against my front. “Han, if you could—“ Jeongin starts. Han immediately seems to understand a and jumps off the bed, hurrying out of the room. If my boyfriend wasn’t so pissed off at me right now, I might find is pretty funny.

Slowly, I turn around and look up at Jeongin. My chest is pressed against his and I stare up into his deep, brown eyes. He frowns at me, looking me up and down. “You’ve been a bad girl,” he says plainly.

“Oh, have I? I thought you would like them,” I say nonchalantly. He ticks an eyebrow in frustration at my answer.

“Normally, I would. But, I thought we had a rule about not sending me photos and messages like that while I’m working.” I shrug lightly.

“Hmm, must have forgotten,” I say. He narrows his eyes at me, then nods towards the bed.

Without hesitation, I sit down on the edge of the bed. Jeongin comes up to me and presses our lips together hungrily. “You’ve had me hard all day,” he mutters against my lips. I smirk slightly and hum, dragging my tongue against the seam of his lips. He opens them up and our tongues fight for a little bit before I give in and let him take control. “Now...how should my bad, bad girl be punished?” He asks out loud. At this point, I know that the question is more rhetorical and he doesn’t actually want me to answer. He’s just thinking out loud and going over ideas in his head. I wait patiently for his answer to the question. “Well, I think maybe we should do some denial tonight. That might teach you a lesson...for a little bit, anyway.”

I take a deep breathe through my nose. Just at the suggestion of denial, I know it’s going to be a long night. Denial with Jeongin is always interesting, but he never denies just once. And, if I can’t hold my orgasm, he decides on another punishment to add into the mix. I nod my head lightly, accepting the punishment. For a second, Jeongin’s softer side shows. He smiles softly and rubs his thumb against my cheek. “That’s a good girl,” he mutters softly. However, the softer side doesn’t stay for long. Jeongin’s eyes look me up and down, then he takes a step back. “Take off your clothes,” he says, his voice taking a slightly demanding edge.

Slowly, I begin taking my clothes off, starting with my shirt and then my jeans. Once they off, I look up at him again and he nods at my bra and panties. “Those, too. Everything off.” I nod again and take off my bra and panties, as well. When they’re off, as well, he nods towards the bed. I step back and lay down on the bed. Jeongin steps towards the bed and climbs on top, laying down on his stomach between my legs. “Okay, I’m going to start by eating out. Remember, don’t come,” he reminds me. I nod my head once and he immediately starts kissing along my thighs.

As he gets closer to my cunt, I take in a sharp breath. Finally, he presses a feather light kiss against my clit. I groan softly and twist my fingers into his hair. Quickly, Jeongin’s eyes flit up to mine. “You’re welcome to pull on my hair, but if you try to keep me from pulling away, I’m not going to go easy,” he tells me. I swallow thickly then, without warning, he dives in and begins eating me out. I squeal loudly at the sudden stimulation, squirming a little on the bed as I get used to the feeling again. I pull hard at his hair, my head flopping back against the pillows. “Fuck, Jeongin, that feels so good,” I moan. He hums and the vibrations feeling amazing against my heat.

For a while, that is how things go. I lay back against the bed and Jeongin eats me out, stimulating me as much as possible. At one point, he even brings his fingers into the mix and fingers me. Slowly, the feeling within my stomach begins to grow and I warn him. “J-Jeonginnie, I’m gonna come!” I moan, tugging hard at his hair. As soon as the words leave my lips, he pulls back. I whine softly and take swallow, panting breaths. He smirks at me, resting his face in his hands and watching me intently.

Slowly, my breathing slows and he smiles softly at me. “Again?” He questions. I nod my head slowly, knowing he’s asking if I’ve calmed down enough to start again. Yet again, he begins sucking at my clit and I gasp loudly, pulling at his hair. “F-Fuck, Jeonginnie!” I exclaim. Slowly, he moves away from my clit and I sigh, laying my head back against the pillow. A second later, I gasp loudly again as he probes his tongue into my hole. His wide eyes are strong up at me curiously, watching as he pleasures me. It isn’t long before I’m back on the edge again and I warn him.

As I had suspected, he pulls back again. I whine loudly, tears prickling at my eyes. The feeling of losing my high a second time is absolute agony. At this point, I just want to come. “Please, Jeongin. Please let me come, I won’t do it again,” I whine, looking at him. He raises an eyebrow suspiciously.

“You always say that,” he says plainly. I shake my head vigorously.

“No, no, I promise. I’ll be a good girl,” I say quickly. He watches me for a few seconds.

“Okay. You can come this time, but I get to decide when, and if you come without permission, I’ll punish you again,” he tells me. I nod my head quickly and watch as he gets up.

Jeongin quickly pulls off his clothes, then comes back to the bed. “I’m gonna fuck you, baby,” he says plainly. I hum happily in response. I always love the feeling of his thick cock inside me. Slowly, Jeongin drags his cock through my folds, lathering my wetness on it. When he feels ready, he lines himself at my entrance and catches my eyes, slowly pressing in. I feel the slight burn as he slowly stretches me out and I moan softly. Jeongin takes his time pressing in, stopping every few seconds to make sure that I’m okay.

Once he’s fully sheathed inside of me, he leans forward and captures my lips. This kiss is softer, sweeter than our earlier kiss. It’s almost as if he’s showing his love for me through the kiss, although he’s punishing me. “Okay, baby?” He questions. I nod my head without hesitation and he slowly pulls out, then pushes back in. He groans at the feeling, shutting his eyes in pleasure. I moan as I feel his cock dragging against my walls.

Over bits of time, Jeongin’s speed quickens. Before long, I’m dragging my nails down his back, moaning loudly as he pounds into me. “That feel good, baby?” I nod my head, taking in gasping breaths.

“S-So good, Jeonginnie,” I moan, hugging him to my chest. Suddenly, I feel Jeongin’s hand snaking around my body and he starts rubbing quick circles on my clit. My body lurches up at the stimulation and I moan again, dragging my nails down his back hard. He hisses at the feeling, pounding directly into my g spot. “Is my baby girl getting close?” He pants.

“So close, please let me c-come,” I whine, writhing underneath him.

“Hold it, babygirl. I’m close, too,” he tells me.

“J-Jeongin, I can’t!” I whine, feeling my high coming closer and closer with every pump of his cock.

“You can and you will,” he growls at me.

Just as my body starts to rebel against me, as I can’t seem to hold it anymore, I hear him. “Come for me, baby,” he groans. I immediately fall over the edge and clench around his cock. Jeongin lets out a deep groan, then pulls out quickly and spills his seed over my stomach. Both of us take a moment, catching our breaths. Finally, Jeongin gets up again and cleans himself off, pulling on his boxers. I watch him for a moment, wondering why he’s leaving and he must feel me. He looks up at me and smiles softly. “Don’t worry, I’m just heading to the bathroom to get a washcloth,” he says, smiling goofily. I let out a soft sigh, the feeling of slight sadness dissipating.

Jeongin leaves the room and comes back a few moments later with a washcloth. Softly, he cleans the cum off my stomach, then cleans me up as well. When he’s finished, he throws the washcloth into his dirty laundry. He picks me up and pulls back the covers, letting us both lie underneath. I snuggle close to him, getting as close him as possible. “Jeonginnie?” I ask softly.

“Hmm?” He hums, his voice scratchy with tiredness.

“I love you,” I say. He chuckles lightly, kissing my forehead.

“I love you, too, babygirl.”

#dirty kpop snaps #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #yang jeongin #yang jeongin smut #stray kids jeongin #stray kids jeongin smut #stray kids i.n. #stray kids i.n. smut #stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #denial #teasing #dom!jeongin

[cauliflowercounty]

Fred Weasley Being a Tipsy Sweetheart (Fred Weasley x fem!Reader)

House:  You Choose

Blood Status:  You Choose

Word Count 1k

Warnings:  Drunk/tipsiness, some physical-ish romantic moments (?) [Idk how to describe it.  You and Fred snuggle I guess]; I write the word “hell” (I’m not sensitive towards that word, but some people I know are so I might as well add it)

A/N: Not proofread.  Will do it later!

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The party had died down significantly in the last few minutes. The Gryffindors had decided to throw a massive party in their common room and anyone and everyone was invited, even the Slytherins since the Gryffindors wanted to show off how their common room as far superior in comparison. Sitting on one of the couches near the fireplace, you had watched many students stumble to their own common rooms or shuffle upstairs with a yawn. It was amazing the party lasted as long as it did. It only started to fade away when the clock struck 2 am. 

Across the room, your boyfriend Fred nurses his butterbeer with his arms around Lee and George, singing their funeral march version of “Hoggy Warty Hogwarts.” The three of them away side to side, their ties loosely hanging around their necks and butterbeer bottles in the air.

“Just do your best, we'll do the rest, And learn until our brains all rot!” the three of them shout ceremoniously off-key, their musical abilities inhibited by the many bottles of butterbeer they each had consumed. The three of them all laugh heartily, and Lee grabs George by his collar, whispering something about lovebirds as he notices you looking at Fred from across the room.  

Lee and George stumble through the portrait hole, leaving you and Fred as the last people in the disheveled common room full of balloons, empty cups, and bottles, plus a couple of torn up streamers. You discard your first and only butterbeer bottle and walk over to him. Fred drapes his figure over yours as soon as you’re within arms reach, nearly causing you to keel over as he unexpectedly puts most of his weight on you.

“Woah, Freddie!” you gasp, not wanting to drop your boyfriend in all his drunkenness.  

“Hey, love,” Fred smiles, giving you the goofiest of grins.

“How much have you had to drink?” you ask with a laugh.  “I haven’t seen you like this ever.”

“Hmmm...,” he says, thinking with all his might.  “I was keeping pace with Georgie and Lee... but I think I jumped ahead a bit... Last time I thought about it.. Lee was on three and Georgie had four. I think I beat them though! Haha!”

You roll your eyes. “It’s not a competition, remember?” you ask him. He chuckles as he wraps his arms tightly around your waist, peppering kisses all over your face.

“Well, you know me, love,” Fred whispers in your year.  “It’s not my fault. I’m quite the competitor. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be as good a beater. The Gryffindor team would be sorely lost without me.”

You smile at his joke and rest your forehead on his. You cup his cheek gently with your hand and kiss him on the lips.  

“Can we stay like this forever?” he asks in a sudden moment of seriousness, pulling away ever so slightly.  “I don’t want this to ever end.”

“Me neither, Freddie,” you smile, pulling him over to a couch where he eagerly lies down on his back. Taking out your wand, you restart the fire in the fireplace and then go to place yourself on top of Fred, snuggling into his chest as your legs intertwine with his. He runs his thumb up and down your back in a soothing motion, and you both close your eyes. 

Minutes later, you hear Lee and George stumble back in. They spot you both and George grins, noticing the slight smile on Fred’s lips, and George’s happy to see his brother and you so comfortable and in love.  

After drifting off to sleep for a bit, you wake yourself back up as you feel Fred running his fingers through your hair. You notice the clock on the table. It reads 4:17. groaning a little bit, you lift your head up and prod Fred’s cheek a little.  

“Freddie?” you ask as he begins to stir.  

“Hmm?” he groans.

“Let’s get you back to your dorm room. You wouldn’t want people to find you on the couch when everyone’s heading down for breakfast,” you say and he nods sleepily in agreement, starting to sit up, his eyes still mostly closed. You reach out your hands to Fred and he entwines his fingers with yours. You wrap your arm around Fred’s back to support him up the stairs to the boys’ dorms since he’s still drunk and sleepy.  

Once you get up the stairs and kick the door open carefully, you notice all his roommates including George and Lee are fast asleep and snoring up a storm. You deposit Fred onto his bed and he lands with a thump. Once you’ve coaxed him all the way onto his bed, you leave to grab him a glass of water because if he doesn’t drink some, he’ll have a hell of a headache in the morning.  

When you return, you see that Fred has gotten up, changed into an undershirt and a pair of red flannel pajama pants, and flopped himself back in bed. He’s almost asleep, but you hand him the glass of water, which he quickly drinks all of. You take the glass from him and set it on his nightstand.

“How’d I get so lucky?” he mumbles into his pillow. “The joke shop shows promise, and I’ve got the best girlfriend in school.”

You smile, realizing he’s even more tired and drunk than you thought. He’s forgotten you’re the one that’s here. Kissing the top of his head lightly and mumbling a short goodnight, you turn to go away, but you stop in your tracks as you hear Fred mumble, “Y/n is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. She’s the light of my life. I wanna get a place with y/n and marry her someday... I can’t wait...”

You blush as you listen to Fred.  He was the only person in the entire world that made you feel like you were seen and heard. He always made you laugh with a joke and comforted you whenever you needed it. He memorized your favorite foods and your habits and loved you for it, and you did the same for him. You’d always hoped your relationship would last you decades because you cherished him and wanted to be around him until the end of time, but it warmed your heart and made you giddy hearing that he wanted the same thing.

“Freddie?” you ask into the darkness, but there’s silence. He must have fallen asleep. You smile and exit Fred’s room, closing the door gently behind you. As you return to your room, you smile, thinking of Fred’s words. He truly is the cutest drunk you know and the only one you’d want to spend the rest of your life with.

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #Harry Potter #fred weasley imagine #weasley twins

[sendrickbecs]

Unspoken Feelings (3/8)

The heavy throbbing of her head makes the bedroom whirl around her. Is the world spinning? Beca sits up, quickly bringing her left hand to her forehead, pressing down on it as if it will release the tension. The intense dizziness is causing her stomach to churn which increases her urge to vomit.

Her eyes snap shut instantly, in attempt to decrease her hangover symptoms.

Beca inhales quickly, holding the breath, then exhaling. She repeats the breathing strategies a few more times until she no longer thinks she's going to vomit all over the floor. She doesn't want to recreate Aubrey's puking mess.

When her eyes flutter open again, it takes a minute for her to realise that she isn't in her own room, she's so naturally comfortable in the warm bed that she isn't even alarmed. The surroundings aren't unfamiliar, so she doesn't feel the need to get up and run away shamefully.

But then she looks to her right as she suddenly realises, she isn't alone in the bed.

The sight of her best friend lying next to her, with her left hand underneath her cheek and her gorgeous red hair sprawled out over her pillow, is absolutely breath-taking.

Her other hand is connected to the wrist that is resting on Beca's stomach. Beca didn't realise she was wrapped in Chloe's grip until now, and she has the urge to snuggle closer, loving the feeling of being so close to her best friend. But that isn't a thought someone should have about their best friend, so she hesitantly nudges Chloe's arm away.

After she sits up against the headboard, Beca reaches out to tuck a strand of Chloe's hair behind her ear.

She wants to appreciate the sight, because Chloe Beale really is her favourite thing to look at – to admire. Beca can deny it time and time again but she'll always come back to the same conclusion.

Chloe is her weakness.

Beca has never allowed herself to be vulnerable around others but the realisation that Chloe could literally break down every single one of her walls scares the absolute shit out of her.

She allows her gaze to drift around the room. Even though she shares the attic room with Amy, their room isn't much different to the other girls' bedrooms. She's spent a fair amount of time in Chloe's bedroom anyway, which is why she's almost surprised it took her so long to acknowledge that she woke up in her room.

In this moment it suddenly strikes her – why is she in Chloe's room?

What the fuck happened last night?

She tugs her hair down from the messy bun – she doesn't remember putting her hair up last night so Chloe must have done it for her, which is another example of why Chloe is literally the best person in the entire universe. Beca rakes her hand through her hair and takes note of the faint scent of alcohol. She's also pretty sure that she has sick in the front few strands, but she doesn't want to get into that right now.

Guilt runs through her accompanied by shame as she remembers the way she danced with Jesse last night in attempt to rid her feelings – if they even were feelings at all – for Chloe.

The events from the night before flood back to her and she's overwhelmed with...rage.

Beca isn't angry at Jesse for dancing with her because she was the one that asked, or at Chloe for messing with her head and confusing her, because Chloe isn't to blame.

She's mad at herself. She's so fucking angry at herself that she's allowing herself to feel this way about her best friend – her best friend who is beautiful, sexy, smart as hell and literally the most caring person on the planet.

Chloe Beale is way too good for her, so even if she was into girls there's no way she'll ever love her the way Beca longs for her to. The way Beca has loved Chloe since her freshman year.

She hates herself for the way she treats Chloe – hot one minute, cold the next. She only distances herself and runs from Chloe because it's all she's ever known. Leaving is the only thing she's good at.

There's no need for the walk of shame, but it's not like they had sex anyway. However, that doesn't mean she wants anyone seeing her leave Chloe's room early in the morning. Beca knows what her fellow Bellas are like – they love to make assumptions – especially about 'Bhloe'. It's bad enough that Stacie and Amy occasionally tease them by giving them a ship name and asking things like "When's the wedding?" and "Can I be the god mother of your child?" so there is no way Beca is going to let anyone see her leave Chloe's bedroom, it will only fuel their theories. They'll never let her live that down.

So instead of lying back down and falling to sleep like a part of her wishes she would do, she clambers out of the bed and moves across the room, careful not to knock into any of Chloe's things and cause a ruckus.

When she emerges from the attic stairs, she's met with an empty room, which half surprises her, but Amy not coming home is typical, especially after a treble's party.

Beca is tired, exhausted in fact, but there is no way she's going to be able to get back to sleep so she reaches for her precious laptop and headphones. She sets them on the edge of her bed as she fumbles through her clothes until she pulls out a pair of sweatpants, which she quickly changes into.

Her laptop and headphones are back in her grip as she trudges down the stairs towards the kitchen of the Bellas house. She slips the headphones around her neck and places the laptop on the counter.

As she's making herself some coffee, she acknowledges that it's only five in the morning, which is extremely early for someone who usually rises around midday.

Beca picks up her mug – one Chloe brought her last year – and carries it along with her laptop out the front door and on to the porch. Instead of sitting on the chair swing, Beca sits down on the steps, half leaning against the railing.

She lifts her headphones up and slides them on over her head, connecting the wire to her laptop and pressing play on the queued playlist. The music instantly relaxes her, she won't ever admit it but ever since Chloe requested a Taylor Swift song for the set, Beca has been pretty obsessed with her music.

But not even music can distract her from her thoughts, or more specifically, thoughts about Chloe.

She can't feel that way about her because she's her best friend. She loves her so much, but she can't be in love with her because if it ends badly – which Beca believes all her relationships will – then she'll lose her best friend.

At least with Jesse she's never cared for him the way she cares for Chloe, so if they fight or he gets mad at her, he can't hurt her the way Chloe can.

She doesn't know how much time has gone by since she came out here, but the playlist has ended, and her coffee is now stone cold. Beca has just been staring at a tree whilst she completely zones out.

She hears movement behind her which startles her out of her trance. Her head snaps to the side and she is met with Fat Amy holding a hot mug. She offers it to Beca, and she is quick to accept it considering how the one she made is now undrinkable.

"Are you working on a mix?" Amy asks, as she flops herself down on the porch swing.

"Uh, yeah?" Beca's already finished the mixes and set for the Bellas, and she isn't making anything new for her internship.

Recently her mixes have been kind of shitty, so she hasn't been able to add anything to her collection of mashups that she keeps for potential future use to show someone in the music industry if the opportunity comes up.

Normally Beca uses music as an escape, something to take over her thoughts if it gets too much for her, but right now her mind is elsewhere. Not even music can distract her from her own thoughts.

"Well, no...I'm just trying to figure some shit out." She says, trying not to admit too much about why she is really out here so early in the morning.

"Anything I can help with?" The blonde questions, whilst repositioning her arms behind her head so she's now leaning against them.

"No."

Beca's lack of hesitation sparks a hint of confusion in Amy's thoughts. "You sure? I'm your best friend, you can talk to me about anything." She says, completing it with a grin.

The brunette scoffs lightly, "Well, actually-"

"Mitchell, I know you love ginger more than me, but you don't need to say it out loud and break my heart," Amy jokes.

She almost wants to deny it, because lately the way she feels about Chloe is weird. Beca doesn't understand it, but instead of unpacking it slowly and acknowledging her feelings, she forces her thoughts about Chloe to the back of her mind. But no matter what, Chloe is her best friend, that will always come first.

Beca forces herself to chuckle, "It's just some stuff at the studio."

. . .

When Chloe finally stirs, a few hours after Beca's departure, she reaches her hand out for her best friend, but instead she's met with an empty, cold bed.

She instantly misses Beca's warmth even though she doesn't know how long she's been gone. She can also faintly smell Beca's perfume. Chloe sometimes thinks she's sprayed it around the house just to taunt her. In a way it's like Beca is still always around even when she's being distant or hanging out with Jesse.

Beca is always there and Chloe can't seem to escape her – but she isn't sure that she'd want to even if she could. For Chloe, Beca is her literal will to live. Seeing the smile on her best friend's face is what keeps Chloe going, so without her, life would be pretty damn pointless.

But waking up to an empty bed, knowing that Beca has left her once again, sends a punch to her gut.

Chloe knows she should just take that as a sign, that Beca doesn't want her, not when they're both sober anyway. When the small brunette's feisty attitude is combined with alcohol, she becomes needy – and very touchy. Chloe doesn't mind it, in fact, she kind of really likes it. Beca initiates the hugs and reaches for Chloe's hand to hold. Beca is a lot less clingy when she's sober so Chloe takes advantage of the moments where Beca wants to touch Chloe. She knows she should feel even the slightest pang of guilt for enjoying these moments, but it's not like she's forcing the alcohol down the younger woman's throat.

However, Chloe's thoughts can't help themselves, she assesses the situation once more. Beca had chosen her bed to sleep in last night, to cuddle with her and to wake up next to her. She could have gone to her own bed or any of the other Bellas. But she wanted Chloe. That has to mean something, right?

Chloe is most definitely a morning person, yet this morning she has to fight the overwhelming urge to stay in bed, wrapped up in her blankets all day.

Once she's out of the shower, and dressed in suitable clothing for Bellas rehearsals, she heads downstairs.

When the kitchen comes into view and she hasn't spotted Beca yet, she feels somewhat relieved, she knows Beca will pretend like last night never happened, but Chloe just can't let it go that easily.

She must jinx herself because not even five seconds later, Beca's voice runs through the bottom floor of the house.

"I swear to god, you can't even have anything to yourself in this house."

Chloe acknowledges the anger in Beca's tone and instantly wants to help her or calm her down – something only Chloe can do – so she rushes towards the kitchen. Beca is pacing around the room with her hands flying about frantically.

"What's up, Becs?" Chloe quizzes, attempting to keep her tone calm which is surprisingly hard as she watches Beca get worked up over something. Beca is her friend and she doesn't like seeing her upset.

"Someone ate my fucking ice cream." Beca mumbles, but the look in her eyes tells Chloe that this isn't just about ice cream. There is something much bigger bothering her.

"Um...Bec." Chloe looks at Beca with her most precious puppy dog eyes and a small smile, almost begging Beca to forgive her for something she hasn't even apologised for yet. In her defence, she was mad at Beca for disappearing when she needed her best friend.

Beca can't deny that Chloe's adorable expression got to her – it always does. "Yeah, Chlo?"

"I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?" Beca quizzes, still not understanding what exactly Chloe was apologising for.

Chloe sighs, and drops her gaze to the floor, ready for whatever Beca was about to throw at her – metaphorically and physically. "It was me. I was the one that ate your ice cream."

"Girl fight!" Cynthia Rose comments as she makes her way into the kitchen towards Fat Amy.

The brunette chuckles softly which causes Chloe to lift her head. "Dude, you should have told me, now I look like an idiot." Beca sits down at the table and lifts her mug to her lips.

"Wait...so you aren't mad?" Chloe asks.

Beca meets Chloe's gaze so both pairs of blue eyes are staring into each other's.

Although the shades of blue are quite different, they fit together so well, just like the ocean and the sky. Beca and Chloe are compatible; the light and dark shades of blues in their eyes harmonise together in the most perfect way.

Beca's expression softens into a smile, just for Chloe. "Course not. It's just ice cream." She shrugs.

"What?" Fat Amy yells, which earns three glares. Her volume is way too loud for this time in the morning, considering how a majority of the Bellas are still asleep. Although Amy's probably woken them all up with her shouting.

Beca tosses her head to the side and gives Amy a pointed glare. "Why are you being weird?"

"You were just about to rip my head off and it wasn't even me, but when Chloe comes forward and says she ate it all you have to say is 'it's just ice cream.' Beca, what-"

"She wasn't feeling well. Ice cream helps with the flu. She's better now so it must have done the trick." Beca smirks but dials it down a notch when she sees Amy raise her eyebrows.

Chloe's heart skips a beat at the thought of Beca taking care of her. Beca has always taken care of her in her own way – she buys Chloe her favourite food when she's on her period, she offered her shoulder to cry on when Chloe had Tom trouble back in Beca's freshman year and Beca makes numerous mixes for Chloe whenever she's feeling down.

There have been so many times where Beca has cared for Chloe, but Chloe wishes that Beca could really take care of her, that they could take care of each other.

She wishes they could cuddle in one of their beds, or on the couch when watching a movie with the other Bellas.

She wishes Beca would trust her enough, so she doesn't have to lie to her anymore.

And finally, she wishes they could care for each other's sexual needs, because the Bellas were probably getting tired of hearing Titanium blast from Chloe's room.

Titanium is kind of their song, Beca might not know this but whenever Chloe listens to it, Beca takes over her mind. It's the thought of Beca that drives her towards her climax.

The brunette twists, focusing her entire attention on Chloe, ignoring the questioning glances between Amy and Cynthia Rose. "You are okay now, right?" She asks the older girl. Her expression softening as she waits for Chloe to confirm that she is okay – that they are okay.

Chloe's face lights up at Beca's obvious concern. Now she knows that Beca was actually worried about her. The past few days she spent in her room she had been assuming that Beca didn't want to be around her because she didn't care that Chloe was supposedly sick. But if Beca knew, then why wasn't she here? Just seeing the younger girl would have made her feel better instantly.

She nods quickly, and watches as Beca's shoulders drop slightly, relaxing them as she lets out a breath. Beca smiles at her and the expression is mirrored by the redhead.

The sudden need to be close to Beca, fuels through the older girl so she takes a couple of steps forwards until she's standing directly in front of her.

"Where'd you go?" Chloe mumbles, "I thought you would still be asleep."

"I was just working on some of my mixes." Beca says after taking a bite of toast, then returning the half-eaten slice to the plate.

Chloe reaches for the plate and lifts the toast up to her mouth, taking a bite then offering it back to Beca. She accepts the toast and takes another bite, smaller this time.

"You know I can make you your own toast if you're hungry?"

"No, I'm good." Chloe replies with a smirk, "I'd rather share yours."

Beca eats one more bite of the toast before holding it out for Chloe. The older girl gives Beca a playful smile then opens her mouth, wanting Beca to feed her instead. The brunette grins and rests the toast against Chloe's bottom lip, looking up at her with a wide smile.

"Get a room, you two." Fat Amy yells, which startles both girls, pulling them from their own little world where only the two of them exists.

Chloe reaches her hand up and takes the toast from Beca. The pink tinge on her cheeks suggest she's just been caught in the middle of a sexual act, not sharing toast with her best friend.

Once she's finished the toast she spins on her heels and reaches into the fridge for a bottled water and instantly unscrews the lid. The cool water is refreshing, and it manages to calm her down, she just hopes that the blush on her cheeks has faded.

"Can I hear them? Your mixes." Chloe asks eagerly once she's turned back to Beca.

The brunette hasn't looked away from Chloe since she entered in the kitchen, but when Chloe meets her gaze, she knows she's been caught staring, so she averts her eyes.

"Later?"

"Okay." Chloe nods, along with a squeal of excitement. Usually when Beca produces a new mix, Chloe is the first person to listen to it, unless it's about her – Beca doesn't show those to anyone, she just transfers them to a USB and adds them to her collections. She has too many mixes dedicated to her co-captain than she'd like to admit. "After rehearsal?"

Beca goes to accept, but then remembers that Chloe hasn't been feeling well recently and she doesn't want her to strain her vocal cords, her nodes damaged them enough. "Are you feeling up to it?"

Once again Chloe's heart swells at Beca's caring tone. "I could ask you the same thing. You drank quite a lot." She giggles at Beca's frown.

"I'm okay if you're okay."

Chloe smiles at Beca's choice of words. Beca is saying she'll only be okay if Chloe's okay, so if Chloe wasn't then would Beca not be either? The brunette's words are not helping, in fact they're just making her feelings towards her more prominent. "I'm okay." Chloe says, and she has the desire to ask, 'Are we okay?' but she pushes it down, too afraid of the answer.

Chloe nears the counter, selecting two mugs from the cabinet and filling up the kettle. She twists to face Beca once more. "Do you want a coffee?"

"Yes please," Beca answers, a smile growing on her face at the offer of coffee. She's already had two cups this morning but definitely won't say no to one more, especially to Chloe.

"Okay, you go shower, I'll bring it up to you." Chloe says, before turning back to work on the drinks.

Beca jumps up from her seat at the table and takes her plate over to the dishwasher. "Alright, thank you. Just don't barge into my shower." She teases, with a growing smirk on her face.

"Beca Mitchell!" Chloe squeaks as she spins around, blushing just like she was a few minutes ago.

"Sorry Beale, I'll try not to sing titanium too loudly." Beca jokes, letting out a laugh at the effect her words had on the older girl. It's as if Beca could hear Chloe's earlier thoughts.

"You better not, we might be late for rehearsals if you do." Chloe fires back, fighting the urge to invite herself into another one of Beca's showers.

Beca smirks at Chloe's response, deep down wishing that she'd take her up on the offer to join her in the shower, but before Beca can dwell on it, she pushes it to the back of her mind and hurries up the stairs.

Chloe can't resist the smile that tugs at the corners of her lips, curling upwards and breaking out on her face.

"Tonerrrrr." Fat Amy sings, with a growing grin.

"Shut up." Chloe says, but doesn't deny it which doesn't go unnoticed by the two other Bellas in the room, "I'll make you do extra cardio."

"No thanks, Boss. I'm good. Sorry Boss."

. . .

Throughout rehearsals, the co-captains were back to being Beca and Chloe.

Beca carried Chloe's bag into the auditorium even though she had her laptop bag and gym bag as well. Chloe encouraged Beca to join in the cardio, which she normally skips with the excuse of needing to set up the speakers.

As Beca leant over her laptop, Chloe found herself staring at her more than once, admiring her in her element. Beca was the same, she'd watch Chloe run through the routines with the other girls, staring at her ass and her biceps every now and then.

The two were synchronised once again.

Everyone seemed so much more relaxed now the tension had drifted.

But then Beca danced with Chloe.

The lingering contact and the passionate dance moves were just too much for her.

It was overwhelming Beca, and she began to panic. The thoughts running through her head weren't right and definitely not PG, she felt hot all over, and her head throbbed. She just needed a second to breathe.

Thank fuck Chloe decided to call the end of rehearsals.

Beca isn't listening to the multiple conversations between the other girls, she's completely zoned out, focusing on not fainting. Her heartbeat has quickened, and her hands are clamming up.

Her breathing still isn't back to its normal rate, but she's not just out of breath from the choreography. Beca's breathing is unsteady and it's starting to panic her. She begins to feel like the walls of the auditorium are closing in on her as she rocks to herself in one of the chairs.

She clenches her eyes shut tight, and grips onto her legs with both hands, squeezing hard so she can focus on the pressure. But it's still not enough because her breathing doesn't differentiate.

The volume of the auditorium does shift, however, and Beca realises that the Bellas must have left, but she doesn't dare open her eyes. The noise must have been a pretty big factor to Beca's panic attack because she's slowly starting to breathe at a steadier pace. Although, she is still far from calm.

The brunette acknowledges Chloe's presence instantly, she can smell her – Beca doesn't have time to analyse how stalkerish that sounds because a sob rakes from her chest, which takes her completely by surprise.

The chair beside her squeaks slightly, and a hand falls onto her knee before it moves up and rests on top of one of her own hands. "Hey Bec," Chloe's soothing voice reaches her ears. After a few seconds she releases the grip on her legs.

"Take my hand." She says, and Beca instantly grips onto the hand offered to her. "You're okay, Becs. I've got you."

Beca finds comfort in the words and she latches on to Chloe's hand for dear life, too afraid of what might come if she lets go.

The two girls sit together in silence as Chloe guides Beca through her panic attack, helping her breathing pattern get back to normal then working on her senses.

It takes Beca ten more minutes to calm down and finally open her eyes. When she does, she's met with the beautiful ocean blue eyes, they are slightly glistening with unshed tears, almost mirroring her own.

Chloe's smile isn't as bright as usual, but it's still enough to reassure Beca that everything will be fine. Beca genuinely believes that everything will be fine as long as Chloe Beale is here.

"Are you okay?" Beca nods and takes the water bottle that Chloe offers her, gulping down at least a third of the water before reapplying the cap.

"Sorry." She whispers, as she stares at the ground.

Chloe's face saddens. Beca did nothing wrong yet she still feels the need to apologise, which makes the older girl acknowledge just how frightened Beca is to let her guard down around people. She is terrified of people judging her for things that are beyond her control.

"Hey, don't be sorry." Chloe says, as she intertwines their fingers, "I'm just glad you're okay. You scared me a little back there."

"Uh, yeah. I get them sometimes." She explains, "Thanks for helping me through it."

"I'll be here whenever you need me, Becs. If you have a panic attack again, please call me and I'll come straight to you."

Beca doesn't like to rely on people, she never really has, because everyone leaves at some point. Even the people you believe will stay in your life forever walk out of it and never return. But there's something about Chloe that makes Beca trust her entirely. Chloe is the first person in Beca's life that she trusts will never leave her, but that scares her more than anything, because if one day she does leave, that will hurt her more than she can imagine, it will leave her broken and shattered to pieces, the pain will be worse than anything she's ever felt before and she never wants to let that happen to her.

So that's why Beca distances herself from Chloe, so she can be the one to leave if times get tough.

Before Beca can process what's happening, Chloe's arms are wrapping around her waist, bringing her close into a hug. Beca scoots closer to Chloe and puts her own hands on Chloe's back.

Chloe is always so caring, and Beca feels like she always throws it all back in her face.

"The girls are back at the house setting up for the movie night." Chloe mentions after they've collectively packed up Beca's equipment. The Bellas left around half an hour ago so they're probably wondering where their captains are. Beca always has something to say about the Bellas movie nights so when she doesn't respond, Chloe knows she still isn't okay. "Are you coming?"

Everyone that knows Beca, knows she doesn't like to be smothered, but it's hard for Chloe not to be overprotective and worry about her when she's just witnessed Beca look so scared.

"No can do, I have a shift at the radio station." Beca mumbles quietly, as she secures the strap of her laptop bag over her shoulder.

"I thought you stopped working there when you got your internship?"

"I did," Beca confirms, "but Luke asked me to be in charge for a few days and I kind of owe him a favour."

Chloe knows Beca is lying, but if she calls her out on her bullshit it might cause an argument and she really doesn't want to argue with her best friend. She knows Beca must be feeling emotionally drained after her panic attack and that she needs some time alone to recover from being so vulnerable with another person. Chloe understands, but she wishes that Beca didn't have to feel that way, she just wants Beca to relax in her arms and feel comfortable enough with her to let out her emotions.

But Chloe knows that's just not who Beca is. Not even with her.

. . .

As soon as Beca walks out of the auditorium she knows exactly what her night has in store for her. She needs to get drunk – so fucking drunk that her mind shuts up for one second. She needs not to feel because it's too overwhelming. And she needs to stop thinking, just for one fucking night.

She sits down in a bar stool rather abruptly, which catches the attention of one of the bartenders.

"What can I get you?" He asks, as he approaches her.

"Whiskey. Neat." Beca says, already digging into her back pocket for some cash.

She downs the drink as soon as the bartender hands it over, then asks for another, which he raises an eyebrow at but pours it anyway. Beca does the same for that one then pushes the glass over to him, with only the ice remaining.

"Can I get a beer?"

"Sure." He nods and reaches for one of the bottles under the bar, cracking it open before passing it to her. She hands over enough cash to cover the three drinks and then settles back in her chair.

She doesn't stop at three, but after five she stops counting.

Beca is a very big lightweight so it doesn't take her long to get absolutely wasted.

The very reasoning for getting drunk in the first place is actually the reason she leaves the bar. Chloe is still all she can think about, the redhead is possessing her mind and she can't stop her thoughts.

"I'm so fucking stupid!" Beca mutters to herself as she drags her feet towards the Barden University campus. She still has her laptop bag fitted on her shoulder, which she guarded possessively at the bar, not letting it out of her sight in case someone spilt a drink on it or attempted to steal it.

All Beca can think about right now is how she wishes she was back at the Bellas house, in Chloe's arms.

Most people have that one person they think about when they're drunk, and for Beca, that person is Chloe. But it's not just when she's drunk, Chloe is in her sober mind constantly. She wishes she could fixate on something else for once but all Beca seems to think about – to care about – is Chloe.

She needs Chloe right now – not even really in a sexual way – she just wants Chloe to hold her and kiss her and run her hand through her hair. It isn't badass at all but Beca doesn't give a shit about her badass reputation anymore. Chloe saw through it right from the beginning.

Her thoughts are still drilling through her mind when she walks up the steps of the Bellas house. She's been so distracted that she hadn't even realised she got here; she can't even remember walking across campus.

Luckily, the door is still unlocked so she slips inside but it slams rather loudly when she closes it.

It's definitely the alcohol talking when she whispers to the door to 'shut up,' because it's 'going to wake everyone up.' Beca manages to stumble across the kitchen until she barges into the table, knocking over a chair which slams to the floor. She jumps backwards, kicking the table leg in the process.

"Fucking motherfucking shit." Beca hisses as she lifts up her foot and hobbles around the room whilst cradling her foot in her hands.

"Um...Beca? Are you okay?" The voice startles her so her body jolts upright. She snaps her head behind her and meets Stacie's gaze. She's standing in her very revealing pyjamas with her phone in her hand.

"Just peachy." Beca says, with a chuckle.

Stacie steps forwards and glances down at the chair lying on the kitchen floor. "Are you drunk?" She questions as she stands the chair back up.

"No. I am Beca."

That is all the confirmation Stacie needs, "Where have you been? This isn't like you at all."

"Who the hell even am I, dude? Who even am I when I'm not with her? Or who am I when I'm with her? Am I me with her or is she me with her...no, wait? I am me with her, but I don't know if I like that. It scares me how real I am with her, that is the real Beca Mitchell."

Stacie's eyebrows knot in confusion, "Beca, what are you talking about? I didn't understand anything you just said."

"I think I love her." Beca blurts out.

"Oh shit." Stacie chuckles, but stops when she acknowledges the pain on the small brunette's face. "This is all because of a girl?"

Beca lets out a loaded sigh, then nods, "Yeah. She's a girl. But I'm not gay...or maybe I am. Who knows?"

Stacie opens her arms, "Come here," she says, whilst holding back a laugh at Beca's expression. She's frowning and her face is all creased up.

"Why?" Beca groans.

"You could do with a hug." Stacie shrugs, "And you're pretty drunk, I don't want you to knock over anything else."

The smaller girl crosses her arms over her chest. "I don't want a hug. I want a hug from...but I keep on fucking up."

"No, you don't." Stacie says, which doesn't seem to reassure Beca at all. The taller girl follows her over to the couch and they take a seat at either end.

"She's beautiful, she's a beautiful panda and I...god, what am I doing?" She rakes her left hand through her hair whilst letting out a shaky breath.

This is a side of Beca that Stacie has never witnessed before, and it's kind of making her nervous. Whenever Beca is stressed or freaking out about something – it doesn't happen that often because Beca is pretty chill – Chloe is always the one to comfort her, so Stacie has no idea what to do.

She decides that sleeping it off is probably the best option. "Beca?"

"Hm?"

"Maybe you should get some sleep, think this over in the morning. Your beautiful panda will still be here in the morning." Stacie's attempt doesn't completely fail but mentioning Beca's 'beautiful panda' is probably not the best thing to say.

"She is really beautiful." Beca mumbles, her tone so soft as she talks about Chloe.

"So you've said." Stacie nods, with a smile. She's always known Beca's badass exterior was just for show and now she finally has a reason to believe that Beca is a big softie. She's falling in love.

Beca stands up rather suddenly, "I think I'm going to tell her."

Stacie groans at Beca, standing up too, just in case she has to be prepared to chase after the small brunette. "Have you just ignored everything I just said to you?"

"No." Beca grunts in response.

"Go to bed, Beca." She demands. Her tone is rather authoritative – she learnt a lot from Aubrey in her freshman year, including how to sound like a bitch in charge. "You can talk to her in the morning when you're not drunk."

Stacie helps Beca up the remaining stairs leading to the attic room. Luckily, she's as light as a feather because Beca was practically leaning her whole weight on Stacie so she was basically carrying her up the flight of stairs.

Fat Amy is already in her bed asleep, which is a surprise because most nights she disappears until the morning, claiming she was on a night time hike, which nobody believes because Amy is not one for exercise – she only vertical runs when she is escaping cardio, which is pretty ironic.

The small brunette flops onto her bed, making no attempt to change out of her jeans into something more comfortable.

Stacie places her hand on Beca's lower back and the other on her hip and tries to roll her over but Beca groans and kicks her legs about frantically. "Get your hands off, dude. I'm not the mega bitch."

"Mitchell, shut up!" Stacie whisper-yells, then pauses when she acknowledges what Beca has just said. "Wait, how did you know about-"

"Posen isn't exactly quiet."

A smirk appears on Stacie's face, "I know."

"Dude. Ew!"

"Where are your sweatpants?" The leggy brunette questions as she kneels down next to Beca's dresser, pulling out her first and second drawers but still not finding the clothing she's looking for.

"Second to bottom drawer." Beca mumbles, as she watches Stacie search through her clothes until she pulls out a pair of sweatpants that used to belong to Chloe before Beca borrowed them and never returned them to her.

Stacie launches the sweatpants across the room, and they land close to Beca's head. She grunts out a "Thanks," as she slips out of her jeans, too drunk and too tired to care that Stacie is still in the room. She slides into the sweatpants and strips her bra, then nestles under the blankets, ready for the sleep to overtake her thoughts.

Beca is known to disobey orders, especially from those giving her demands, so Stacie stands at the top of the stairs until Beca is consumed by sleep.

"You're in quite the shit my friend." Stacie whispers before disappearing down the attic stairs, heading towards hers and Emily's room.

- - - -

also on wattpad: @writteninbechloe 

#bechloe #bechloe au #bechloe fic #bechloe fanfic #beca and chloe #beca mitchell #chloe beale #Pitch Perfect #pitch perfect fanfiction #unspoken feelings #wattpad #fanfiction #Anna Kendrick #brittany snow

[quickspinner]

Something Just Like This 15 - Satisfied

Part 1 | Part 14 | Part 16

He’d forgotten what it was like to wake up with a hangover and a mouthful of someone else’s hair. Luka groaned softly and rolled onto his back, clawing Marinette’s hair away from his face, and then grinned at the ceiling despite his pounding head. His arm was wedged under Marinette, so he made no further attempt to move, just lay there enjoying the dark and quiet. 

There was a vrrrrmmm, vrrrmmm sound and he glanced over to see Marinette’s phone vibrating. He sighed and rolled toward her again, stroking her face lightly with the back of his hand. “Marinette,” he called softly, and then squeezed her shoulder and shook it lightly.

Marinette made a noise somewhere between a growl and a groan. 

“I know,” Luka said, dropping a kiss on her shoulder. “But your phone’s ringing.” 

“Stupid phone,” she grumbled, reaching for it. As she answered Luka gently extracted his arm from underneath her, flexing it to get the feeling back.

“I’m still at Luka’s,” he heard Marinette say, and then she winced. “Not so loud, Alya, my head’s killing me. No, it wasn’t like that, nothing happened. We both just had a little too much to drink and I was too tired to go home so I crashed here.” She rolled her eyes, and then squeezed them shut. “Yes, on Luka. He’s very comfy.” She opened one eye to grin at him. Luka blushed, ruffling his hair, and then got out of bed, figuring he shouldn’t be listening. 

He used the bathroom, washed his face with cold water to clear some of the bleariness out of his eyes, and brushed his teeth to get rid of the stale taste in his mouth. Then he went to his small kitchen, mentally taking stock as he moved. As hangovers go, this one wasn’t awful. The room had a tendency to spin every now and then but the headache was the worst part. He got some painkillers and two glasses of water. He brought one set back to Marinette, who was still on the phone. She took the pills and swallowed them quickly and drained the water glass, still arguing with Alya over something. Luka sat down on the bed beside her and just looked at her for a moment, looked at her smudged makeup and bed head and his wrinkled shirt hanging off her shoulders. He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her into him. She sighed and laid her head down on his shoulder. “Alyyyyaaa,” she whined, bringing her free hand up to rub her temple.

Luka wrapped his hand around her phone, and Marinette let him slide it from her fingers. He brought it up to his own ear. “Alya,” he said, aware his voice was still husky and deep from sleep, and a little rough from performing. Alya stopped talking, presumably in surprise. “Marinette has to go now. She’ll call you back later.” 

“Damn, Couffaine,” Alya muttered.

“Bye Alya,” Luka smirked, and hung up. He set Marinette’s phone back on his nightstand as she giggled.

“You just got me in so much trouble,” Marinette laughed. “Did you have to use your sex voice?”

“You don’t know what my sex voice sounds like,” he chuckled, lifting her hand to place a lingering kiss on the inside of her wrist. 

“If it’s hotter than your hangover voice, I’m in trouble,” Marinette muttered, and Luka felt a thrill that he didn’t dare dwell on too much as he slid his lips a little lower to lay another kiss. “Alya’s going to grill me for details now.” 

“Well,” he said slowly, enjoying the way she shivered at the sound of his voice. “You could always tell her how you tried to lick my tonsils two days ago.” 

“Luka!” Marinette shrieked, making both of them wince as she jerked her hand away.

“No?” Luka chuckled, despite the pain in his head. “I’d better give you something else to talk about then.” He moved to kiss her but she turned her face away.

“Luka, I’m gross, at least let me go brush my teeth,” she complained. 

“I don’t care,” he said, dropping his mouth to her neck to plant several soft open kisses on sensitive places. Marinette hummed and squirmed but still pushed against him, so he let her slide out of his arms with a sigh. 

“I’ll be right back,” she promised, kissing his cheek. 

“There should be some extra toothbrushes and whatever in the drawer under the sink, take whatever you need,” he told her, and then shifted to lay back on the bed so he wouldn’t watch her walk away. He flopped onto his stomach and closed his eyes, noting that his headache was receding, though he still felt a little light-headed. 

He must have dozed off, because he started awake at the slide of Marinette’s hand up his back. Luka realized his shirt had ridden up and she was pushing it higher. He chuckled. “Found it, huh?” 

“I want to see,” Marinette poked him in the ribs and he flinched. 

“All right, all right,” he mumbled, and pushed himself up to a sitting position, pulling the shirt up and over his head to give her a clear view of his back. He glanced back at her over his shoulder, which proved to be a mistake as the expression on her face was sure to haunt his dreams for weeks. “See something you like?” he teased, though his face heated. 

“Several things,” she agreed, and then her cool fingers touched below the middle of his back, where the black and grey coils of the cobra began. She traced lightly up his spine where the snake’s body rose up to the hood spread between his shoulder blades. “He looks like he’s laughing,” she giggled. “Usually snakes in tattoos look so mean.”

“I think the artist thought I was crazy when I said I wanted something different,” Luka admitted, “But he did a good job.” The snake’s mouth was slightly parted, just enough to show the forked tongue and the hint of fangs, and the artist had managed to capture the expression of indulgent amusement Luka had described. It was exactly the expression Sass used to give him, though the image on his back had an aura of power that the Sass was a bit too cute to pull off...unless you knew him as Luka did. The little kwami might look like a child’s toy but he was also an ancient being in command of immense power. All in all, Luka had been satisfied with the tribute to his old friend.

“It’s not really finished,” Luka said when Marinette didn’t speak. “I want to add to it sometime when I can afford to.” 

“I can see that,” Marinette replied thoughtfully, tracing an arc on one side of his back. “Something to frame it in.” 

Like flowers, Luka thought before he could stop himself, but then he turned around and laid back on his back on the bed, beckoning Marinette with one hand. She came and stretched out beside him, cuddled up to his side and rested her head on his shoulder. He slipped his arm under and around her and she adjusted to move even closer. 

“Sorry for drinking so much last night,” Marinette sighed. “I didn’t mean to stay here.”

“It’s fine. We were just having fun and we went a little overboard. I’d rather have you here and know you’re safe.” He squeezed her lightly. “The snuggles are a nice bonus.”

“Mm,” she agreed, nuzzling into his neck.

“Do you have anywhere you have to be today?” Luka asked.

“Eventually. Not anytime soon.”

“I was thinking we could go grab breakfast once we’re ready to get up. If you want to.”

“Sure, once I can move without feeling like my head’s going to split open.” 

Luka took a deep breath and sighed it out slowly, considering what he wanted to say next. 

Marinette day up to look in his face. “What?” 

“Nothing, I just—hang on, I think I’d rather have this conversation sitting up.” Luka levered himself up and shifted so that he was facing Marinette, a little distance between them. She sat up as well, moving slowly and frowning slightly.

“I think—I hate to ruin the moment, I just, I need some clarity,” he sighed. “Yesterday was—“ Luka shook his head. “It was wonderful. It was fun and easy and—I had a really good time. I know neither of us planned on you staying here, but waking up with you was nice too. I’d really like to go out with you again. I’d like a lot more than that, to be honest, but for now—I just need to know if we’re still on the same page here.”

Marinette hesitated, and Luka’s heart sank into his stomach. He reached over to pick up his glass from the nightstand and took a sip of his water so he could swallow the sudden lump in his throat.

“Luka, it’s…it’s not that I don’t want to, but...” She sighed. “I want to be honest with you about this. I know we talked a little bit about my work schedule but I want you to really understand—it’s a really bad time for me to be starting a new relationship. I’ve got a huge transition ahead of me and it includes a travel schedule that’s frankly insane, and that’s hard enough on an established relationship, let alone a new one.”

“Of course,” Luka said, preparing his brave face. “I get that.”

“I mean there’s FaceTime and of course I’d call as much as I could, and you’d be top on my priority list whenever I had free time, but it still wouldn’t be much—“ Luka nodded, wishing she would just get it over with. 

“Could you…” Marinette hesitated. “Could you be satisfied with a relationship like that, Luka? If...if I wanted to try? Because...because you’re right, about everything, and I had so much fun yesterday and it was so easy and—I really want to see where this goes. But I don’t...I know I promised not to rush you, but honestly I don’t want to mess around dating a whole bunch of people. I’m not going to have time for that anyway. I’d rather put what little I have to give into this. Can you be okay with that? With just me, even if I can’t give as much of me as I’d like to?”

That caught his full attention. “Yes,” he breathed, setting the glass down quickly and taking her hands. “Yes, Marinette, If you’re willing to try, I am too. I—“ he bit his lip, and looked away, and back to her. “Marinette, if there’s even the slightest chance that you could feel for me what I feel for you, then I’ll do whatever it takes. Just tell me what you want and I’m there. I don’t need anybody else, I just want you.”

Marinette’s eyes grew round, and her lower lip trembled. “F-feel?” she whispered. “N-not...not felt? Or…”

Luka pressed her hands to his chest and covered them with one of his, and slipped the other hand behind her neck, thumb caressing her cheek. “Feel. Absolutely. I don’t know what it is about you Marinette—I don’t really even believe in soulmates or destiny or whatever, but something about you just—I don’t know, I’m sorry, I’m so bad at this, at knowing how much to say and what’s too much, but I felt it when we first met and I felt it again when you opened that door for the first time the other day, like some piece of me that doesn’t answer to logic just knows that I will never meet anyone else like you.” He hesitated, searching her eyes. “Too much? Am I scaring you off?”

“No,” Marinette breathed, voice shaky and more air than sound, eyes fixed on him. “Keep going.”

Luka took a deep breath and did, though his hand shook even as he continued to caress her. “Marinette, I’ve always known you were special, and every moment I spend with you just proves it more and more. I don’t care if it’s hard, I don’t mind if we can’t see each other as much as we’d like to at first. I’m a patient guy, I’ll be happy with whatever time you can give me. I can wait for you to chase your dreams and I can be here for you when you need a place to rest, as long as I know you’ll come back. Can that—can I be enough for you?”

Marinette’s eyes overflowed and he caught a tear on his thumb. “You’re more than enough. You’re too good, Luka,” Marinette sniffled. “I don’t know if I can ever deserve you after everything I put you through, but I promise I’ll do my best to make this work.” 

This. There’s a this. They’re an us. The last time he felt this disconnected from reality, he was high as hell on heavy-duty painkillers after having his appendix out. 

He needed her to say it, Luka realized, like the words were some magic spell that would put his soul back into his body. He needed her to make it real. 

“So we’re going to do this?” he asked roughly. “We’re going to try being together?”

“Well, you said you would and I said I would so I’d say that means we are together,” Marinette whispered, blushing with a teary smile. 

“We’re together,” he repeated, a broad grin breaking out over his face. He leaned forward and Marinette lunged to meet him. 

Their first kiss as an official couple tasted like salt and kept getting interrupted because neither of them could stop smiling.

#quickspins #something just like this #lukanette #luka couffaine #marinette dupain-cheng #i am lukanette trash i admit it #miraculousladybug #miraculous ladybug #mlfics

[ialwayscomewhenyoucall]

Missing Pieces

for @buckybarnesbingo !!!

by: Lira (me)

square filled: U1 - galaxy

main pairing: bucky/clint

rating: T

major tags: emotional hurt comfort, childhood memories, angst with a happy ending, established relationship

summary: When Clint becomes down and distracted, Bucky takes it upon himself to discover what's bothering his boyfriend. Even though Clint won't talk about it. Even though Bucky has too many missing pieces. Or, In which Bucky goes to great lengths to make Clint smile.

word count: 2942

*

“He’s on the roof again, isn’t he.”

Natasha nods, eyes flicking almost imperceptibly to the ceiling. Bucky shoves his hands into his pockets, his face drawn down in a scowl.

“He still not talking about it?” she asks.

He glares, she quirks an eyebrow. He almost laughs; they rarely have to resort to words to communicate.

Bucky walks back through the doors, heading up to the roof.

“He’s sad,” Natasha says with a sigh. “He just doesn’t know how to show it.” Then, softer, “Please find a way to help him. This doesn’t seem to be a take him to the gym until he punches it out or tease him until he screams at me kind of situation. I’m pretty sure it’s boyfriend territory.”

“I–” He stops, unsure how to go on. He knows it pains her to admit she can’t solve a problem on her own. “Thanks, Natalia.” He doesn't look back, but he can feel her downcast, almost-smile.

* 

He finds Clint on one of his rooftop perches, the one that sticks out over the edge of nothingness and makes Bucky’s stomach do a little flip-flop to see Clint so easily sprawled there. His lithe, muscular body looks relaxed, like he could roll off any second, but Bucky knows he’s in perfect control. Bucky takes a moment to just look at him: straw colored hair turned silver in glow of the rooftop lights, head leaned back so he can stare at the cloud-streaked sky, a band-aid on the back of his hand. His hand… The rest of him looks relaxed, but the hand Bucky can see is balled into a fist.

Clint holds his tension in his hands.

Bucky makes sure his steps are loud enough that Clint isn’t startled when he says, “Hey doll.”

Waiting until Bucky’s standing almost behind him, Clint swings his body around so he’s straddling the perch, his feet hanging down in the air, arms folded on the top of the metal post that had been his backrest, chin resting lightly on his crossed wrists.

“Heya sweetheart.” The easy smile is missing, but there’s a softening around the eyes.

Bucky eases up close, kissing Clint’s forehead and taking a moment to breathe in the scent of his hair. “Nice night,” he murmurs. “Spy anything interestin’?”

Bucky feels the tension radiating from Clint. “Nothing to see.” His voice has a bitter edge. Waving a hand at the sky, he adds, “There’s nothing but clouds. Not even those, really.”

The sky above them is a hazy muddle of black and grey, with some of the grey being a little brighter and streakier and cloudier. Clint’s right, an airplane could fly directly overhead and they wouldn’t see it.

“Guess not,” he says. “Still, it is a nice night. Almost warm, for September. You mind if I sit up here with you for a while?”

Clint shrugs, then turns back to face the city and the sky again. “Be my guest. It’s Stark’s rooftop anyway.”

It feels like a wall dropped down between them, but if Clint says he can stay, Bucky’s staying.

They don’t talk at all, just sit in silence. It’s awkward at first–not because they’re uncomfortable with each other anymore, but because they both know Clint’s hiding something. Clint’s giving off angry-embarrassed-melancholy vibes that practically chime in the air around him, and Bucky’s projecting “caring boyfriend” as hard as he can. But after twenty minutes or so they both figure out how to calm down and just…be. When Bucky steals glances he notices that while Clint’s hand is still clenching and unchencing, worrying at something, his jaw is relaxed again.

He notices other things too. Clint’s breathing is easy, but every once in a while there’s a slight hitch, as if his breath catches on a stray thought. Whenever there’s a particularly strong gust of wind, he squints at the sky, as if it might reveal something previously unknown. And although his bow and quiver are in easy reach, they’re propped up on the roof behind him, not actually on his person. So whatever’s eating at him, it’s not an outside threat.

Not the kind you can shoot with an arrow, anyway.

“I think I’m gonna head down to bed,” Bucky says, feeling his knees pop as he gets to his feet. He may be a supersoldier, but his body still reacts to being in a semi-uncomfortable position on a hard rooftop for several hours. Not that he hasn’t done it before, in far less pleasurable situations than this. He gives his head a tiny shake, a physical reminder that he’s not the Winter Soldier anymore. He looks at Clint. “You comin’ anytime soon?”

Clint swallows, looks down at his hands, then turns his face away. “I, ah, was thinking I’d maybe sleep up here tonight. The last few nights our bedroom, our floor, the whole Tower, really...it’s all been feeling a bit…” He sighs, then finally turns to look at Bucky. “It all just feels too small.”

Small?

Keeping his voice as even as possible, Bucky says, “Clint, at least fifty percent of the time you spend in the Tower is spent crawling through the vents.”

Clint looks back at the sky. “And yet.”

Bucky presses his lips together, holding back the urge to shout, “What is wrong?” at the top of his voice. After a beat he says, “I’ll go get you some blankets, then. Or,” he adds, inspiration striking, “I could send Natalia?”

“Got everything I need.” Clint gestures vaguely over his shoulder, and Bucky sees a muddle of darker darkness he’d missed before among the other shadows on the roof. There’s a cot and a sleeping bag and a pillow, even a thermos Bucky’s sure is full of coffee.

“Say, were you a Boy Scout?” Bucky teases.

“Just because I wasn’t a Scout doesn’t mean I can’t be prepared.” There’s an almost hurt tone to Clint’s voice, hurt and maybe a little reproachful.

Bucky doesn’t know what to say, so he just lets the silence stretch for a few more minutes. Then he puts his hands on Clint’s shoulders and kisses the top of his head. “Night, doll,” he murmurs into Clint’s hair.

Our bed won’t be the same without you, he wants to say.

Pretty sure I won’t sleep tonight, thinkin’ about you up here in the cold, he thinks.

Do you know I hold onto a pillow when you’re not around to hold at night? he doesn’t ask.

Instead of saying anything at all, he takes one more breath, waits one more moment, then turns and walks away.

 *

Bucky doesn’t get much sleep. He thoroughly examines their darkened ceiling, the shadows on the walls, the thoughts bombarding the inside of his skull. He’s trying to put together a puzzle with too many missing pieces. There’s a sick feeling in his stomach at the image; it’s too much like a look back at his own past. There are too many things he still doesn’t remember, even after all this time.

He dozes off a little after three am, sleeps for about an hour. He’s not restored when he wakes, just cranky and tired because the bed is–of course–empty, and all he can think is that Clint must be cold without his own personal supersoldier to warm him up. After a few minutes of attempting to kick the blankets and pillows into submission he gives up and stomps to the bathroom to shower; Tony won’t be happy if he breaks another of their beds, even if he breaks this one on his own.

 *

Although he wants to take breakfast to Clint on the roof, sense wins and Bucky waits in the kitchen. He knows Clint will be down fairly early; that thermos might last a person with an average coffee habit a whole cold night, but Clint’s coffee addiction is far from average.

Bleary-eyed from less than stellar sleep and rosy cheeked from wind, Clint stumbles into the common floor at 5:27. Bucky’s waiting with a mug of coffee, hand outstretched.

As expected, Clint doesn’t speak. His grabby hands speak for him.

“Mornin’ doll,” Bucky says with a grin. As Clint slumps onto the stool Bucky flips pancakes and bacon onto a plate and slides it in front of Clint, along with the butter and maple syrup. “Thought you might be needin’ a little pick-me-up.”

“You gonna pick me up?” Clint says with a sly, sleepy wink. He punctuates the wink with a jaw-cracking yawn.

Bucky laughs, shaking his head. “Even exhausted and half frozen you can’t help a good innuendo, can you.”

“Never,” Clint says, digging into his breakfast; with less alacrity than normal, maybe, but at least he’s eating. After a few bites he looks up at Bucky, leaning against the counter a few feet away, and smiles. A real smile. “Thanks. This hits the spot.”

“You’re just sayin’ that cause I made coffee,” Bucky drawls.

“I’m able to speak because you made coffee. I’m saying thank you because you made bacon.”

It’s a nearly normal day in the Tower: the usual breakfast and light-hearted bickering, target practice on the range, working out in the gym, playing ridiculously competitive games of MarioKart in the afternoon. Clint is there but not there; he participates, and even though his shooting is flawless as usual he’s clearly distracted, at least to Bucky’s trained eye. Clint’s not fully engaged in anything, and so much of Bucky’s attention is focused on Clint that when they’re sparring Sam lands a punch Bucky could have easily blocked. Everyone in the room collectively gasps a breath.

Almost everyone. Clint doesn’t even notice.

Later in the day, from the corner of his eye, Bucky spies Clint peeking down from one of the vents.

His mind keeps coming back to the puzzle with too many missing pieces. There’s no way to see what the picture is with a bit of the border and a few scattered center pieces. The vents are okay, but the Tower at night is too small? And how does any of that connect to Clint’s air of melancholy, his distraction? It’s bewildering.

Clint sleeps on the roof again that night.

 *

Bucky’s a little jittery with nerves when, two nights later, he joins Clint on the rooftop again. When he stands behind him, resting his hands on his shoulders, he feels Clint relax, minutely, at his touch. Just that tiny thing calms him, and when he speaks his words are even, without a hint of a tremble.

“Will you try something for me, doll?”

Clint swings around to face him in that easy, graceful way he has. Bucky’s seen it a hundred times, a thousand, but he’s still in awe. He moves like the world had been built as his playground, like gravity is something to be toyed with instead of taken seriously.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” Clint’s smile is slight but true, so Bucky barrels onward.

“Come downstairs. You don’t have to stay,” he adds quickly, seeing the smile on Clint’s face ebb away. “I promise. I just want to show you something.”

Bucky can see Clint pulling bits of himself inward, building that protective shell that’s been coming up more and more the past week or so, but still he climbs onto the roof, snagging his bow with one hand and reaching his other out to find Bucky’s in the glow of the rooftop lights.

“Alright,” he says, trusting.

Squeezing Clint’s fingers, Bucky says, “Yeah. Alright.”

 *

The lack of typical Clint chatter is glaring, somehow shouting in the empty, echoing stairwell. But neither of them hesitates. Bucky, for one, is too focused on getting Clint to their bedroom, keeping him tethered to the earth when his ever-increasing nerves threaten to carry him away. Clint is probably miles away, in another state if Bucky’s guess is correct. He’ll find out soon if he’s found the missing puzzle pieces.

In the doorway of their bedroom Clint says, “Huh. It’s clean.”

Bucky fights to resist and fails. “That’s what happens when you’re not here to throw everything everywhere,” he says, his voice dry. “Half of this couple knows how to put things away. Maybe you’ve figured out which half that is.”

Clint chuckles. “Aw, Buck, you wouldn’t want me any other way.”

Leading him to the bed, Bucky asks, “But isn’t it nice to be able to walk across the floor without tripping? Maybe we could use as many as ten fewer bandaids per year if you just put your dirty clothes in the hamper.”

Clint sits willingly enough, but when Bucky tries to pull him down so they’re laying side by side on their backs, Clint resists. He’s laughing, but there’s an edge to his words when he asks, “Was all this just about getting me to bed?”

“Doll, we’ve had sex on that roof more times than I can count.”

He feels Clint relax beside him. “Remember when Tony caught us under the quinjet? Ah, good times.”

Sitting up, Bucky rests a hand on Clint’s thigh, rubbing soothing circles. “Jesting aside. If you’re uncomfortable you can go, but…” He’s looking for the right words to say when he feels Clint’s hand on his. “It’s alright,” Clint says. “I trust you.”

It’s moments like these Bucky fought for–still fights for. Tiny bits of closeness, of another human being reassuring him he’s still human himself, still true, still worthy of love. He kisses Clint’s forehead–he rather desperately wants to do more but this particular bedroom visit is not about sex and he doesn’t want to give either of them the wrong idea–and sprawls beside him, tangling their fingers together. “Ready, JARVIS?”

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Wha–” Clint starts, but his question is answered almost before he can ask it when the room plunges into darkness.

“Oh.”

Just one word and Bucky knows it’s going to be alright. Awe and wonder and no more walls between them.

“Stevie helped, but it was my idea. I just asked him ’cause he’s used to holding a paintbrush.”

Laughing, Clint squeezes Bucky’s hand and scoots closer on the bed. “How’d you do it?” His voice, soft, is lighter than it’s been in days.

“Glow in the dark paint.”

Clint elbows Bucky in the side. “I can see that. I mean…” He waves at the stars on the ceiling, the patterns and constellations mimicking the sky they can’t quite see through the light pollution of the city.

“JARVIS projected the, ah, map, I guess you’d call it, onto the ceiling, and Tony rigged up some hover platforms for us to lay on while we painted. Just call me Michaelangelo,” Bucky deadpans.

Clint turns his head and presses a kiss into Bucky’s shoulder. “Thanks, Buck. I–” His breath hitches; he takes a minute, then starts over. “When I was a kid I used to climb out my window onto the roof, when things got to be...too much. The sky was so big, I could look at the stars and just...get lost. Forget about everything else in the vastness of the universe.” He chuckles, though it sounds a bit forced in Bucky’s ears. “Not that I was thinking like that back in those days. Mostly I was just thinking that I was alone on the roof, but I’d be really alone if I could get to the stars.” After a shaky breath he adds, “Alone and safe.”

They look at the stars together for one breath, two breaths. Then Bucky says, “I’m sorry it had to be that way for you.”

“I’m not.” Before Bucky can object, Clint says, “Don’t get me wrong, there are times–many times, if I’m honest–I wish my childhood could have been brighter. Warmer. Safer. But all that crap is what made me who I am. Would I have ever picked up a bow if Barney and I hadn’t run away and joined the circus? Would I be an Avenger? Or would I be married with a dog and two kids and a white picket fence?”

Still staring up into the galaxy spread out above them, Bucky says, slow and soft, “Without my own hellish past I’d be an old man now. Or…” He doesn’t finish the thought, but they’re both thinking the word. Dead. A word they both think often enough, in their line of work, but try not to think about each other. Or say. Almost as one they move closer together, heads clunking almost audibly.

“Ow!” The sound Clint makes is half laugh, half bark of pain.

And then Bucky’s laughing; loud, full laughter that eats away all the tension that’s been building for days. Soon they’re clinging to each other, laughing so hard tears stream from their eyes. Laughing until they can’t even remember why, until they’re only laughing because it feels so good.

“So,” Bucky says when their laughter fades to the occasional gasp or giggle. “Is it okay to say I’m glad you walked down the path that led to me?”

With barely contained laughter in his voice, Clint says, “Only if I can say I’m glad you made it all the way to my present to be struck by Cupid’s arrow.”

 *

Clint does not sleep on the roof that night...but he and Bucky do sleep under the stars.

***

We are made of stardust– every atom in you, in me, once came from Sirius, or Alpha Centauri; they hung from the buckle of Orion’s belt or fell from Cassiopeia’s fingertips.

So together we make up a galaxy an ocean of stars with islands of planets

and where our lips meet, a supernova.

#lirael writes #winterhawk fic #buckybarnesbingo2020 #bucky barnes #clint barton #marvel fic #emotional hurt/comfort #childhood memories #angst with a happy ending #stargazing #(kind of) #feels #established relationship #i love these two so much #also includes a bit of my poetry #because i couldn't help it

[writingthingsisdifficult]

Perfect afternoon

Anonymous sent a request: Could you please write something with Sam for me? Maybe like the song For Forever by Dear Evan Hansen please? I just lost my sister to cancer and I need something to look forward to. Thank you

This was a bit hard to write, had to let the song simmer for a while before inspiration struck, ‘cause the song is so melancholic – but I hope you like what I came up with, and I hope you have let the grief run its course, but not let it consume your life.

Note: I’ve used the song for inspiration, it may not be that easily recognised all the time.

Sam x reader, and there’s no warnings on this that I can think of, except some language, I guess.

Word count: 2620

June has transitioned into July before we caught a bit of a break and got to relax for a while. The spring and early summer was hell, quite literally, and all of us yearned for a few days of just breathing and living without fighting to survive. So at the first sign of peace Dean and I managed to convince Sam that a small holiday was an absolute necessity.

That’s how we find ourselves in a spacious cabin, courtesy of a very grateful, old widow whose late husband tried to shut her in the basement of their very old-fashioned home. Granted: she didn’t fully understand what happened at the time, but she understood enough to know that we saved her life, and rescued her beloved, rat-like, yappy-type dog too, and promptly offered us unlimited use of her mountain cabin. As she said: it was just sitting there, dusty and unused anyway.

Mountain cabin is probably a bit generous, though. It is located on the outskirts of a small town nestled snugly at the base of a picturesque range of tall hills, but not high enough to warrant extra gear or a big car to get us there – but it is private enough to shield us from the curious eyes of the locals.

Dean took to it immediately. The weather is warm, and the air is dry, and he spends the days either on the shore of the small lake just behind the cabin with a cold beer in one hand and a musty, old fishing rod he’s excavated from one of the many cupboards, or with a bucket of soapy water and a rag, taking care of his one true love.

“Baby needs some love,” he says, sending looks of adoration and affection to the car, the water spraying rainbows into the air. The Impala shines like a star, standing happily in the gravel by the porch.

Taking refuge from the scorching mid-day sun, I sit down in the porch swing – carefully, testing that the wood hasn’t rotted through. It proves an unnecessary worry: the swing creaks a bit under my weight, but holds up, and I rock back and forth on my toes. “Seriously, Dean, that is not a healthy relationship,” I tease, giggling from the dark look in his eyes once he overcomes the initial shock of my indecent accusation.

“She’s not young anymore, Y/N, you know that. She needs a lot of TLC –“

“Relax, dude. I didn’t mean it. You two are made for each other. You’ll make each other very happy –“

“Shut it! Go bother Sam if you can’t be nice.” He picks up the bucket and carries it over to the other side of the car, out of my sight.

Shrugging, I get to my feet. “I would, but I don’t know where he is,” I say, hoping my voice sounds normal. Sam has been restless ever since the evening we arrived – like he has forgotten how to relax, and I rarely see him other than at breakfast and dinner. What he does with the rest of his time is a mystery. And it sort of breaks my heart a little.

Sam’s happiness, or lack of, affects me a lot. During the years we’ve known each other, I so very foolishly have gone and fallen in love with him, but I lack the courage to do anything at all about it. Instead, I have buried my thumping heart deep in my chest, and evicted all the fluttering butterflies from my stomach, and pretend that we were just friends. Because that’s what we’ve always been.

Dean pokes his head over the roof of the car and cocks his head. “Last I saw him, he sat out back with his nose in a book. Knowing him, he hasn’t moved yet.” He shakes his head and ducks back down behind the car again, muttering about rest and relaxation and not being able to take a break from research.

Jumping to my feet, I offer thanks over my shoulder and heads for the kitchen, thinking I might as well have an excuse for interrupting Sam when he obviously wants to be alone. I grab a couple of glasses and the mug of lemonade I made for lunch and head into the meadow behind the cabin.

Even though I am used to being around Sam, I still stutter a bit when I see him. He has laid out a folded blanket on the grass and sits with the book in his hand, but his face is turned towards the sun. The flannel he usually wears is discarded in a crumpled heap by his feet, and he’s kicked off his shoes and socks. If I had ever thought about how my personal heaven would look like, this would come very close.

“Hey,” I say when I get close enough.

Opening his eyes, he blinks a couple of times, and then he smiles. “Hey.”

I can’t think of anything else to say, so I simply hold out the lemonade with a tilt to my head: an unspoken offer. Sam puts away his book and scoots over to make room for me. As I sit down, I only spill a couple of drops, but it is enough to make me yelp in surprise as the cold liquid slosh over my knee, sending an icy blast through my veins. The sound of Sam laughing so heartily makes me feel like I am soaring through the blue skies.

It’s as if time slows down. A light breeze blows over us, gifting us the music from unseen birds in the trees and the buzzing insects. Drowsy summer day heat rolls over our faces, and we watch the slow ripples on the lake, just taking in the calm and storing it for times when shit blows up.

I gotta say something – this balloon in my chest is almost bursting, but when I look at Sam, I’m afraid I’m gonna talk gibberish. Taking a deep breath, I roll my shoulders. “You know what I really want right now?” My mind is set, but I chicken out at the last minute, when his beautiful eyes lock with mine. All air rushes out of my lungs. Typical. “A proper ice cream. Like made of cream and real vanilla seeds and chocolate.” The lie comes fast and seamlessly, and I don’t think he notices the hesitation that lasts for a fraction of a moment. But there is no hiding the colour that spreads over my cheeks or the heat that flushes my face like a furnace. I pick at the frayed edge of the blanket.

Sam looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, and we just sit there, watching the trees and the water and the sun slowly making her way over the sky. To our left a bumblebee is busy head-butting all the flowers it can find, and the sight make me giggle.

“They don’t look like the smartest of animals, do they?” I reply to Sam’s curious look, pointing at the flying paradox that is now eagerly trying to fit into a light pink foxglove that is just a couple of sizes too small.

“Uh-huh…” says Sam, laughing at the bumbling creature, not noticing my lingering gaze or how I stop myself from reaching out to run my hand through his hair. Instead, he points to a different flower. “Look, there’s another one. They’re kinda… graceful…”

“Really?” I snort.

“Well, considering they’re not really supposed to be able to fly, I’d say it’s almost like a ballet dancer,” he replies with a sheepish smile.

Flopping over on my stomach, I hide my face in the blanket for a second before laughing loudly and startling the closest bumblebee. “The Ballet of the Bumblebee,” I proclaim, waving my hand dramatically, awkwardly striking a vague pose.

We fall quiet again, but it doesn’t matter. I’ve always been comfortable with silence. So close to the ground, the rich, dark scent of drying soil fills my nose, and I inhale deeply, cementing this day in my memories.

Without thinking, I pick a yellow flower and wafting it slowly back and forth. The scent is almost buttery, and sweet, and transports me back to when I was young and carefree, and the biggest worry I had was the amount of homework Mr. Lewis assigned over the weekend.

The flower slips out of my hand, and floats tucks itself behind my ear –I look up to find Sam looking down at me. His eyes are soft, and his hand lingers around the flower stem. “I…” he says, but shuts up. His eyes flick up towards the cabin, and a few seconds later, Dean saunters past us, with the cooler in one hand, and the fishing rod in the other. He is humming to himself, and almost skips over the grass.

Sitting up, Sam clears his throat. “Hey, Dean, you done with your baby?”

“Huh?” He stops and looks around, as if he hasn’t even noticed us sitting there. “Yeah, for now. Why?”

“Gimme the keys. I want ice cream.”

My head whips in Sam’s direction, and I ungraciously swallow a lot of air, and I probably look like an idiot with my eyes on stalks when Dean fishes the keys from his pocket. Before he tosses them to Sam, he gives us a stern look. “No funny business,” he says with half a smile. “And don’t you dare hurt her,” he adds after some thought.

“What, the car or Y/N?” Sam asks lightly, pulling me to my feet, but Dean’s answer is nothing more than a mumbled grumble. We burst out laughing, and run and stumble towards the cabin before Dean can change his mind.

Sam must have been more awake than me when we first drove into town, because he has no trouble finding parking space, and moments later, he pulls me through the door and into a small ice cream shop that I could swear just popped out of nowhere.

They don’t have too many flavours to choose from, but it’s enough, and we both end up with a couple of scoops of soft deliciousness that threaten to drip down our hands in the heat from the sun.

Licking the ice cream and walking slowly through the sleepy streets, we make our way to a small park that’s obviously made with passing tourists in mind – it’s filled with fake “authentic” monuments over semi-historical events and places, and every couple of yards there’s benches dedicated to people who no doubt are famous if you were born in this town.

Sitting down on one dedicated to Deirdre, who, according to the plaque, didn’t give a crap about the park, but liked to feed the pigeons, we watch people wander by, and the trees and the squirrels foraging and preparing for colder weather.

I nod towards a large grey one, and suck a drop of sugary cream off my finger. “Did you know they sometimes pretend to bury their nuts and seeds to fool other squirrels? Like, they dig a hole and drop the nut in, but really it’s still in their mouth, and then they go bury it somewhere else.” I’m rambling, I know, but suddenly I feel Sam’s sitting so close that my brain can barely function.

“You know so much weird shit, Y/N,” Sam says and stuffs the rest of his cone into his mouth like he has no worries in the whole world. How can he not know how he makes me go all gooey inside?

“Heh, yeah, I’m killing it on trivia nights.”

Smiling, Sam exhales through his nose. “I can’t remember the last time we did a quiz night. It’s gotta be years, right?”

Scrunching my eyes together, I try to remember, but I come up blank. “I think so. We don’t get much normal nights out, do we, Sam?”

“Nah. I guess… What do you think you’d do if… if you weren’t in the, uh, business, I mean?”

His voice is soft, and I imagine I can hear a whole lifetime of sadness in it. “I, uh, I don’t know,” I reply, clearing my throat to remove the sudden lump behind my uvula. “Just normal stuff, you know? Travel, I guess… I hope I’d still be writing. Maybe I’d publish a book or something. That would be cool. But I can’t really imagine having a regular job, you know?” I sigh, and stare down the path that disappears under the trees. “How about you?”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

I say, “me too,” and smile into my ice cream.

“No really, I mean it, Y/N.” His hand lands on top of mine, the one I rest on the bench seat, and he squeezes lightly. In my chest, my heart stops, and when I finally dare to look up, his eyes shine with something new. “If this is what I get… If I get to be with you, just this day, then… Life will be alright for forever this way.”

Standing up, he suddenly says, “follow me,” and we walk quickly towards the small hill over by the blackberry bushes – and I wonder if I just imagined the last five minutes.

When we pass the berries, and start half climbing up the rocky slope, I’m pretty convinced that my mind is playing tricks on me, but I can’t give up on that thought that something big is going to happen, that soon my life will be turned upside down. With my mind wandering, I place one foot after the other, the ground is wobbly, but the sun shines in our faces, so no one can blame me for not paying attention.

But then I step on a loose stone: I slip and fall, tumbling down a few yards. My foot feels weird, there’s a knobbly branch poking my back, and the world seems upside down indeed. Groaning, I try to feel my foot. It’s not broken. That’s good, at least. No, it’s nothing serious: just a bruised ankle, and an equally bruised pride.

“Oh shit, you okay?” Sam’s head appears over my face, a worried look in his eyes. He has come to get me, and everything is okay. Everything is okay.

I try to nod, but it’s weird when down is up and up is down, so I just smile. “Hhhh… yeah. Just got knocked about a little. I’m… I’m good.” Sitting up, I wince from the pain in my side, but it disappears when Sam offers me his hand and pull me up – and then don’t let go of me when I’m securely on my feet.

Hand in hand we climb to the top – and the view is breathtaking. We can see for forever from here: the vast, blue sky and the mountains and the small town behind us. I step up on a stone, maybe it’s to get a better look, or maybe it’s subconsciously, I don’t know, but blood rushes in my ears from knowing I’m here, with Sam, and we’re watching the sun over the trees and the soft pastels painting the sky. In any case, I don’t notice Sam watching me.

A cool breeze sends a ripple of goosebumps over my skin, and then I feel the warmth of his skin like a wall against my back, and I half turn to look what he’s doing, and his face is so close to mine I feel his breath fan over my lips as he leans in. The hair on my arms rise, and in my chest my heart is beating its rhythmic music, and right that moment – on that perfect afternoon – we’re both on the top of the world.

Tagging my for forever beautiful friends:

@awesomeahwu @brynleewolfe @funwithfanfics @babeinthebowtie @savingapplepie-eatingthings @winchesterprincessbride @savvythedork @littlegreenplasticsoldier @youtubehelpsmesurvive @blackcherrywhiskey @mrswhozeewhatsis @schwarzwaelder-kirschtorte @aiaranradnay @fandomismyspiritanimal @barneybrigade  @mogaruke @wstrumpel @whovianextrodinare @hennessy0274-blog @sushi-senpai-chan @tardis-is-mine @badasssweetsrebel @jensensjaredsandmishaslover @megasimpleplan4ever @iamreadinginsecret

#sam x reader #sam winchester #supernatural fanfiction #reader insert #love #for forever #perfect afternoon #spn #fanfic #writing is hard

[artificialqueens]

Crossing pt. II (Katlaska) - Sebald

A/N: [3444 words] Sex is sex, the rest is just noise. But maybe Justin likes the noise.

If there is one thing Justin prizes more than good sex, it is a good night’s sleep. Sleep, he has long realized, is a luxury. He knows this to be true for most people—students, overworked minimum wage laborers, parents, white collar professionals, you name it. For internationally known drag queens, even an hour-long nap on a plane ride is a blessing, never mind that Justin has to contend with leg space fit only for people of Kenya Michaels’ stature. Hotels are fine—more luxurious than his own bed, certainly, but before he can really indulge himself in the fresh sheets, his alarm is ringing and he has to pack and leave for the next city, the next country, the next continent. It is only at home that he gets to have pure, uninterrupted sleep. Sometimes he’d marathon it even: get up at one o’clock, take a long piss, have dry cereal, put on The Golden Girls, and pass out on the couch for another five hours.

It is too early to be past noon, he can tell by the soft light filtering through the charmingly ugly floral curtains his grandma had given him last Christmas. Justin buries his head under his pillow and blindly reaches out for his phone to turn the alarm off, but when he brings the offending device to his bleary sight, there is no alarm to put out.

He huffs and tosses it to the other side of his bed, ready to be pulled back into sleep, but instead of the soft thud of the mattress, he hears the phone flopping down on something very firm. Whipping his head, and instantly regretting it because of a crick in his neck, he sees Brian rubbing his chest where the phone hit him.

Oh, right.

“Sorry,” Justin croaks, voice raspy with sleep. He gently pats Brian’s warm chest and rests his hand there. Brian lets him.

Katya had a gig with Jackie Beat down at Precinct last night, and Justin had come out to see the show. They hadn’t seen each other since they’d slept with each other a week ago, and hadn’t really talked apart from a few texts. (Few texts being Brian linking him to stories of alien sightings, and Justin sending back pictures of quick alien doodles he’d made after dutifully reading every link.) Truthfully, he hadn’t planned anything by coming out last night, just genuinely wanting to have a fun night out, watching a drag show instead of performing in one. If it had been any other queen, he still would have come.

Of course, if it had been any other queen, he probably would have ended his night alone at home, or perhaps with some rando from the club. But Katya saw him in the audience and beckoned him backstage, and what Justin had anticipated to be a quick hello turned into, well, a quick blowjob—which is a good greeting in itself, isn’t it? What better way to convey warmth and welcome? He’ll add it to Alaska’s glamtr0nian mythology, sex as platonic greetings. Katya went on to do her second set completely blissed out and untucked beneath her ugly flared skirt, and Justin watched from the wings with an amused smirk and the musky aftertaste of her cum in his mouth.

“Good fucking morning to you too,” Brian grumbles, finally reaching out to turn his phone alarm off. Justin has half a mind to whine about the alarm on his day off, but before he can open his mouth, Brian’s already wrinkling his nose and offering an apology. He offers an unglamorous morning sight—hair sticking out, fabric marks on his cheeks, dried-up drool at the corners of his lips, his sleep-swollen eyes squinting at the earliness of the morning. Justin holds back his laughter, knowing he’s not such a welcome vision either.

It’s been some time since he’s had a hookup at his house. Usually it would be at a hotel. The last guy he slept with on this bed was a steady boyfriend. He needs a refresher for morning-after etiquette. Food, he thinks. He should offer food.

“I don’t have any food,” he announces, realizing he’s existed on takeout for a week. He reaches across Brian to retrieve his phone, thinking of having something delivered. “I think I have orange juice though.”

“I might have to bounce in a bit, actually. Hence the alarm,” Brian says, trapping the arm that was reaching across his torso. Justin gladly obliges and clings to him in a half-embrace. He is certain that he hears a note of apology in Brian’s voice, as if he truly regrets turning down the rather sorry offer of orange juice for breakfast. Brian stretches his arms over his head, and Justin stares unabashedly. They are at once soft in the morning light and firmly muscled under the pale skin. “Trixie’s boyfriend’s friend apparently told her that I stood him up, and now she’s demanding I rectify her damaged reputation as matchmaker by seeing the date through.”

“It’s a date now, huh?” he teases. Brian rolls his eyes. “Last week it was just a hookup.”

“Whatever. I’ll take him out to lunch, jack him off, delete him from my phone, and go to my yoga class. It’s really just to get Trix off my back,” he says. He sits up against the headboard, leaving Justin’s elbow resting near a suspicious tent under the covers. Justin makes no effort to move, keeping his arm looped around Brian’s waist. Smirking up at Brian, he waits for a go signal, but Brian just smirks back at him and then brings a hand to scratch Justin’s head. “How about you? What’s Her Majesty up to on this blessed Sabbath?”

All right then, maybe Brian’s saving it for Trixie’s guy. Not desperately horny enough to pursue the matter, Justin instead closes his eyes and cozies up to Brian’s hand. If he keeps this light massage up, Justin is going to conk back out of consciousness. “I’m meeting up with Cory. He’s dragging me to this gym where he got free memberships because he’s dating this girl who works there.”

“On a Sunday?”

“Sundays are the best day to go because literally no one else is there,” he replies matter-of-factly.

“Oh, so you’re a gym rat now, Joanne?” Brian teases, lightly trailing a hand across Justin’s bicep. “Giving me that insider info.”

“As if.” Justin rolls his eyes. “I just tag along with Cory, and I think he’s just going ’cause his girlfriend has Sunday duty. He did that with his last girlfriend too. She was a sommelier up in Wilshire, and he would go there all the time to see her.”

“Cory’s always dating someone,” Brian observes lightly, the way one talks of the weather. Justin feels him moving his hand away, so he reaches out for his wrist to keep it on his head. Brian obliges, continuing to run his fingers through Justin’s hair.

“Don’t I fucking know it. He’s always waving it in my face and calling me an old crone,” he scoffs.

“But you’re always dating too,” Brian counters, rubbing lightly behind ears now. If it didn’t feel so good, Justin would complain about being petted like a dog.

“Sure,” he allows. He does date around quite a bit. He’s a Pisces who needs constant companionship, sue him. “But not nearly as much as him.”

Brian tuts. “Ah, but that’s a statistical impossibility. There are more blonde, tanned girls in LA than there are tops. Cory’s bound to date more people.”

“But see, I’m not geographically limited to LA. And I still lose to him,” he says with an exaggerated pout, making Brian laugh. It’s a nice sound, isn’t it? The haze of the morning light must be putting a filter over his eyes, because Justin suddenly finds it quite pleasant to watch Brian’s dry lips stretching over his stunningly white teeth. And then to delight in the roughened edges of his smoker’s laughter too? Justin really needs to wash the sleep out of his system.

“Maybe you’re just bad at dating,” Brian says sympathetically, tapping Justin’s nose. Justin glares up at him. “It’s okay. I’m terrible at it. I still get laid every other night.”

“Well, you don’t care about dating,” Justin reasons. In the time he’s known Brian, he’s never known him to date anyone. At first he’d thought it to be because of the demands of the job—it’s not easy to see someone when you’re constantly travelling. Justin has learned this with Aaron, and then again with Alex, and Carlos, and Kevin, and Jeremy. He wonders sometimes if it’s really his career getting in the way of his relationships, or if it’s just him. To protect his ego, he chooses to believe it’s the former. Still, most Ru girls manage to see other people. Some steadily, and others sporadically. Brian’s a rare case among them, never dating around. “Or am I making false assumptions?”

“No, you’re right. I don’t really see the appeal. Maybe once upon a time, when I was a baby gay, I wanted that whole romance extravaganza. Monogamy and slow dancing and all the works. The whole music video romance, you know? But now I don’t really see the point in it.”

“Really? And yet you tortured me with that unending Lana Del Rey playlist in Aspen?” Justin complains incredulously.

Brian holds up a finger in indignation. “I won’t have Lana slander, not on this good Sunday morning, no ma’am. Don’t speak against the lord herself. I’ll never stick my dick in you again, I swear to god.”

“He that is without sin, let him first cast a stone,” Justin says grandly, smirking up at Brian. “I’m not the one worshiping at Lana’s feet and then denouncing music video romances behind her back.”

It’s amusing how quickly Brian springs into animation, his sleep-encrusted eyes suddenly turning bright and sharp with a presence that commands Justin’s full attention, even if he has absolutely no interest in Lana Del Rey. Brian grabs his shoulder to get him to listen, completely unaware that he’s already caught Justin hook, line, and sinker. “You’re getting it all twisted. Lana isn’t commodified romance, really, she’s—”

Justin squints dubiously. “She’s a successful radio act, how is that not commodified?”

“Fine, okay, but at least she operates within pop culture as this brilliantly unachievable ideal that is very self-aware of its own ideality. Her music, her whole brand, it’s not going for realness. It’s not deceptive, you know what I mean? It’s drag, it really is. That’s why I love her. But romance, real romance”—here he puts air quotes around ‘real’—“it’s a joke.”

An impassioned defense of Lana Del Rey’s artistry isn’t exactly standard morning-after fare in Justin’s experience, but he find himself a willing student. He sits up finally, his interest piqued. “What do you mean?”

“I dunno. At some point I just figured romance isn’t real. It’s a whole manufactured spectacle designed to maintain this whole order of—well, the patriarchy obviously, but also probably some more complex and insidious societal riggeries and giggeries that we haven’t even yet caught on to. Because they’re so effectively run by the big guys, you know?” Brian says. Justin nods, even though he doesn’t fully agree, and lets Brian continue. “Romance blinds us and forces us into compliance with…” his hand fans the air as he looks for a word.

“The world order?” Justin offers dryly. He wonders if he should have saved this conversation for some other time, when he’s not still half-asleep.

Brian points at him and nods. “Hashtag thatpart. Capitalism, globalism, the whole she-bang. I don’t know how, but I’m sure romance is part of the mechanism somehow. We just gotta Winston Smith ourselves into the truth, Joanne.”

“Girl, you’re gonna have to help me out here. Is that the 1984 guy?“

“The very one,” Brian says, nodding.

Thank god Justin was a good student, reading all his assigned texts and turning in all his book reports. Let it never be said that basic education is useless. He scrunches his nose, trying to remember the novel. There was Big Brother, doublespeak, and lots of illicit sexual activities. And weren’t there also rats? Or was that A Clockwork Orange? What else? “How did it end again? Didn’t he go back to sucking Big Brother’s dick?”

Brian frowns. "Okay, yeah, he did. But he was tortured into compliance. You’re missing the point.“

“No, okay, I do get what you were saying: romance makes robots out of us, and love isn’t real.” Justin looks up to Brian for confirmation, which Brian gives with a nod. “Can I suck your dick now?”

His question goes ignored as Brian careens full speed down his socio-philosophical train tracks with no end in sight. He flaps his hands quickly, as if his monologue is powered by kinetic energy. “Or no, maybe it is! Or love is—okay, yes, that’s it, I think love is real, but romance is manufactured. Romance is the institutionalization of love, like… like Drag Race is the institutionalization of drag! Or like Catholicism is the institutionalization of the socialist sort of spirituality that Jesus preached!”

“Who told you to bring Jesus into my home?” Justin laughs. “I’m not having it. Is this what you do with all your guys? Is this a guerrilla tactic, educating the unenlightened masses one hookup at a time?”

Brian cackles, head thrown back, eyes wrinkled, teeth catching the light. “This should be how the revolution starts. Can’t get more grassroots than this.”

“I’ll pass it on to the next guy I suck off, comrade. We’ll get Bernie into office yet,” Justin promises solemnly, closing his eyes and bowing his head a fraction. He brings a fist up to his heart and intones gravely, “Unhappy the land that is in need of heroes, but love, like war, always finds a way.”

Brian bursts into a wheeze that possesses his whole frame. Justin was going for a laugh, but even then Brian’s full-body flailing impresses him. Being a comedy queen by trade, Justin takes to laughter like Tinkerbell to applause, and to him Brian is the Platonic ideal of an audience—open and generously receptive. And those perfect damn teeth don’t hurt either. If all he has to do is pull stage play quotes out of his ass to send Brian into irrepressible laughter, then he’ll gladly resurrect his theatre education and put it to good use. He allows himself a cackle as well, glad to join in with Brian.

“See, that’s the type of love that I’m advocating. Free and unburdened by societal expectations,” Brian says easily, likes it’s the simplest, truest matter in the world. “None of those tired old romantic tropes. Just love and sex for all.”

“Do you really mean that?” Justin inquires. “You don’t really sleep with everyone, do you?”

“Only because there isn’t enough time in the world, mawma,” Brian laments jokingly. Of course. And then he looks at Justin with a knowing grin. “I do have some time to spare before I absolutely have to leave though. You down for a quick round?”

Justin doesn’t realize that he was hoping for a serious answer until Brian shrugged it off kiddingly, but maybe that’s his problem. He’s always looking to ascribe meaning, always looking to pierce through the pleasures of the skin into—the soul? The heart? Whatever trite concept he imagines to connect people beyond just sex. Theoretically he understands free love, and can perhaps put it into praxis, as evidenced by the voluminous ledger of men he’s slept with, but if he’s being honest, he’s just an old romantic. All this no-strings-attached sex he’s having is less a choice and more a second resort until he finds someone more permanent. But maybe it would be healthier, smarter, worldlier to adapt Brian’s mind-set. To stop looking at sex as a means to an end but rather an end in itself.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he says readily, letting the matter go. As his mouth takes in Brian’s length, he wonders why they’d spent so much time talking nonsense.

~~~

An hour into what Cory promised to be “bro bonding” at the gym, Justin already wants to die. His biceps feel as though they are aflame after Cory militantly forced him to do cable curls. And then Cory pretty much left him alone after that, opting to do some unnecessarily intimate spotting for his girlfriend on the bench press. Such a straight dude, Justin thinks.

He walks over to them, intending to just sit down for a second and watch as he lets his arms regain locomotive will. Kiara, the girlfriend, smiles up at him, and he is appalled by how casually beautiful she manages to look, even drenched in sweat. She is quite short, which is normal for Justin, who towers over most people. But what she lacks in height, she makes up for in muscle—solid, firm, meticulously sculpted. This she carries with her leonine air. Despite the disparity of their height, she seems almost larger a presence than Cory, who himself is taller than Justin.

“You’re way too gorgeous to be settling for Cory,” he comments, settling down on the floor and stealing Cory’s thermos, earning him a light kick on the shoulder from his brother.

“Trust me, I know,” Kiara plays along, but then she looks up at Cory with such a warm laugh as she pushes the weights up steadily. Cory returns the laugh with the easy, unbothered assurance of someone in love.

“Don’t listen to that idiot,” he says. “He probably hasn’t gotten laid in a year.”

Justin sputters for show, hastily withdrawing his mouth from the lip of the thermos. His jaw drops in mock offense. “I got laid this morning!” he whines, fully aware of how his last syllable is drawn out in the grating manner that Cory hates.

“Using your dildo doesn’t count as getting laid,” Cory retorts. Kiara just laughs at them, shaking her head as she finally gestures for Cory to take the weights off so she can sit up. “You’re such brothers.”

“Whatever, I totally got laid,” Justin insists.

“Good for you,” Cory beams proudly, carefully placing the weights back on the rack and handing Kiara a towel. “Do I know the unlucky guy?”

“Yeah actually,” Justin says, deciding that it’s all right to kiss and tell. If he’s gonna commit to the whole carefree, casual sex thing, there’s really no reason to be all coy about his sex life, even if it’s around his brother and her girlfriend. “It’s Brian.”

Cory looks at him blankly, in the way he often does. “Who the fuck is Brian?”

“Katya, sorry.”

“Oh. I like her,” Kiara pipes up cheerfully, and then, cheekily, “And you, of course.”

“Thank you,” Justin says with a huff of a laugh.

Cory settles down on the bench beside Kiara, but his eyes are on Justin. He rests his elbows on his thighs and clasps his hands, looking rather serious for Justin’s liking. Cautiously, he asks, “Are you a thing? Like with Sharon?”

Was he being a concerned brother? It’s a little endearing, Justin finds. He smiles reassuringly. “No, we were just fooling around.”

Cory raises a skeptical brow but says nothing more, grabbing his thermos from Justin’s grasp and tossing it back with impressively large gulps. Once upon a time Justin would have dismissed it as an aggressive display of masculinity, but after his own little session with the cable curls he’s sure he was lapping that water up like a man stumbling through the Mojave. Kiara snags the thermos from Cory, even though her own water bottle is sitting right by her foot. She tips her head back and finishes it up, and then races Cory for the bottle on the floor. They squabble a bit, holding each other back playfully, but Kiara eventually lets Cory have the first sip, sitting back and watching him fondly.

Again Justin is afforded entry into their world of easy touches and effortless interactions. For a moment, it makes him doubt his decision to trod the path that Brian’s on. The path of skin and sweat and cum and thank you and goodbye. But just as quickly as doubt flutters through his new resolve, he dismisses it, because he knows it’s not all easy touches and sticky smiles, really. He’s been there countless times, and they all slipped through his fingers like a shaft of morning light. Gaga really was on to something with “Perfect Illusion,” he thinks with a chuckle.

#alaska thunderfuck #katya zamolodchikova #katlaska #sebald #rpdr fanfiction #submission #canon compliant #crossing

[storyunrelated]

Cold Hard Hugs #19_Uncomfortable Words

I don't know how people are supposed to talk.

There was a surprising amount of beer in the fridge. Surprising given my usual proclivities and habit of making just about any alcohol with arm’s reach of me disappear in short order. I hadn’t really had much call or opportunity to drink it of late, I realised. Just hadn’t really been feeling the need or desire. I did now though, so the abundance was welcomed. I grabbed the nearest bottle and cracked it open, meandering back upstairs and pointedly ignoring the excited holiday discussion I could hear wafting from Tillie’s room.

I saw on the bed, for a change of pace. My desk chair was uncomfortable anyway. So was my bed, to be fair, but it still won out in a contest between the two. I sat on it and stared at my possessions, wondering which of them would be useful in staving off boredom until I fell asleep. Nothing jumped out at me. Perhaps I wasn’t looking hard enough.

Grunting, I got down onto my hands and knees for a closer look at my books. They might have something for me, maybe. The films were all downstairs, as said, and that seemed a long way away at this point. Besides, I wanted quiet. Books are very quiet. Holding my bottle with one hand I ran the index finger of the other along spines, to get a feel for them. I’d read all of these before.

There was that slight increase in air pressure and little gust of wind that could only mean one thing. Sure enough, looking up, I saw Skaffen drifting into the room in what could only be describe as a casual fashion. Could only could only could only. Like busses, these phrases in my mind.

“Hi?” I said, hoping it was the right thing to say. I also got up off my knees, as that was no way to have a proper conversation.

“Hello,” she said, continuing to drift, bobbing gently in the air. The bobbing was new and presumably an affectation, though what it was supposed to convey I had no idea.

“Are you intimidated by Johnny?” Skaffen asked bluntly, clearly hoping to knock me off balance! No such luck, Skaffen; I can answer blunt with blunt! Don’t think you can knock me off balance with a non-sequitur question out of absolutely nowhere! Just you watch.

“Oh God yes,” I said without hesitation as I flopped back onto my bed. “He’s one of those intelligent, amusing, confident people who seem to have their lives one-hundred percent in order. Those sort of people are terrifying.”

This was true, people like that were terrifying. The sorts of people who seem to know exactly what they want out of life and how to get it and enjoy every bit along the way to an extent that simply escapes normal, slovenly people like myself. Admirable souls yes and paragons - role models even! But terrifying, and deeply depressing to look at for too long. A reminder of how far short the rest of us fall.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“The nanohive thing?” I ventured, hoping maybe this was the correct answer. It was not.

“Not what I meant either and you know that,” she said, aura glowing dully.

“I don’t think I’m sure what you’re driving at,” I said. One of her fields came to rest lightly on my shoulders which also made the hairs stick up on the back of my neck. I was not sure why she was doing it.

“What do you guess I’m driving at? If you had to guess?” She asked, voice softer by far than I had yet heard it. I really had no idea. My blank look probably conveyed this. Skaffen sighed, aura darkening. Oopsie.

“Tillie seemed very friendly with Johnny, didn’t she?” She asked.

“Tillie is a friendly person. Johnny seems a friendly person too,”I said. I only had one encounter to back me on Johnny, but first impressions count for a lot, you know?

“That’s not - are you trying to be dense?” Skaffen asked, what patience she had managed to scrape together to talk to me clearly running thin. I shrugged, unable to care too much about it.

“I’m not trying, I assure you,” I said, in a perfectly calculated, infuriating remark. The kind that came naturally to me at the worst of possible moments. The kind that clearly pushed Skaffen to her limits before she managed to collect herself. Whatever field she’d put onto my shoulder evaporated as she turned away to look around my room. By all means, go ahead Skaffen, my room is just the sort of thing you can look through without warning.

“Tillie and I were best friends growing up, but Johnny was her best friend who was a boy growing up. They were close. Very close. Anytime it wasn’t me and her together it was her and him together. Are you grasping it now?”

“Everyone has friends,” I said, forcefully choosing not to grasp it. Letting it brush against my hand and shatter on the floor. Pretending to grasp it then turning my hand over to drop it. I was ignoring what she was saying, okay?

“Do the the words ‘childhood sweethearts’ mean anything to you?”

Okay, that’s hard to ignore. Rather than reply, I drank. Apparently for Skaffen this constituted enough of a response to continue talking.

“It was just a puppy love thing, dumb kids stuff. But everyone saw it was there. Just the way they were together, how they were almost always with each other, that sort of thing. Nothing ever came of it.”

So what, exactly, was the need to bring it up? This did not add any context I needed.

A rat-bastard sliver of my head suggested this was an attempt on Skaffen’s part to curry envy and jealousy and worry in me. I supposed I could see the logic in this - or at least understand the logic of it, if not the motivation - but didn’t pay it much attention. Jealousy was an unattractive thing in anyone, and also very unhelpful. It made people liable to act rashly and on shoddy information. I wasn’t going to give into that, as comfortable and attractive as it may appear.

“Is any of this getting through to you yet?” Skaffen asked.

“Pretend - or assume, whichever works better for you - that I have never encountered subject before, and just out-and-out tell me what it is you’re trying to drive at, because I don’t want to jump to conclusion,” I said. I’m not entirely stupid, I could probably guess where this was going, but I didn’t like what my guts and the rat-bastard were hinting at and would prefer not to hit such a conclusion myself. Skaffen could do her own dirty, my brain-hands would be clean. So to speak.

“I don’t think this relationship of yours is a good idea, for either of you,” Skaffen said.

Alright, well. I did ask, I suppose.  Thnk I got a sudden chill.

“Fair enough,” I said, not really sure what else I could have said. This seemed to throw Skaffen for a loop as she didn’t immediately reply and instead just hung there in the air, aura a colour that told me nothing.

“She really likes you, you know,” Skaffen said when it finally became clear nothing else would happen otherwise.

“She does?” I asked. This was something I probably could have guessed on my own, you know, from personal experience, but it’s odd hearing it from someone else. Or maybe that’s just me. Skaffen gave that little bob in the air that corresponded to a nod.

“She does. Before she rang to get me down here she was always talking about you, and she wouldn’t have called me - in tears, I might add - to come down if this hadn’t affected her.”

Tears in this instance presumably being figurative. Or maybe it was like the coughing and crying was something she could do with or without actual tears. Nothing would surprise me, and neither made me feel better - knowing that you were involved in making someone cry is rarely a nice experience, unless you’re the kind of monster who enjoys that sort of thing. Those people must lead blissfully simple lives.

“Oh God, she talked about me? I’m not worth talking about, really,” I said.

“Well she clearly thought you were.”

“Point,” I said, conceding. Skaffen sighed. Not at my response, this much was obvious. It was a sigh of bracing for a weighty shift in direction. The worst, most terrifying kind of sigh. I felt the hairs go up on the back of my neck again.

“She likes you an awful lot, as I said. Which is why I’m worried about this.”

There was a logic in this I don’t think I was following or able to fully grasp. I felt like we were talking at cross purposes and I sort of wished she would just lay it out for me so I could at least have some idea of what on earth she was trying to tell me. I mean, she had told me what she was talking about, but she hadn’t told me told me, you know? Hadn’t explained it. How was I supposed to know what stages her thought process had gone through?

Some days - some specifics points on some days - you just felt like screaming. And screaming and screaming until your throat tore itself to shreds and you drowned in your own blood. Or just wished for an asteroid or earth-sundering orbital strike. Nukes, perhaps. Something to scour away even the merest trace of life.

No, that’s no good. Selfish, picturing the earth going away just to imagine your suffering ending. Very selfish, don’t do that. Better a very particular and discerning nuke or asteroid, one that just hit me. Much better, that. Picture that.

“Look, you seem like a nice guy, but this is not going to end well for either of you. Not end badly. It’s just that, once it’s over, you’ll both be unhappy. And it will be over, it’s going to happen. So it’s best to get it out of the way sooner. No point in prolonging it. Do you understand?” Did this count as Skaffen being polite to me? It was hard to tell.

Also, wait. What did she just say? Did I understand what?

Oh.

No, I did not. I felt I should communicate this. I finished the bottle, set it down, and leaned forward on the bed in such a way it creaked. Rather more loudly than I would have liked, but I couldn’t really help that.

“Help me out. Help a guy out. You might think you’ve given me enough to go on with ‘it won’t work out’ and ‘it’s not going to end well’ but there has been a conspicuous lack of, uh, you know, explanations as to why. So be blunt. Hurt my feelings. Help me understand,” I said.

“Honestly?” She asked, inclining slightly toward the door and extending a field to very-so-gently nudge it shut.

“Blunt as you like,” I said.

The door went click as it closed. I think I shivered.

“You and her do not work. I don’t care how much you may think you do, you don’t. Flesh-and-blood people like you are not cut out for it. Sooner or later you and your glands and your urges are going to make you do something that is going to get her hurt. Either that, or something a lot like it - she’ll hurt you because she doesn’t know how strong she is and how fragile you are. You are not like and she is not like you on levels deeper than an similarities or shared interests you have. There’s no getting around this, and as time goes on it’ll just get more and more obvious until it’s impossible to ignore and the whole thing falls apart. It’s inevitable.”

“I don’t-”

“These are ingrained, tangible issues and they’re not the kind you can just wish away. It is about fragility. You’re liable to get physically hurt, she’s liable to get emotionally hurt, you see? And it is going to happen. You’ve got bruises, haven’t you? How long until she cracks a rib? Have you even thought about that? How is that going to make her feel when she does it?”

“Really, I-”

“And how is she going to feel the next time you feel like letting another flesh-and-blood girl get a little too close to you? Or the next time you maybe want to feel someone against you with a pulse and warm skin? Are you going run away again when that happens?”

At this point I think the usual response would be anger, wouldn’t it? Yelling? I’m not really sure, I’ve never been in a situation like this before. The problem being I could sort of see the angle she was taking. Like, it’s not an unreasonable argument to make, and I can sort of see it from her side. I don’t agree, of course, but how am I to communicate that? Beyond just telling her I disagree, which lacks weight without support.

Assuming I can get a word in edgeways, of course.

“S’difference of opinion…” I mumbled, which actually stopped her.

“What?”

“I feel this is a difference of opinion. I can see your position and I can appreciate it but I disagree. This is a difference of opinion. I think this can work, I think what you’re saying will happen won’t necessarily happen. That’s my opinion.”

I even folded my arms on saying this, hoping it would give me an edge. Not sure what kind of edge, but it has some sort of effect, nody language. Right? Skaffen doesn’t even have arms, does she care what I do with mine? Unlikely. I can but try.

“You may not feel it now and you may not agree, but she’s better off without you and you’re better off without her. I’m sorry, but that’s just how it is,” said Skaffen, clearly thinking so little of what I’d said she couldn’t be bothered to acknowledge it.

“Difference of opinion. Again,” I said. Her aura darkened ever so slightly.

“Stop saying that. It’s something you’re going to have to deal with very soon, so I suggest you treat it a bit more seriously.”

That gave me a chil. Something in her tone. My arms even unfolded on their own and just sort of hung like limp bits of string.

“...what do you mean by that? Very soon? How soon is now?”

“A week is a long time. A week thousands of miles away across an ocean might be even longer. A lot can change,” she said, breezily. I think my skin was trying to crawl under the duvet to hide.

The rat-bastard part was adamant at this point that was Skaffen was talking about was using the opportunity to get Tillie away from me and give her a variation of the same talk she’d just given me. The whole ‘this is doomed to fail’ talk. But somewhere I couldn’t do anything about it. Somewhere with a childhood sweetheart within easy reach. But that would be a horrible thing to do to someone, so surely it couldn’t be that. Down rat-bastard, down; the adults are talking!

“You...I don’t...if this is another subtextual thing then I don’t...look, Skaffen, don’t…can’t you just let us have this?” I asked. Does this count as pleading, or begging? Or neither?

“It’s for your own good. Both of you.”

“Why do things people insist are for the good of others always so incredibly unpleasant?”

“Because if they were nice they wouldn’t need someone else to do them.”

Okay, that was a pretty good line, but still. Not a fan of this at all.

“I...respectfully disagree and would...rather you not...talk about any of this to Tillie. Talk about...Central Park or...Wall...Street or whatever. New York stuff, holiday stuff. Not this stuff. Not with me so far away, please Skaffen.”

“Me and Tillie are friends. Friends talk. About a lot of things. That’s just how it is.”

My drooping hand caught the neck of the bottle by my foot and I flinched, sitting up straight again. I grunted, sighed, rubbed my face.

“There is not a single compelling argument I can make to you right here and now that could change your mind, is there?” I asked.

“No,” she said.

“Is there anything I could have done before this point that would have made you not decide this was the best thing to do.”

“No,” she said, again. That actually made me feel the tiniest bit better, weirdly, as it kinda made this entirely Skaffen’s fault. That’s not the right way to think, is it?

“Well that’s good to know, glad you decided our compatibility before you even met me. Are you done here?”

“I think I am,”

“Good then...waft on out of here, Skaffen. And have a nice time,” I said, flopping back and staring at the ceiling as I heard the door open and close behind her. My ceiling sucked, by the way, and helped me not at all.

I got a hug from Tillie before she left. Once all her stuff was piled into Johnny’s car - and it appeared to me that just about everything that had been stuffed into his car was something of Tillie’s - she came back up the path to me. I’d just been standing there watching the whole time and not doing much. I’d offered to help, but I wasn’t needed.

She came at me with pace and hit me with force, squeezing me so hard I had legitimate difficulty drawing breath. But that was fine. I hugged her back as hard as I could manage too, until her corners cut into my arms. I think Skaffen was watching this, I think she was trying to communicate something no-verbally, but since this was Skaffen it was very hard to tell. The reflection on the car window didn’t help, in her defence.

“You have fun, yeah?” I said. Asked? Does one ask a rhetorical question-slash-request? I don’t know. I think I felt her trembling as she pulled back to look up at me. Lenses so wide. I’d never countered how many she had before, I realised. Now was not the time. More than two, less than fifteen. Or maybe more.

“You’re sure this okay?” She asked. I smiled, not looking at the car. Just looking at her.

Question: Was this going to be the last time I looked at her when she was my girlfriend? Answer: I don’t know. Could I do anything about it? Probably. Did I know what? No. Good topics for parting words to people very dear to you before they jaunt off for fun times in foreign lands typically do not extend to include ‘by the way your friend is planning on splitting us up, for our own good of course’. Would I want to ruin her holiday so? No, no I would not. Keep your mouth shut, see what happens. As long as she’s happy by the end of it then everything works out. You can go die in a ditch for all I care, as long as Tillie is okay. Yeah? Yeah.

“More than sure, more than okay. Have fun, like I say. Now off you go, don’t want to miss your plane, eh?” I said, hoping none of the nonsense churning in my head was showing in my face.

I gave her a kiss and she finally let go. I wheezed as she made her way back down the path. About halfway she paused, glanced back to me, considered something, but then continued without a word, piling into the car a moment later. She waved as they drove off, as did Johnny. Skaffen was physically incapable of waving, but I had my doubts she would have done anyway.

I kept watching until they turned a corner and disappeared from view, and then a minute or so after that I slouched back into the empty house, humming a Freddy Mercury song to myself. It seemed appropriate, given the circumstances.

#Cold hard Hugs #Story #Writing #Amwriting #Writblr