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crystalflie · 6 months

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𝐒𝐡𝐡..𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐍𝐨𝐰..

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈

𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨𝐮 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 (𝟏𝟖+)

Tags: Porn with Plot, Two Shot, Female Reader, Canon Divergence, Getou is a teacher at JJT, Rough Sex, Office Sex, Almost Caught, Crying, Filming, Degradation, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Making Out, First Time, Dirty Talk.

Word count: 6500~

[Cross-posted on Ao3]

Description: Getou sees how whipped his best friend was for the cute new office assistant. It’s too bad that his best friend was also a total idiot when it came to romancing, so it’s not Getou’s fault if he got to fuck her first..

Romantically..

Over Gojo Satoru’s desk.

————————————————————————

“Everybody! MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION PLEASEE!”

Gojo clapped his hands together for emphasis, successfully capturing the focus of the first-year students. The man began walking down towards the open field as the three turned their heads at the sound of his voice. It was a rather sunny day, the heat pouring down on especially this area of the school, so it was no wonder when they all looked somewhat annoyed at the interruption. The sooner they can complete their training, the sooner they can go back inside.

Nobara and Yuuji took a pause in their spar session, both out of breath and wiping the sweat off their faces. Sitting a few feet away from them, Megumi twisted the cap of his water bottle back on, curious as to what their teacher had to say.

“Gojo-sensei.” The dark-haired boy nodded as Gojo reached the bottom of the stairs, but he quickly noticed that someone else was following behind the man.

“Gojo-sensei! What is it?” Yuuji approached them with Nobara at his side, fanning himself with the collar of his shirt. Gojo lets out an airy laugh at the disheveled state of his very much tired students.

“Well, I’ll make this quick so you guys can catch a break..”

He stepped aside and gestured his head to the individual standing behind him, which was your cue to come forward and introduce yourself…

All three pairs of eyes follow you as you finally step out of Gojo’s shadow, offering a small bow before speaking.

“Hello.. Nice to meet you, I will be Gojo-san’s new assistant. Please let me know if you need anything..”

Your words trailed off and you couldn’t help but feel a little awkward as stares were being burned into you. The trio looked rather.. bewildered, making you question if you had said anything wrong. I mean, you can’t possibly have, since you've only spoken one sentence, but maybe teenagers are just weird..

“Sensei..you have an assistant?”

Yuuji sounded confused, inspecting you once over and then looking back at Gojo for an explanation. However, your boss only swung his arm around your shoulders and said,

“Yep! She can see curses, cursed energy, and all that jazz. Just don’t try to fight her, ‘cuz she’s not a sorcerer.”

Nobara quickly cuts in after him, “What he meant is why do you need an assistant if you don’t do shi-”

“KUGISAKI! S-sensei, that is not what I meant!” Yuuji waves his arms around frantically and shoots Nobara a glare, only for her to flip him off in return.

“Okay, okay~ Settle down you two. But for your information, I do a lot! Nobody ever gives me credit..”

You hear Gojo sulking, his face not too far from your own. Maybe it was your imagination, but his arm around you felt a little tighter when he spoke the last part..

Megumi rolled his eyes at their antics and stood up from his spot, facing you and giving a bow as well.

“Nice to meet you. I am Fugishiro Megumi.”

You smiled at Megumi, he seemed like a very polite boy, although noticeably less energetic than the other two. You hoped that they’d eventually come around to your presence since it didn’t seem like Jejutsu Tech often had any new teachers, not that you consider yourself one, you're only going to be around to help with some paperwork.

Gojo hums and, much to your disappointment, removes his arm around you to cross them across his chest.

“Thank you Megumi…and NOW YOU TWO!” He dramatically points to Nobara and Yuuji, who immediately straightened their backs like army soldiers.

“Hurry up and introduce yourselves so I can go eat lunch with my cute assistant!”

You would’ve stuttered if you were the one talking to him, did he really think…no no, your boss is just a little out there, that's all.

“I AM ITADORI YUUJI!”

“I’m Kugisaki Nobara.”

The difference in their enthusiasm caused them both to slowly turn their heads and after a few seconds of silence, Yuuji and Nobara burst out laughing while jokingly smacking each other. Megumi let out a long sigh, briefly glancing back at you. You glance back at him too and see a slight flush growing from his neck before he quickly averted his gaze.

“Can you guys not embarrass yourselves for once?” Megumi grunted.

You chuckled to yourself and reassured Megumi that they weren’t at all embarrassing.

“Actually, you three are adorable..” You commented quietly.

Before you can receive any sort of response, you feel Gojo nudge your right arm gently.

“Well, that’s enough of them! Wanna grab some food? I’m feeling some yakitori today.” Gojo was quick to dismiss the protests from the background when it was clear he planned to go stuff his face while they continued training in the hot sun. Your eyes widen in a bit of surprise, you didn’t really expect to have lunch with..well your boss, you thought he was joking earlier.

Gojo’s expression morphed into one of confusion at your lack of response.

“What is it? Are you..vegetarian?”

You snapped out of your shock and shook your head no, after all, you might as well spend some time getting to know the man you’ll be working with. You’ve only met Gojo a few weeks prior to coming here, you know nothing about the way he works and what he needs help with, only some minor things he’ll tell you from time to time.

“Oh no, I’m not, we can go eat whatever you want. I’m not too picky.”

At least that's what you kept telling yourself as you walked side by side with Gojo leading the way, who was close enough to brush sides with you every now and then. Mostly it was he who made small talk, but it was a little hard to think of anything intelligent to say when a man this attractive couldn’t stop throwing flirtatious remarks between sentences. But like, just because your super hot boss was inviting you to lunch doesn’t mean you should develop a crush on him, it was way too unprofessional!

Besides, you thought, he probably acts this way to every woman he meets, so it's best not to dive deeper into his actions..but you were a little disappointed no doubt.

“Oh shit.”

Gojo abruptly stopped walking, and you stopped alongside him, wondering what was wrong.

“Gojo-san? Is something wrong?”

Not even a moment later, a half-smile took over his lips at your concern, and Gojo reached forward to take a spare strand of hair in front of your face, tucking it behind your ear.

“You know I already said to call me Satoru right?”

When he retracted his hand, one of his fingers grazed the side of your cheek, and took everything you had to not shiver in front of him. Gojo laughed at your stiff reaction, and used the hand that just touched you to cover the back of his neck as he turned away again.

“It’s nothing by the way. I just remembered that I agreed to have lunch with Suguru, but I kinda got carried away with you and forgot about him..”

His statement successfully manages to fluster you, and you're glad that he wasn’t directly facing you to see how you blushed at the thought of him being carried away with you..

“O-oh..should we go back for him?” You asked to be polite, but there was nothing more that you wanted than to have a few more moments alone with him..without your probably other co-worker.

Gojo scoffed, “Oh please~ let’s just get a seat first, rush hours during lunch, he can join us later.”

You nodded slowly in agreement, it wasn’t like you’ve got anything against this ‘Suguru’ person..but you also didn’t want to walk all the way back to school.

“Alright then.”

————————————————————————

Gojo whistled the rest of the way to the supposed ‘best yakitori place in all of Tokyo’ and you followed behind, keeping an eye on his mob of white hair to not get lost in the crowds. At some point, he noticed that you were struggling to get around passersby on one of the narrower streets, so he took the chance to grab your wrist when he was close enough, and the rest of the way went smoothly.

The two of you eventually arrived at this small but cozy feeling restaurant, and Gojo casually strode in, seeming quite friendly with the owner, an elderly woman who teased him for bringing you along.

He must be a regular here...

You and Gojo were sat down by a server at a table, and they left shortly to give you time to decide what to order. Gojo hardly glanced at the menu, only propping his arm on the table and setting his gaze on you, who pretended not to be paying attention to him by flipping through the options.

“So..later when Suguru comes..” Gojo started, a little hesitant, but you gave him your attention and put the menu down.

“I just wanted to warn you that he’s a little reserved..and kind of cocky.. and kind of arrogant … b-but he’s a good guy!”

Gojo sounded like he just slapped on the last part so you wouldn’t be put off, but admittingly you were even less thrilled to meet this person now..

“Hey, don’t look like that..next time, we can go somewhere with just the two of us.” He sends you a playful wink before laughing it off, then ushering the server over to place your orders. You internally cursed him for being a flirt, it was not at all good for your heart, knowing that he wasn’t serious.

“Ahaha..sure..”

Gojo Satoru was way out of your league.

Both of you settled on sour plum juice for a drink, which made your mouth water from thinking how refreshing it was going to be after the sun was practically beating down on you. It didn’t take long either, so you were able to quench your thirst with a satisfied sigh. You see Gojo do the same before checking his phone.

“Looks like Suguru’s gonna be here soon. I just need to use the restroom real quick, I’ll be righttt back.” He gets up from his seat with a grunt and disappears into the back of the restaurant, where you assume the restrooms are. Now alone at the table, you resorted to playing with the straw in your glass while waiting for Gojo to return. It almost felt a little unreal, how you were eating yakitori with one of the strongest sorcerers alive. Just walking around Jujutsu Tech was enough to make you feel like your ability to see curses wasn’t all that special..perhaps if you were blessed with a cursed technique, you’d be a pretty badass sorcerer..

Around three minutes passed with no sign of Gojo coming back, and you were just about to go on your phone when a jingle from the entrance of the restaurant caught your attention. The windchimes by the door signaled the arrival of a customer, and this time, you couldn’t help but stare at the person walking in. It was a tall man with broad shoulders and dark hair tied back into a bun with pieces to spare. He’s got those bottomless, lazy eyes that no doubt can send anyone’s knees buckling, and he just happened to be looking around for something. He doesn’t have to look for long before the elderly woman from earlier brightens up at the sight of him, happily ushering him towards the seating area in the back, where you and Gojo’s table also happened to be.

He must be meeting up with someone..

Unknowingly, your chest was thumping when it seemed like he was being brought closer and closer to you, you wanted to stop gawking, but it was just too hard to turn away.

The way he carried himself was so alluring…and to top it all off, everything about him was surrounded by an air of mystery.

Total. Eye. Candy. Material.

You wouldn’t be surprised if other patrons had the same idea as you. I mean, it’s not illegal to appreciate the fine arts of the world.

The man was standing over your table when you accidentally made eye contact, eye contact which you held not because you were a confident girlboss, but because you were frozen in embarrassment from getting caught checking him out. He stared right back for some seconds until his gaze traveled from your face down to the collar of your unbuttoned shirt.

He was so lucky he was hot, or you would’ve considered it harassment…just kidding! But you felt a little hypocritical for thinking like that when you’ve clearly been looking at him the exact same way. In fact, you definitely were guilty, not so long ago you were crushing on your boss of all people, and now you were daydreaming about some stranger.

You shifted in your chair as an excuse to glance away and for him to move on.

It took you some time to realize said stranger wasn’t budging from the spot over your table, and the elderly woman had already left.

No way..could he be-

“Suguru!”

Gojo suddenly returned from the restroom at the perfect time, thankfully saving you from any awkwardness.

“Who’s this?” The man ignored Gojo’s attempt to greet him in favor of asking about you, and his voice was way huskier than Gojo’s for sure..

“Suguru, meet my new assistant. Isn’t she just the cutest?” Gojo pulled out a seat for ‘Suguru’ and sat down on his original seat across from you.

You wished he would stop saying things like that out of nowhere, you were never ready for any of his ‘compliments’.

“Assistant? Yeah, you sure do need an assistant.” He didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm as he replied, taking the seat next to Gojo.

“C'mon, quit being rude..and you didn’t deny the second part.”

Getou sighs and looks over at you with a stoic expression, unrevealing of his feelings towards your presence.

“I’m Getou Suguru. I am a special-grade sorcerer and I currently teach the second-year students.”

Your mouth forms an ‘o’ shape at the mention of him being a special-grade sorcerer, you recall that Gojo told you something similar, of how all sorcerers and curses were organized in a rank system.

“I see..Nice to meet you Getou-san.” You introduced yourself after him, but it wasn’t like you had much of an impressive background, so it was only a mention of your name and how you graduated college not too long ago. Weirdly enough, you almost see his brows slightly furrow in what you could only assume was confusion when you finished speaking. Gojo must’ve noticed too, and he leans forward to add,

“She’s not a sorcerer.”

Getou was unable to contain his frown at that revelation, leaving you feeling very much self-conscious and taking another long sip at your drink. You didn’t know what his deal was, but maybe it wasn’t the best time to ask yet.

“Suguru..” Gojo begins with a warning tone, if you weren’t mistaken, and lowers his shades to shoot Getou a half-glare.

“Princess here is going to handle my paperwork and some other minor things at school while I’m out exorcizing curses and being a boss-ass bitch. She doesn’t need to be a sorcerer to do that, right? Besides, she can see curses, so no need to traumatize some random civilian with the characters at our school.”

Gojo delivered his sentences with a defensive undertone, fully shutting down anything that Getou could possibly say about you and your lack of…uh, sorcerer status. You still felt a bit uncomfortable with the atmosphere they’d established, but soon enough Gojo completely switched back to his usual carefree attitude and began to rave to you about the food. You let him and Getou order what they wanted since you didn’t know what was good or not, so it was best to trust the expert. The conversation that followed wasn’t as awkward as before, but it was still mostly just Gojo talking to you and Getou separately. The dark-haired man didn’t exchange many words with you while you all ate, and honestly, you’ve spent most of time hoping for this lunch to be over so you can start planning on how to avoid him for the rest of your time at Jejutsu High. Unrealistic, yes, but the only way you know how to avoid situations like this is to avoid confrontation all together…

You still didn't know much about Getou at all, just that he was a handsome asshole that looked down on you.

You took another bite of your food.

“So..you said you just graduated?”

It was a surprise when he directly addressed you, without the prompting of Gojo.

“Yes, I did.” You nodded to confirm, wondering where he was going with this.

“How old are you?” Getou asked.

Was he trying to get to know you now? You were even more confused about his intentions, as you previously assumed he probably didn't like you much. You told him your age anyways, and watched as he blinked, placing his chopsticks down. Getou leans to his side to whisper something to Gojo, and although it didn’t prevent you from hearing, you pretended not to for the sake of not making this even more unbearable.

“Satoru, you wolf.”

A loud stomp came from beneath the table, and a passive aggressive grin spread over Gojo’s face at the other man’s trembling hand forming into a fist.

“What did you say now?”

Getou gives him a twitching smile, but his eyes scream that the only reason he was letting this play out is because they’re in public.

“Nothing.”

The rest of the lunch consisted of them somewhat bickering, and you silently eating unless spoken to.

What an unusual pair..

————————————————————————

Over the next weeks or so, Gojo taught you the basics of the school and introduced you to the rest of the staff. Everyone you’ve met so far were all pleasant and very accommodating to any questions you asked, except for, well, Getou Suguru...but other than that, you felt welcomed. Gojo made it easy to forget you were ultimately different from them, he treated you like you would be there for a long, long time, even if you didn’t know if you would. You agreed because he initially made it sound like a part-time intern thing, so you thought you could just stay while you figured out your actual career. All you really needed to do was sit in his office and fill out some paperwork for any missions the students were sent on, among other things. It wasn’t hard per say, and it was fun working with the students. Repetitiveness was a guarantee, though Gojo humored you at times with stories about his day.

Everything was lighthearted until you got your first paycheck. You realized you were being paid the equivalent of what a full-time office worker would be paid. It was more than a livable wage..and to think that Gojo had offered you a place to stay too.. You didn’t take that up since you already had your own apartment in Tokyo, but wow…this would be a dream come true for any broke college graduate.

Or just anyone in general.

“Is something wrong?” Gojo’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you nervously looked up from the paper check in your hand.

“Oh, no..it’s just, this is a lot..”

He tilts his head curiously, like an owl, urging you on to elaborate.

“What I mean is, this is a lot..for what I do, which- isn’t a lot.”

Silence fills between you two before Gojo laughs, but not quite in his usual manner, as it quickly dies down, and he begins to approach you. When he stood close enough, he took his index finger and pressed it softly against your forehead.

“Don’t underestimate yourself. Or else you’ll be taken advantage of by more..dishonest people.”

You reach up to grab his wrist, bringing it down from your head.

“Oh please, Gojo-san, you are the one overestimating what I do for you.”

You think he’s probably going to deny it again, you learned that your boss could be quite stubborn over minuscule arguments, but it wasn’t like he meant any harm.

“Finee. Since your hefty paycheck is just too much for you to handle, maybe there’s something else you can do for me..” Gojo’s voice grows quiet and you find yourself loosening your grip on his hand— that you haven’t released. You tried to let go immediately, but Gojo was faster, snatching your wrist with his other free hand and pulling you in until your faces were inches apart. His smile has long faded, not showing a hint of the similar mischief in his words.

Gojo’s chest was pressed up against yours, and suddenly being alone in his office with him felt very, very inappropriate.

This was where you worked for god's sake..

“You’ll listen to me.. Right?”

What does he mean? What can Gojo possibly want from you, in your eyes, he has everything…and even if he doesn’t, you know for sure he can take it. You didn’t want to think about what he was insinuating, how can he possibly even suggest such an idea with a straight face? He wasn’t like the Gojo you know, although not for long, you wanted to picture him as someone who was innocent to your feelings. You weren’t sure if he was aware of your little crush on him, but if he wasn’t, you weren’t sure if it was for better or worse.

You wordlessly nod. It just wasn’t possible to deny Gojo. He’ll just try to worm his way into getting what he wants.. Besides, you think he’s sweet.

“Then, I want you to..” Gojo moves in to close the tiny distance between the two of you, gently pressing his forehead to yours.

This was too much, you must have been as flushed as a tomato, and your lips felt wobbly from how hard you were biting them inside. The only thing that made you feel less self-conscious was that Gojo wore a similar shade of pink on his face as well, the only difference was that he was a lot more put-together on the exterior.

You sharply inhale when his hand that held yours starts to trail up your arm.. until it reaches the nape of your neck. He wasted zero hesitation in keeping you in place, securing his palm against the spot that drew out the most exhilarating shiver.

His skin was so cold.. But does nothing to cool the internal heat spreading through every part that was in contact with him. You unconsciously allow yourself to bask in the feeling, as much as you can while pretending that the drumming in your ear doesn’t exist, while pretending that you were just as put together as he was.

None of you said a single word until you saw Gojo swallow, and he made a small incomprehensible noise before abruptly letting his head fall on your shoulder, hiding in the space beneath your ear.

“Gojo-san?”

He readjusts his arms to wrap around your lower waist, now engulfing you in a rather wholesome hug.

“God..you’re so-, you can’t just let me-” Gojo cuts himself off, realizing he was still technically touching you.

He releases his hold and takes three large steps back.

“Is..something wrong?” You try to ask him. You wondered what caused the change in his demeanor..you hoped you haven’t accidentally done anything to put him off.

“YES! Uh- NO! I MEAN NO! Listen darling-”

Gojo was acting all skittish and nervous, but he wasn’t telling you what was wrong. Have you actually done something to offend him? He notices the change in your expression and moves in again to a reasonable talking distance.

“Uh, so..uh..”

Gojo continues to stutter, your increasingly sulky face destroying the last bit of composure left in him. He was stumped, what did you want him to do? He totally fucked up the mood…and there’s no going back. Gojo had never wished more in that moment that he was born with a cursed technique that could turn back time, by like- 3 minutes is enough. Of course, he gets the shit that does nothing for his impressive awkwardness around his adorable assistant. He’s usually pretty smooth, he’d like to think so..

“Oh, look at the time! I’mlateformymeetingokaybye!”

You watch Gojo point to some nonexistent clock on the wall, and leave the room at the speed of light without so much as looking at you. The door hangs slightly open after he disappears, swinging back and forth, almost depressingly while you stand there alone. A takes a while for what just occurred to sink in, giving you enough time to feel ashamed and oddly shy out of nowhere. You began to pace around aimlessly in a circle while patting your heated face, thinking about Gojo’s words, thinking about his every reaction…

You’ve messed up, haven’t you..now you're going to have so much fun avoiding the person you work for.

————————————————————————

You were pouring some coffee in the shared staff room when your mind began drifting to the white-haired man that you’d hardly seen the past two days. You were almost certain that he was avoiding you too, perhaps a bit more than you are avoiding him, but the point stands. Gojo would text you about whatever he needed you to handle, while he claimed to have some “off-campus” business to take care of.

You sighed to yourself, oblivious that your state of discouragement was obvious to just about anyone who set eyes on you for longer than a second.

You proceeded to add an absurd amount of creamer and two cubes of sugar into your cup, stirring it randomly with a spoon. Now that you think about it..this was also how Gojo preferred his coffee.

“Excuse me.”

A deep voice spoke out from behind you, snapping you out of your morning daze. You realized you were probably blocking other people from using the counter and moved aside with a short apology. When you turned around, you realized that the person you were blocking was none other than Getou, which was the other awkward encounter that you’d been trying to avoid. He began making himself a drink, not seeming to care enough to initiate small talk. You pretty much understood he didn’t like you and was only doing the absolute bare minimum to remain cordial, but you still lingered around for him to finish using the coffee machine.

“Strange to not see you around Satoru all the time.” Getou offhandedly states, popping on the plastic lid over his cup.

It catches you off guard and almost feels like a dig, but you convince yourself that it was just the way Getou was..not the overly friendly type.

“Oh..Gojo-san is busy.” You didn’t know what Gojo was doing in all honesty and you also felt weird discussing this with Getou, who should know Gojo better than you do. They have been best friends since high school according to your boss, but you often question how two people who are so different manage to be this close.

“Really now? Is he at school today?”

You shrugged and replied,

“I don’t think he’ll be back until tomorrow, something about a mission..”

Getou seemed curious at the information, giving a small hum, and that was the end of the conversation.

————————————————————————

You headed back to Gojo’s office to clean up the lesson plans that he messily tossed on his desk before he left for his mission. It was quiet around here without him..and you start to dwell on how you bumped into Getou earlier. It was a bit easier to forget about him when you didn’t need to see him nearly as much as Gojo. Still, the moment he spoke to you again..you couldn’t help but keep thinking back to how… unbothered he was, compared to how bothered you were whenever he was near any vicinity. Even knowing that he had a distaste for non-sorcerors..it did nothing to quell the gutting desire you held to get his attention in the same way, you had Gojo’s.

At least Gojo acknowledges you.

You thought maybe Getou was finally coming around..but it’s hard to read someone so nonchalant, he doesn’t talk much about himself or voice his likes or dislikes, unlike Gojo who physically cannot stop speaking. You giggle to yourself at the thought of how lively and sweet Gojo is, he was the perfect prince charming…but you remain unsure of actually pursuing him.

How can you do that without feeling guilty, knowing how you thought about his best friend?

And, you didn’t want to get ahead of yourself..what if the interest was only one-sided on your part?

You neatly slide the last organized folder into the drawer of Gojo’s desk and plop down in his comfy, cushioned seat. The chair that Gojo always sat in felt a lot bigger now that you were sitting in it yourself, but you took a couple of spins around to test out the wheels. It traveled across the marble floor easily, while you spun around laughing to yourself.

Yeah, it kinda made you seem stupid..but you felt stupid, letting men like Gojo and Getou drive you insane.

“Having fun?”

You grip the armrests in an attempt to restabilize yourself, thrown off by the sudden voice piercing through the air. Slowly, your eyes flickered toward the entrance where someone was leaning against the doorframe.

It was Getou. You already knew before you could confirm with your eyes.

He grins in a mocking type of amusement noticing how you swallowed, trying to not squirm under his gaze.

“Getou-san..do you need something?” You questioned, not anticipating this visit.

Why was he here? You doubted he just happened to drop by for a little visit, and Gojo wasn’t here today like you told him earlier.

Getou slithered his way inside without another word, shutting the door behind him.

“No, not really, Satoru asked me to check up on you.”

He made exaggerated motions to stretch while walking across the room, and you stood up from Gojo’s chair. It would be weird for you to sit there with him watching you, and you probably shouldn’t sit in your boss’s chair in the first place.

Speaking of, you were embarrassed.

“Oh, Gojo-san did?”

Getou nodded, stopping right in front of you. You didn’t know what he was doing, but you stayed still and waited for his next word.

“Yeah..but it looks like you’re perfectly fine without him.” He lets out a small chuckle, staring down at your form.

“Uhm.. I finished doing what he asked of me. Is there anything you need help with?”

You unknowingly began rocking on your heel, being alone with Getou is rather nerve-wracking, and no disrespect, but part of you wanted him to leave while the other was screaming for him to make a move.

“Yes, actually. Just a question.”

You swallow. Okay, well, you didn’t know what you could possibly answer for Getou that’s work-related..

“Wha-”

You hardly got a word out when Getou slammed both his arms on Gojo’s desk, encaging you between the two.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” He leans down to whisper in your ear, letting you feel his breath travel down your neck.

You were frozen in shock, eyes widening in disbelief at what was unfolding. You were sure that one second he was standing in front of you, then the next he was hovering over your smaller frame.

“What..?”

Getou took one look at your dumbstruck face and threw his head back to laugh, unrestrained, unlike all the other times he’d send you a condescending smile.

“No..I think you might be the stupid one.”

He brought his face back down and smashed his lips onto yours, nibbling until you gave in and let his tongue inside.

“Mmph..!”

You shut your eyes, everything was moving too fast.

You felt Getou engulfing you in a heated kiss, leaning further and further into you while the strength in your knees gave away. The scent of his cologne overwhelmed every thought you tried forming, leaving you blank and mindless as a doll. Your brain was filled with nothing but static, a pleasant fuzziness from him sucking the absolute breath out of you.

It lasted for a few more seconds until he released your mouth, both of you panting and staring into each other's eyes in silence.

“G..Getou-san..y-you..”

You tried to speak coherently while propping yourself up using the edge of Gojo’s desk, but a hand effortlessly shoved you to fall back, sprawled out on the wooden surface with hair tangled in a mess.

You were completely stunned...Getou had kissed you. He kissed you, and you hadn’t even gotten to kiss Gojo yet...in fact, you have never kissed anyone in your life, and he took it, just like that.

“I’m what?

He doesn’t wait for you to answer before fitting himself in the opening between your legs, both hands leisurely sliding up your thighs, until finally stopping to pinch at the fat peeking out from above your black stockings and beneath your pencil skirt. You squeak and reach down to grab one of his wrists, causing Getou to send you a curious look.

“Well..go on, finish your sentence.”

Your mouth opens to speak but nothing comes out, you lie there, looking scandalized and gazing at him through heavy eyelids.

Getou takes in the sight of you, scoffs, and delivers another pinch.

“Are all non-sorcerers as brainless as you? Truly a wonder that you lasted this long here..but I suppose even the most simpleminded mutts should know how to get properly fucked.”

He bends his body down to press a small kiss on your collarbone, then blows softly on the spot, tickling your skin, which was feeling way too sensitive for your liking.

“Right baby? Because that’s why Satoru is keeping you around..all locked up in his office and being a fucking tease.”

Getou’s harsh, accusatory words connect zero dots in your head.

What the hell is he on about..?

“I.. don’t know what you mean..”

You hear him huff against your neck,

“You don’t? You should…since you’re his darling princess. That idiot cannot shut up about you, you know.”

The way he spoke made it clear he was teasing, you knew Getou saw you as a toy, something to mess around with..but it didn’t stop your stomach from curling everytime he jokingly calls you a pet name in that sultry voice.

Bad.

He was a bad man.

But along with the embarrassing warmth spreading throughout your cheeks.. you were kind of pissed. The only thing he’s done was belittle and insult you since the day you two first met.

All for what?

Just because you were like the majority of the population, because you weren’t a godly sorcerer like him?

It made you want to knock him off his high horse.

“So..? So what if I did let him fuck me, what is it to you, Getou-san?”

Your tone stayed so polite, it was hard to believe something of this nature could come out of your innocent mouth. Getou practically went still as a rock, still breathing down your neck.

Was he shocked?

You could almost afford to let satisfaction sink in, but a low, guttural sound slip out between Getou’s teeth, muttering,

“Shit..”

You couldn’t gouge the meaning behind his cursing, and you didn’t have to, as through your confusion, he swiftly bit down into the tender area connecting your shoulder to your nape. You let out a small shriek while Getou proceeded to bruise the once unmarred surface, relentlessly suckling and licking.

“G-Getou..san!”

He pauses.

“I really.. wanted to have you before Satoru..that scoundrel couldn’t even wait to pounce on fresh blood.”

Genuine annoyance. He bought your bluff, but the statement only seemed to have the effect of pissing him off instead of convincing him to stop.

“Oh well. I guess I got used to sharing with him anyway. Bastard always wants to compete with me..”

With that, Getou got up from his hovering position to admire the disheveled piece of art in front of him, furious red marks blooming from your collar and legs trembling around his waist. He looks down at you with an unassuming expression, but you don’t miss the way he discreetly wet his lips at the rise and fall of your chest.

“Fuck. I’m still mad you know. All this time, you were making those bedroom eyes at me, meanwhile also bouncing on Satoru’s lap. So. Fucking. Shameless.”

He knew. He knew the entire time, how badly you wanted his attention. And now, you finally had it.

Getou’s hand on your thigh traveled up even more, successfully pushing past your skirt, bundling it at your waist, until it reached the band of your panties. He rubbed a few circles on the side of your hips, drawing out a desperate whine from you, before pulling on the elastic and snapping it against your burning core.

You cried out, in pleasure or pain you don’t know, and he continued to coo out more degrading phrases.

“Naughty girls should be punished. But you look to be enjoying this..hm?”

A finger traced the outline of your pussy through the now soaked, thin fabric of your underwear, applying just the tiniest bit of pressure. The jolt of simulation has your head spinning, muddled with euphoric tingling over every inch of your body. You wanted more, this wasn’t enough..you tried to push back into Getou’s hand but he pulled away, holding your waist down with his other arm.

“Ah, ah, ah. Be patient sweetheart..and listen carefully. I’m going to give you two choices.”

He clicked his tongue, addressing you again in that mocking tone. You feel his grip tighten.

“You can either..tell me to stop, and I’ll leave you just like this, hot and wanting to get off by yourself..”

Getou pulled your hips down until you felt his own press into your ass, the unmistakable hardness beneath his pants telling you he was just as affected as you were.

“Or..you can beg me to fuck you silly, right here, right now.”

————————————————————————

AN: Part two will be up soon!

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jjk x you #geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #geto x you #gojo x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x you #geto suguru #gojo satoru

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castle-of-ruin · 4 months

Text

Reacher Comes to Visit 1

A/N: Well, here I am again. Dipping my feet into the waters of posting content on Tumblr again. This time, it's for my beloved Reacher. A character that I have grown ridiculously attached to thanks to Alan Ritchson 🤭. This story is based very loosely on the contents of the show but does not actually tie into the show. All things that happen in this story are strictly made up. Big shoutout to @quaritchscupquake and @cryingwriter, convincing me to post this.

Pairing: Jack Reacher x f!reader

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Warnings: Mutual pining? Size kink if you squint? Reacher being Reacher. This part is pretty tame. Mentions of food and injury. Character has a nickname, but not too many defining characteristics.

A/N 2: Please let me know if I miss any content warnings. I want to make sure it's properly tagged.

I do not condone the reposting of my story anywhere. DO NOT DO IT

Visual inspiration for anyone who cares. This is a very pretty gif. Thank you, @hunnam , for creating it!

The tv plays softly in the background as you float around your home cleaning up as you go. It was your favorite movie, one you have been watching since you were a little kid. The musical soundtrack was by far one of the best you have ever heard. Even now as an adult, you found so much joy and comfort in the movie and its music. Your night is rudely interrupted when a loud knock resounds off the walls of your house. Jumping, you grab your remote and pause the movie. Tilting your head, you make your way to the front door, you were not expecting any visitors.

Opening the door you freeze, heating finding its way into every part of your body. None other than Jack Reacher was standing opposite you beaten and bloody, however, this time he had friends. Two years ago Reacher saved your life: twice. Then the two of you spent one hell of a weekend together, and then he left, and you had not heard from him in two years. For him to be on your front porch unannounced after two years made you feel something you didn’t expect. You were mad at him, but part of you understood that is who Reacher was, a drifter moving place to place no one and nothing holding him down.

You stare up at the large man unable to form any words. Neagley, you remember her from before, steps forward and gives you a tight smile.

“Sorry to show up unannounced, Hawk,” She references the nickname she gave you. “We ran into some trouble and need a safe place to lay low for the night.” Neagley, as usual, is straight and to the point.

This was something you appreciate about her. Taking in the tired faces of the two other members of their group you let out a deep sigh and move to the side motioning them in.

You stand in the doorway leading to the living room and watch as three of them settle into your house comfortably. Reacher stands on the opposite side of the room and watches you.

“This is O’Donnell and Dixon, two of our old team mates.” Neagley speaks up, breaking the silence.

“Nice to meet you both.” You tell them with a small smile.

“Why does Neagley call you Hawk?” O’Donnell asks.

“She’s observant.” Reacher pipes in, folding his arms over his broad chest as he leans against the wall.

You avert your eyes from his stare, turning your head down towards the floor.

“I only have one extra bedroom. You can fight over who gets it. Make yourselves comfortable. I’ll go get some pillows and extra blankets,” You pause as you look over them. “I can also run to the store and grab some robes for you all to wear so I can wash your clothes. If that is something you are interested in.” You finish looking at each of them individually.

“That sounds amazing. Thank you.” Dixon speaks up first. O’Donnell nods his head softly and settles deeper into the couch.

“That would be great, Hawk, thank you.” Neagley states.

Nodding you make your way out of the living room and back towards the front door where you grab your purse and keys before heading out the door. Leaving strangers in your house probably wasn’t the best of ideas, but you knew Reacher and Neagley. You knew they were safe.

Your trip to the store was rather quick, you try not to draw attention to yourself, but it was hard when you were getting four bathrobes all in a different size. You just smile awkwardly at the cashier who checks you out. Speeding home you mentally prepare yourself for the night to come.

When you make your way back into the house all four of them turn to look at you.

“Okay, each of you can have a hot shower, then bring me your clothes and once I have them all I will throw them in the wash for all of you. Anyone hungry?” You ask.

“I am,” Reacher shrugs. You nod and look at the others who nod in unison. This wasn’t a talkative bunch which you were thankful for.

“Okay, decide the order for showers and I will get started on food. The robes are in this bag.” You instruct, dropping the bag on the vacant chair.

You head to the kitchen and prepare dinner for the four of them, you had eaten earlier that night and were not hungry. The room suddenly felt smaller and you knew who was there with you.

“You look good.” He tells you quietly coming up behind you.

You close your eyes as a shiver runs the length of your spine. Even after all this time he was still imprinted in your senses. Turning, you lean against the counter and look up at him. Taking in the wet patch on his left side, which you assumed was blood, and the bruise under his left eye.

“You look like hell.” Your words have a smile pulling at Reacher’s lips.

He doesn’t say anything else after that, just shakes his head and leaves the kitchen. After some time food is ready and three out of four of them have showered.

“Okay, food is ready, come eat.” You instruct, smiling as you watch all four of them eagerly make their way to the dining room to eat.

“Thank you!” Dixon yells.

“Yeah, thanks this is good food.” O’Donnell nods.

You smile at them and nod your head. “It’s my pleasure. I will be in my room if anyone needs me. Just knock.” You tell them, excusing yourself to your room.

Flopping on the bed you stare up at the ceiling. Memories from two years ago running freely in your head. A quiet knock pulls you out of your thoughts. Looking to the door you see Reacher standing there. Sitting up you tilt your head.

“Everything okay?” You ask.

“Yeah, you said if anyone needed you just knock. I knocked.” He shrugs, and you stifle a laugh.

“Well, you’re the reason I can not start the load of laundry. Get it together Reacher.” You tease.

“Right, I’ll be back.” He states and leaves.

You shake your head and let out a groan. He was going to be the death of you. There weren’t many people in this world who consumed your thoughts freely, but he did ever since he saved your life, and fucked you better than any man ever had. You shake your head, now probably wasn’t the best time to think about that.

Not long after Reacher had left another quiet knock could be heard. When he enters your room he takes up the doorway with his large frame. You take in the way the dark robe holds on for dear life, like it was on the verge of ripping as it stretched thin over his broad shoulders.

“Everything is in your laundry room and ready for you.” He states.

Getting up you nod. “Okay, thank you. That robe is holding on for dear life.” You can’t contain the giggle that bubbles up in your chest.

He looks down at the robe. “I think they left me the smallest one on purpose.” He grumbles. You giggle again and he gives you a dirty look.

“I’ll be right back. Gonna go start the load.” You tell him.

"Is it okay for me to stay here?” He asks.

You look at him for a moment. “Yes.”

Going out you make your way to the laundry room and throw all of the clothes into the wash and start it. You poke your head into the living room on the way back where the others are still sitting talking quietly amongst themselves.

“Hey, once the washer beeps, one of you can put the clothes in the dryer. I’ll be in my room if you need me. Goodnight.” You tell them.

Entering your room you smile upon seeing Reacher asleep on your bed. He made your queen size bed appear small and you chuckle to yourself at that. Going over to your dresser you pull pjs out of your drawer and go into the adjacent bathroom. Closing the door softly you strip and turn the water on. A quiet sigh passes your lips as the water bears down on your back. After your shower you get dressed and head back out into your bedroom. Reacher is awake now and watches as you exit a cloud of steam pouring out behind you.

You get into bed and lay on your side looking over at Reacher. He turns so he is facing you.

“Two years is a long time.” You whisper, reaching out and hovering your hand over his arm. You weren’t sure if you should touch him.

He answers your internal question by grabbing your right hand with his right and guiding it to his shoulder. The fabric is soft beneath your fingers, but part of you wished it was his skin you were touching.

“I know, I’m sorry we didn’t call first before just showing up. I knew you were safe and just brought them here.” He reaches out and grabs your hip, pulling you closer.

“Not tonight. You need to sleep. Something tells me your life is about to be in danger, again. See it as an incentive to come back alive.” You tell him, placing your hand on his somewhat exposed chest. Enjoying the warmth that fills your fingertips.

“Can I kiss you? Just once?” He asks, cupping your cheek softly in his large hand.

You nod and close your eyes. His lips are warm against yours, and just like you remembered, soft, yet rough. The kiss was short, sweet, and full of an unspoken promise. He pulls you into him and tucks you into his side beneath the covers. You find yourself snuggling into him and closing your eyes. The warmth from his body spreads through you.

“Goodnight, Reacher.”

“Goodnight, Hawk.” You smile at him using the nickname as well.

Tomorrow, things will surely be different. Tomorrow, the threat was to be dealt with. Tomorrow, the outcome was unknown.

Uh, I'm gonna tag some folks. Maybe you'll like to see it :)

@obiknights @a-reader-and-a-writer @chelseasdagger @gemstone-roses @cryingwriter @quaritchscupquake @supernaturaldawning @xxidontwikeitxx @spnshortcake

#oaks writing #i cant believe im posting this #wtf #hopefully people dont hate it #jack reacher x f!reader #Reacher

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hypnoneghoul · 6 months

Text

Sundown: Chapter 1

WC: 2,6k

Relationship: Pre-relationship SwissAlps

Tags: Transfeminine Mountain, AU; Cowboy!Swiss x Barmaid!Mountain, First Meeting, Fluff, Protectiveness, Discussion About Being Transgender, Transphobia (warning for that if someone's sensitive to it), not from swiss tho he's supportive!!!

Swiss has been travelling for a while. He finally gets to a place he can rest in and meets an unique individual. He's immediately enamored.

Notes: comm for @jazz-bazz, first part of our au! ty bex <3

Read chapter 1 under the cut or on AO3.

He’s been sweating his ass off for three days before something resembling civilization has finally come along. He’s half dead, his chick is half dead, and all he wants is to get a pint of cold beer and a damn bed.

The town—barely big enough to be called such—is obviously sparsely populated. Swiss doubts it’s even inhabited at first, but the closer he gets the more signs of life he’s noticing and the hope in him grows. He leans down to pat his chick’s neck and sighs at the puff of dust coming off of her.

“Soon, girlie. I’m gonna give ya a good brush, you deserve it.” The mare nickers and the pair continue their slow walk toward the town. It doesn’t take that long for them to make their way into the shadow casted by the town’s buildings. It smells like cow’s shit, but the people obviously have more water and food than they really need, which means there is a chance Swiss and his horse will get some. If not given freely, he’ll take it, but he is tired and he hopes their visit in that place will go smoothly.

Swiss doesn’t see any heads peeking out of doors or windows to look at him, neither threateningly nor curiously, as he looks around searching for any sign that would indicate where he can find a bar. He really needs a beer.

His knees crack when he jumps down from his mare. The ground is dry and a cloud of dust arises as his boots touch it. He finds something that could be a spot for travelers’ horses and as he leaves his chick there he hopes nobody will shoot her off if he was mistaken. It’s a solid roof over a spot covered in a thick layer of straw, with buckets full of fresh looking water hanging off of wooden beams and cubes of hay under them. Inviting enough.

Swiss pulled the reins over the mare’s neck and pulled the bit out of her mouth before tying her to one of the beams by the water. He hopes she won't be too picky. “Drink, girlie, I’ll be back soon.”

He pats her on the ass on his way and walks away, heading into the adjoining building. The batwing doors’ hinges squeal loudly as Swiss walks into what indeed is a saloon. It’s nearly empty, only two men are sitting in a corner and talking quietly over drinks. Swiss scans the space and even though it’s empty, it seems nice. The men from the corner don’t acknowledge his presence, but he doesn’t crave attention this time, so it is fine by him. It’s a bit colder there than outside and he already feels some relief.

Swiss goes straight to the bar and just as he’s sitting down on one of the squeaky stools the barmaid walks out from behind a dark brown curtain hanging between the shelves. A gorgeous, tall wo…man? They are a very pretty man, if that's the case. He shrugs, though, it’s none of his business.

They are wearing a long, light green dress—a little old fashioned in style, but it’s a good piece. Little dirty-white apron covers the dress from their waist down to where their knees are under the skirt. The dress doesn’t have sleeves, only straps digging into their shoulders and going down to create a laced neckline that makes their tits look very compelling. Their hair is long and wavy, a beautiful shade of dark amber flowing down their back and over their shoulders.

Their eyes, though…oh, their eyes are what makes Swiss’ belly swoop and his mouth go even drier than it already was. Big—adorned by thick and long lashes—and in the color of the healthiest, most fresh, summer grass ever. Swiss haven’t seen grass as green in years.

“Anything to drink for you?” They ask, picking up a rag to wipe the bar. More to busy themself than because it’s dirty. If anything it’s dusted over from unuse.

“Well, ain’t ya a pretty thing?” Swiss winks, his head tilted to the side. He knows he most definitely looks like a creep, but he can’t stop staring.

“Oh, me? Uhm–thank you?” they stutter as blush creeps up their cheeks, coloring them a light rosy pink. Gorgeous. “What…what about that drink?”

“Get me a pint of some good ole beer, sweetheart. Pretty please.”

“Mhm,” they nod, obviously flustered, and turn to disappear behind the curtain again. Swiss sighs—he really is exhausted—as he rests his chin on his fist, his other hand scratching at his stubble. Well, more like a beard, he didn’t have much time or opportunities to take care of it, so it’s a bit unkept now.

Soon enough the bar…person returns with Swiss’ beer and hands it to him with a light smile. “There you go.”

“Thank you kindly,” he mutters, nodding, before pressing his lips against the chilly mug and tipping it back. He moans at the refreshing feeling washing over him the moment beer pours into his mouth.

“Is it that good?” the person chuckles, leaning against the wall with their hands crossed over their chest. Their beautiful, full chest and it’s–Swiss shakes his head. He ain’t seen no tits in ages but he isn’t an animal, damnit.

“Nah,” he snorts before taking another gulp. “It’s piss, but I’ve been dry as a desert, sweetheart.”

The person curls their lips into a little amused smile and turns, grabbing the rag and starting to wipe the bar again. Swiss tries to not be obvious in his staring—looking from under the rim of his hat. The stranger is so captivating, he can’t tear his eyes away.

“Listen, I don’t mean any disrespect, sweetheart, but I’ve gotta ask–” Swiss starts after clearing his throat, but gets cut off. The other probably expected it to go that way.

“You’re the nicest person I’ve encountered in a long time,” they say with a smirk and Swiss bows his head, grinning. “Phrase your question as nicely and there’s a chance I won’t take out the revolver from under the bar and shoot your hat off.”

“Damn, sweetheart.” He recoils dramatically, raising his arms defensively. “You’re too pretty for me to offend, don’t ya worry.”

“So?”

“Are you a boy or a girl?” The question lands, but no offense shows on the person’s face. Swiss continues. “Cause if you’re a boy, then you’re the prettiest one I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen a lot—and if you’re a girl, then…well, then you’re the prettiest one of those.”

“I’m a woman, kind sir,” she laughs, fully this time, and the melodic sound of it goest through Swiss’ ears right to his heart, “you haven’t proven yourself worthy of permission to call me a girl. Yet.”

“Understood. I'd love to try and prove my worth.” He winks and lifts the mug nodding, as if in a toast. “You’re a gorgeous woman, ma’am.”

“Thank you. I do understand the confusion, though, even my own body didn’t get the memo.” She sighs, fidgeting with her hands and worrying her lip between her teeth. Swiss gets a sudden urge to gently pull it free, lest she breaks the skin and paints her mouth with blood, but he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t, they’ve just met. Swiss doesn’t know what possessed him.

“Huh, that’s so…” He mumbles, staring holes into the already rugged wood of the countertop. With the corner of his eye he sees the barmaid pull up a chair on the other side of the bar and sit on it, right before him.

“Unnatural?” she finishes for him, but her guess of his thoughts couldn’t be falser.

“No, I wanted to say it makes you unique. It’s amazing,” Swiss says—confident—looking up at her again. She is so much closer now and so many more details of her beauty are visible to the man, and if she’d let him he’d count all the golden freckles adorning her face a hundred times over.

“Oh…” she whispers. Swiss doesn’t count her freckles, but he does follow the path of a blush crawling up her cheeks. “Well, uhm, I don’t know. It doesn’t feel amazing most of the time.”

“That must be tough,” he replies, wondering. “Is it like…like you don’t feel right in your body? Like it’s not yours?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” she has no idea why she’s suddenly spilling her innermost thoughts to a stranger she has met not even half an hour prior. There is something about him, though, that makes her feel safe and maybe carries a chance of finally being understood. Even if just a bit. “And sometimes I just feel…wrong all around.”

Swiss hums in acknowledgement and leans down to his mug, swallowing down a few gulps. Once his mouth is unoccupied again, he asks, “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“It’s Mountain,” the barmaid says, “but I prefer just Mounty.”

Swiss snorts at that, but immediately regrets it upon seeing Mounty’s brows furrow in confusion and her eyes fill with a tiny bit of hurt. “Sorry, sweetheart, I ain’t laughing at you! My horse’s name is Monty, that’s why!”

“Oh. Oh, okay,” she relaxes and chuckles, too, a bit embarrassed by her immediate defensiveness. “Yeah, that is funny.”

“Nice to meet you, Mounty.”

“Won’t you give me your name?” the barmaid’s eyelashes flutter and Swiss wouldn’t be able to refuse or lie to her even if he wanted to.

“Swiss, sweetheart,” he says, lifting up the mug again. “My name’s Swiss.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Swiss,” Mounty replies, her face lighting up with a soft smile, and if Swiss was standing it would make his knees buckle. Still, his insides warm up and twist and he’s never felt like that; so stupid and…vulnerable.

Swiss feels himself blush and he quickly hides behind his mug.

“Would you–” Mounty is about to ask him something, but a squeak of the doors and heavy steps interrupt her.

“Afternoon!” a stranger calls out, walking into the saloon as if it was his own ground. Swiss looks up at the barmaid and sees her tense up—her lips turn into a thin line and her brows furrow. She knows the man and she isn't fond of him in the slightest.

Swiss doesn’t like that look on her.

“Afternoon, sir,” Mounty mutters, standing up. The man doesn’t reply, just walks over and sits down by the bar next to Swiss. He is alert after Mounty’s reaction, one of his hands close to his gun.

“Get me some whiskey, girl,” the stranger grumbles, spitting the last word out like it burns his tongue, like an insult. Swiss realizes it is supposed to be one and the knot inside him tightens, this time with something resembling anger. How can someone treat such a gorgeous, brilliant and kind creature without utmost respect?

“Hey, she ain’t your girl,” Swiss hisses as Mounty disappears to get the man’s drink. He won’t sit there and pretend he is okay with what is happening right next to him. “Bark orders at your wife like that. If you even have one, it don’t seem like you’ve got a lot to offer.”

“Why do you care?” the stranger scoffs, “he’s a freak.”

One second Swiss is sitting relaxed, sipping on his beer, and then in the next he’s up with his back straight, looming over the other man and staring down at him with fire in his eyes.

“I suggest you either apologize to her when she gets back,” he growls, reaching behind himself, to his revolver, “or get out now so neither of us have to see your ugly face any more. Or else…”

“Or else what!? Ya one of them, too, hm?” the man—clearly an idiot—snarls, craning his neck to look up at Swiss, pretending to be brave. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you had no balls on you.”

“Oh, I’ve got enough balls, asshole,” Swiss laughs and that seems to hit. He pulls his revolver out from behind his belt, twists it on his finger and watches the other man hesitate about his next words. “You wanna lose yours?”

The man scoffs as if there wasn’t fear in his eyes. He’s a coward and he storms out accordingly, because it’s unlikely he knows better than to actually challenge Swiss. He doubts he knows who he was.

Just as the man disappears outside, Mounty returns with a glass of whiskey intended for him. There’s no smile on her face and her rather neutral expression turns to confusion as she sees only Swiss by the bar. “Where did he go?”

“Oh, he realized he left something at home.” Swiss shrugs, returning to his stool.

“And what would that be?”

“Respect for women,” he says with a smirk and Mounty returns it, knowing and thankful. She sits again and looks at the glass in her hand before pressing it against her lips and cringing as she tips it back to drink. “Not a fan?”

“Not at all,” she coughs and Swiss chuckles. She is adorable. “All I drink is tea.”

“Tea is good,” he says and looks into his mug—there was still some beer left. He lifts it again and silence falls for a moment.

“You really are nice to talk to,” Mounty speaks after a while. “I get called a freak and other names all the time, usually the moment I come into someone’s view. It’s nice to be treated normally, have my feelings acknowledged…and be protected. You know?”

“I can only imagine.” Swiss smiles at her fondly. It must be hard living like that. Trying to live right by yourself and offending others by simply existing, just because they are too thick-skulled. If he could, he'd sit on that creaky chair every damn day and chase off every single man who'd as much as look at Mounty wrong.

It’s quiet again, Swiss finishing up his beer and Mounty drinking her whiskey—frowning at every single sip. They have just met, but the silence is comfortable. It feels like not only did they know each other for ages, but that they have a…special connection, of a kind.

Swiss snorts at his own thoughts. He’s stupid for them, for thinking this is anything more than…than what, exactly?

“A’ight, sweetheart,” he sighs after a moment, breaking the dead silence. “I should get going, find somewhere to sleep.”

“We’ve got beds,” Mounty perks up, immediately shying away as she realizes she might’ve been a bit too enthusiastic, “if you want…”

“I’d love a bed, but I don’t have much money,” the man shrugs. He’d rip anyone off without any remorse, but not her. He’s never gotten a soft spot for someone as fast as he did for her. “And I’d rather get a place for my horse than myself.”

“And if it’d all be on the house?”

“What, like me so much already you don’t want me to leave?” Swiss laughs, winking.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Mounty scoffs, but her own wink says something else. “You’re clearly exhausted, who would I be if I let you go back on the road without a proper rest?”

“Will you at least accept my help in here and in the stables as a payment?”

“I can consider it,” she mumbles, smiling softly as she stares at Swiss through her lashes.

“Alright, then. I’ll stay, sweetheart.”

#hypnone writes #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #swiss ghoul #mountain ghoul #swissalps #hypnone's commissions #swissalps' sundown

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honeesucker · 11 months

Text

Six -

Pairing: ProHero!DynaMight | Katsuki Bakugo x Puppygirl!Reader

Word count: 2,917

Series Content Warnings: Little bit of a slow start... Graphic Depictions of Past Abuse & Trauma Response | Profuse Usage of Pet Names / All-around Softness | Bakugo Experienced Work-Related Trauma (causing near deafness, being put on leave from the agency, PTSD) | Eventual smut™ (will be tagged in individual chapters - to include but not limited to KiriBaku, HybridxHybrid, Hybrid heat trope, sex toy usage).

Chapter Content Warnings: HybridxHybrid assisted masturbation / sex toy usage, dirty talk, PTSD meltdown.

***This is essentially a short filler to progress the story, and to get something out. Next part already working on.

*Not proofread.

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It had been two weeks since the impromptu dinner and sleepover. Kirishima and TetsuTetsu had been over once more for a movie night and home-cooked dinner à la Bakugo, and another unintended sleepover since everyone was too tired to move from their spots in the living room; you and TetsuTetsu curled up with each other in a pile of blankets on the ground, and Kirishima and Bakugo snuggled on the large couch.

Today was already half-over, and it had been a difficult day for you. You were having nightmares about the fight house, and it was setting you on edge with Bakugo, unintentionally and no one's fault, but you were snapping and growling each time he got too close to you. Currently he was watching you pace the living room, looking out of the balcony as he leaned against the hallway wall, arms crossed over his muscled chest as he kept his narrowed gaze on every single one of your movements... but he was growing tired of letting you continue to spur yourself into more of a downward spiral. Something was up and he was going to figure out what it was.

“Pup,” Bakugo finally said using a harsh tone, though not angry. Your ears perked up, and your wide eyes scurried across the room until they landed on him. He gave you another command in the same hard tone. “Sit.”

You immediately dropped to the ground, not even walking the two feet back to the couch as you plopped on your butt, sitting with your legs folded and your hands in your lap as you looked up at him with sad, scared eyes... your ears that perked up at his command now flattened against your head as you huffed from your growing anxiety. Bakugo walked over to you slowly, ensuring he wasn’t going too fast so you could anticipate his movements and not be spooked... Bakugo plopped down in front of you on the ground, his large hulking frame blocking your view as you looked up at him with a cautious stare.

Bakugo moved his hands slowly as he opened his arms to you, giving you a curious look. “C’mere, Pup...” He said softly and you scrambled into his lap, snuggling up against his chest as your breathing hitched in your throat. Bakugo’s arms came around you in a tight grip as he held you to his chest, whispering soft words of comfort to you as he felt your body finally relax in his grip. “That’s it, Pup, you’re okay... everything’s okay.” Bakugo repeated while rubbing your back, your ears, threading his fingers through your hair with a gentleness not usually known with him. He hummed softly in his deep baritone voice, soothing you until you were a pile of puppy jelly in his arms, comfortable and at ease. “Those nightmares got you bad, huh?” Bakugo asked softly, and felt you nod slowly against his chest as he held you tighter to his body... his voice gentle as he asked his next question. “Wanna talk about it?”

You shook your head slowly, eyes downcast as you flopped over in his lap, sighing softly and slowly finding yourself relaxing with the comfort brought by your proximity to Bakugo.

"S’okay Pup, we don’t always need to talk about things, sometimes we can just lean on each other, yeah?” Bakugo muttered softly, his hand petting sweet circles on your head between your ears, his other came up to boop your nose playfully until his movements stop and he pressed the back of his hand against your head. “You’re burning up... you feeling okay, Pup?” Bakugo asked, leaning down to peer at you closer as you huffed again in his lap, turning over with a flushed expression.

“Feel hot,” is all you say, and soon a deep pink flush is taking over your cheeks and neck, and Bakugo doesn’t know what to do, his whole body freezing the second you start nosing down at his crotch. “H-Hurts, help please.” Your choppy speech and needy look of desire paired with your face so close to his hardening cock through his sweats was enough to have Bakugo jolt up away from you, flipping you from his lap and down onto the ground with a harsh thud.

“I’m gonna call the facility, see if your counselor can help... you... you stay, Pup.” Bakugo mutters the command nervously, the sudden change in your demeanor from your earlier aggression to this had him reeling.

Your body was on fire, a burning river of molten desire churning its way from your core to every tip of your toes, fingers and the top of your head... you felt the itch of desperate need in the center of your palms and the pit of your stomach. You heard Bakugo’s deep voice from the other room, the reverberation reaching your keen ears as you slowly writhe on the ground. You had your ass up in the air, your cheek to the cold floor as your hands reach below your belly, into your bottoms as your fingers find purchase on your clit... your fingers stroking quick circles as you whimper and move along the floor, finding no satisfaction in your own hand as you growled lowly in frustration.

In the other room Bakugo could hear strange noises from the living room where he left you, but as he was on the phone with Hana, who had just briefed him on your difficult heats and PTSD given you were almost always abused during your heats at the hybrid fight house.

So that explained your aggression this morning.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Bakugo mumbled, a little nervous as he tried to navigate this new situation.

Hana answered in a kind, clinical way. “Bakugo there are a few options depending on the type of relationship you want to keep with your hybrid: you can provide toys and an outlet for her to help herself though this is often a last resort as it doesn’t offer much relief for the hybrid themselves... you can help her by engaging in play, or full-on sexual activity yourself, or you can reach out to a hybrid heat network and find a suitable heat partner for her...” Hana continued talking but Bakugo’s brain was flooded with all the new information, new ways in which he needed to care for you... he didn’t expect to be told to fuck you himself... a hot red blush burned on his cheeks as he continued on a little longer with Hana, before hanging up with a rushed thank you.

“Katsuki,” a pathetic little whimper came from the living room as Bakugo made his way back to you, seeing you with your bottoms and panties down to your knees, your ass up in the air as you furiously circled your hardening nub.

“Just, hang on Pup... hang on, gonna get you some help, okay?” Bakugo said nervously, pulling his phone from his pocket as he hit the familiar call button on his recent contact.

“Heeeyyy Bakubro! What’s going on?” Kirishima’s familiar, jovial tone rang loudly through the phone as Bakugo blushed softly at his next words.

“Eijiro, I need your help. Pup is uh... she’s uh...” Bakugo muttered nervously, not usually one to lack words for anything. “She’s in heat? I don’t know what I’m doing.” Bakugo finished and he could hear a bit of shuffling on the other end and the jingling of keys.

“On my way, want me to bring TetsuTetsu? I can also stop at the store on my way and get her some toys for herself...” Kirishima trailed on, and Bakugo just agreed.

Bring toys, bring TetsuTetsu... bring everything.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Bakugo had scooped you up and put you down in the comfort of your bed as you rolled around whining and writhing but within fifteen minutes of him locking you in your room away from him and his inability to handle this new obstacle, a knock came at the door. Bakugo rushed to the door, opening it to see an excited TetsuTetsu and a smirking Kirishima who handed over a very full plastic bag.

“I got a bit of everything for the little Pup, but it’s best for hybrids to be engaged with primarily by a partner to ease the symptoms...” Bakugo’s head filled with so many thoughts as he looked through the bag, Kirishima still droning on and on in the background as he sets the bag on the countertop... taking things out of their packaging, removing tags and sterilizing them before he walked with a handful of cute dildos, grinding toys, and vibrating toys to your bedroom. Bakugo slowly opened the door to find you sobbing, no longer writhing or rolling around on your bed or touching yourself... just lying prone and crying, soft sniffles leaving you as your bright watery eyes look over at him.

“Pup! Are you okay?” Bakugo questions softly, leaning down as he sets everything down on the bed and kneels beside you, his hand tentatively coming up to rub your head between your ears gently. “S’okay Pup, I got your friend here to help and Kirishima brought you all of these, too... wanna give it a try?” Bakugo urged you on, his hand running over the variety of toys as he showed a couple of them to you, watching as the tip of your tail gave little nervous taps as you sniffled and nodded, palming away the tears in your eyes.

Bakugo paused for a moment before speaking. “Hey Pup, Kirishima brought TetsuTetsu over... do you want him to help you?”

Your ears perked up as your eyes glazed over a bit, your nose going up in the air as you sniffed and then nodded eagerly, your tail wagging faster against the mattress making a soft thumping sound.

“I’ll go get him, okay... but you just shout out for me if you change your mind, okay?” Bakugo waited for you to nod your agreement before he got up, walking back out into the living room and coming face to face with Kirishima and an excited TetsuTetsu who couldn’t help but sniff the air, his tail wagging fast behind him as his eyes were equally excited and glazed over with growing desire. “She agreed... so TetsuTetsu, if you wanna go help our girl out, head on in.” That’s all Bakugo had to say to have TetsuTetsu taking off with haste as he scrambled across the living room, down the hall and into your open door.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

No words had to be spoken.

TetsuTetsu felt a shudder run through his body at the sweet, musky scent that filled the room as he stepped in, shutting the door behind him with a soft click as he padded over on careful, soft steps. He saw as your eyes were big and pleading, watching his every move as he made his way closer to you and the pile of the toys on the bed.

“Hi Puppy,” TetsuTetsu said carefully, reaching out a slow hand to pet your head as you huffed and panted softly. “I know we’ve played before back at the facility but I’m asking again: Do you wanna play together?” TetsuTetsu used a careful, soft tone as he spoke to you, his hand still massaging gently against your head. He smiled as you nodded your head after a moment of thinking it over.

“Y-Yes, please... h-help.” Your voice was hoarse and weak, needy.

He nodded and his hand trailed down from your head, along your spine and down to the roundness of your rear as he gave the plush, soft flesh a squeeze. “I’ll help you, Puppy.” His voice was deep, calmer and steadier than his normal hurried speech and it sent a shiver through your body, the way the end of his words almost came out as growls. TetsuTetsu’s other hand trailed across the soft sheets toward the pile of new toys, his hand grabbing at a knotted canine dildo that vibrated. He wondered what kind of thoughts were running through your little puppy brain... the need to be knotted and bred, fat with pups and fucked dumb.

“P-Please,” your whine caught his attention, his cock hardening against his trousers as he looked up to see your eyeing him and looking down at the toy now in his hand. TetsuTetsu smirked down at you as he hummed softly.

“What, Puppy, you want this big ol’ knot in your little hole?” TetsuTetsu mused with a teasing tone to his voice that made you squirm as you nodded your head eagerly. “Well, I better give the needy little Puppy what she wants then, hm?” He said as he slowly trailed the hand from the swell of your ass to the apex of your thighs, his hand hovering over your pussy as he felt the warmth coming from your sopping heat. His fingers delicately spreading your labia as a finger slowly dipped inside your pussy as he fingers you at a glacial pace, your whining only increasing as you backed your ass up against his palm to get more of him inside of you. “Tsk, tsk... what a greedy puppy.” He teased softly, withdrawing his finger to watch the slick string along his finger connected from your pussy before it snapped. He sucked on his own finger, licking it clean of your slick as he groaned softly. “You taste so good Puppy...”

TetsuTetsu brought the knotted dildo up to your entrance, running the plastic length along your slick folds to gather up enough lubrication to slip the pointed tip into your hungry pussy. The dildo stretching your walls as TetsuTetsu pushed more and more of the length into you, soon pumping the dildo in at a relentless pace mimicking one that would come from another dog hybrid... he watched the sweet, fucked-out look on your face as he pressed the length deep into your pussy, up until the bulbous knot hit your entrance...

… and it was this motion that triggered a memory in your head as your whole body froze and suddenly a growl ripped from your throat as your hazy mind cleared, your eyes widening and a scream piercing the air as you scrambled away from TetsuTetsu who was left shaking and wide-eyed, wondering if he hurt you somehow.

“P-Puppy...?” TetsuTetsu asked, but you weren’t in your right state of mind, you were sobbing and kicking at the air, as if fighting off someone he couldn’t see. He opens the door and calls out to Kirishima and Bakugo who come running within seconds. Kirishima’s eyes wide as he pulls TetsuTetsu out of the room, and Bakugo crouches down in front of your flailing form, trying to make sense of what started this episode.

Bakugo wrapped his arms around you, letting you kick and scratch as him as you nip and scratch his arms, his strength and determination to calm you down overriding any pain he might feel from the fearful assault. “Kirishima!” Bakugo called, and saw his friend leaning in the doorway, keeping TetsuTetsu at bay who could be heard whining and whimpering in the living room, still thinking he did something wrong. “Maybe you both should leave... I’ll handle this, thanks for coming over and trying to help.” Bakugo muttered softly, Kirishima bidding his goodbye and saying he’ll text him later to check up on them.

Bakugo could hear the jingle of keys, as Kirishima picked up his stuff and slipped on his shoes – he could hear the soft click! of the door as they both left, and soon it was just you and Bakugo.

“Hey Pup,” Bakugo cooed softly to you, you were still struggling in his arms weakly, but soon all the fight went out of you as you can back down, your vision clearing as you looked up at him confused, unsure of what just happened. “Hey, Pup, there you are...” he cooed softer still, smiling down at you. “Something scared you, huh? Wanna talk about it?” You were squirming in his lap, still in the throes of your heat as you tried to quell your anxiety for long enough to form a coherent sentence.

“S-Scared...” you finally murmured. Bakugo swallowed hard, nodding, ready to protect you from any threat, real or imagined.

“Scared of what, Pup?” He questioned softly.

You shook your head slowly, a shudder running through your body as you curled up in his lap. “S-Scared... w-was back at t-the... bad house... r-remember heats there h-hurt... made me breed...” your words were broken and a bit of pieced together nonsense to someone like Bakugo who didn’t have the full picture, but he didn’t need the whole picture, just needed to know something bothered you, and he’d make sure you’d never face it again.

“S’okay, Pup... you’re not back at the bad house, I won’t ever let you be alone or hurt again.” Bakugo murmured softly, snuggling you in his large, strong arms. “We got each other, yeah?” You nodded, sniffling softly as you relaxed in his arms, finally coming down from your panic.

“C-Can... Can Katuski help me?” You questioned softly, and Bakugo knew what you were asking.

“I... uh, d-do ya really want me, Pup? I can call back TetsuTetsu... and you can go slow-” Bakugo was cut off immediately.

“No! Want you, just you...” you pleaded with big eyes.

“Okay Pup, you have me...” Bakugo muttered softly, a bit nervous as to what he’s just gotten himself into.

@winnieslut @ryantryan6969 @natsukicookies @littlnika @im-better-than-your-newborn @ssc7514 @romiinlove @theequeenofcurses @xbieditz @hypernovaxx @craxy-person @archer-fb @sadgyaltings @kllrkitty @meiimeiichuu @noxva08 @livyyz @misscaller06 @kiwibao @ewwitsbella @mrsyixingunicorn10 @simplesoup

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lillaluna · 6 months

Note

Hi!! :) Congratulations on your 100 followers! I just found your blog thanks to your pantalone tag and like your stuff! Can I request Pantalone please? 23. “I might have slept with your shirt while you were gone.” (reader saying it) feel free to do a normal or spicy/adult version as you wish :))

Hi, thank you so much, it's my pleasure as I really like Pantalone too!

Pairing: Pantalone x f!Reader

That evening, Pantalone crossed the threshold of his room in his mansion after a long absence, noticeably disposed to take a break from the fuss he was going through on his trip.

Throwing his travelling cloak on the back of a chair, which showed his affiliation with the Fatui organisation in the best possible way. Pantalone pulled the elastic band from his hair with a soft but precise movement. The raven-coloured hair fell silently down the Harbinger's back, and he closed his eyes in satisfaction for only a moment.

Pantalone was a self-confident man, whose confidence was already disgusted by his every move. Businesslike and always tired of the continuous race for success, he rarely stopped for a while to rest and enjoy the moment. And such a moment was right now…

Hoping to spend a quiet evening unbuttoning his clothes, Pantalone headed for the closet. Opening it, the man's eyes fell on an empty hanger where his favorite shirt used to be. His heart began to beat with an incomprehensible force.

"How is this possible?" thought Pantalone, he had always sincerely and deservedly considered himself a pedantic man. He remembered exactly where he had left this or that thing, so this situation at least surprised him.

Turning away from the closet, Pantalone looked around his room. Everything was as it always was, except for the slightly rumpled bed and something lying on the blanket.

The Harbinger's heart beat faster when he realized that someone had been in his room in his absence. He decided to check, and his fears turned out to be based on the harshest reality. When he got to his bed, he realized that the shirt he hadn't found in the closet was lying on it.

As if sensing with a sixth sense that the situation in the room had changed, Pantalone heard a soft laugh, which sent a wave of warmth through his entire body, which was still unusual for him. The dark-haired man turned and his gaze fell on you standing in the doorway with a shy smile on your face.

"Hello," you said with a soft laugh, but your excitement betrayed how timidly you were shifting from one foot to the other. "You're probably surprised that I'm here?"

Pantalone remained motionless, his eyes never leaving you. He was amazed that you were so violating his understanding of the norms and boundaries of relationships. His face expressed mixed feelings, amazement and admiration. You were a man who violated all his usual boundaries and standards, but Pantalone was captivated by your individualism and ability to live by your own rules. You destroyed his ideas of what a relationship should be, but at the same time you filled his world with brilliant colors and new opportunities.

"Yes, I'm surprised," Pantalone finally said in a surprisingly calm tone that didn't match what was going on inside him. "Did I miss something?" the man asked, glancing at his shirt lying on the bed, and then returning to you.

You smiled even wider, and the Harbinger couldn't take his eyes off your beautiful face.

"Well, I… I might have slept with your shirt while you were gone," you admitted, seemingly apologizing for your actions. For all your spontaneity, you understood that not everyone might like such an action. "She smells like you, and it helps me feel your presence when you're not around."

Pantalone just stared at you in silence, experiencing the many emotions that pierced him. Something new and incomprehensible arose in his soul – a feeling for a girl born in his absence, when his charming half admitted that she had pulled off his shirt and slept in it during his absence.

"I do not know how to react to this," Pantalone admitted, trying to cope with the seething emotions. It was so new to him, completely incomprehensible, and just as pleasant. Wavering between joy and fear, these new feelings they seemed so light and gentle, but the fearless Harbinger was also afraid that he might lose what he had just begun to feel. "But to be honest, the thought makes my heart flutter."

You entered the room and walked up to Pantalone from behind, wrapped your arms around his waist. Your touch was light and comforting. Together you stood there, breathing slowly, enjoying a moment of calm and intimacy.

"I was afraid you'd get angry. I understand that this may seem strange to you," you whispered, clinging to the back of the dark-haired man. "But this is probably my most honest way to show that you are special to me."

Pantalone finally smiled. His thin cool fingers found your small palms on his torso and he covered them with his hands.

"Angry? How can I be angry when you give me such a wonderful gift?" The Harbinger said softly, gently stroking your hands and listening to how you breathe. "Nothing can replace personal presence," Pantalone continued, "and if you're comfortable sleeping in my shirt, then I'm glad it fills that gap when I'm not here."

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #pantalone #pantalone x reader #100 followers

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tinycozycomfort · 1 year

Text

rest in the cup of my palms (part two)

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x art student f!reader

chapter two: do you feel it, too?

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

series summary: you went back to school to find out who you are—to make another leap in the hope of self discovery. when you finally find that first glimpse of yourself, it’s in someone else. what happens when the mirror tries to pull you in? or you’re everything joel could’ve hoped to find. he doesn’t let go easily.

chapter summary: you fight hard to keep old habits at bay. joel falls into his head first.

warnings/tags: no outbreak, no use of y/n, (for everything) -> mutual pining!, possessive behavior, smut (w individual tags to come), ellie is joel's daughter, ellie and reader attend the same university but reader is in post-grad, age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is not), alternating pov, slow-ish burn / (for this chapter) -> semi-public dry humping, kissing, mentions/fantasies of p in v sex, possessive thoughts, no one is drunk but everyone blames the wine, joel miller loves his kid!

word count: 5.3k

rating: explicit (18+ only! mdni)

A/N: i'm in shambles over the response to the first chapter, this series is my baby and it means so much that you guys liked it. thank you a million times for reading!

read on ao3 / main masterlist

“The wait begins as soon as I wake up. There is never any “after”. Life stops from the moment he rings the doorbell and enters.”

Annie Ernaux - Getting Lost

───────

Joel hasn’t touched the plastic tube since he brought it home last week.

It’s become something he has to hide from, a nagging thought that pulls at his pant-leg like a child, clawing for his attention—open me, open me. Over and over he hears it, while in the office or cooking dinner or folding the wash, a whisper that begs him to reach in and claim his prize. When he’s really tired, brain damp from the days he has to work, the voice pours into something smoother, and suddenly it's that pretty girl—the one who’d made the thing—asking for the same; to be peeled back and stretched wide for him, cunt and heart and all.

He finds himself losing a lot of very real time in the fantasy, chunks of his life spooned out to make room.

The compulsion isn’t unfamiliar; it’s one that Joel thinks has something to do with his protective nature—or maybe that he’s seen enough living through the filters of hurt and mistrust—that makes him cling to the things he finds precious.

It traces back as far as the girls in grade school, when they would bring him little home-made valentines and wave him kisses first stamped onto open palms. He grew enamored with them, picking them flowers and scribbling symbols of promise in their note-books—the very beginnings of his acts of service. His heart would swell with it, a cartoonish thing, growing and pumping until he could keel over to one side from the size. He chased it in those early years, back somewhere between the brothering and fathering, moving through many someones he could fawn over, easing his need to possess.

He can feel the need rising now, for the first time in too long, his body hurtling itself towards the ledge of something scarier, and he welcomes it. His hands itch for it, for the kind of love with teeth, that bites and tears into the edges of a substance much meatier, providing a place for the points to pierce and hold. He won’t call it what it really is, prefering to stomp out the whisper that warns him of its arrival—obsession. He likes to use less severe terms: thoughtful, involved, fascinated.

Knowing better in his age, he tries at least to be realistic during waking hours, and around Ellie, reminding himself that he has a hard time stepping down when he builds his hope high enough. He moves instead to just dreaming about you—in little tidbits and at guest-star capacity—to tide himself over until the week rolls back around.

Now, on a new Monday, he lets his daughter head off to class before he allows himself the privilege of unwrapping his reward.

He fishes around in the back of the hallway closet where he hid the case, retreating to his room to finally have his time alone with the creature he’d made of the object, letting it free from its cage.

He pops off the cardboard top of the roll, pulling the drawing out with the very tips of his fingers to not smudge something on accident. The sound of it sliding out sets his skin alight—this gift is one he asked for, but it feels like it was given to him all the same. Sharing a piece of you with him so freely, he feels special.

He’s gotten used to seeing himself around the house, Ellie’s ever-growing library of renditions of him are fixed to the fridge by mis-matched magnets and framed in little glass panels in her room. It leans on the side of betrayal to have someone else’s version of him up, but he just wants to see it—if it’s as intense as he remembers it. As different.

His knuckle follows the curl of the paper to flatten the image, tacking it up to the wall with painter’s tape to avoid damaging the surface, like his daughter taught him. Joel sits on the corner of his bed and feels a hot wave of emotion fill his chest.

He looks hopeful. It’s a garment he’s never seen himself wear. He’s soft and shy and child-like, face penciled in with detail that reads like a well-worn novel, bending and twisting to the curve of his expression. It’s a finely crafted summary. It’s guide-lines. It’s instructions, the very important parts of him spelled out in bold, black charcoal, with the gray shades of his complexion filling in the gaps.

Was he that easy to pick apart?

He’d seen some of the other drawings, the way everyone else had chosen to capture solely his pose, perfectly articulating the crook of his elbow or the network of muscle under the skin of his calf.

But you’d chosen to show him.

Something about it looks so familiar, enough to bring forward a memory of the conversation that had him feeling the briefest pass of deja vu—of you glancing down at the ground, quieted maybe by his proximity or his compliments; bashful.

He walks out into the living room where Ellie keeps her sketchbook, the one with all the references. He thumbs through it—she’s given him permission to see this one—and flips to the page he remembers watching her use last week. And when he sees it, he feels like he’s going to faint.

It was you.

That was your face his daughter had been so beautifully replicating. Upon examining the fragmented portrait, he sees a striking resemblance to the one you’d made of him. They’re the same. Not the likeness, of course, but the visage. You knew what he felt like—had felt it yourself.

He already knew you, before you’d even spoken a word to each other. He admits that Ellie was only capable of piecing together so much of you, and even with the extra bits he’d caught in your brief meeting, he feels like he’s missing out. He wants to see the whole picture. You, in totality.

When he arrives at the school building, he’s overtaken with a wash of what he thinks might be stage-fright. It makes him feel sick, stomach rolling with an embarrassment that scorches like youth—fight low and flight high—and his body starts to feel sore with the effort it takes to keep himself from fidgeting.

Ellie’s teacher meets him in the hallway and passes him his slip, and he hums his way down to the bathroom to undress, admittedly working up the courage to confront you.

As he enters the classroom, his excitement bottoms out. You’re not there. He keeps sweeping the room with his eyes, hoping you somehow had been hidden amongst the other bodies. He tries to sell himself the idea that you’re just in the bathroom, or on a break or late, but the wooden bench you’d sat in last week is obviously untouched.

He clambers onto the stool, trying to replicate his pose from the previous lesson, much more uncomfortable now that he has nothing to distract him. The two hours are painful, and he finds himself counting seconds to fill the minutes in increments of ten until he can leave.

His back hurts when he stands.

On his way out, the blonde woman hands him a little flier, two pieces of neon copy paper glued together to make a double-sided image, advertising the group show this coming Friday. Ellie has already reminded him more times than he can count, but he takes it from the woman with the best smile he can muster, slipping out the door in a stride he’s hoping doesn’t come across as wounded.

───────

The on-campus gallery is what someone a lot kinder than Joel would call cozy—a tight, short chamber with no windows and a single entrance, like a trap.

He’s too keyed-up to be kind. He feels like nitpicking.

The metal door at the head must have been an afterthought, kicking back into the frame loudly every time someone walks through, nothing implemented to catch it. A continuous beam of fluorescent lighting wraps around the room in an all-encompassing spotlight, cooking the smell of fresh paint off the wall. It reminds him of picture day, or apartment hunting or something else equally unpleasant.

He was always going to come to this, because he can’t imagine a version of himself who wouldn’t support his daughter, but he’s not happy about it, and he’s starting to feel dizzy from the too-fast swirl of anxiety in his stomach.

Ellie had removed herself from his side the moment they made it into the building in search of her friends, with just a squeeze of his forearm and an ‘I’ll introduce you later’ left in her wake. He’s clung tightly to the wall ever since, making his way around the room to look at all the drawings, again and again and again until he feels like he’s on a track.

Discomfort is a factor, but most of his indignation has to do with not seeing you in class—pointed at himself for the absurdity of his expectations—the voice in his head taking a bitter turn. Were you avoiding him? Would you not attend this, either? Did he do something wrong? His mind rambles on as he fiddles with his imitation cocktail glass, the shiny slip of plastic sticking to his fingers. There’s still a generous portion of what has to be five-dollar wine pooled at the bottom, bitter and opaque enough to stain. The woman who poured it for him did so nearly to the top, maybe sympathetically, disregarding that there was money obviously trying to be saved—deeming his cause a worthy one. He doesn’t even want it, really, nauseous at the idea of actually finishing it, but not having something in his hand was winding him even tighter. So he nurses it—even as it goes warm between his grasp, more unappetizing now than it had been twenty minutes ago—sip after sip to try and appear engaged.

Eventually Joel grows tired of waiting, for Ellie to come back or for you to come at all or for this night to just be over, and picks a drawing to pause in front of. It’s a portrait of someone he’ll never meet, another graceful stranger coming together in an amalgamation of grays. He can hear people walking behind him, talking quietly and occasionally stopping to look over his shoulder at it in passing.

“Hm. Quite the fan of my work, are you?” He almost ignores the comment, thinking it's for someone else, as it usually is, until there’s a figure taking up too much of his periphery.

He’s a little dazed when he looks over, the hot, sour wine settled now in the pit of his belly, buzzing with a flare of something not-missed. He’s prepared to see more than one person beside him, perhaps a couple that had been talking near him rather than to him, but when he swivels his neck, it’s you. You’re just as pretty as he remembers, the face that he looks for in his sleep, but this time you’re not as shy, staring at him straight on—maybe similarly loosened by the pale yellow liquid in your own cup.

Heat gathers at the rim of his jaw—his neck is red by now, he’s sure of it. Already exposed and driven by the faint whisper in his mind, he opens his mouth to speak without thinking, “You weren’t there this week.”

You make quick quotes with just your pointers half-heartedly, “‘Sick,'” and breathe a laugh, “Had a few academic duties to fulfill. Gotta keep the scholarship intact.”

There’s a thick moment of silence, but he can’t look away, eyes weighty and cheeks stinging. It’s awkward but he finds comfort in it, embracing the adjustment like it's a step towards better connection.

Someone brushes his arm as they walk by and Joel uses it to his advantage, “Do you want to step outside? It’s a little hot in here.”

There’s a flash of something like surprise across your eyes, but you shrug, “Sure.”

He crowds behind you as you walk step-in-step out the unarmed emergency exit, just to feel the closeness of your body, much better than the distance he’d felt in your absence on Monday.

The night is worse than cold but it feels good against the heat in Joel’s chest. He can smell your perfume wafting back as he follows your movements, and it makes him pant. He’s ill, has to be—that or the wine was stronger than he thought, because the weird tie he feels is one he can’t explain as being healthy or normal or not fucking scary. But when you turn on your heel to face him, taking a seat on a hip-high planter in a secluded outer corner of the building, it feels right. Natural.

He shuffles so that he’s far enough for you to be safe from his touch, and he shoves a hand in his pocket for good measure, “Thank you again for the drawing. It’s really beautiful.”

“Yeah, of course. Thank you for saying that.”

He wants to say something more, like you’ve captured me in a way that makes me hopeful about myself, but settles instead for, “My daughter liked it a lot, too.” It’s a bold-faced lie, but he thinks that keeping your gift a secret would look less appealing.

“Is she here?”

“Somewhere, yeah. Ran off the second we got in. I’m not a comfort anymore, I guess.”

“Is she yours? Comfort, I mean.” You pick at the crown of the cup, rolling it gently in your hands like its real glass, and you both watch the fuzzy pattern of light that catches on its uniform surface. Joel wonders if you have a comfort of your own—if you need one.

“Is it bad if I say yes? It feels cheesy but the kid is my rock. Dunno what I’m gonna do when she grows up.” He shoves at the concrete under the toe of his boot. It didn’t taste as bad coming out as he thought it might. He hasn’t said that out loud to anyone other than himself, but you look at him like you know exactly what he means. The delicate beginnings of a smile crest on your face, cheek pinched, void of all the uncomfortable sympathy he's gotten from Tommy and Maria at the few things he made the mistake of revealing. He can’t find it in himself to stop now with your gesture, feeling relief in having a place to voice his heartbreak, “Honestly I’m scared, but not just for me, y’know? I worry about what she’s gonna find in the world. I just want to keep her safe.”

“She knows it, I’m sure. I know what it feels like to have no one to root for you—I would’ve killed for that. The only thing you can do for her is be there when she comes home,” You’re looking down again, and he doesn’t like whatever’s made you want to pull back from him—be shy, “Spend time with other people you care about and that care about her. Make that network for her to lean on.”

“All I got is my brother. His wife too, sometimes. My nephews. A few years ago it was just me and him. Ellie—that’s her name. She, uh, isn’t ‘mine’,” he makes the bunny-eared quotes with the hand holding his drink, “Not by blood, anyway. But she popped up out of nowhere and I don’t know how to go back to being on my own.”

“It’d be good to have a network of your own, too—if you’re up to it. It’s hard to do, trust me, but I don’t think I could do a lot without my friends.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I don’t think that’s in the cards for me anymore. I can’t conjure up much of anything worth listening to these days. Forgot how.”

“Don’t do that. You have a lot to say—you’re plenty. Just start with one person. There’s always time to make more.” He knows you’re talking to him, but it feels like you’re also talking to that little boy inside of him, small and unloved and still bleeding.

“Do you need any more? Friends.”

You look up from your lap, pushing a piece of your hair back from your face like you need to get a better look, searching for a way you could be misinterpreting him, “I might have room. You have a recommendation for me?”

He reaches out, grabbing the empty cup from your grasp, stacking it with his own and depositing them by your side. He doesn’t miss the way you watch him, how you widen the spread of your legs on instinct, enough to suggest his entrance. He wades out on one leg to bring himself in, testing the water.

Your lips are parted, and when he looks into the opening between them he imagines he’s seeing to the center of you, and everything else keys out. Cars pass by on the strip of street behind him, driven by ghosts, providing nothing but a low song for your bodies to dance to together, his chest swaying closer to yours with every breath. You move with him, and it feels rehearsed, like all of the steps you've taken to get to this moment were purposeful, done in perfectly orchestrated succession for the hundredth time.

“Do you feel that, too?” He asks, wanting to know if he’s reading too much into it, feeling that sweet edge of thoughtful-involved-fascinated scrape his skin like a sharp knife, “Do you? Like you know me?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and it’s all the permission he’s ever needed.

He leans in, lips skating yours, the warm cave of your mouth begging to be explored. He tries so hard to take his time, soft brushes tethering you to each other with the weight of everything he’ hasn’t had the time to say. His whole body is pins and needles—a fierce heat that floats so high it feels like ice. You sigh into him, the start of a moan, and his composure snaps. Service, he reminds himself, act on it—it feels almost divine when he thinks about all the ways he could pledge his loyalty, ready to bend at your altar every day of his life if it meant you’d sing for him again.

Joel brings a hand to the side of your neck, thumb digging into the pulse point at the corner of your jaw to bring you forward, licking into your mouth in search of more noise. He groans when you relax into his hold, so pretty and willing, and works you until you’re just as fervent, daring to suck his bottom lip between your teeth—going for blood.

The voice in his head is yours again—open me, eat me, unhinge your jaw and swallow.

He slots his other hand around the bone of your hip, pulling you nearer to the ledge of the planter, pressing his cock into your inner thigh as it swells to life. You gather his shirt in your hand, a tight fist, shifting yourself against him so you can grind into it instead. No one else exists, no one else could ever exist in this moment, or any moment you attend, for the rest of forever. He wants to fuck you, to see how far the attachment could go, how far he could reach down before he finds a warm, bed-shaped slot for him to rest in. He wants to live inside the body of someone who sees him so clearly. He wants to know every thought in your head before it comes to fruition.

The wine tastes better coming from off your tongue, and he’s gleaning the flavor from every corner of your mouth like he can achieve a second-hand high. His full weight is rocking into you with enough force now that he has to plant a heel in the ground to keep you both from tumbling. He risks a thumb in your waistband in the flurry, tugging at it in the hope of another invitation.

Before you have a chance to decide, the loud press of the swing-door at the front of the building opens, and Joel staggers back, remembering where he is and why.

You look winded to say the least, hair bent from the imprint of his hand, mouth in a perpetual ‘o’, and he’s scared to see the state of his own face, not to mention the visible strain of his cock in his pants. He kicks an ankle out to try to adjust, heaving through an open maw at the thought that you might be affected in that way as well, picturing the slick wet in between your legs—a beautiful sheen from just his mouth on the top half of your body.

You shimmy off the edge, straightening your shirt and he immediately steps back in for more, draping the full breadth of his hand against your collarbone, curling the tips around the top of your shoulder.

“Joel. I— I need to go inside.”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart? Are you okay?”

You lay a hand over his with a squeeze and he retracts it, “Yeah. I just wasn’t expecting… I don’t know if I can do this right now.”

He can feel his breath restricting, heart plummeting down so far it feels like it’s landed in the ball of his foot; the second time this week you’ve pulled away. He thinks back to the face you made at him in the gallery, back before he fucked this up. Maybe you never meant for this to happen at all.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice strained, “I just need a little time. Just some time, I’m sorry.”

“No, no I understand. Don’t be sorry. Will you take my number? Just in case?” He wants to make sure you’re okay after this, if you want that, and selfishly he wants to give you a way to have him, knowing this might be the last time he runs into you. He’s too afraid to leave it up to chance.

“Yeah, yeah okay,” You pass him your phone with shaky fingers.

“Only if you want to, honey,” He’s disheartened by the whole thing, but he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so he’s careful to double-check, even if it’s a blow to his hope, “You don’t have to.”

“I know. I’m just—the wine, sorry. I think it was bad.” You huff out a strained laugh, “I want it. Your number, I mean. Promise.” You practically shove the thing at him and he takes it this time, entering the contact with as little squinting as possible to save himself from any further humiliation.

───────

You all but run into the bathroom in the back of the building, needing a moment alone to consider what the fuck it is that’s going on right now—what’s been going on since he walked into your class two weeks ago and overstayed his welcome.

You stumble in, bracing yourself against the porcelain basin, switching on the faucet to drown out some of the pounding in your head. You’d been lying when you said the wine was catching up to you—very much sober—but now, in this suffocating, gray room, you feel like it must have at least accelerated the churning in your gut.

You let water gather in your hands, bending to dip your face in the too-cold pool between them.

Every day has been mostly encouraging if not indifferent but this feels like the start of a bad dream you won’t be able to wake up from, dragging you right back to that dark box you’d been existing in. He came in from nowhere, kicking down your reserve, for what? For a fuck? To enjoy you in passing? Or worse, to stay? You’re unsure which would be harder to receive.

And it’s unfair—for him to show up right at the point of being fully on your own, as soon as you’ve chosen to avoid getting caught up in that part of your life. You’re past the point of surrendering your time—know better than to want to be bogged down by a crush or the preconceived idea of the perfect stranger.

You don’t know him, and you don’t need to.

But you want him so bad it hurts; so bad you had to fake a cold to skip class because you couldn't face the idea of seeing him for the last time. You debated skipping the grade for the exhibition too, but you used any excuse to convince yourself he might not show. You weren’t sure who his daughter was, or how enthusiastic she was about the program, so you figured it was a fair shot. You outwardly willed him not to come, at yourself in the mirror and in the shower and out loud the car, all while secretly praying he’d be in attendance, right up to the moment you saw him.

When you stand up, staring at your rigid body in the plastic mirror above the sink, you’re pained at the sight. You look tired, shoulders tense and eyes bleary. Stray beads of the cool water stick to your skin, refusing to dry in the lingering humidity, balling up together to drip into the open lip of your shirt. You can barely feel it falling over your chest before being soaked up by the material. You feel outside yourself.

Someone starts to knock at the door, a quick and invasive interruption to the moment of absolute panic you’d been enjoying. You managed to twist the lock shut on the door at least, so you click your heel against the tile in a wordless someone’s in here, but the knocking persists.

“Occupied.” You try, wet hands slipping against the edge of the sink. This shit isn’t normal. None of that even comes close to normal.

Still, the heavy thrum against the hollow metal continues, and you take a deep breath before practically ripping it out from the socket of its frame. When you have it open, Ian’s posed between the V of the slot, face bewildered.

“Really, truly, I love you, but what the fuck was that?”

───────

Four days from the start of spring break, you’re out at some stranger’s place off Maple, invited by both Ian and your roommate—making it a little harder to get out of—in a joint, well-intentioned attempt to make you leave the safety of your room. A party will be nice, they’d explained, nothing serious, and a week off’s supposed to be fun, right?

The house is pretty, but whoever owns it has demanded everyone remain out on the cobblestone patio, uneven flooring making for a jagged line of bodies packed too tight to fit.

A fire burns in the middle of the yard, billowing out puffs of smoke you know will linger in your clothes for at least two washes. You swipe at some soot that's gathered in the bowl of your jacket sleeve absentmindedly. There’s no music tonight, maybe because there’s real school tomorrow—the elementary school down the street not quite on the same schedule—and you start to think going out on weeknights is quickly becoming more your speed. There's just the soft blanket of everyone murmuring, trying to stay warm in the chill of the wind.

Ian’s prepping some guy across the fire to meet you; you can tell by the look on his face, like he’s planning something elaborate. You smile at him, at least amused by his effort to help you forget the weekend. He’s right, it is spring break, and Joel is nothing but a consequence of your stress-induced impulsivity.

Still, despite your efforts, you’re thinking about him again, even if to punish him. You can still feel the line of his cock against your thigh, pressed hot and heavy into your body like an offering. You rub your thighs together, cursing him for giving you enough material to fantasize about for weeks—your punishment in return.

Ian crosses the circle with your new prospect, and you tilt your cup in mock cheers. Behind him he mouths hot and nice, tell me what you think. You nod, and the guy steps forward to block the flame. He’s handsome, airbrushed face and sweet cologne and long, thin fingers, nothing like how someone else’s had felt at the junction of your hips.

You swallow, hard.

You honestly don’t hear a word that comes out of his mouth from the second it opens, not even to catch his name. Instead, you think about how nice it’d be if you could pay attention, how much easier it would be to fuck someone you thought was nice and safe and not at the forefront of every free moment you’d been afforded in the last two-and-a-half weeks. About what a relief it would be for him to mount and rut into you without consequence—no emotional burden, just boring and lukewarm like the last bite of something you can’t find a place to throw away. It’s always been easier when you didn’t want more. Yet now you want every night, hold out a hand in your dreams and let him into the part of you that has already carved out a hole in his shape.

This guy couldn’t pull your mind off of Joel even if he was fucking you.

When he offers to grab you a drink, you agree and then head into the house, like you’re not supposed to, as soon as his back is turned. There’s a few locked doors, and then one at the end of a hallway that opens up into a bathroom. You slip in, not bothering to switch on the light in an attempt to hide out from being found.

Here you are searching for reason in a dirty mirror above another sink, with nothing but the weak glow of a plug-in air freshener to guide you, too soon after the last time.

You’re angry, suddenly, at how far he’s burrowed himself into your head, with so little to go on. He’s doing nothing but showing you yourself, a tired tactic to get you to fall in love with him while you do all the work. He was just pretending, right? He couldn’t actually want to love you. You groan, when the fuck was love even part of this equation?

You dig your phone out of your purse. The lock screen is bright—bold lettering reminding you it’s nearly midnight—but you click into your contacts anyway, because it’s not like you’re going to call him or anything. His page is still open, the Texas area code populating under Joel - Ellie’s dad—typed out with caps and all like that’s his only meaningful identifier. You scroll to see where he’d punched in ‘just in case‘ in the notes section of his info-card, and that decimates the cliff of restraint you'd barely managed, sinking in on itself under you.

Your hands are wet with unease, held hostage by the way he’d read your thoughts out loud. You did feel it too, that searing weight of knowing—of being acquainted with him despite only meeting once before. He had to have been honest in at least that confession. You ask yourself for permission—‘was he going through this as well? what exactly was he feeling? would he explain if you asked?’—until it turns into selling yourself justification—‘you could just fuck him, right? that’s all this has to be, right?’.

Yes, you decide. Just another test of will—you can do it. You can pass.

Your finger hovers over the number, closing the screen and opening it again and again and again until you just bite the bullet and fucking press it, the screen going black as you shove it against the side of your ear, covered again in darkness.

He picks up within two rings.

“Hello?”

“Hi. Joel,” You offer him your name like a secret, “It’s me. Did I wake you up?”

“No, sweetheart. Are you okay?”

“Can I come see you?”

#joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fic #joel miller/reader

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dadfemme · 2 months

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Someone to Lose - Chapter 3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3 | Interviews

a03 // wattpad

You and your team have compiled a reasonable list of interviewees by the time another body shows up. Narrowing down a legitimate pool of witnesses and potential suspects had been a tall task with a tight-lipped town like yours. Lips that got even tighter around two new faces. Knowing this you had Emily and Luke stay at the station and do other digging to better profile the suspect.

Regardless of their roles, however, the agents put their time in. There wasn’t a single person working on the case who didn’t average a 10-12 hour work day. Everyone pulled their weight.

Despite your different roles you’d found that you and Emily crossed paths often. It started brief and unsubstantial. Quick brushes by with polite smiles when you were headed to different corners of the small station. No different than running by anyone else. Then one evening you’d caught her pooling over some old files and dropped her a cup of coffee on your way to your office.

At first she’d barely registered you enter, so focused on what she was reading. Her eyes eventually landed on the lidless paper cup, coffee still hot enough to release a bit of steam.

“Do I look like I need it that bad?” she laughed.

“Finish up and get some rest, Prentiss,” you tossed over your shoulder on your way out by way of answer. You didn’t stay for her to test it to see if you made it right. You knew you had. You paid attention to that stuff with your guys, and she was no different. Certainly not.

Since that night Emily seemed to go out of her way to engage with you. She’d come and lean on your doorway to talk about the case, or whatever, really. You particularly enjoyed her big smile while she spoke with you, which contrasted nicely to her usual stoic appearance. You came to look forward to her popping in, but you tried your best not to look forward to it too much. That would be silly. So you looked forward to it a very normal and regular amount.

Anyway.

Back to the present: The new body and the interviews. Right.

By the time the station got the call, you’d had paperwork to finish so you sent the boys to go secure the scene and Alvez tagged along. You found you really liked Luke. He’s what you imagine your guys will be after a few years. The boys were earnest and incredibly hardworking, but they lacked the type of easy confidence that Luke had that came with age. A sense of comfort in his role, which just emanated from him.

With the men gone, you and Prentiss were on interviews. Although she was a newcomer, you figured a stranger in uniform along with a familiar face like yours made a perfect pair to interview. Nothing more unassuming than two women just asking a few questions. As you’d hoped, the two of you blew through potential witnesses and potential persons of interest together with ease. You were surprised at how well you complemented eachother. Transitions between each session were seamless, and her questions were either perfect segues for yours, or they were so clever even you hadn’t realized what she was getting at any more than the individual across the table had until she’d caught them in an inconsistency.

Eventually the guys returned, and with the last individual interviewed you all found yourselves at 6pm with a full day under your belts.

“Okay I’m calling it,” you announce. “Our days have been too long. We’ve put our time in so let’s get out of here.”

“You guys going to the bar tonight?” Joe asks

“Oh man I forgot it’s the third Wednesday of the month,” Danney answers, rubbing his eyes in a weak effort to get the tired out. Joe was less than deterred.

“Let’s go! Feds, you too. It’s great. The drinks are dirt cheap, the beer comes by the pitcher, and the music is entirely questionable.”

At Prentiss’ confused expression you speak up, “It’s open DJ night. Anyone over 21 can come and have a go at the music. It’s rarely great, but always fun.”

You watch one eyebrow quirk before an amused smile slowly spreads across her lips.

“Well, how can I say no?”

Some of the guys let out a little whoop and soon everyone’s packing up their bags and heading for the bar.

The night was exactly as promised. Various individuals either overly nervous or entirely too cocky got up to the small DJ booth in the bar (read: black folding table) and was given 30 minutes to play their sets.

Despite the rather clunky music the lot brought to the bar, the group was having a great time. You always love to spend time with your team, and having the agents with you made that no different. You sat back and sipped your second beer from the communal pitcher while Garrett sang as off key as he could muster to a Cher house remix. Toward the song’s end your gaze drifts to Emily, and not for the first time that night.

Now you know yourself. You’re a very happy, very flirty drunk. So if you keep glancing toward her, well that’s only weird if she catches you while wearing what the boys call your “lovergirl eyes”.

You can’t help it. Her big smiles at the absolutely abysmal music. Her easy banter with Luke and the guys. It all feels like it happened so fast. Like getting acquainted to a new town and new people was so easy for her. You were impressed and in awe. Truthfully, the little crush you’ve developed was inevitable. You’d resigned to it that day on Ana’s property when she apologized, staring at you like you were something worth looking at.

You watch her stand and head toward the bar, and almost immediately the bartender sets two bottles in front of her. While she waits to run her card you approach, putting your elbows on the sticky bar next to hers, your shoulders touching.

“When I said it’s on my tab tonight, I meant it.”

She smirked at your words, not yet looking at you. Thin fingers move to pluck your glass from your hands to soon replace with one of the cold bottles she bought.

You don’t even think to fight your grin. “Attentive. Cheers.”

Your bottle clinks with hers as the two of you take a swig. Now she’s looking at you, her eyes studying, and there’s something else in them you can’t quite read.

“I didn’t know the FBI made them like you, darlin. Shame you have all that hidden by a suit.”

The two of you are broken from your bubble to find Becks Lammers. The man peaked in high school and deals with it with alcohol. He’s hit every woman with the misfortune of dating him. Tonight, he reeks of cigarettes, and is clearly having difficulty keeping his eyes focused as he tries to waltz off after his shitty come-on.

You watch her nostrils flare, and you stand, before she has a chance to swivel around.

“What did you just say?” Your growl is punctuated by a grab to his arm, bringing him back to face you. You nearly see red.

He scoffs, “Lighten up, Sheriff. I was just kidding, right little miss agent?” He goes to cup Emily’s shoulder in that patronizing way men love to do.

Your grip on his other arm tightens and he stops midair.

“Touch her and I’ll book your ass so fast for that tax evasion that you think you’ve been hiding it’ll make your head spin.” You step into his space, so close you can smell the alcohol.

“In fact, I’ll do one better, I’ll bring you to the station myself and I’ll make you regret ever stepping foot in this bar tonight, Lammers.” You stand there, solid and unwavering.

His eyes go saucer wide.

“I-I was stupid for saying it. It was nothing. I’ve had too much to drink. How about I just get goin’.” He turns on his heel and skitters out of the bar.

Emily sits and observes the interaction, her dark brows raised. It was new to be on the other side of someone defending her against some scummy guy making a pass. On her team she’s used as the bait, cursed to grin and bear it for the sake of the case. Up until tonight she’d more or less resigned to it.

“Is he really evading his taxes?” she asks once the door slams behind the man.

“Unsure.” The sheriff snorts. “Just seems like the type.”

Before Emily can sit on the interaction further, she feels Jane grab her arm.

“Come here,” she says, as Emily feels herself pulled out of her thoughts and onto unsteady legs. She allows herself to get walked halfway across the scuffed floor before she has the thought to ask, “Wait what’s happening?”

"We’re going to dance.” The blonde says simply with that brightness Emily found herself so fond of as of late.

“It’s a slow song,” she continues. “Everyone’s already dancing, even Alvez.” The blonde tips her chin to her right, and sure enough there he was, posted up with a woman who could very well be his grandmother’s age. So wrapped up in the sight, Emily missed the sudden proximity.

“Come closer,” comes a softer tone. “We can’t be the only ones not on the floor.”

By this point, Emily’s hand had already been taken and wrapped around Hailey’s waist, and the realization makes her nearly go rigid. Not wanting to give off her nerves, she takes a deep breath and relaxes just in time for a strong arm to gently pull her closer. A lot closer. Her free hand clasped by the Sheriff’s, they begin to sway.

On one hand, Emily is grateful for the cheek resting against hers. It allows her own reddened cheeks to stay hidden from Jane’s eyes. On the other hand, the closeness has resulted in a warmth that began deep in her stomach, that crawled through her chest, and spread up to where the tips of her fingers joined the younger woman’s. This isn’t good. Emily Prentiss does not get distracted on cases. She focuses on her breathing still, allows her eyes to drift shut. It’s so unlike her to react to someone else this way. She can’t even think of the last time this has happened.

Jesus, Emily. You’re an adult. Get a hold of yourself.

Oblivious to the brunette’s turmoil, you find yourself comfortably wrapped in her arms until the song ends, marking the conclusion of open DJ night. She doesn’t seem to meet your eyes once you separate, so rather than dwell on that you instead focus your collective attention on ensuring everyone gets out of the bar and starts for home safely.

Neither of you register what that means until you turn to one another, alone, lit only by the nearly full moon shining over the gravel parking lot.

This time she catches your eyes, but she’s got that unreadable expression again, and before your alcohol addled brain can figure out exactly what it means the brunette suddenly steps closer into your space. Her breath is against your lips. One, two, three, puffs of air. The tension is unbearable and the second you watch those big brown eyes flit down to your mouth you’re helpless to do anything else but close what distance remains between the two of you.

You hadn’t allowed yourself to imagine this, but even if you had it wouldn’t have been anywhere near to what it feels like now that it’s real. Tipsy or not, she’s real, and she’s kissing you.

Her lips are soft and she tastes faintly of the alcohol, but underneath it’s just her. You’re so busy running your fingers up and through thick hair that you faintly register hands settling on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer to hers. Her tongue dips into your mouth, followed by a sigh, and a whimper against your lips that shoots straight to your core.

You’re helpless to the moan that escapes your throat, which seems to snap Emily out of whatever spell she was under. The agent steps back abruptly. Your gaze falls to her heaving chest before you move back up to her eyes.

“I don’t think I meant to do that,” Emily starts, eyes building up to panic.

And you laugh.

You laugh and nod, bringing your fingers up to your cheeks.

“Oh god. Am I blushing?” you snort.

Emily’s brow is furrowed, but her shoulders relax slightly, her earlier expression replaced by a far more perplexed one.

When she stays quiet you continue, “The night got away from us, don’t sweat it. Go home and get some rest.” You squeeze her arm by way of goodbye and you both head for home.

It didn’t need to be a big deal. You’ve kissed women before. Prentiss is attractive. It’s nothing more than that. More accurately it can’t be more anything than that.

You’ll deal with this in the morning. You’re both professionals. You can pretend this never happened. For tonight, though, you’re going to drift off to sleep thinking of the softest sounds of pleasure that had escaped one Emily Prentiss.

#emily prentiss #emily prentiss wlw #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss x y/n

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sailor-aviator · 10 months

Text

Til the Summer Comes Again: Chapter One

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Reader

"I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, 'Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.'" — Lewis Carrol

Summary: Bob was a winter spirit who loved what he did. He loved making individual snowflakes. He loved the way the snow sparkled in the winter sun. He loved the laughter his creations brought to people around the world. What he didn't expect, was to fall in love with a human girl from a small town. He has until the summer comes again for her to reciprocate his feelings if he wants to remain on earth, but will the shadows that haunt her get in the way of happily ever after? (JackFrost! AU)

Trigger Warnings: Language, Flirting, Talks of past trauma, Allusions to depressive episodes, Allusions to failing, Magic, Elemental/Seasonal Spirits, Mentions of feeling watched. I think that's it.

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: I realize that not too terribly much happened in this chapter, but things are just getting warmed up! Be sure to join the tag list too if you haven't already so you don't miss out on any updates! I'd love to hear y'all's thoughts, and stay tuned for an exciting little announcement. As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! You can find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator where all of my works will also be published! If you enjoy my work, please consider sending me a tip!

Series Masterlist || Robert "Bob" Floyd Tag List

There was a chill in the air as you walked into the tired, old bookstore on the corner of main and first. The building was as old as the town of North Island, Maine itself. You weren’t sure if it had always been a bookstore, but it had been ever since your mother was a child. She had insisted on moving closer to her parents who were getting on in years, and your father had readily complied as his job allowed him the privilege of working remotely. Your mother would bring you with her to the bookstore every so often, perusing the old books as you sat in the corner with whatever book had caught your eye that day.

“There’s magic in old books, Sugar Plum,” she would say. “You just have to know where to look for it.”

And while you loved books, dance was your first love, hence your mother’s nickname for you. She had loved dancing as a child, but left it behind in pursuit of other endeavors, something she regretted immensely. Which is why she had signed you up for dance lessons at an early age, and when you were cast as a sugar plum fairy alongside the older girls one year? She was ecstatic, calling you her little sugar plum so much that the name had just stuck, even beyond the world of dance.

Your mother had led you into the kindergarten classroom as your little hands wrapped around her leg nervously.

“There’s no need to be scared, Sugar Plum,” she had cooed, coaxing you out from behind her as you peered around the room at the other children with your little eyes. “Everyone here is new too.”

“But I don’t wanna leave you,” you pouted, tears springing to your eyes at the thought of your mother leaving you behind. She kneeled down in front of you, rubbing her hands up and down your arms in a bid to soothe you.

“It won’t be forever,” she assured you, smiling softly. “It’s only until three o’clock today. And then you get to come home!”

“What if no one likes me?” You whispered, the tears threatening to spill over now. It was one thing to be in a new place by yourself, but for no one to like you on top of it? Your mind couldn’t comprehend the horror.

“That’s not going to happen, Sugar Plum,” she chuckled, running a hand over your hair. “How could anyone not like you?”

Before you could answer, a girl with dark hair and big brown eyes came skipping up to the two of you with a huge smile.

“Hi!” she chirped, looking at you. “I’m Natasha, but you can call me Nat. What’s your name?”

You gave it to her, still clinging to your mother. “But my family calls me Sugar Plum.”

“Sugar Plum?” Nat hummed, cocking her head to the side in thought. “Like the fairies?”

You perked up at her words, letting go of your mother’s pant leg and stepping forward.

“Yeah!” You grinned. “I wanna be in the ballet!”

“You dance?” She asked, eyes growing wide as you nodded. “That’s so cool! Come on, I wanna tell Bradley and Reuben!”

You followed after her, giggling. You turned just long enough to wave goodbye to your mother before running off after Nat who introduced you to the two boys.

The little group had adopted you quickly, and the years passed with them by your side. They came to every dance recital you had, cheering you on as best they could, and every cancelled weekend plan was forgiven as you chased your dream of making it big as a dancer.

“There’s always next time,” Nat had assured you while Bradley and Reuben nodded alongside her.

“Chase your dreams, SP,” Reuben had grinned.

“We’ll be waiting for you on the other side,” Bradley had tossed in, ruffling your hair.

You couldn’t have asked for better friends, truly.

And then it had all come crashing down. The memory of the spotlight on you, standing on the stage and being unable to move, the tears that had streamed down your face as you stared into a wall of darkness. The unseen eyes that stared back at you before you ran off the stage.

It had been humiliating, and it had been your friends who had helped you pick up the pieces afterwards.

“You don’t have to try again now,” Nat had assured you, wiping your tears when they fell. You had all been gathered in your room a couple of days after the incident, you in your pajamas and buried under piles of blankets. “It’s okay to take the time to rest.”

“Who needs to go to a fancy school, anyway?” Bradley had smiled, hugging you close into his side. “You don’t need someone else to tell you how good you are.”

“Dopey here has a point,” Reuben added, earning a scowl from the other man. “You’re amazing, SP. We’ve known that all along. You just gotta be the one to realize it now.”

Their words still echoed in your mind months later. Since that day, you had gotten a quiet, part-time job at your beloved bookstore, working under the watchful eye of Pete Mitchell.

“Call me Mav or Maverick,” he had smiled at you when he offered you the job, and you had agreed with the condition that he call you by your nickname as well. Maverick was a kind, older man. A local who had left for decades before coming back.

“What did you do while you were away?” You asked him one day. You had dreamed of leaving the small town too, one day, but that dream seemed so far away now. He hummed, thumbing through an ancient-looking book. The ink was fading against the yellowed pages, but there was an air of mystery surrounding the tome.

“I did several things,” he answered, glancing up at you. “Learned lots of things. Maybe one day I’ll teach you.”

Maverick was a strange, old man.

You weren’t the only one that worked at the bookstore. Maverick had three attendants that worked in the store with you, and they were an odd bunch to be sure. There was Jake, a handsome blond with a cocky smile. He was a man who was sure of himself, and more than once he had tried to woo you with all kinds of flowers and one liners. Next was Javy, a stoic charmer whose smile felt like you were bathing in the sun. He was the most levelheaded out of the three and the one you went to when you needed help with a project. Last, was Mickey. Mickey appeared to be the closest in age to you with a grin always on his face as he hopped around the store. He was also the most animated of the three, reminding you of a puppy with his seemingly endless amounts of energy.

The three seemed normal enough, but odd as well. One or more of them would often pop up out of nowhere, sending you into near cardiac arrest a number of times. There were times where you’d catch Jake talking to the plants around the store, and you would almost swear you’d see the plant perk up as he crooned at them. Then there was the time Javy got so mad at Jake after the blond had “forgotten” to do the dusting for the fifth time that week, and you swear the gust of wind that followed was calculated. Or the time that you heard Mickey sneeze followed by Jake shouting, “dammit, Mickey!” You had rounded the corner to find the brunette grimacing sheepishly as Jake frantically slapped out the smoldering document. It wasn’t until later that you realized that there hadn’t been a candle in sight.

Yes, they were an odd bunch to be sure, but you were very fond of them.

“What are you three doing hanging around an old bookstore like this, anyway?” You had asked them one day. Mickey had perked up from where he was looking over a book that had seen better days, grinning at you wildly.

“Oh, we’re his apprentices!” He laughed. “He’s teaching us ma-”

“How to manage books,” Javy interrupted, stepping over and placing a hand at the base of Mickey’s neck. Mickey winced, scowling up at the larger man. “Maverick is teaching us how to take care of all of the older books here.”

“I see,” you hummed as Mickey shrugged the other man off, shooting him a glare before fixing his gaze back on you. “What got you into old books then?”

“What’s not to like about old books?” Jake grinned, leaning forward and shooting you a wink. “There’s so much magic in them, isn’t there?”

Javy shot him a warning look as you fixed the blond with a blank stare.

“I didn’t know you knew how to read,” you mused, turning back to the stack of books you were cataloging in the computer. Javy let out a booming laugh as the grin on Jake’s face dropped. Mickey snickered as you fought back a smirk at the dumbfounded look on the blond’s face. Jake recovered quickly, the grin easing back onto his face.

“I’m full of surprises, dewdrop,” he winked. You rolled your eyes as you continued with your work, the telltale sound of Maverick’s shoes clacking against the hardwood. He rounded the corner from the back, staring at your small group.

“I need you three to follow me,” he said, gesturing to the boys as he turned back the way he came. You sighed, waving the trio off as they bid you goodbye. It was late, and you doubted they’d make another appearance before the end of your shift. Oftentimes when Maverick came to fetch them, they’d disappear for hours, and sometimes you wouldn’t even see them for days. You thought it odd, initially, but you learned to not question it. You were thankful to have a job with enough hours to keep you busy, and Maverick paid you well for the seemingly inconsequential work that you did around the shop.

Once the three men disappeared beyond the back door, Maverick poked his head back around the doorframe.

“SP?”

“Yes?”

“Why don’t you go on ahead and head home for the night?” He suggested, smiling warmly. “The weather is supposed to get bad here soon, and I don’t like the thought of you being out there in it by yourself. You can go ahead and lock the shop up behind you.”

“Okay, Mav,” you smiled, setting the stack of books to the side as he nodded and once again disappeared behind the door.

You made sure things were closed up the way they needed to be, double checking to make sure that the backdoor was locked before grabbing your coat, scarf, and gloves. You peaked out the window to see that the snow was already starting to fall onto the quiet street outside, and you stopped to admire the stillness that seemed so otherworldly. Winter had always been your favorite time of year. You loved the snow, the laughter, ice skating, and how warm everything felt despite the frigid temperatures. Winter was finally here.

You made sure to tuck your ears beneath your hat, pulling your scarf up around your face as you exited the shop, the bell signaling your departure. With key in hand, you locked the door, giving it a tug to make sure that it was in place before starting the ten minute walk down the street to your home. The frigid air kissed at your cheeks, bringing warmth to the surface as you continued to trek through the heavy falling snow. A chill ran up your spine, and you stopped in your tracks, feeling eyes on you. You whirled around, looking for any sign of life as you stood alone on the street. Most everyone else was at home, snug underneath their blankets or by their fireplaces, and not a soul could be seen from where you were standing. This happened to you often, this feeling of being watched. You had felt it since you were a little girl. Sometimes it wasn’t too bad, like the feeling of a guardian angel watching over you and keeping you safe. But other times, times like this? The feeling was sinister, like whatever it was that was watching you would devour you whole.

You drew your coat tighter around your shivering form, turning back towards the way home. You had gotten good at walking home quickly over the years, but you always wondered if there was a reason for your rush of adrenaline. You hoped you never found out.

Bob followed Tom towards the bookshop, the sign on the front already reading, “sorry, we’re closed!” Bob frowned. He was hoping he could have seen you before you left, but perked up when he remembered that he would see you soon, and this time you would be able to see him.

Tom stopped in front of the wooden door, knocking three times and waiting. A figure appeared from the depths of the shop, walking up to the door and peering out the glass. Tom waited patiently as the man on the other side unlocked the door, opening it with a warm smile.

“Tom,” he greeted, pulling the winter spirit into a hug. Tom chuckled, patting the man on the back.

“Maverick,” he smiled, pulling back and gesturing towards the younger sprite. “This is Bob.”

The man, Maverick, fixed his gaze on Bob, studying him for a moment before smiling.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said with a nod in his direction. He stepped back to allow enough room for the two men to enter. “Come in. The others are already in the back.”

The others? Bob frowned at that, but followed Tom into the building nonetheless. The two waited for Maverick to lock the door behind them before leading them behind the counter and into the back. The three men walked down a flight of stairs that led into a spacious room lined with bookshelves. Three other men stood in the room, their faces lifting at the sight of the joining men. Bob instantly recognized them as fellow sprites, albeit different from him, and his curiosity was piqued as he glanced between Maverick and Tom.

“What? Did you want to collect the whole set, Mav?” the blond joked, eyeing Bob with a wicked grin, green eyes sparkling with mischief. A spring spirit, no doubt. Maverick chuckled as the winter spirits followed him to the center of the room, shoving his hands into his pants pockets.

“Nothing like that, Jake,” he smiled. “Just doing a favor for an old friend, is all.”

“So how do we fit in to this favor?” Chirped the smaller of the three, bouncing from one foot to the other. An autumn sprite, maybe?

“We’re going to do a spell,” Maverick continued, moving over towards the far wall where a desk sat. He picked up one of the heavy tomes, turning around to face the group once again. “A spell that requires ancient magic, and lots of it.”

“And what’s more ancient than the seasons?” Hummed the last of the spirits, his eyes still trained on Bob and Tom. Bob could feel the warmth radiating off of him from across the room. No doubt a summer sprite.

“That’s right,” Maverick smiled, glancing up at the summer sprite. “And as my apprentices, I’ll need your help with it. Yours too, Tom, if you don’t mind.”

The old, winter spirit smiled good-naturedly, watching as Maverick began to place candles around the edges of a chalk circle in the center of the room. Once they were placed to his liking, he turned to Bob, gesturing towards the center of the elaborate design.

“Bob, if you wouldn’t mind standing in the center here.”

Bob did as instructed, eyeing everyone wearily until his eyes landed on Tom. He nodded, giving the young man a reassuring smile that served to put his mind at ease.

“Alright then,” Maverick mumbled, scanning the text of the book in his hand. “I’ll need the rest of you at the cardinal positions.”

The spirits moved to their respective decisions. To the south, summer. To the east, spring. To the west, autumn. And finally, Tom took his position at north, waiting for his friend to continue.

“Bob.”

The winter sprite turned to look at Maverick who had a gentle smile on his face.

“Do you understand what you’re getting into?” He asked, eyes flickering to Tom for the briefest of seconds. “You’ll have until the end of the season to make the spell permanent. That means you have to earn the love of another human. If you don’t, you’ll turn back into your original form permanently. Do you understand?”

Bob nodded firmly, thinking of you. He wanted you to see him, to feel for him what he felt for you. He would show you how much he loved you, and he would convince you to feel the same way.

“From what I’ve heard, it sounds like you already have someone in mind,” the warlock continued. If Bob could blush, he would have, but instead he gave the man a bashful look. “Are you sure you’re willing to risk this?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” he spoke, pushing his shoulders back and puffing his chest out. He was sure about you. Maverick looked at him for another moment before nodding, turning his attention to the other men in the room.

“I need you all to concentrate your magic onto him,” he instructed. The four men nodded, gathering their magic around them. Bob felt a strange hum fill the air as Maverick began to read out the text from the book. It wasn’t in any language Bob had ever heard of, but he was fairly young compared to some of the other sprites. He could feel the energy start to swirl around him as a strange feeling coursed through his veins. It was hard to describe what he was feeling, but Bob likened it to the feeling of melting snow, like warmth coursing through him for the first time in his existence. He felt the air leave him as the energy buzzed louder and louder, Maverick’s chanting growing distant as Bob was forced to his knees. His fingers clutched at the ground as his vision blurred, his head pounding from the force of the magic that encapsulated him. He gasped for breath, blue eyes meeting the wise ones of Tom as they watched him worriedly. Bob closed his eyes as the spell tore apart his very being, stitching him back together into something new. It felt like hours passed, but it had surely only been a few minutes.

Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped. An eerie calm filled the room as Maverick collapsed into the chair behind him, the three younger sprites, falling to their own knees. Only Tom stood unaffected, his age and power protecting him from the draining spell. Maverick pulled out a handkerchief to wipe at his sweaty brow, looking much paler than he had minutes before.

“It’s done,” he murmured, closing the tome with a definite thud.

Tag List: @seresinsbrat @fanficfandomlove @bobgasm @goldenseresinretriever @hopip99 @lemmons1998 @yuckosworld @theamuz @rosedurin @kmc1989 @linkpk88 @deliriousfangirl61 @nouis-bum @topherwrites @lightdragonrayne @number-0-iz @princessofglitterland @agentorange9595 @reidshearts @pittbull-enthusiast @shinycupcakebaker @smileybouquet @els-marvelvsp @shotgunhallelujah @mycobrakai1972

#robert bob floyd #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd fanfiction #robert floyd #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd x you #robert floyd fanfiction #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #bob floyd fanfiction #top gun bob #bob top gun

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webcomic-character-tournament · 1 year

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are you tired of how many character tournaments just become a popularity contest?

how regardless of seeding, even high contenders can almost arbitrarily be knocked out early on, leaving you with nothing to root for?

if you're feeling that, and if you like any webcomics, you should participate in the webcomic character tournament!

the primary goals of this tournament are:

to celebrate the medium of webcomics as a whole

to find new webcomics to read, and to recommend your own favorites

to highlight indie creators and help them build a wider audience

to have fun rooting for and celebrating your favorite characters!

in order to accomplish these goals, instead of a single elimination bracket, i will be using a mcmahon system inspired tournament structure!

this means that no character will be eliminated, and you can participate in polls rooting for your favorite character throughout all the rounds. characters will also be roughly matched up based on a system that determines how well known their work is, so most rounds should be relatively evenly matched, allowing people to fight for their favorites on their own merits

more details about how the mcmahon tournament will work can be found under the cut!

submit as many characters as you would like to here! the deadline is tentatively next saturday, june 3rd, at 4pm EDT

tagging some other tournaments i like whose participants i think might be interested :) @wlw-webcomic-bracket @obscurewebcomictournament @gaywebcomicsshowdown @autisticgirliesbracket @yuribracket @secretthirdthingtournament @nonyanderepoll @funkylittlebaldcharapoll @divorced-tournament

no submission is specifically banned, but try to keep in mind the spirit of this tournament when deciding what to submit.

under the cut after my more detailed description of the tournament structure, i also ramble in a lot more detail about my philosophy regarding submission eligibility, but it's not necessary to read all that before submitting characters

mcmahon tournament details:

matchups will be decided based off of a survey sent out after submissions are over gauging participants' familiarity with all of the competing characters' source materials. each character will be assigned points based off of how known their source material is, and each character will go up against a character with a similar popularity score for the first round

characters will be awarded points based off of if they lose, win, or tie their match and have that added to their total score, and then they will again be paired against a character with a similar updated score

depending on how many characters are participating, this process can continue either until there is a definitive ranking of all characters, or until just a few top winners are clear

i haven't entirely decided on specifics such as whether points will be awarded by a simple 0 for a loss, 0.5 for a tie, 1 for a win or by percentage of the vote, and if initial popularity points will be counted in the final ranking, or if i will try to rank winners from within their initial popularity categories, but i hope that won't matter too much, because in my opinion the main fun of this isn't the final results, it's for people to have fun in the individual rounds seeing their favorite character's points go up!

submission guidelines:

if you are submitting characters from extremely popular webcomics, try to limit yourself to just characters that are among your top favorites of all time, and maybe try to submit stuff from lesser known works as well

similar goes for webcomics that are more widely known for adaptations into other media forms (one punch man, tower of god, heartstopper, etc.)

i'm not specifically banning any comic for having bigoted content or its creator being a bad person, there's a wide scale of stuff i could decide to include in that definition or not. in the goal of celebrating favorite characters, obviously a lot of people love characters despite flaws in the work they're from, but also keep in mind the goals of recommending works to other people, and helping uplift and promote creators you like, and try to find a reasonable balance from there

what counts as a webcomic:

physically published works that you can find pirated or scanlated online probably don't count

comics whose publication is centered around physical releases, who also have simultaneous online releases by their publishers (comics on manga plus or comixology, newspaper strips with online sites, etc.) probably don't count

comics published through traditional publishers that are exclusively online (such as shōnen jump+ comics) still probably don't count

comics published online through companies that exclusively publish online (such as lezhin) are still discouraged

stuff like line webtoon or tapas official comics are more acceptable, as there are a lot of free comics from independent creators around them and many of these comics started out that way themselves, so they exist within a culture of webcomics more so than the aforementioned comic categories

stuff that is paywalled beyond just having an early release system is discouraged

comics that are no longer online but accessible through archives are fine though, especially in the wake of sites like smackjeeves being deleted there's a lot of stuff in webcomic history that can only be found that way now!

webtoon style comics absolutely count as webcomics, they're an exciting way of fully making use of webcomics' digital format! simultaneously however, i feel like with the rise of mobile webtoon apps, there are many people who read webtoon style comics but who dont further engage with webcomics, so i'd definitely encourage submitting a variety of styles of webcomic!

none of these rules are set! feel free to submit whatever you want, i just list them so you can try to find a balance between the different goals of this tournament when submitting stuff.

anyone can submit as many characters as you want, but just maybe if you find that a lot of your submission ideas are from comics in some of the more discouraged categories, limit yourself in how many you submit from those categories and only submit characters if they're absolute favorites of yours you want the opportunity to celebrate, and maybe try to also submit a character from something that isn't in a discouraged category too!

theres no penalty for not going with this, but i think because choosing characters by number of nominees doesn't really align with my intentions for this, depending on how easy it is to sort submissions i might just go off of vibes, so you might just be less likely to have a character make it to the tournament if their comic is in more heavily discouraged categories is all

#tournaments #polls #brackets #webcomics #character tournament #notwctpoll #wctrelated

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theelizamanelli · 5 days

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Tengoku

Reina Iyashi wants a normal, mundane existence until Satoru Gojo takes a special interest in her uncanny ability to bring people back to life (or so Itadori says) and offers her a job as his assistant at Jujutsu High. Tags: 18+, satoru gojo x female oc, boss x assistant, golden retriever x black cat, forced proximity, slow burn, eventual smut, romance, blood and violence, implied/referenced death, implied/referenced child death, implied/referenced torture link to all chapters link to ao3

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Chapter Seven

Satoru Gojo

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The sun shone bright on Satoru’s face as he looked toward the sky, he reached up to tug his blindfold into place as the light warmed his skin.

The courtyard had few occupants this early hour, Iyashi sat on the steps with one foot extending forward. Leaning backwards onto her elbows, she yawned before turning towards him.

“How long are we going to wait?” she asked, looking at the clock on her phone.

“My students wouldn’t disappoint me, Iyashi,” Satoru replied with a smile. “Have a little faith.”

As the first year’s teacher, it was Satoru’s responsibility to ensure that his pupils were ready for any encounter; curse or otherwise. Therefore he had devised a morning of hand to hand combat training.

He intended to use the second years as opponents, he reasoned he would have been too difficult a target.

The students began to trudge into the courtyard, complaining loudly.

“So early, so tired,” muttered Nobara as she stepped into line next to Yuji and Megumi.

Satoru had assessed the three students over the last months, concluding their abilities satisfactory enough to begin field work. Though, one mutual issue existed: a desperate need for humility.

“When dealing with a curse it is easy to default to our individual techniques,” Satoru announced. The group fell quiet, listening intently.

“There lies a simple mistake, we underestimate our abilities independently. What if we didn’t have our weapons? What if we didn’t have a cursed technique?” He eyed Maki momentarily before continuing. “Then what? Would you be able to hold your own?”

He paused and smiled widely, “Well, that’s what we are here to find out.”

Satoru paired the students up at random: Panda and Nobara, Maki and Yuji, Toge and Megumi.

With a sigh, Iyashi stretched dramatically before heading in Satoru’s direction. She stood next to him, awaiting his direction.

She had come to his room the night before to offer help with the training. Claiming that she was beginning to wilt away at her desk. Satoru had offered a few activity ideas that would keep her stamina up - earning him a shoe to the back of the head.

He reached his hand up and massaged the spot where it had hit with a grin.

Clapping his hands together he leaned forward slightly. “Instead of using our cursed techniques and weapons as crutches, let’s pretend they don’t exist. Please put them up here by Iyashi-senpai and me.” He gestured to an empty spot on the ground next to them.

“Now now now, no cheating out there, please.” He wagged his finger at each of his students.

He reached his hand up and lifted a portion of his blindfold. Satoru scanned the group, making eye contact with each of them before stating, “I see everything.”

He returned the piece of fabric to its original position then sang out, “Three, two, one. And go!”

Iyashi wandered between the pairs, giving out constructive criticism as necessary. Satoru proceeded to do the same, stopping intermittently to demonstrate alternative moves.

He noted that the students appeared to be holding back with their respective partners. He furrowed his brows as he assessed the sparring. Weaving in between the individual fights before ordering them to stop.

The students froze, turning their attention to Satoru. Iyashi crossed her arms as she looked over, a quizzical expression on her face.

“Iyashi?” He asked sweetly, extending his hand out for hers.

“Gojo?” She responded, not moving an inch.

Satoru grinned, his hand still in the air, “How about we show them how it’s done?”

A sinister smile crossed Iyashi’s face, “I thought you’d never ask.” She walked to the middle of the courtyard, her jacket floating as the wind caressed it.

Satoru sauntered forward, providing at least ten feet of space between them. He slid his hands into his pockets and relaxed his shoulders.

A glint in her eyes, Iyashi reached inside of her coat to retrieve the kaikens. Spinning them between her fingers before tossing them to the side - clattering into the weapons pile.

Leaning back, Iyashi stretched her arms above her head before gesturing towards Satoru, “Come on, pretty boy.”

A hush fell over the students as Satoru appeared in front of her, stretching a leg out in an attempt to swipe hers out from underneath.

Iyashi dove to the right of him, rolling into a crouched position. Her eyes quickly assessed Satoru’s position before she ran towards him. Grabbing onto his neck she kicked his leg in an attempt to flip him. He floated through the air as she lost her grip, landing behind her.

Satoru reached for her ponytail, pulling her backwards as he kicked his leg into the back of her knee. Iyashi reached behind, grasping the back of his neck to pull herself up and backwards. She pulled off his blindfold as she landed behind him, grabbing the piece of cloth and wrapping it around his neck.

“I prefer to see your eyes,” she whispered in his ear.

Satoru grabbed her arms, flipping her over his head. She landed on the ground with a loud thud.

He stared down at her momentarily, “Is this better?”

She kicked up and caught him in the face, Saturo staggered backwards for a second as Iyashi used her momentum to right herself.

Wiping his cheek, he looked down at the smear of blood on his hand. He pulled his head back in surprise before meeting Iyashi’s gaze.

Slow smiles spread across their faces.

The spar lasted for longer than the students expected, every time they would assume who was about to win the other would gain the upper hand. A series of “Oo”’s and “Ah”s floated from the group.

In a final attempt at a take down they landed with a hard thud, Iyashi pinned Satoru to the ground - straddling him. She pressed one hand to his chest as a restraint. Her other hand wrapped around his throat.

Satoru stared up at Iyashi - admiring how the sunlight cascaded down onto her hair, the deep red reflecting. He took note of how her black leggings crumpled around her hips and how her pink long sleeved shirt began to ride up - exposing a portion of her soft stomach. She had long since shed her jacket, the workout proving to be heat sustaining enough.

Tendrils of hair fell from her high ponytail, sticking to her face. Her cheeks tinged with pink just the way he liked, her lips a soft red. Her heavy breathing caused a shift to her lower half that nearly pulled a groan from Satoru’s throat.

“I love it when you’re on top, Iyashi.” He murmured, low enough for her ears only.

She squeezed his throat before sliding her hand up and over his jaw. Satoru shivered as her fingers caressed his cheek where she had hit him. Her soft touch lingered warming the skin before she grabbed his chin roughly, shoving his face to the side as she pushed off of him - standing upright.

He laid on the ground, appreciating the view as Iyashi stepped towards the weapons pile. She pulled her kaikens out with a low grunt.

Walking in the direction of her office she called over her shoulder, “Next time fight for real, Gojo!”

Satoru sat up, reaching a hand up to feel where she had touched his cheek.

In place of the bleeding cut appeared freshly healed skin.

——————————————————————————————————

The steam slid over the bathroom mirror, Satoru wiped it with his towel - staring at his face in the reflection. There had to be a reason Iyashi wouldn’t own her cursed technique - he knew if he gave her space and time she would eventually.

Though he hoped it would be soon.

Sliding a pair of sweats on his lower half, Satoru ventured out towards the kitchen. The balcony light cascading onto the couch caught his attention, he paused to investigate.

The moonlight draped over Iyashi’s figure on the patio chair. He padded softly over to the door, pulling it open gently.

Satoru pivoted the second chair in her direction before sitting down, stretching his legs out in front of him.

The silence lingered between them, Satoru stared up at the stars in the night sky - counting them as he waited.

“I used to live in this little town in the countryside,” Iyashi said quietly, shifting slightly in her seat. “There were these light pink tsutsuji that would grow along the road, my sister would make these bouquets from them - put them on our nightstand.”

“The people had grown impatient over the years as the ground yielded less and less. The fresh food had become scarce, forcing everyone to go further into the city for necessities. There were a lot of men who started to steal and pillage different areas. One night, one of the young boys had beaten an elderly woman for the food her granddaughter had brought back to her - she died the next day.”

Satoru refrained from moving as Iyashi continued to speak, not wanting to discourage her story. He found himself holding his breath - he quickly exhaled.

“There was talk afterwards - rumors of a yokai that would steal children and pets in the night. We were all told to not go out late. My sister had seen some tsutsuji on the side of the street earlier that day. She wanted to fill my vase.” Iyashi faltered and hugged her knees to her chest, laying her cheek down - looking in his direction without making eye contact.

Satoru began to reach for her but stopped himself, squeezing the arm of the chair.

“I could always see them, Mom used to say I was kissed by an angel at birth - that’s why I could use my wings to fix things. She told me I was special, meant for great things.” She turned her head, resting her chin on top of her knees to look at the sky.

“It came in the night, I watched as it ate my sister alive - she was only five, holding pink tsutsuji’s in her little hand. It killed my parents but somehow left me untouched. I tried desperately to save her - no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t use my wings to bring her back.”

A few minutes of silence passed before he stood from the chair, taking a few small steps towards her.

Satoru reached his hand out and slid a knuckle down the side of her cheek, “You’ve already done great things, Iyashi,”

He smiled softly, “She would be proud of you.”

Satoru glided through the door, leaving Iyashi with her thoughts.

Memories flitted through his vision of a young Satoru holding onto a frail red-headed girl covered in blood. He shook his head before looking back towards the balcony.

Satoru reasoned that for all she had been through, Iyashi was a stronger person than she gave herself credit for.

He wondered what he did to deserve her.

——————————————————————————————————

chapter eight

#fanfic #fanfiction #fic writing #ao3 tags #gojo jjk #gojo jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu gojo #jujutsu sorcerer #gojo x female oc #jjk fics #jjk #jjk x female oc #romance #slow burn

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hangmanssunnies · 2 years

Text

Good Comes In 3

House We Share: Double Tap, Sfumato, Good Comes In 3

Summary: You and Jake navigate what it means to spend six months apart. Then, when he does come home, you two have to evaluate precisely what feelings you have for each other and also what a future together could mean. You just aren't sure he will ever forgive you for starting a puzzle without him.

Pairings: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Fem! Civilian! Reader, minor Javy "Coyote" Machado x OC

Word count: 34K

AO3 Link

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, Abuse (Implied), Slow burn, routines and compulsions, Jigsaw puzzles, Rejection, Drinking, Arguments, Yearning, Deployment, communication, Fertility problems, miscarriage (discussed), menstruation (discussed and lightly described), close female friendships, Depressive episodes, PTSD, roommates to lovers, love confessions, hyper-specific!Jake, Neurodivergent coded! Jake. Please let me know if I missed any for this part; I know it is a long one.

An: Unfortunately, this last part was too long to post altogether here on Tumblr. So I have included the first half here, the rest can be read on AO3 though. My first reblog of this here on Tumblr has the other half as well. I apologize for the inconvenience.

Thank you for taking this journey with me. Thank you all for loving this version of Jake. There were so many things I wanted to include and finish off for these two. While I couldn't include everything, I hope you enjoy what I did.

Thank you so much if you take a chance to read this work. I hope you enjoy it. My inbox is always open if you want to let me know your thoughts. Reblogs with your thoughts, opinions, and tags are gold to me. I love reading through them.

"Jake looked tired. Has he told you how he's been sleeping?" Marlee asks you curiously while chatting with you on the phone. The question causes your stomach to roll in a deep dive, and it takes you a moment to find the composure to respond.

"No, I haven't heard," you manage to tell her. Setting down the piece of fruit you had been about to eat, you lean back against the kitchen counter.

"Ah, well, will you ask him about it whenever you next talk? He wouldn't answer Javy or me about it when we asked."

"You and Javy are joined at the hip, practically the same person sometimes. Do you find that shocking?" You ask Marlee teasingly. Marlee chuckles at your comment. Her smile betrays her true feelings, though she likes how in sync she and Javy are generally considered.

"We are sometimes." Marlee concedes but then says frankly, "But even when Javy had his individual call with Jake, he wouldn't say. And you are the only other person I can imagine him opening up to,"

"I'll mention it next time I talk to him," you manage to say. It would just be one of the many things that you were supposed to be talking to Jake about on his deployment. It was easier to go along with their assumption than to flay your chest open and let the hurt you felt pour out.

Sometimes it's better, easier, to keep the kind of pain you felt to yourself. Bundled close and protected. To expose it would just make it hurt all the more. The idea of anyone, especially your closest friends, knowing you weren't important enough, or you had scared Jake away, or made some other mishap was mortifying. How could you go about explaining what had transpired? You weren't sure you could explain it. Also, Javy and Marlee had plenty of other things and people to worry about without having to add you higher on their list than you were already placed. You felt bad each week when one of them called you to check in begging, sometimes demanding that you hang out with them.

"Okay, I'll talk to you later then, babes. I love you!"

"I love you too, Marlee," you say, giving her the sweetest, kindest tone you can muster up. You end the call and walk over to the chalkboard in the kitchen.

Jake normally would draw seasonal decorations on it, but you had cleared it to be blank for notes months ago. The only thing on the board is a list you had titled: things to talk to Jake about. You add 'sleeping habits' to the bottom and frown. Reading through the list makes tears prick at the back of your eyes, and a lump forms in your throat. You hold the eraser poised for a moment, ready to trash the entire list, but you don't manage to follow through and drop the eraser, letting it fall to the ground.

You walk through the house, checking the locks and turning off the lights. The sadness and frustration you feel in you is still bubbling as you pass where Jake had unceremoniously left the large Juniper chest. You glare at it just like you do every night.

The morning Jake left, he'd woken you up with his thumb tracing your pulse point. His soft mostly lidded eyes trained on you, neither of you said anything just laying there quietly memorizing the moment. Neither of you could bear to get up until after the third alarm rang. The sun still hadn't crested the horizon when Jake went to shower. While he was occupied you stole one of his large Navy shirts that had been washed so many times it was soft. You are reluctant to leave his room, but make your way to the kitchen starting some breakfast and Jake's morning tea. You were just adding the dollop of honey he likes when he came downstairs, fully dressed and ready to leave you.

Jake thanked you sweetly, with a kiss pressed to your cheek. In the same breath he tried to steal the whisk out of your hand. You danced out of way holding the whisk out like a sword to ward him off. He had quickly grabbed the masher from the utensil jar and brandished it in response. Amusement filling his features. After a small chase around the kitchen which included a small clash of utensils, Jake got his way. You loved the way Jake's eyes crinkled and how charming his dimples and smile lines were. It was a look you almost always got anytime you let him do things for you. Jake had still let you help though, asking you to toast the sourdough bread, while he whipped the avocado, goat cheese, and honey together. Once it was the constituency he liked, Jake spread it on the toast sprinkling some sea salt on top. He made one for you as well, but you had already started cooking three eggs for him, and didn't really have an appetite. After Jake ate, you spent every minute waiting for Coyote to arrive for pick up wrapped tightly in Jake's arms.

"There is one last thing I need before I go," Jake had said.

"I can't give it to you this time," you said muffled, trying hard not to cry on his whites.

"Just one smile." Jake pleaded with his large warm hand lifting your chin so he could stare at you intently again.

"No, Jake." He frowned at your answer, eyebrows pulling tight together.

"I suppose I've reached my limit on things I can take from you." Jake puffed out with a quiet sigh. The tip of Jake's nose had dragged softly across your forehead before pressing a soft kiss to the center. He lingered there, breathing you in.

"Thank you for everything, my sweet," Jake whispered quietly.

Your breath hitched in your throat, and you tried to pull him as close and tight to you as possible again. Jake allowed you to hug him, but he didn't relax into the embrace like he normally would have. He was almost stiff in your hold, but one of his hands traced slowly over your back in a soothing motion. When Coyote's headlights had inevitably shown through the frosted window on the door, Jake carefully detangled himself from your arms. He lingered though practically trembling.

"I can't do it," Jake whispered, leaving his forehead pressed to yours.

"It's not optional, and there isn't anything Hangman can't do. Let alone something you've done before," you reassured him. It didn't seem to work as he tensed up more.

"Promise me you'll be okay," Jake had begged you. You had nodded yes in response, saying the word would have tasted too close to a lie. Jake's nose nudged yours and he asked again. The second time was much closer to a desperate demand, "promise me."

"If you be safe," you had compromised, wanting to savor every second ticking by that you would never get back. This last time you would be in the same space sharing the same air, for an undetermined amount of time. With a resolve you knew you didn't possess, Jake mouthed the words goodbye he was so close that his lips brushed yours as he did so. With a shaky inhale, Jake stepped away from you. His first two steps hadn't hurt so much, but the third as he exited the front door took all the air with him, including the bit trapped in your lungs. It was a sense of instant emptiness you had never experienced before. Everything you wanted to do seemed impossible when you couldn't even breathe. So there was no running after him for one more stolen moment, no collapsing against the floor, sobbing until your throat was raw, no more reassuring green eyes you could look to for comfort.

The hollow feeling that nestled into you was hard to find your balance with. You had thrown the lock on the door and stumbled through the house, ready to retreat back into Jake's bed. Well aware his scent would be gone sooner rather than later, you were determined to imprint as much of it to memory as possible. You are blindsided by pain shooting up your foot as you unexpectedly stubbed your toe. Cursing and looking down you realized there was now a new piece of furniture. Jake had left a hand made juniper chest Jake left sitting in the area between the living room and dining room. On top was a small note card with a watercolor of two very detailed puzzle pieces.

You stare so hard at the water colored pieces trying to parse their meaning the focus of your visions started to blur. The rapid blink forced tears to lubricate the area. However, when there is one tear there are others quick to follow. Just as a tear had splashed against the edge of the card you recognized the duplicates of the last two pieces you and Jake had double tapped into your last puzzle. On the back of the card stock was the drawn design of the chest, with all of Jake's neat measurements noted. You traced over his neat handwriting, and you were quick to quell your disappointment not finding more. That confusion and disappointment was impossible to ignore when you had gone to see what was inside and it was locked, the latch refusing to open.

Now, after 6 and ½ months of radio silence, the chest taunted you. His entire deployment, there hadn't been a single word to you. Your only source of information was occasionally hearing from Coyote and Marlee about how Hangman was doing. And there was the memory of him, a large empty house, and a locked chest that was too heavy for you to move.

You kick the side of the chest as you walk past it. It has become a tradition for you – this small abuse of the furniture while pacing before bed was a small soothing habit that helped you work some of your worries out. Once the feeling of missing Jake had settled into a dull, steady pain there was room for anger. You were furious and the only thing you had to take it out on was this beautiful work of craftsmanship. Unshockingly, the chest had been well made – because why would Jake make something that was easy to take your anger out on. He couldn't even give you that small concession. Even though you aren't as angry anymore, kicking the chest has become a part of your nightly routine.

The chest didn't just bother you because it was locked or a surprise gift you hadn't asked for. It also bothered you because of what it was made from. The juniper wood Jake used didn't match the boards he used for the puzzle table, which was a more common light juniper. The boards for the chest were such a deep red it looked purple. Jake made it from one of the logs that you had helped him strip. Seeing the chest felt like a reopening weeping sore; one bleeding from a formally treasured memory that was nestled close to your heart.

…

Saturday mornings were always a wild card with Jake.It was the one day of the week you could never be 100% sure what his plans were. There were staples you could expect like his morning run, but after that who knew? Sometimes he would have plans to see his friends, other times he had a project, list of chores, plans with his "little brother", manuals to read or some other all day activity. He liked it to be all day. So Sometimes you liked to just lounge in the living room waiting to see what he was going to do before making any plans of your own.

"Hey, I'm going on a drive and run some errands. Anything you want me to pick up?" Jake says to you when he comes down the stairs one Saturday morning.

"Oh, can I come with?"

"Sure, if you want. It's going to be boring though," Jake warns you.

"No, it won't," You protest, standing up and stretching. "I'd rather be with you. As long as you don't mind me tagging along?"

"Yeah, of course, sugar. I never mind when you tag along." Jake says with a wide smile.

"Well, what's the errand so I know how to dress?"

"I'm going to meet an old friend."

"Oh my god. Please be less ominous Jake"

"What would you like to hear, sugar?"

"Who exactly are we meeting?"

"We are meeting up with my friend, Jess."

"And?"

"And, and, and," Jake says, twirling his hand around the air before dramatically pointing to his watch. "We are already 4 minutes behind our schedule. I'll tell you right now that this is cutting into our farmers market time." "Farmer's Market is on the list?"

"Of course it is sugar. And so is Target," Jake says in his ‘duh-voice’ that you actually hate, but also you love because it reminds you how easy this is supposed to be. How it's not supposed to be a second thought. The things you like are included and planned for without you having to ask.

You are scrambling up the stairs to get ready when Jake calls after you. "You don't actually have to rush!! I'll make up time on the road."

"You know I don't support your excessive speeding Jake!" you call back, grabbing what you thought you would need.

"Bring socks for your heavy boots!" When you make it back downstairs Jake is tapping his pen aggressively against a notepad.

"What am I going to need boots for?" You ask him suspiciously while going through your items.

"Do you want car snacks? I packed some, and we can always stop to pick something else up." Jake asks you glancing up from his paper.

"We don't have to have snacks; I know you don't like eating in the truck."

Jake just shrugs and opens the door to the garage for you. "It's not a big deal, I'll add the car wash to my list for tomorrow."

"I also got your truck slippers so you don't have to wear your boots for the drive," Jake tells you. It's so sweet you want to grab him in a tight hug. You squeeze your hands tight instead, waiting for the urge to pass. Jake helps you up into the passenger side of the truck. Just as he said, the soft fuzzy blanket you like, and the slippers Jake got you are laid out waiting. Jake helps you out of your boots and into the slippers, setting them in the back seat for later. Once you are fully settled and buckled, Jake closes your door. He checks that the garage door is locked before jumping in the truck himself.

"Was I quick enough for you not to aggressively speed?" you ask when Jake gets into the driver's side and checks his mirrors.

"I would hardly call it speeding," Jake complains.

"It's a number above the speed limit sign. Therefore, it's speeding." You say, explaining it.

"I literally fly ten times as fast as car speeds. Well, more like 9.9 but still when you round up. It's ten." Jake responds,

"That is no excuse to be going 120 miles an hour, Jake." You say while rolling your eyes.

"I'm just saying. I am perfectly capable of controlling a fast vehicle," he argues.

"That's fine, and I am not invalidating that. However, you know just as well as I do, that everyone else doesn't have that same ability."

"You are so sassy!" Jake teases, clearly deciding to let the faux argument go.

"I'm the sassy one? Sure," you say sarcastically, drawing out the word. However, you also decide to let it go. Instead you enjoy the start to your drive, getting music going and adjusting the temperature controls until they are just right.

"So," you say after a bit, drawing out the word. "What are we driving to do?"

"It's nothing," Jake responds with a shrug.

"Really? Nothing is the justification to wear the work boots you got me?"

"You can't live with a bit of mystery, can you?" Jake asks, but there is affection laid into his words.

"No," You concede with a joking sigh, "which is what makes you so infuriating sometimes."

"I do strive to live as a man of mystery," Jake says amused.

"Oh really, is that what your next move is? Retire, so you can become an American James Bond?" You tease him.

"I'll admit it. You got me figured out. What gave it away?" Jake asks jokingly but not as quiet as bright as before. You shoot him a look, but his smile is still firmly in place.

"Honestly?" You ask him hesitantly.

"Yes Ma'am. They do say honesty is the best policy."

"It's the fact that you refuse to grow facial hair. I'm convinced that it's because you want to save that for a disguise." You say, almost giggling trying to picture Jake with a beard or mustache. You expect Jake to laugh too, but he doesn't. After a slightly too long pause, he forces out a strangled laugh, and you realize that you've misstepped somehow.

"Talk about it or leave it?" You offer trying to sound natural and keeping the pushiness you felt gnawing on you out of your voice. Jake takes a deep measured breath, exhaling out slowly through his nose. He drums a staccato on the steering wheel before responding.

"Can we leave it please?" Jake eventually requests.

"Facial hair or James Bond?" You ask, wanting to clarify.

"Both, please."

"Can do."

"Thank you," Jake breathes quietly. Then he offers his right hand to you across the center console. You only wait a moment before slipping your fingers to slot in with his. He squeezes your hand affectionately and you both seem to take a deep breath to try and ease some of the uncomfortable tension. Jake's thumb tracing softly against your skin.

"I'll tell you if you really want to know," Jake says a few miles later while his eyes stay trained on the road. You think about whether you really want to press him for details. As much as you want to know, you don't want to ever force Jake into sharing something with you if he isn't completely comfortable with it.

"Nope, it's fine. Keep your mysteries, Hangman, I'll find out eventually." You finally respond, pulling Jake's hand up to press a kiss to the back of it, making sure he understood your innocent intentions. He chuckles good naturedly and his hand flexes at the movement, tightening its grasp on yours when you set them on the middle console again.

"That's good. I appreciate you."

"I appreciate you more," you tell him sweetly, though you mean it very genuinely. Jake pulls his eyes from the road to flash a heavy frown of disapproval your way.

"I don't think that's possible," Jake says with passion.

You just shrug, letting the conversation drift to the next topic, just enjoying the drive with Jake. It is a while before Jake pulls off onto a private road that leads up to a massive barn, and you still don't really have any clue where you are or why. Jake throws the gear into park, the truck in park and shoots you an almost gleeful smile.

"Jake, where are we?" You ask him again.

"Just my friend's place," he answers.Then,while reaching over and patting your cheek affectionately, says, "You, my sweet, can stay here."

"Do I have to stay?" You ask him nervously, checking the mirrors on either side of you. You know once Jake leaves the truck and into the barn you won't be able to see him anymore. The idea of being alone here, somewhere you don't know, even in the truck makes you uncomfortable.

"I just didn't want you to have to walk through all the mud," Jake says.

"It's okay," you tell him reassuringly. "That's why you had me bring my boots, right?"

"Yes, but you just look snug as a bug. I didn't want to make you move," Jake replies.

"I don't mind, it will be nice to get out of the car. And I want to meet your friend."

A moment later Jake is opening your side of the truck and helping you into your boots, tying up the laces for you and ignoring your protests that you are perfectly capable of doing that yourself. Jake helps you out of the truck and holds your hand, helping you walk over the uneven ground carefully. You can smell it before you see it. The fresh woodsy scent permeates the air so heavily that you can nearly taste it.

Subverting your expectations, Jake does not lead you to the large frame equipment sliding doors of the barn. Instead, he leads you around the nearest side where there is a small typical sized door. Opening the door, Jake reveals a huge workshop. Half of the large barn space is filled with massive logs, planks, boards, and other cuts of wood. The other half is full of various projects, a giant tool bench, and shelving making up an impressive workspace.

"Oh wow," you breathe taking it all in. You look at Jake and he is positively gleeful, maybe even more excited than a kid in a candy shop. His grin is wide, looking around and leading you a bit further into the workspace. A soft Jingle plays in the air, penetrating the otherwise quiet atmosphere when Jake closes the door behind you.

"Seresin, that better be you!" A voice calls out from the back of the barn.

"And it if ain't?" Jake calls back playfully.

"Then you should know, I've got a gun I ain't afraid to use, and you're trespassing."

You almost let go of Jake's hand in alarm, but he gives you a squeeze reassuring you. He leads you a little further into the warehouse, and a middle aged woman comes in through one of the open doors.

Jake lets go of your hand to give her a warm hug. She hugs Jake back lightly before pushing him away with a playful shove.

"It's good to see you too, Jess," Jake grumbles, dodging out of the way of her playful punch.

"Hi, I'm Jess. It's nice to meet you." She says turning to you and offers you a warm smile

You introduce yourself a bit shyly, but feel more confident when Jake's hand slips back into yours.

"Have you known this pest for long?" Jess asks you while gesturing to Jake.

"Jess, be nice. I am literally your favorite customer and the son you never had," Jake complains.

"Paula and I were actually very conscious in our choice not to have children, Jake," Jess says, clicking her tongue at him.

Jake pouts and you can't help but giggle a little at the sight. "I've known him for a bit, yes," you respond.

"Well, even if he is annoying, you've found yourself a good man," Jess says. You wait for Jake to correct her. When he doesn't you start to do so yourself but Jess has already changed the subject and started walking to the other side of the warehouse with a gesture for you to follow.

"So, I got them fresh this week. And just like you requested, I'm letting you have the first freshcut pick, even before me." Jess explains to him.

"I knew you loved me," Jake gasps grinning wide. Jess huffs out a breath at Jake but doesn't deny Jake's accusation which just makes Jake grin wider. Y'all walk to a pile of grey logs stacked close to the large barn doors.

They start a conversation that completely goes over your head, something about soil conditions, chain lengths, altitude, sap, and other details you didn't know impacted wood. You take this opportunity to look around the shop, and appreciate all the different types of wood and tools. You have only slightly lost focus when you suddenly realize Jake has said your name and is looking at you expectantly. He quickly picks up that you missed the question though, so he repeats it gently.

"You should pick our first one, Sugar. Juniper was your idea."

"Oh, I just pick one?" You ask looking at all the logs. Besides the fact they were different widths they all looked pretty much the same to you.

"Yes, Ma'am," Jake confirms. He leads you to the ends of the cuts and starts talking about grains, and the potential knots and twists that would be in the wood when you cut into it. Jess leaves y'all to decide, saying she'll go grab her forklift to make getting the selections into Jake's truck easier. Jess declines Jake's offer to drive with a snipe about how he isn't forklift certified. Jake's muttered comeback about how he could be forklift certified if he wanted makes you roar in laughter.

You eventually pick a trunk that overall doesn't look too special, but Jake said it looked like it would be easier to work with because of how sticky the sap was. Jake makes two other selections and also insists on helping Jess get the wood into his truck.

Jess invited you to an early lunch where you met her wife Paula. Paula had clearly been prepared to host and spent the whole meal fawning over Jake. While Jess might deny treating him like a son, Paula certainly leans into it, and you can tell Jake doesn't mind from the glowing smile that stays on his face the whole time you're at their home.

As promised Jake had planned time to stop at the farmers market, and an outlet mall, that included a target, where two do some light shopping. Finally picking up Jake's drycleaning on your way home. It's a fun day, and you were thankful you had decided to tag along.

"So Jake, are these for what I think?" You ask him excitedly when you have finally made it home and he is pulling the logs into the garage.

"It definitely might be. After all, this is fresh Juniper."

You stare at the grey logs of wood with their mossy, splintering bark that has already made a mess in the garage. Examining the wood you try to compare it with the Juniper you have seen in the past.

"I didn't think it was that color," you tell Jake scrunching your eyebrows together in contemplation.

"Well, the wood isn't actually grey, just the bark," Jake explains. You watch as he pulls two pairs of work gloves from the workbench. He jerks the larger pair on, you realize with adoration that he had gotten a pair in your size. Jake doesn't hand the gloves to you, rather just leaves them out as an offering if you are interested in participating. The casual no pressure offering makes your chest warm and stomach flutter. Biting your lip you try to contain the grin threatening to split your face before joining him at the workbench and sliding the gloves on.

Grabbing two chisels, he throws one on his belt. Then he picks up alo with two hammers, hanging both those on his toolbelt as well. You start to get distracted by the way Jake's tool belt sits on his slim hips.

"Yes. Jess managed to expedite it for us in a special order. I'm so excited. You see, in the spring the sap warms up and it runs through the tree so it allows us to do this –" Jake explains to you. He angles the chisel into the bark, working it in. With a controlled hit from the hammer the flat head sinks in a little bit deeper. Wiggling the chisel makes the bark displace, allowing Jake to grab it and pull it downwards. A long section of the bark comes off before splintering and breaking off the log. The action reveals the light colored, bright, 'green' (fresh) wood underneath.

"I can tell you've never experienced stripping before," Jake says cheekily while wiggling his eyebrows at you. You feel a bit amazed at the beautiful gem that's been revealed to you.

"What?" you gasp.

"Stripping is what this process is called," Jake answers while letting out a full bellied laugh, going so far as slapping his own leg. You roll your eyes at him but can't help your smile and excitement on joining in.

"Some people strip wood with a power washer, but I think that's lazy. On top of the laziness, it prematurely ages and strips the wood of its natural oils, color, and saps! If we take our time though, we can get a longer lasting, vibrant cut. It's a lot of work, but I promise it will be worth it in the long run."

Jake takes his chisel and edges it under the bark again. When he pulls the long grey strip of bark gives way with a crunch that sizzles against your ears. Jake continues to slowly peel more away to reveal the fresh color underneath, not pressuring you to join the process at any point.

However when you do ask to help Jake is patient going over the process with you, explaining the best angle to keep the chisel. He provides steady guidance, only leaving you alone in the process when you tell him that you have a handle on what you're doing.

You help Hangman strip one of the logs and just as he had said, it is a slow process. It is however extremely satisfying and lots of fun. He puts on a podcast after consulting you to find one you would both enjoy. At one point you accidentally dig your chisel too far under the bark and feel it sink slightly into the 'green' sap softened wood. Your heart drops, and when you peel it back you see that it has pulled a chunk of wood, leaving a gouge in the trunk. You freeze, noticing the damage of the mistake, pulling your eyes to where Jake is working. Just as you start to wonder if there could be a way to fix or hide your mistake, Jake looks over at you with a wide smile that crinkles around his eyes.

"Oh wow," he gasps, the smile falling. Anxiety claws at your throat, and you instinctively prepare yourself for something bad to happen, every muscle in your body tensing in anticipation. Jake's hand gently pushes yours out of the way and dips over the gouge pushing away some of the sap that was springing from the area. Jake clicks his tongue before saying. "Look at this, sugar"

"I know and–" You are getting ready to spew the best excuse and explanation you can think of before Jake interrupts you.

"I've seen this color juniper, at least not in person" Jake tells you breathily. You are momentarily surprised that his words do not contain any anger, veiled insults, or condescending tones. Then you remember that this is Jake, so of course you're not going to 'be in trouble'. It takes your eyes a moment to drop down to the thick trunk again. Where you had damaged the wood, it revealed a bright purple streak under the top grain.

"It's purple," you say, eyes widening.

"It does look purple does it?" Jake asks excitedly. "That means at the very least that vein will look like that through the trunk. If not all the pigmentation in the grain."

"So, it's not usually purple?" You ask.

"Sometimes red, but not purple. This one was a real treasure find, sugarpie" Jake answers. His grin was so wide you were a little worried about his face. However, before you know it, he is sweeping you in his arms and rocking you playfully while saying, "We are going to have to do something really special with this one."

"Puzzle table," You say as if that was the most obvious answer. That was the whole reason he had gotten all these logs of juniper, after all.

"Yeah, maybe for the puzzle table," Jake says noncommittally, though as he hums you can tell that won't be the case. He kisses your forehead and mutters a thank you.

Jake gives you another thank you, a little while later, once you two have started to work again. "We wouldn't have known about the color until I went to cut planks and then there would have been a lot less I could do to preserve the color."

"I made a mistake, Jake."

"Not all mistakes are bad," he says kindly. "Sometimes they are just something that's meant to happen. They have to happen for us to learn something."

"Says the man who famously never makes mistakes," you grouse back.

"I make mistakes, but unfortunately, like everything I do, it's to the max. Either the best or the worst," he trails off with a shrug.

"Because you refuse to be middling?" You ask him teasingly. You aren't surprised when his sharp elbow playfully taps into your arm, and if you bruise later-- it will be worth it.

"We never should have read and watched Little Women," Jake grumbles. However, his open and light body language make it very clear to you he is being playful. You traced the shape of his dimples with your eyes enjoying the ease they brought to you. They seemed like the perfect place to rest your thumbs on his cheeks. It's nice how Jake comes with a built in guidance system. From his dimples, to the smile lines that will age nicely into kind crows feet all pointing to the freckle-mole by his right eye. You had already mapped out every place you wanted to kiss, given the opportunity.

"You loved them both," you remind Jake.

"Of course I did. It is a heart warming, stunning story. But you don't always have to make fun of how I teared up a little bit." Jake tells you, adopting a frown. Teared up was a bit of a down play on what had happened but you didn't call Jake out on that part. It wasn't a bad thing for men to get emotional and cry.

"I only tease because you were upset about it for the entire next day. Which honestly was so sweet."

"It's not sweet, Sugar." Jake groans.

"Jake, let's not do this dance," you sigh, rolling your eyes at him and turning back to your work on the trunk. You are much more careful now in how you place the chisel under the bark. In the middle of stripping off the next piece the podcast shuts off and some slow country music replaces it.

"Now, Sugar," Jake says in an extra thick southern accent that makes you narrow your eyes. He eases in close to you and pulls the chisel out of your hand sliding it in his tool belt. Unbuckling it Jake sets it on the bench. Coming back to your side he takes your hand, delicately. Jake pulls your work gloves from each finger. Intentional and steady, the pads of his fingers brush against your revealed skin. He tosses the gloves to the side as well, and with your now free hands pulls you closer to him, towards the open space in the middle of the garage.

"What dance exactly don't you want to do?" Jake asks you, starting to sway to the music and encouraging you to join him in the simple steps. Once you do he gleefully spins you in time with the music and draws you back even closer to his chest after.

Blowing out a sigh you melt into his embrace. Dancing with Jake was different than any other man; he was confident and incharge, firm enough with his hold that there wasn't any space for you to really fall out of step with him, but he left enough room so you didn't feel like he was forcefully dragging you through the steps. He was good about taking the worry of thinking about the steps away from you, allowing you to just enjoy the movement and how his broad body felt pressed so close.

"The dance where you try to sell some preposterous lie about not being a good man, and I have to convince you otherwise."

"Ouch," Jake says. You lean back further resisting the hold he has in moving you. Jake doesn't allow the movement though, continuing to step dance to the music guiding you with him.

"I'm sorry, Jake." you say already feeling a little bad.

"No, no. I might have deserved that one," Jake answers, as the song wraps up, and you don't know what to say. He doesn't let go of you though, just adjusts his steps, leads his steps into the next one.

"Let's find a different dance you do like," he says after a bit, shuffling you in his arms. "For example, we know you love the Texas two step."

"Do I?" You ask him with a laugh.

"Yes, ma'am," He responds confidently, not leaving room to contradict him. "How do you feel about salsa though?"

Jake turns you around the open space in the garage, going through dances he knows until you are both laughing. When he suggests cooking dinner and watching Dancing with the Stars for some new ideas you readily and happily agree, especially when he reminds you the logs will still be there tomorrow, and there is no real need to rush since you have at least a week until the sap is too dry to easily strip anymore.

…

"Marlee, your boss isn't going to pass you up for a promotion."

"Well, she might if I'm pregnant," Marlee responds in a small voice that doesn't match her typical outgoing demeanor. You almost drop your phone but manage to keep your grip tight.

"Marlene Machado… First of all, that would be illegal, and we would file a report with HR. And secondly, is there something you are wanting to tell me?"

"No!" Marlee says, "I don't know what you're talking about, me pregnant?! That's crazy talk. Maybe you're the one who's pregnant."

"Okay, honey. Sorry, sorry." You sigh only partly apologetic into the phone.

"No, I'm sorry." She replies in a quiet voice. "But nothing for sure yet."

"That's okay, Marls. It's only been a few months of this new medicine."

"Yeah, well um I guess that leads to my next problem."

"What's that?"

"What are your plans for Saturday?"

"I don't have any plans." You say running through your mental calendar to check.

"Okay, perfect. So, here's what Javy and I are thinking."

"So Javy is involved?" You clarify.

"What? Of course, he is!" Marlee says sounding affronted at even the concept of not including her husband, which makes you almost smile for real.

"Okay, okay," you tell her with a small laugh.

"We'll pick you up. Then we'll carpool to the airport. Don't worry I already made signs. Then we want to take y'all to Olive Garden."

You distantly hear Javy yelling, "When we are there, we are family."

Marlee takes a moment to giggle, "I'll make sure you and Jake drink a bottle of wine. Preferably one each. Trust me, nothing helps with the ‘we haven't seen each other in six months’ awkwardness better than wine. Then we will drive you two home!"

You aren't successful in catching your phone this time and it slams to the ground. You're frozen staring down at it, only managing to shake yourself and pick it up when you hear Marlee saying your name in concern.

"Sorry, the phone slipped. What was that?"

"Oh no, is it okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine," you answer the pit in your stomach growing till it feels like it might swallow you whole.

"You don't need help with anything for tomorrow do you?" Marlee asks worriedly. You take a glance around the house. You had worked hard keeping things orderly and together while Jake had been gone. You knew how worried he was that things would change while he was away. It hadn't been easy and there were a few weeks there when you hadn't been able to keep yourself afloat very well.

"Help with what?" You ask, trying to get her to confirm what you thought you had heard.

"Any cleaning or organizing or any of that. Groceries so you and Jake don't have to go shop. Javy hates going to the store when he comes home. I guess there is something especially frustrating about them," Marlee trails off. You can tell that she is picking up on your off mood, and of course she was. She probably expected you to be ecstatic that Jake was coming home, and maybe you would have been if you had known about it.

You realize there isn't a way out of this so you have to concede a truth to her. You bite your lip and let your eyes frantically comb over the house again before finally whispering. "He hasn't said anything to me… about coming home."

When Marlee answers you can hear she isn't on speakerphone anymore, and asks you quietly, "He hasn't mentioned it at all?"

"Not a word," you respond solemnly.

"I'm sorry for ruining the surprise."

"I'm glad you did. I'll definitely want to clean and shop like you mentioned. And as nice as your plan sounded, maybe not this time. You two are the sweetest ever."

"I still feel bad. Are you sure you don't need help with anything?"

"I'm fine, thank you, Marlee!" You were not fine.

"Wait, babes, I'm worried."

"Don't worry. I'll talk to you later, yeah? I love you!" You hang up the phone and stare at it blankly. Trying to process the new information you had just gotten. Looking around the house you realized you weren't even close to ready for Jake to come home.

You spend all of your free time panicking, cleaning and organizing the house, trying to make sure everything was just perfect for when Jake comes home. You almost had a breakdown when you couldn't remember if the quilt on his bed had been green or dark blue when he left.. The smallest details were haunting you. You had spent nearly an hour working up the courage to erase the chalkboard in the kitchen. Worried that you would forget some of the more important reminders, you erase everything but what you deemed Jake needed to know, like things that had come up concerning the house. It leaves a choppy, oddly spaced list, but you don't think you will have the energy to rewrite it without crying.

You were asleep when Jake came home. Waking up to sounds that are familiar and yet gone enough that they don't sound right, confuses your tired mind before you are startled into wakefulness, fully placing that for the first time in 6 months someone else is cooking in your kitchen. Your alarm is slightly eased when you check your phone and see a text from Marlee.

We're here with a gift, come down stairs as soon as you wake up <3

While you were put at ease knowing some manic axe murderer isn't in your house, you almost feel like you would prefer that to what you now know is waiting for you downstairs. You sit in your room for nearly an hour trying to work out what to do, if you should confront Jake and how to approach it, hoping inspiration or bravery will strike you into moving. It never does though, and instead there is a heavy handed knock on your bedroom door.

Taking a big gulp, not having the strength to find your voice, you slowly creak the door open. You lift your eyes up and unexpectedly find Javy on the other side of the door.

"Hey, sleeping beauty!" Javy says cheerfully. It takes you a few deep breaths to answer from your surprise. You don't know what the look on your face is, but the next thing you know, Javy is sweeping you up into a tight hug. You are frozen though, still strung out on what this must mean, that Jake is home.

"Is he?" You start to ask, but not sure how you actually want to finish the sentence: home, safe, okay, the same. Javy doesn't respond, he just squeezes you harder. You try asking your question again to get an answer. "Is Jake?"

"Hangman is here," Javy finally confirms.

"I thought it was going to be this evening."

"Some of his flights got shifted around at the last minute."

"Oh. And is he..?" You can't finish that question either.

"He will be okay," Javy says lightly.

"Will be? So, that means that he isn't okay now." You grimace, worry flooding your chest that is already so full of hurt.

"It'll all take us some time to readjust and recalibrate. Just don't push him, and more importantly yourself too hard. Okay?" Javy says pulling away from the hug after another squeeze. You nod numbly, not entirely sure you know what he means but it is comforting to know your friend is here.

When you don't make a move to follow Javy towards the door when he starts to retreat he levels you with a concerned look.

"Why do you love Jake?" Javy asks, leaning back against your door.

You open your mouth to protest that you don't love Jake– how can you love someone who willfully hasn't talked to you in 6 months? The words don't come out though, because in spite of it all, you do love him. You love him so much it hurts, and you made that choice even as Jake actively warned you against it. Javy waits patiently for you to respond, which just makes you feel like squirming more.

"I do not see what that has to do with anything," you try to deflect but Coyote frowns at you and shakes his head.

"It's because he makes you feel better than a million bucks right?" Javy presses on with the question.

"Yeah, sometimes." You concede thinking of how it was before Jake left.

"Or like you are the most important thing in the room? More important even than him?"

"Don't know if I love Jake because of that. I think those are just side benefits. I love Jake just by virtue of him being Jake." You say trying to explain how you feel and Javy nods along to your words.

"I get it," he says. You worry your lip and look at the door again, still not sure you can do this.

"It's going to be okay. Marlee and I are here to play interference as long as you two need it. Remembering those things you love about him will help get through the rough patch. He is really worried about doing something wrong."

"What do you mean wrong?"

"I would say he is worried about hurting you." And you had to resist the urge to laugh, because it was already much too late for that. Jake had been hurting you for months now.

"Has something gone wrong before, or is he just scared?"

Javy doesn't answer your question and he avoids your gaze and stares hard at a far wall. "Hangman and I aren't always stationed together."

"Oh, I see."

"You're going to have to give him some grace and time; he will even out, I promise. If it gets too bad you can always call me, okay?" Javy's eyes meet yours again, and he gives you a sad smile. "I love Jake too, you know."

"Yeah, I know you do." You reassure him. "Thanks Coyote, you are a good friend to him, and me too."

Javy is then urging you to finally leave your room, opening the door and gesturing for you to step out. He is asking you to be brave, and it's a lot easier to face your fears when you know someone else is there to help, just in case.

"Hey what's taking so long up there?" Marlee yells up the stairs suspiciously. She must have heard your door open.

"I am once again begging Javy to run away with me." You yell back to her playfully. Giving Javy one last tight hug and a muttered thank you, he strides confidently down the stairs. Anxiety and nerves eat away at your every step leaving a sour taste on your tongue. You keep your eyes trained on the ground, as you descend the stairs, still not ready to actually see Jake.

Instead you keep your eyes trailed on Javy where he has automatically drifted to his wife's side and is already wrapping himself around her and kissing her cheek.

"Well, were you convinced to run away?" Marlee asks her husband, hugging him back, clearly enjoying the joke.

"No Ma'am, not this time," Coyote answers with a laugh.

"I wasn't worried," she tells him. "I know there's only one person you would leave me for."

"I would never leave you," Javy responds, dropping the playfulness from his voice. However, Marlee persists.

"That's not true, we both know if Jake asked, you wouldn't even hesitate." The couple both turn their eyes towards the kitchen, which you realize is where Jake must be. You are frozen on the last step of the stairs, unable to take your eyes off Marlee and Javy, even as they expectantly look back and forth between where you are standing and where he is.

You decide you aren't brave enough, that you can't actually do this. You need to retreat up the stairs into your room and pack all of your things in order to get out of here as soon as possible. Jake was back now, all the responsibility you had to watch and take care of the house was released from your shoulders. Never facing him again seems like the obvious solution, you don't know why you had never considered it before.

"I wouldn't ever ask Javy to run away with me, he snores too much," Jake says. His voice tricks your eyes into looking towards the kitchen. Thinking about Jake Seresin and seeing him are two distinctly different things. He is handsome, Jake always has been handsome, but after so long of not seeing him, it's glaring, breathtaking.

You think you had expected him to change, which doesn't really make sense. Half a year, in the grand scheme of things, really isn't very long. You think maybe his uniform fits him a bit more snugly, that he looks even more fit than before. You weren't prepared… you weren't prepared at all. And now you are stuck because he is looking back at you. Jake blinks at you, and you stare wide eyed, too afraid if your eyes close for even a second he will be gone.

"Hello. Good morning," Jake finally says.

"Hi," you squeak. Then you are finally able to take the last step off the stairs and say, "It's good to see you."

Jake flashes you one of his perfect practiced smiles and a wink. Then he gestures to the bowls and pans in front of him, "I'm making french toast."

You wait a second, having to choke back a sob threatening to bubble in your chest. Then say, "I'm sure that will be good."

Javy and Marlee's analyzing the two of you makes the awkwardness press in harder. Gulping, you try to seem casual about walking towards the kitchen. Jake watches you intently. At the last minute you change your mind and veer down the hallway towards the front door instead.

"Sorry, I just have some errands I need to run," You announce loudly, quickening your step. Fumbling with the locks you burst out the front door, and stand heaving on the front porch. Gripping the railing hard, you lean against it trying to brace yourself.

A minute later you hear the door open, and you close your eyes tight, wishing you had been smart enough to walk further away. There is a slight clunk against the ground and you see a pair of your shoes next to your feet.

"Thought you might need shoes," Jake says quietly. Fuck, this hurt so much more than you though it would. You thought having him home would feel like a relief, not a fresh stab wound. You just shake your head, not sure you can say anything. Jake waits patiently but after several long minutes, he breathes out a quiet sigh.

"Okay. Well. I think I should just apologize and get on with it. I'm sorry, I am so sorry." You can't stop the hitching sob that falls from your throat.

"I know you didn't love back the same way, but I didn't realize you cared so little about me."

"That is an inaccurate statement," Jake protests.

"I don't want us to have a fight Jake." You mumble, nothing about this conversation was making you feel better.

"Well I do. I want us to have a fight, because you should be mad at me. You should be yelling at me and cursing the ground I walk on. You should've burned down this house!" He exclaims, and you can hear his frustration. You open your eyes to find Jake standing stiff and straight next to the slightly ajar front door. Hands clenched tight, Jake was staring at like you were water and he had been stranded in the desert for days, parched. A direct sighting of his green eyes is all it takes to break your resolve.

"I can't be mad at you!" You exclaim, throwing your hands up in the air.

"Why not?" He prods you in a low voice.

"You know exactly why."

Jake huffs, clenching his jaw he glares upwards, away from you.

"You don't have to be this saint you know. You don't have to be this perfectly stable person for me because you feel like that's what I need. Please don't let me get away with hurting you."

"I won't give you the satisfaction," you tell him coldly.

"What?" Jake asks, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

"I'm not going to give you the satisfaction of confirming that you are the bad guy you've convinced yourself you are. So, what would you like me to say instead?"

"I guess I want you to listen to the fact that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for how I left, I'm sorry for how I behaved, I—"

"Are you really sorry for what happened between us?" You ask in a small voice. You lower your eyes to look at the ground, not wanting to be too confrontational.

"Of course I am," he sighs. It's a stab to your heart. You had treasured the long heartbreakingly beautiful evening you had with Jake before he left, and hearing him say he doesn't feel the same is harrowing.

"Are you—" you start to ask but stop yourself. You ball up all the hurt in your chest trying to rationalize and compartmentalize. Realizing this is another one of those times you had to fill in the gaps. It was time you refocused on the realities at hand. There were no promises besides the one you had made. That you would love him regardless, and continuously. Reminding yourself this fact helps, you could be upset after, later. Every moment actually with Jake should be treasured, this was the first moment you were getting with him in how long and of course you had ruined it.

"I'm sorry for every other thing I know I should be, and everything I willfully chose not to know too. I'm sorry, and well I want to go on forever. I want to keep telling you I'm sorry every second. So, I'm sorry. I'll say it a million times more. Like you deserve."

"Jake, stop. Sometimes the more times you say something the cheaper the words have become. So let's keep this one valuable. I'm sorry for pushing, and you've said sorry too. We can move on now."

"I'll just be plain then." He says, though you can tell that the frustration and desperation are still burning hot under his skin.

"Yes, Jake, be plain. That's the best option for us."

"If we step over lines?"

"We say something, stop and talk about it."

"Okay." He agrees, "We have to talk about the other thing now too."

"What thing?" you ask.

"My question, what happened between us." He says as if he hadn't just told you part of him regrets it.

"You asked to be selfish with me Jake, and I said yes. I don't regret that, and I'm not mad about what happened. You had my permission and consent for all of it.'

"I just kept waiting until I knew what I wanted to say, but then I never knew what I wanted to say," he explains.

"Jake, I really…" You sigh and scrub your hand over your face. "Can we not talk about this right now?"

Jake nods silently in response. "Okay, Later, then."

"Sure, like when the Machados aren't listening on the other side of the door." You say loudly looking at the front door that was cracked, having no doubt your friends were being nosey. Not that you really blame them, you probably would have done the same thing.

"Do you still have errands to run?" he asks you. You look out to the street deciding you should at least take a small walk to sort through your thoughts.

"I'm just going to go on a little walk. I'm sure I'll be back by the time breakfast is done," you explain.

"Sounds good, sugar. Can I help you with your shoes?" He asks quietly. The only reason you nod your head yes is because you think you might start crying otherwise.

Jake kneels down and hesitates for a long moment before his large warm hand is on your ankle, helping angle your foot into the shoe. His thumb makes a brushing stroke across the skin before doing the same thing with the other foot. When you get back from your walk, it's awkward. You completely avoid Marlee's attempts to get you to go off and talk with her. Instead, you decide that the best course of action is to pretend that nothing is wrong. You laugh at jokes and ignore how stilted and awkward Jake's conversation is with everyone. Then, after Marlee and Javy linger way too long, before you and Jake finally get them to leave. Once they are out the door and Jake has locked the door behind them, you both let out a sigh of relief. You meet Jake's gaze, both of you offer small smiles. It's the most normal moment you've had all day.

"Welcome back, Jake." You offer tentatively. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"I kinda just want to nap," he admits. You part ways at the top of the stairs giving him a strained smile and retreat into your room; Jake's eyes don't leave you until the door is shut firmly in place.

It's much later that night when you hear some loud banging. You shoot out of your room worried, and realize the banging is coming from the other side of Jake's bedroom door. You knock on it firmly but don't hear a response.

You knock again and the banging comes to a stop. You try the door and find it locked.

"Jake, are you okay?" You ask him through the door.

"I'm fine. Thanks," he yells back. You wait but when you don't get anything more, you have no choice but to leave him be and go back to your room. You don't actually even see Jake again until two nights later. You have been able to tell that he is home but Jake is as elusive as a ghost.

You run into him next when you open your door one night to get some water before bed. Jake is standing on the other side, holding two water bottles. Part of you has a hunch that he had been standing there for a while. He looks shocked but a little relieved when he sees you.

"I know I shouldn't be here," Jake starts slowly, taking his gaze off of you and looks down at his feet.

"No, it's okay that you are here," you stutter slightly. "Is there something you need?"

Jake nods his head along with your words, his eyebrows drawing together. Then he holds out a water bottle for you to take. "Can I just be here? Here, with you?"

"Of course, always." You say stepping backwards into your room leaving the door wide open for him. You shuffle to your bed and lift open the blankets ready to welcome him there with you. However, Jake drops the pillow he was holding on the floor nearby and lays down instead.

You want to ask him questions about it but the edge he is on isn't one you want to poke or prod in any direction. While you are still hurt, knowing he is here is safe again, with you is equally as soothing, a small dosage of pain medication.

"There's plenty of room up here with me too, you know." You decide to casually offer just in case.

"It's too soft for me right now."

"I just thought I would offer," you say lightly.

"I can't sleep. It's the worst part. Everything is too quiet and too still and at the same time not quiet or still enough. I think I might go insane." He explains in a low voice.

"What can I do? What do you need?" You ask sympathetically.

"Can we talk about it?" Jake asks hopefully.

"No, Jake. We can't," You sigh and hear him sigh in frustration.

"Someday, at some point, we are going to have to talk about it," Jake says so carefully you know he is consciously holding back the taunting frustration he wants to put into the words.

"No, we really don't," You contradict him.

"Sweets," Jake responds, sounding wrecked.

You think you should give into him again. You should allow Jake to talk his heart out and seek penance from you. How this should be a time when you are strong for him. However, as much as you want to give Jake the world, there must be times that you curl around your own heart to try and shield it from hurt.

"Listen, Jake. I don't need to know why you didn't talk to me while you were gone. No matter what your explanation is, it's going to hurt my feelings. So, I would rather not know. Please, let me pretend something a little kinder."

He is silent, so very quiet for so long you almost wonder if he has left. Evaporated from existence, that he never came home at all, and you've been living an elaborate hallucination. You turn on your side just to check in the soft lamp light that Jake is still laying on the floor.

"You should have said no to me before I left. It would have saved us both a lot of grief I think."

Jake's words feel like a punch in the gut, rattling around like a wrecking ball, leaving a bloody massacre behind. With a heavy blown out breath you say, "No it wouldn't have."

"No, it wouldn't have," he sighs in agreement.

"It would be nice though, if we could go back to before."

"Before?" He asks.

"Yes," you say, clutching your blankets tight. "If I could pretend that you never got orders and didn't leave. I would jump to that in an instant.

"You want to pretend nothing happened?"

"Isn't that an idea?" You huff a small broken laugh at the ridiculousness of it.

"What if I don't remember exactly how things went before?" Jake wonders.

"Jake, I wasn't serious," you say cautiously.

There are several long minutes of silence where you wait for him to say something. Finally, you hear Jake let out a long heavy audible groan while shifting. "If you don't want to talk it out. Pretending is probably our best option then. Otherwise, what are we going to do, sweets?"

"Sugar," You correct automatically.

"Hmm?"

"You usually call me sugar, or honey. Not sweets"

"Ah, that's right, and darling. I got it mixed up because you're so sweet to me."

"I'll help you. If you don't remember how it goes."

"Thank you," he says. And you can't believe he is actually agreeing to this idea, or really that you are either.

"Do you not like sweets?" Jake asks eventually.

"It's fine enough, I guess." You answer as lightly as you can. Then you go through another bout of silence. You nervously play with the edge of a blanket hoping that this tension with Jake will ease. It's always gone away in the past, but that was also before.

"That's what you want then? Tomorrow, we go back?" Jake asks again.

"Yes, tomorrow," You confirm.

"Sugar?

"Yes, Jakers?"

"Can I ask you a question?" He asks. You laugh lightly, feeling a bit of the nervousness ease at his tone which has become much lighter.

"I never understand why people say that. Aren't you already asking a question?" Jake chuckles low in his chest in amusement. He doesn't follow along with the joke though, just leaves it there hanging in the air.

"The answer is yes," you tell him casually.

"You don't know what the question is."

"Yes, you can ask me a question," you clarify in a whisper. Jake makes some rustling sounds and you hear him come closer to you.

"Are you sure that bed is big enough for two?" He asks.

"Why don't we find out?" You laugh feeling more at ease.

With a nod Jake crawls onto bed and turns to face you on his side. However, he doesn't scoot in close like you expect. He is stone still on the other side of the bed, laying on top of the covers, only shifting his pillow once.

"What would you do, if I told you the last time I said yes, it had an extended warranty?" You ask while turning on your side to face where you are in the bed now.

"How long are we talking about here?" Jake asks.

"Unfortunately, I think it expires some time tomorrow." You watch Jake work his lip in contemplation, while examining your face closely.

"Why would you let me be selfish with you again?"

"I think it's because we are selfish. Maybe it's a little bit because I don't want the memory of the last time I tasted you to be bitter."

Jake rolls away from you onto his back, blinking rapidly at the ceiling. "Stop letting me take things from you."

"We both deserve a night where we are selfish with each other, I think." You tell him reaching across the gap between you. You set a hand on Jake's cheek ignoring the prickly stubble there.

"To have you and let you go again the next day would be torture," Jake says all while leaning into your touch.

"Just a kiss this time," you offer, urging him by his cheek to come a little closer to you.

"It was supposed to be just a kiss last time too." Jake's eyes are bright where they burn into yours. He inches a little closer and you lean forwards as well, reducing the gap between you two that much more until there is just a miniscule space now.

"I know," You answer against his lips, letting your hand slip into his hair. Jake's lips move with yours crowding in close, like he is trying to breathe all of you into himself and commit you to memory.

"Maybe, it can be more of a promise?" Jake eventually gasps.

"A promise?" You question.

"A promise not to hurt you like this again," Jake answers.

"That's not an easy promise to keep," you warn.

"That's true, but I'm willing to try anyway." He kisses you again and dips his tongue into your mouth. Jake swallows your little whimpers; he tastes just as good as he always has. It's very easy to be selfish with Jake "Hangman" Seresin.

…

It's a slow road to trying to get back to normal. Jake circles around the house like he is lost. Picking things up and setting them down, starting conversations with you and leaving halfway through them. Shadows stretch across his face and his increasingly dark stubble and facial hair. You are a little surprised to find that he doesn't have a red beard like most blonds do. The facial hair only serves to make him look increasingly gaunt.

Jake even denies your offer to start a puzzle together, telling you that wasn't something he could handle at the moment. You try not to seem like you were watching him like a hawk, but you definitely are. Until one day he stood up from the table in the middle of dinner and announced that he was going camping.

"Oh okay. Do you know how long?"

"Yeah," Jake sighs, "I'll be home before next weekend, and I promise you when I get home I'll be normal again."

"You don't have to be any which way for me Jake," you tell him gently.

"I know, but I need to do this for me too, sugar." He explains while putting away dishes. You watch him complete the task; Jake is antsy even with his hands occupied. None of the projects or tasks he has picked up since being home have been enough to occupy him with real distraction. Two days ago, you had walked into the garage where Jake had rigged up his camping hammock to the ceiling which you felt like he was swaying precariously 8 feet off the ground. On top of that Jake had music blasting, a documentary on Yosemite playing, while also whittling a piece of wood.

"Okay. I'll miss you." You eventually say. Jake purses his lip, and after a heavy gulp he nods his head. Once the last of the dishes is away he spins on his heel and heads towards the garage door.

You hurry after him, "Jake?"

"Yes, sugar?" He asks, not pausing his trajectory.

"Are you leaving right now?" You ask him surprised.

"Yes, I packed earlier today."

"Can I have a hug before you go?" You ask him hesitantly.

Jake freezes. He rubs his hands across his face pressing briefly into his eyes while sighing a very soft "Fuck." Then he turns to you fully looking abashed. "Yeah, sugar. What do you need before I go? I'm sorry I should have asked that first."

"No, it's no big deal. Honestly." You tell him backing off not wanting to be too much. Jake shushes you softly while stepping closer.

"Tell me how it goes. I need to remind myself about this part."

"Well," you start off hesitantly, "normally I would get a hug goodbye."

"Ahh," Jake hums, "that's right. And I do that part like this?" Jake wraps you in his arms, draping them high on your back. You wait a moment before draping your arms around his neck.

"How's the next part going again, sweets?"

"You squeeze my waist a little harder and lower." Jake follows the direction his arms tightening around you drawing you flush against his chest.

"Now?" He whispers.

"You would probably kiss my forehead."

"Just your forehead?" Jake asks breathily.

"I'll leave that one up to you, Jake." He unwraps a hand from your waist to hold the back of your neck, keeping you steady.

"And if I want to kiss somewhere else?"

"You've got my permission Jake," you tell him trying to keep want and desire out of your voice. Jake parts his lips and leans in closer brushing his lips to grace over your cheekbone.

"You can have it, Jake," you remind him.

"No," he answers and closes his eyes. "Not again, not yet. I'll be home in a few days."

Once Jake leaves you know there is something you have to do to help him. It's an idea that gets stuck in your head and then you can't get it out. He had been spending time daily in his hammock in the garage, and you noted that Jake had taken it with him when he left. You missed how he used to casually be in the living room, so you started brainstorming some ideas on how you might entice Jake to join you again.

So, you go to the kitchen and pull out the rolodex, find the card dedicated to Miss Celeste and give it a call. Russell answers the phone, and you can hear the man smiling through the phone as you ask after his wife. It turns out Jake's grandmother is just as blunt but kind hearted as you had been led to believe. After a longer conversation with her, she and Russ offer you some advice and tips

You aren't wholly sure how you managed to get it all done. Eventually having to call Coyote to help you move some of the living room furniture. However, after significantly less sleep than you already get, there is a large comfy hammock in the living room. You and Javy had to sandwich Jake's large comfy chair much closer to the couch than it was previously, but y'all managed to make it all fit.

Jake comes home from camping quietly late one night. The stubble he had been supporting before is a full-on beard now, and his hair is longer than you have ever seen it. This look is intimidating to you in lots of ways, like some mirrored version of Jake that you don't know. He offers. quick hello when he comes in from the garage, breezing past you and towards the stairs.

Jake doesn't make it to the stairs though instead he stands frozen at the edge of the living room for five whole minutes just staring at the hammock. You watch him closely, trying to gauge his reaction.

"It's a surprise for you." You say after the amount of time he is standing there increases to a concerning duration. Compelled to do something you explain, "I know your hammock has been one of the only places you have been able to relax."

"This is very sweet. I appreciate it." Jake starts evenly. It's contradictory as you see him grit his teeth, and his fists clench and unclench at his sides.

"You don't like it?" You ask him.

"It's not that," Jake tries to explain. "It's just you can't randomly switch the living room around and add new furniture like this."

Your mouth drops open in shock. This might be one of the first times Jake has ever told you there is something you can't do in the house. It's jarring, he has always spent so much time tailoring everything to your likes, desires, and aesthetics that you hardly even think about the house as Jake's and Jake's alone anymore. Frustration bubbles under the shock twisting into anger at the situation. You were trying your best, doing all the things you thought you should, and it still didn't seem like enough.

"That is so rich coming from you for so many different reasons Jake." You say agitated, rolling your eyes.

"Why are you upset?" Jake asks you, finally looking away from the living room.

"Why are you upset?" You parrot with emphasis.

"Well, what did you expect? I left for a few days and now there is a hammock in the living room. That's an outdoor item you brought indoors," Jake responds snappily. It pushes you right against an edge that you are unfamiliar with living on now. You had forgotten how it was to live in a hyper aware state, trying to manage and monitor someone else's emotions.

"You act like you haven't done the same thing," you tell him, gesturing frustratedly at the juniper chest. "I was doing something nice for you. However, if you don't like it, I'm sure you're more than capable of taking it down and moving your furniture back and fixing your living room."

You leave Jake in the living room and go to the kitchen. He grumbles to himself upset which makes you feel even more on edge. However, you refuse to let Jake blowing back into the house prevent you from finishing the dishes you had been stacking and putting away.

"It's our living room," he finally calls back to you.

"You aren't acting like it."

"You could have given me some warning," he reasons, but it has a slightly accusatory tone.

"When Jake?" You ask him, upset. "When you called me and told me you were coming home? When you text? How exactly was I supposed to let you know?"

He doesn't have an answer and you slam the door of a cupboard harder than you intend. Inside, the stack of bowls were more precariously placed than you thought. The cupboard closes and bounces back open, the bowls ejecting and crashing hard against the ground. Several of them shatter when they make impact, sending ceramic shards flying across the area.

You aren't expecting the sound to trigger you. It most likely does because of how high strung and worried you already are. The house is such a safe comforting space you don't really have a game plan for when PTSD attacks hit you here. A chill makes its way up your spine, while the sound of shattering glass rings echoing in your ears, for much longer than it echoes in the room. It's all it takes for some flip to switch in your head.

Managing to take small gasping breaths, you try to assess the damage of the sharp ceramic pieces around you, categorizing how many bowls had broken. It doesn't help you to fight off sudden panic that is creeping in when you notice one of the destroyed bowls was one Miss Celeste had made for Jake. It was a soup bowl stamped with a silly song Jake liked to sing anytime he used it. Distantly you hear Jake calling your name but can't fully process it. He is stepping towards you, fear rings through your body, and instinctually you go to step back away from him. Flinching hard every one of your muscles feels like it's attached to a live wire. Your fight or flight mode activated but you are still mostly frozen in the middle with short panting breaths, your eyes flit across the room trying to find a suitable escape path.

"Sugar, please don't move. Just stay right there. It's okay." Jake is repeating, holding his hand up, showing you his open body language. Your breaths continue to come out gasping, but eventually you are able clear the cloudiness up enough with the help of Jake's soothing.

"Jake, help," you whimper. Training your eyes on Jake you think that he is the only available escape, from the glass around you and this attack. At your words, his whole face shifts overcome with a serious ‘get things done’ demeanor.

"Are you hurt?" He asks calmly. You can't answer him just offering a shaking shrug. "Stay right there for me, Sugar. Okay?"

Jake is shoving his feet into some boots, then crunching through the broken ceramics and glass before picking you up. He carries you to the living room, setting you down on top of the closed puzzle table. Once you are there, he kneels in front of you. Picking up each of your feet, Jake carefully examines them for injury. Then gives the rest of your body a scan; he is clearly relieved to find that there weren't any cuts.

"Wait here." He orders you gently, walking back to the kitchen and setting about cleaning the mess.

"I can clean that," you try to tell him in a weak attempt for Jake to stop.

"You just stay there looking pretty and take some breaths, sweets." He responds from the kitchen. You decide to give in, which is probably for the best with the way the numb panic is still very present at the edge of your consciousness. Your heart is still beating erratically as well.

Jake is expedient and thorough about cleaning, going through the whole kitchen and dining room with his shop vacuum searching for any hiding slivers. When finished he makes his way to the living room and crouches by your side again sighing heavily.

"I'm sorry," he says, setting his large warm hands on your knees.

"I'm sorry," you apologize as well. "I should have waited and asked you before changing the living room."

"You don't need to ask. I've just been on edge and wasn't expecting it. I do appreciate the thought. And you know I do love hammocks so, I'm sure I'll love it."

"We don't have to keep it," You remind him.

"We are taking it for a trial run," Jake responds. Then a few moments later he lets out a heavy sigh and says, "You know we are doing it all already, right?"

"What's that?"

"It" Jake says gesturing with his free hand in the air. "We fit together. We're," Jake takes the slightest pause, his hand grips yours so tight you almost ache, then he drops it completely. "A bridle joint or maybe, a box joint."

"We aren't ever going to fit with anyone else are we?" You ask him, clarifying.

"No, we aren't. I think it might just be this, Sugar. It's just us." Jake says the words like a confession, an admission, an honest reality.

You try to analyze the look in his eyes, but over anything else all you can focus on is how tired he is. You pick Jake's hand up again. Standing from the couch, pulling him with you. Jake asks no questions; he just follows you as you guide him. You tug him with you to each of the doors as you make sure each one is locked, jiggling them to be sure. Then he follows you to the kitchen as you grab two of his glass water bottles. You hand one to him and take his, gripping it tightly while his other hand remains loose in yours.

You keep leading him then as he follows you up the stairs. Finally, You open the door to his room, and freeze in the doorway. A gasp catches in your throat. It's empty. The whole room. Not a mattress or a bedframe, no side tables or a dresser. It's all gone. There is one chest, a basket with some blankets, and one pillow. Jake stands close behind you, and you hear him audibly sigh into your ear.

You take a deep breath to steady yourself and pull Jake through the room, leaving no room to address the issue and heading straight to the bathroom. You turn on the water for the bath and let the tub start filling. Turning to Jake and finally, let go of his hand. He looks lost at you, and you bring your hand up to lift his chin up a little higher. Jake takes your direction and those gorgeous sea-glass green eyes look at you.

You tug at his shirt twice before he follows the movement and pulls it off. You step out of your own pants but otherwise stay clothed. Jake follows you sliding off his jeans. You go to Jake's bath chest still in place and grab a scent you think will be soothing, adding it to the bath.

You reach to pull down his boxers, and he shakes his head in a small no. When you start to pull off your shirt, Jake's hands stop you there too. He gives you a pleading look, and you shrug back, leaving your shirt in place. You motion for Jake to get in the bath, and he wordlessly does as you say. Making room for you between his knees, Jake scoots until he hits the back of the tub. You step into the warm water and slide down to settle in.

Jake's head falls forward so his forehead presses into the space where your shoulder and neck meet, taking deep breaths. You shudder, feeling the air of his breath against your neck. Jake's large hands are gripping the side of the bathtub hard. You are shocked that the feeling of the wet clothes sticking to your skin hasn't rocketed you out of the bathtub. But like it often is, it's hard to focus on anything that's not Jake when he is this close to you.

After a while, when Jake lifts his head and leans back, you do as well, leaning into his chest, his arms slide around you, pulling you even closer, as you draw imaginary designs on one of his forearms.

"What's it mean for us?" You finally ask him.

"I'm worse than I was before," Jake says to you quietly.

"Before me?" And that actually makes you want to cry because it sounds so true. Things certainly would have been less variable without you around in Jake's life. No one to throw him off his routines. And before him weren't you better able to protect your heart better than this? You had been calloused and strong before. Living with Jake and in this house has been like a fine grit sandpaper buffing you so now you only have smooth soft edges.

Has that been the way it's been between the two of you this whole time, something bad that was disguised as good? You can't come up with an answer, and apparently, neither can he. So it sits there, wilting, rotting between the two of you.

The silence is loud and almost echoes in the bathroom, with no room to hide. You finally take one of Jake's hands in yours and play with his fingers. He seems content with this, relaxing even further into the water. One of his knees occasionally bumping into you playfully, as if you could forget that he was there, as if there were anything besides Jake on your radar.

Then he is whispering your name against your neck, right behind your ear. Gooseflesh bursts across your skin, and his beard is coarse and scratchy against your sensitive skin not having been trimmed once since it started growing. You try to shift away but his lips follow you. Tired of the game you reach a hand behind you and fist it into Jake's long hair, tightly tugging his face away from your neck. Jake gasps in response.

You drop your hand feeling like he has been sufficiently warned from the action, which you know would have descend into tickling. Jake grabs your wrist and turns it, and then ghosts his lips over your pulse point. After two more soft kisses there he presses three to your palm, and on each finger. Each press of his lips is intoxicating even in a place as insignificant as your hand. With your ring finger Jake's kisses are three times as long and lingering. It's an action that has you slamming your eyes closed to keep the tears from escaping. He finally releases your arm and you drop your hand back into the warm water.

Something starts to thaw out there, in your chest. The combination of the physical warmth of the bath and Jake's blazing body heat. However, it is the feeling, the emotional warmth of it that makes the difference. You tremble slightly feeling completely overwhelmed, the idea of being anywhere else or trying to move is devastating to your system.

"Sugar pie?"

"Yes, Jakobi?" You answer back just as quietly

"We haven't been doing so good, have we?"

"No."

"Our mental health?"

"Positively dismal. We both probably need to be institutionalized." You tell him. Jake nods along, in understanding with your words.

"Do you think I could convince them to let us be roomies there too?"

"Not sure even you could swing that one, honey." You respond. Jake's eyes and whole face positively light up moments after you say the words.

"Honey?"

You hum thinking it over before smiling and nodding, "Yup."

"But that's my nickname for you," Jake says in a pouting tone but the bright expression he is wearing hasn't dimmed.

"Yeah, and sugar, darling, babycakes, anything related to pie—"

"I called you Huckleberry pie once and—"Jake protests but you barrel onwards cutting him off.

"Well no more honey for you anymore. You use half the sweet names under the sun, I'm allowed to have one. And I think it's honey." You cup Jake's scratchy bearded cheeks and smile softly. "You're my honey, now."

"Why honey?"

"Because you're so sweet."

"I'm not," Jake says brokenly, all playfulness having been sucked out of him. His head is heavy in your palm as he eases into your hold.

"You're sweet," you repeat more firmly. Then continue, "Plus I can just imagine how snug and happy you would be in those honey combs."

"Hexagons are one of the superior shapes," Jake sighs.

"Sure they ar, and you are golden like honey." You run your fingers through Jake's hair again. He shutters hiding those sad green eyes from you.

"I never knew just how blond the sun could make your hair," You sigh when you reach the end, scratching back up his scalp to repeat the process. You are turned fully to face him now, sloshing the water a bit to settle more comfortably. However Jake doesn't move, he seems almost as if he could be a statue made of glowing gold.

"This tan also makes no sense," you tell him, trailing your hands over his shaped shoulders.

He squints a single eye open at you, and you freeze as if you've been caught. Instead Jake's hand's pull your knees to settle on either side of his hips. Dragging you that much closer to him. It makes your breath hitch and Jake's eyes darken, however, he still leaves a bit of space.

"One of my grandpas was Italian," Jake says with a quirk of his lips. The single eye he had opened closed as the smile melted off his face. Your hands resume their path, after massaging Jake's shoulders you knead his neck. Which just leads to playing with his hair again. Your train of thought was lost until you noticed a small light but fresh scar on the top of his bicep. You lean forward and gloss your lips over the skin there. Jake's hand tightens where he is holding your thighs. He takes a careful breath in through his nose, and a long exhale. He follows that up with two more shallow but steady breaths and then just like that the tension releases from his body as he releases the air out.

"Where did you learn how to breathe like that, cowboy?" You ask him, letting your thumb continue to trace the strange new scar you have been examining.

"Oh, so, I'm cowboy now?"

"Mr. Cowboy, my honey." You coo back. Jake's eyes flutter open again, he blinks slowly at you heavily lidded.

"You are avoiding the question." You prompt him by raising an eyebrow.

"It's not as bad as you're probably thinking," Jake answers a moment later.

"I'm thinking, you did a whole summer of Vipassana, and meditation in some foreign country that made you have concerns about being that white guy(™)."

As his lips lift in response to your joke, you think Jake's dimples are some of the prettiest things in this world. Suddenly, you find it unacceptable that his beard hides any part of them from your view. You see the hint of them but it's not the same you think as you trace the shape of one. Your left hand remains pressed over the new scar you had discovered.

"We both know I could never do vipassana."

"I have evidence to the contrary," the words fall from your lips before you can stop them, and you regret them instantly.

"Don't be mean to me," he begs you. In the same breath he speaks the words you are already halfway through saying, sorry.

"I'm working on leaving it I promise," You tell him.

"We don't have to leave it, we could talk about it." Jake suggests hopefully.

"We are leaving it Jake," you say back sharply and he snaps his mouth shut chewing at the side of his cheek for a moment before responding.

"Okay. I know I hurt you deep, and it's still fresh," Jake responds. His jaw clenches and you feel it jump.

"So, it wasn't meditation? Is this going to be another riveting USNA story?" You ask him, steering the conversation back on a lighter track.

"It was before Annapolis."

"Tell me more," you laugh, dropping your hold on his face, leaning forward and resting your check against his bicep.

"You're going to laugh at me," he pouts.

"I find that an entirely likely probability," you answer teasingly.

"I had to take friendship classes in middle school."

"I'm sorry, you did what?" You ask Jake to repeat, trying to process this bit of information.

"This other kid and I hated each other, and we were constantly getting into it. The worst part is we had lockers right next to each other. He accidentally hit me with his locker, and I lost it. So, I slammed his head right back and we started brawling. Anyways, long story short, our school counselor made us take friendship classes, and taught us breathing techniques. It was all bull shit, but we ended up being friends afterwards, bonding over how stupid friendship class was."

"At least you got some good breathing techniques."

"Something like that," Jake laughs back.

"What's this one then? It's new." you say ghosting your lips over the scar you had found again. Jake sighs, glancing at the scar himself.

"You are going to be mad," he starts.

"Why would I be mad, honey?"

"I got two more moles removed." The admission makes you pull back and give Jake a weary suspicious glare.

"Have you not been wearing sunscreen again?"

"No, I've been wearing sunscreen ever since you told me about it, I promise. The Doc just asked about one of them and wanted to do a biopsy. So, I said he might as well just take them all off while he was at it."

"And?"

"Everything came back benign. Nothing to really worry about, Sugar."

"I always worry about you, Jakers." You sigh with relief and kiss that scar again, enjoying the feeling of having your head pillowed on his arm.

"I know, I'm sorry." Jake whispers back. You wish he had just left it as I know.

"I don't want to make you worse, Jake."

"You don't make me worse. I am worse, no one has ever inspired me to act quite as selfishly as you have. I don't even know how to wholly be anymore without you."

"I just want to make things better for you."

Jake groans quietly, "Maybe someday it will finally click that you make everything better. That you are stunning, and gorgeous, and just over all the best."

"We could clear cut a forest, and not find a single tree that's sappier than you Jake." It inspires a quirk of his lips but not the laugh you were hoping for.

"You are probably right," is all Jake says back, continuing to trace shapes into your skin. It's quiet for a long time as you two just exist together, coming down from the emotional turmoil of the night.

Eventually, You ask, "Jake, where are you?"

"I don't know. I don't know, Sugar," He sighs and tilts his head back letting out an exhausted breath.

"Are you in the clouds?" You ask. He thinks before shaking his head no.

"Are you on the ocean?"

He feels the water around him briefly then settles his hands on your skin again. "It doesn't appear so."

"Are you on base?"

"No."

"So, where are you?"

"I know I'm here with you sugar, it just doesn't feel real." Jake answers.

You examine him closely from his wet hair to the defined muscles of his shoulders and neck. How much muscle Jake gained deployment almost pushed him into a category you would describe as too buff, but not actually going over the edge. As you trace the shape of his face you can easily identify what one of the problems is.

"You are being suffocated," you tell him as your fingers trace up his cheeks and around through his hair there.

"Why do you have a beard Jake?" You ask in a gentle curious tone.

"I don't have to shave until I go back to work."

"You should shave sooner," You say encouragingly.

"Too tired," Jake says, stretching out one of his legs in the water.

"Do you want help?"

"You want to give me a shave, sugar?"

"I'd be willing to give it a go if you feel like it would help," you answer plainly. He thinks about it before nodding.

"It would."

That's all you need to hear before you are stepping out of the bath. Immediately you hate how the wet material of your shirt clings to your skin. So, you quickly rip it off and throw it into the shower. Jake groans behind you and you point a finger back at him while grabbing fresh towels and Jake's shaving kit from beside the sink.

"It's nothing you haven't seen and you can control yourself," you chastise him.

"But you are so fucking beautiful," Jake groans making absolutely no effort to hide the way his eyes trace over your body.

"You were two minutes from falling asleep."

"That was before," Jake whines as you come back to the bath and he sees you in even more detail.

You set the shaving kit to the side within easy reach and settle yourself back into the water. You sit so your bare chest is pressed against his. This makes Jake close his eyes throwing his head back whispering a quiet "Fuck."

When his eyes open again, they are slightly dilated with lust. It makes you smile at him whispering, "hi there."

"Hi," he breaths back.

"Hi," you say again, smiling wider. Jake can't stop himself from smiling as well, lips drawn upwards. His hands trace up your bare sides and you give him a small glare. Grabbing his chin you tilt his head back once more.

"Yup, hold yourself just like that," You tell him, pausing to make sure he doesn't move. You start to lather up some shaving cream spreading it along this neck.

"Have you shaved someone else before?" Jake questions.

"Not really. So, you might want to give me pointers. I don't want to cut your pretty face." You answer with a teasing tone.

Jake hums in acknowledgement thinking for a long moment. Then he starts to detail the intricate shaving ritual he normally keeps. You follow each one of the steps. It's a slow process, shaving him. You are worried that you will cut him or make some other mistake in the process. Jake isn't hesitant or shy about giving you sweet and gentle encouragement.

Finally, Jake's face is free of hair again. You help wipe away the remaining product, and dab on the aftershave in his kit you brought over. Jake winces but gives you a tentative smile when you stare at him examining your work. You smile back softly, setting things down that are in your way, feeling relieved to be done.

The two of you finish your bath before getting out and drying off. Wrapping a towel around yourself, you head back to your room changing and settling into bed. Jake follows not long after in a pair of comfy pants and a soft muscle shirt. He asks if he can join you in bed even though you already pulled the covers back while waiting for him.

Jake takes a bit of shifting to get comfortable until he is laying on his side facing you, meeting your gaze as you shift to see him better. You lift a hand to cup his face enjoying the fresh smooth skin there.

"Ah, there he is," you say with a soft sigh. The lines of Hangman's face are prominent and easy to follow again. A tear spills from Jake's eye and you push it away gently. Leaning forwards Jake angles his lips to barely brush over yours before he pulls back.

"Please?" You ask him, going to follow his lips for more.

"I don't think we should," Jake responds and snuggles his face into your neck to avoid the temptation of your lips.

"But we fit. We fit perfectly," you whisper.

"That's exactly the problem," Jake answers. "I won't do wrong by you again. And that means I don't want to rush anything. Are you in a hurry?"

"Does that have a timeline?" You ask, ignoring your frustration.

"It does in a general sense."

"Care to share?"

"Sure," Jake mutters tiredly into your neck. "I think it's been going for a while. Right?"

"That's right," You answer, letting your hand drift into his long hair. It is almost all the way dry now and fluffy. He had a haircut scheduled before he started work again leaving you only a few days left to savor this. His eyes close, and a small smile graces his face. With a gentle scratch of your nails against his scalp a tiny whine tumbles out of him. Jake seems too tired to care anymore. His nose just nuzzles your neck, and he places a tiny kiss there. You sigh, and resume playing with the silky strands.

"And how long before we have it all figured out, Honey?" You ask.

"As I see it, the rest of our lives. So, give or take sixty-ish more years."

"We are making it the long haul huh?"

"Yes, Ma'am. We will, so there's absolutely no reason to start at a sprint."

"I thought you had a need for speed." You tell him teasingly.

Jake huffs into your neck, sucking in a deep breath he blows it out slowly tickling your skin. "I have a great comeback for that."

"Oh really?"

He hums in affirmation. Then he sleepily manages to crack an eye open and looks at you, while he mumbles, "But I am a sleepy boy. Wait, no… a sleepy man"

You chuckle and kiss Jake's forehead. "Goodnight, sleepy boy"

"Sleepy man," he tries to correct you, but the words are hardly coherent. It takes less than five minutes before Jake is fully asleep, and you aren't far off yourself. Jake is so warm, and itis so easy to match your breaths with his deep even ones. Falling into a dream where you spend sixty years with Jake, even there in your dream you realize that still might not be enough.

…

Read the rest of this chapter on AO3. Sorry again, Tumblr wouldn't let me put it all here (and that it's so long). My first reblog of this here on Tumblr has the other half as well.

#jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader #house we share #jake seresin x you #hangman x you #gci3 #good comes in 3

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roseykat · 2 years

Text

Tempest Needs

Word count: 5.1k

Pairings: Minho x Jisung x female reader

Warning: minors DNI, I post NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won’t be able to regulate/monitor every single potential interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work or page whatsoever. Much appreciated.

Tags: polyamorous relationship, swearing, teasing, unprotected sex, oral sex (reader receiving and giving), bondage, use of traffic light system (green), orgasm denial, oral fixations.

Summary: Jisung can be a menace when it comes to teasing. Unfortunately for him, he ends up getting a taste of his own medicine.

Note: Thank you for the love on my previous work!! I’m currently in the midst of figuring out a schedule to upload posts since I work a 9 to 5. But I have a lot of concepts that I’ve already started on so I’m far from low on inspiration.

Jisung has always been the mischievous type; always riling someone up, provoking or taunting either you or Minho here and there. But at the end of the day, it’s all in good fun.

In hindsight, it’s one of the benefits of being in a relationship with more than one person, because you have someone - like Minho - to balance Jisung out.

That being said, he is one perverse individual when it comes to the art of teasing, knowing that neither you nor Minho know how to cope with his antics.

He can be out of the blue, spontaneous, and strikes when one leasts expects it. There are times where he can bait Minho with his charm or entice you with his words. Overall, he can be an outright torment.

Suffice it to say, Jisung had it coming for him after the very subtle yet obvious accounts of teasing towards you and Minho. Even in public he was a menace.

For instance, Sunday’s are specifically allocated to prepare for the week ahead. When the three of you went grocery shopping, Minho was in charge of pushing the trolley. Jisung - who was supposed to be scouting for items on the list, wrapped his arms around Minho’s waist in a hug, penguin walking right behind him.

To top it off, he’d slide and caress his hands under Minho’s shirt, smoothing over the plains of his lower abdomen.

The other instance is where Jisung would come up right behind you and press his hips flush against your ass when you were examining things on the shelves. He tried to pull it off as if he were looking at things too when in reality, he just wanted to tease you.

His needy behaviour lasted almost a week and a half. That’s when he brought to your attention that nobody had slept together in a fortnight, which for his calibre in bed, explained a lot.

“Everyone’s been so busy,” Jisung tried not to sound as if he was whining, but that’s exactly what he sounded like.

He was sprawled out like a starfish on your bed while you sat at your desk cramming notes for an important up and coming test. Jisung was lucky that he only had assignments to hand in which he worked on relatively early. In turn, this freed up a lot of his time.

“It’s almost the end of the semester,” you reminded him. “Everything is due practically all at once.”

“We haven’t fucked in two weeks,” Jisung moaned, flat out ignoring the real reason why he’s in this sort of predicament.

Your fingers stilled over the keyboard on your laptop, “two weeks? Has it actually been that long?”

“Yes!” He really whines this time. “Minho is tired these days too, and all I get is making out with him for five minutes before he wants to sleep. You’re the same as well.”

It almost made you laugh at how needy Jisung was. Then again, it sometimes escapes your mind that he actually has a pretty high sex drive which you and Minho were obliviously ignoring.

If there was one contributing factor to blame, it was University. Being a full time student with a strenuous timetable means a lot of sacrifices. Unfortunately, Jisung felt the sting from being a result of those sacrifices you and Minho had to make.

“I guess it has been a while,” you started to ponder on the thought. “Maybe we should make time for it this weekend since we finish on Friday.”

“God, please,” Jisung begged and kicked his feet.

By the time that conversation had ended, Jisung had packed his gear and left the house for the gym. It gave you roughly half an hour to get some real study done when Minho had arrived from his last lecture of the day.

That's when you decided to raise the idea with him.

“This weekend?” He repeated, unpacking his bag as soon as he got into his room. “I don’t see why not. Plus with all our studies out of the way, we’d probably be less tired right?”

“That’s what I thought as well,” you said to him. “I guess we'll let him know when he gets back. He’s been dying to get some action.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, “that needy for it is he?”

“Oh come on,” you replied. “Don’t pretend like you wouldn’t act that way if Jisung and I unwillingly ignored your needs.”

You had a valid point.

Similar to Jisung, Minho could and would fuck on a daily basis - and has done. Only until the near end of the semester is where he dedicates all his energy and time towards his studies. It gets to the point where there’s not much room for any other activity other than working out, sleeping, or eating.

However, if that wasn’t the case, and Minho was in Jisung’s position, he would have no trouble mirroring the same feeling of neglect.

“I suppose,” Minho responded. “Did he have anything specific in mind?”

“Not necessarily,” you answered. “Maybe we could do something he likes since he’s waited for so long? Like…tying one of us up.”

Minho nodded, briefly thinking about the times where he had you or Jisung bound and tied in the bedroom.

At that thought, a sick idea pops into his brain.

“I wonder what he’d do if he had to wait a little longer,” Minho started to think out loud.

Your eyes narrowed at him as one of his signature conniving smiles spread across his face, “what do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but he’s been a real tease lately,” Minho began to explain. “And I want to give him a taste of his own medicine while also giving him what he wants.”

At that point, he had put a spin on Jisung’s original suggestion. When he pitched you his full idea, you initially thought it might be slightly…cruel. However, all the times where Jisung had openly teased the both of you within the past couple of weeks seemed to justify what Minho had in store for him.

He preferred to think of it as an enhancement whereas you, on the other hand, just rolled with it.

From then on, the three of you headed into the rest of the week looking forward to that specific night. If you weren’t absorbed in tests, deadlines, and homework, then you were thinking about finally gaining the chance to spend time with the two people you love.

Therefore, Saturday night couldn’t have rolled around any quicker. By the time it did, you and Minho were free from studying and assessments. Both of you were in good spirits, but not any more than Jisung.

That morning, he was handsy. When Minho had woken up to make himself some coffee, Jisung followed him into the kitchen like a puppy and tried to smother him in kisses.

Then, when you were fresh out of the shower with just a towel wrapped around your body, Jisung had to restrain himself from taking you over the counter in the bathroom right there and then. Instead he found his hands gravitating towards your waist, pulling you in just to make out with you.

That alone was tempting enough to risk having another shower and though you’re not one to oppose bathroom sex, it would defeat the purpose of what was about to happen later on in the day.

When the time eventually arrived, Minho had made the minor preparations. He chose the lounge of all places in the shared apartment for this to happen. All he needed to do was move the coffee table away from the couch and replace it with a chair from the dining and kitchen area.

The next step was retrieving black rope that they had stored in a box full of other bedroom related items - items that weren’t going to be of much use to him today. He just wanted to keep it simple.

As Minho laid out the rope over the chair, a confused Jisung walks in with you trailing behind him in his black bathrobe with nothing on underneath.

“Who are these for?” Jisung picks up the lengths of black rope. “And what’s with the chair?”

“They’re both for you,” Minho answers.

Jisung clicks onto the concept, “you wanna tie me to the chair?”

“Only if you want to,” you reassure him.

Jisung had voiced in the past that he’s okay with on the fly, spontaneous bondage. In some way, he gets a kick out of not knowing what’s next until the last second, magnifying the thrill and exhilaration of it. Even so, both you and Minho know that it’s still very important to ask.

“Of course I want to. I’m not even questioning that, it’s just…” he trails off. “I just thought we were all doing it together.”

Not even the softness of his words could throw a determined Minho off his plan. He’s not stepping down from it, especially since Jisung doesn’t suspect a thing.

“Just wait and see,” you reply with a highly ambiguous answer that causes him to smirk.

“I trust you both as always,” he says before his hand gently reaches for your waist, leaning to kiss you. He then turns to Minho, also placing a kiss on his lips before taking a seat on the chair.

“Shirt off, pants stay on,” Minho instructs.

Jisung peers up with confusion even though he’s playing good and doing what he’s told. He does trust what you and Minho have planned, but usually in these circumstances, all items of clothing are removed.

Nonetheless, Jisung is excited and tosses his shirt to the side. He sits patiently, beginning to reel inside with eagerness.

Being a knowledgeable person that he is in the realm of bondage, Minho takes hold of the black rope after manoeuvring Jisung’s arms behind his back. He coils it round and round his wrists, securing it tight with a knot.

He then takes the next few large pieces of rope, creating a fastened ‘X’ shape across his chest. You’re glad to see it exposes both of his pecs when Minho fixes the ends around the chair to stop his upper body from moving.

Minho progresses onto tying another portion of the rope which he winds around and just above the band of Jisung’s jeans. This would stop him from potentially trying to lift his hips to gain any sort of friction whatsoever.

Then he loops and tightens some more rope around his upper thighs which frames Jisung’s groyne where his dick is already beginning to fill out.

Lastly, the piece wouldn’t be complete if he were able to move anywhere below his knees. So, Minho fashioned two final restraints with rope just above his ankles and anchoring it to the two front legs of the chair.

“Too tight?” Minho checks with him, looping his finger through the centre of the ‘X’ across Jisung’s chest to feel the tension. “Can you move around a lot?”

He tests the bindings around his body and shakes his head, “nope.”

“Good,” he responds. “Colour?”

“Green.”

Minho seals his answer with a lengthy kiss on Jisung’s lips before brushing past you with his hand lingering over your stomach. He stands behind you, untying the loose fuzzy belt around your front and peeling the robe off of your shoulders.

Jisung visibly gulps when he sees you naked before him, and not being able to touch you. Minho then drapes the robe over the back of the couch where he goes to take a seat, temporarily leaving the other man in your care.

You lower down onto Jisung’s lap, mouth inches away from his before you close the space between the pair of you. It was a small, sweet kiss at first. His lips are soft as usual, eager too as he inaudibly starts asking for more.

Jisung’s arms jerked so as to try and grab your waist, yet quickly discovered that they weren't going to move. No part of his body was going anywhere anytime soon.

It’s frustratingly arousing being restrained to one spot. He can only sit there and feel you do all the work. Your hands go from tenderly cupping both sides of his face to his neck, down his bound chest, to the sides of his waist, and back up. You want to feel all of his bare body, as much of it as you can.

Beneath you, Jisung’s cock continues to harden as you slowly roll your hips over it. Once he starts moaning into your mouth and getting greedy, that’s when you know he’s in the type of state Minho wanted.

But there was one final task that sprung to mind as you slid off of Jisung’s lap, lowering to the floor on your knees between his legs.

“Yes,” Jisung hisses out as he watches you eagerly, completely oblivious to what’s truly in store for him.

You unbutton and unzip his jeans, freeing his now fully hard dick through his underwear as well. The tip rests on his abdomen, sticky with precum.

Prior to the situation coming to fruition, Minho didn’t think his plan had any faults in it on his behalf. The only thing that stood in the way of being perfectly executed was Jisung’s choice of clothing - that being his jeans.

He would still be able to get friction with small movements if he tries, so Minho wanted to eliminate that right out of the equation.

He could’ve asked Jisung to take them off before they got started. Then again, it would’ve extracted a solid portion of teasing which was more than necessary to include. Plus, he wanted every part - if not most parts of Jisung - to be restricted, except for his dick.

“Fuck,” Jisung’s eyelids snap shut when you take his length in hand, slowly stroking and running your thumb over the head. It takes everything in your power not to suck him dry the instant you see his cock.

You know that he thinks he’s about to receive a blowjob, but with satisfaction riddling your brain, you take your hand away and crawl back to Minho.

Jisung lifts his head and mumbles incoherently, “what…what are you doing? Come back.”

Ignoring him was difficult, like swimming against your tendency to comply with whatever instruction you’re given in the bedroom. Unfortunately for Jisung, his needs were superseded by Minho’s request - what he asked of you prior to this entire scene materialising.

As you're still on your knees now turned to face Minho, he gives a fond smile and leans down, kissing you slowly. He licks his way into your mouth, tongue gliding along your bottom lip which leaves you breathless and hungry for him. It’s a loss when he pulls away, leaning back into the couch as his eyes scan up Jisung bound body and smirks.

He knows for a fact that Jisung is confused, pissed off, and horny, a truly foul mixture of feelings to experience at the same time.

The things he would do if he weren’t tied down to that chair…

His thoughts are derailed when you begin to palm over Minho’s hardened cock through his sweatpants. His hand rests at the side of your face, the pad of his thumb gently caressing your cheek when you free his dick.

“Fuck,” Jisung grunts, the chair creaks as he tries to move his arms once again. The rope across his chest now making lines of red on his skin, indicating that he’s been trying to use his torso as well.

“Go on baby,” Minho encourages you before you even attempt to look back at Jisung.

Those three words are enough for you to take Minho’s cock in your mouth after giving him a couple of slow strokes. The hot, wet, velvety sensation caging around his length has him leaning back once more.

From this position, he cannot only see your head bobbing up and down, but he can also see Jisung behind you - dumbstruck and rendered speechless.

Even though Jisung doesn’t have a full frontal view of your lips wrapped around Minho’s cock, he has no choice but to picture how obscene your face is.

As his imagination takes shape, his mind starts relocating memories of erotic occurrences where you’ve given him countless blowjobs, recalling how shameless you look. He knows you can get greedy and hot under the collar so to speak when his dick is in your mouth. This time, he can only witness that from a short distance.

“Such a good girl,” Minho purrs in a sultry voice, carding a tender hand through your hair.

Moaning at the praise, you carry on, head bobbing up and down until Minho feels like he’s on the brink of an orgasm. Refusing to let his impulsiveness take over, he gently brings you to a halt, ushering you onto the space beside him on the couch.

You lie down for him. Your knee closest to the back of the couch is propped and bent while your other leg remains resting flat. This was forcibly for Jisung to witness everything Minho was about to do to you.

Eager and impatient, he hooks one hand under and around your bent leg while using the other to gently caress his thumb over your wet entrance. He has you squirming and wriggling at the merest touch of pressure, yet hasn’t even arrived at the main event.

“Remember what I told you,” Minho hints.

Seconds away from being able to recall what he meant, Minho fills you with one finger, slowly sliding into your pussy as he plants distracting kisses down your lower abdomen until he reaches your clit. A moan rips through your chest when he begins to suck, your back arching which lands you closer into his mouth.

It doesn’t take him long to have you panting and whining which is where he feels the urge to add another finger. Using a repetitive curling motion, Minho strokes effortlessly over your g-spot that the continual motion makes your eyes flutter and roll back. Then, even as overwhelmed and worked up as you were, Minho’s reminder floats transiently in your mind…

“I want you to say his name,” Minho asked you beforehand. “I want him to think that he’s the one fucking you when it’s not.”

“That honestly sounds like borderline psychological torture,” you replied sarcastically.

“Good, because that’s what I’m going for,” he joked.

Looking at it now, it might not have been a joke.

As unfocused as your eyes are, they remain solely on Jisung as you try to concentrate on Minho’s mouth and fingers, dragging you over the verge of coming.

“Ji…Jisung,” you call out, almost sounding like a sob. “Wanna come so fucking bad.”

There’s warfare in Jisung’s mind. He knows he’s not physically able to touch you even though every single fibre of his being craves and screams at him for it. He’s forced to envisage himself where Minho is; face buried between your legs, making you whimper and shake around his head.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” Jisung whines with a contorted face.

“Please Jisung,” you cry out, trying not to squirm your hips too much so that you can still feel all of Minho’s mouth. “Please, fuck, I’m gonna come.”

As your words reach Minho’s ears, the pace of his fingers steadies to a leisurely drag. Part of you regrets saying it out loud - now wishing you could’ve held off more or came quietly without Minho knowing.

But it would’ve been a terrible feat against the person below you who has an untamed tongue and fingers that make your toes curl.

Both Minho and Jisung know your body like the back of their hand. They would’ve known well and truly if you came without telling them.

After pulling away completely, Minho uses his thumb to swipe at some of the wetness on his chin and sucks it clean off. His eyes track yours to gauge what sort of state you’re in - grinning when he sees your scrunched face, clearly annoyed that he had just robbed you of a mind shattering orgasm.

His gaze then darts over to Jisung who remains painfully hard and completely untouched that Minho now starts to feel a slight pang of sympathy for him.

For a moment, he decides to abandon you on the couch and stands over Jisung.

Minho’s fingers were still glistening wet under the dim lights of the room, hand protracting towards Jisung’s lips who took his digits willingly. He allows Minho to prod softly around his mouth and over his tongue, taking them so obediently.

“Good boy Jisungie,” he praises him. “I knew how bad you wanted to taste her, so I thought I would be nice.”

There’s a long line of spit from Minho’s fingers to the other man’s mouth when decides to retract his hand. Minho then bends down ever so slightly to make Jisung strain and stretch up for a kiss.

He chuckles lightly then pulls away before their lips could even touch, “so needy.”

Jisung groans, throwing his head back out of pure frustration - utterly enraged that tears begin to form in his eyes. As his head tilts back up, they roll down his cheeks, splashing down his abdomen.

Two whole weeks Jisung has been waiting to get laid. He was so good at trying to give you both the space you needed to focus on your studies, and yet, this was this reward - or punishment for lack of a better word.

Despite that, Jisung had been a total tease, and in Minho’s mind, that’s three strikes.

He pets and rubs under Jisung’s chin who in turn looks up with absolute contempt, “Jisungie’s doing so good holding out.”

“Fuck you,” he mumbles with watery eyes and an exasperated expression.

“Cute,” Minho replies, a sweet smirk spreading on his face.

He’s going to enjoy every ounce of teasing Jisung.

Minho retreats to the couch where you still remain splayed out, anticipating what’s about to happen next. With the help of his hand, you’re able to sit up and stand before he takes a seat again. Minho then guides you around by your hip so that you’re facing Jisung.

At that point in time, he understood the trajectory of the situation. His dick throbs watching you align Minho’s cock with your entrance, seeing the wince on your face as you stretch over him and gradually sink down.

“Shit,” your fingernails dig into Minho’s taut thighs as he sits up, his cock slipping just that little bit deeper inside you.

“That’s it,” he breathes out. Minho missed being inside you so much that he almost forgot what you felt like.

One of his hands rests on your hip while his other arm wraps around your body, snaking up to one of your tits and groping to his content. Your head lolls back onto his shoulder, feeling like you’re melting as you adjust to his length.

Nothing feels more satisfying than being filled out by either Minho, or Jisung for that matter. They both feel pleasantly different inside you, consistently hitting spots that will always have you screaming and shaking.

When it feels right, you start rolling your hips little by little until you’ve built up a steady rhythm. Both yours and Minho’s moans begin to fill Jisung’s ears and he has no choice but to listen to it. His stare glues to your body as it rocks over and over again on Minho’s dick.

“Tell Jisungie how you feel,” he squeezes and kneads one of your tits again, forcing another sudden moan from your throat.

Your eyes flutter, barely able to hold eye contact with the man in front of you, “so…so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” Minho taunts daringly.

“I wanna come,” you whine, swallowing down a set of profanities before they leave your mouth. “Please.”

“No,” Minho grits flatly. “What happened to everything I told you?

You had to wonder at that point if Minho was punishing you as well or if he was just extremely determined to force Jisung through hell.

He was bound and deprived of touch, whereas you were getting what you wanted, but not the entire package. Then again, you never wanted to abandon the tingly bliss escalating inside you, even if it meant being deprived of multiple orgasms.

“You don’t wanna ruin the fun for him do you?”Minho provokes, his grip tightening on your hip.

You manage to shake your head, “n-no.”

“Good,” he responds. “Let me use you first.”

The effect that those certain words have on you are always a valuable asset to Minho and Jisung. Hearing them makes you feel like nothing but a ‘thing’ for them to fuck, and there’s some odd facet about it that makes it so tantalising.

Now you’re stuck with an insatiable need for them to use your body however they see fit, and the thought of it drives you insane.

As you continued to grit your teeth and hold off for Minho, you realised very quickly that it was taking every ounce of strength not to give in. Hearing his small grunts, heavy breathing, and embracing the way he clutches onto you makes it all the more challenging.

Suddenly, Minho swears against your skin, eyes clamping shut as he comes hard. The warm, almost fuzzy sensation you feel inside when he does now has you slowing down the pace of how you roll your hips over his cock, easing him throughout his orgasm.

“Good girl,” he sighs out contently, trying to steady his breathing. “So good for me.”

At this point, you’re utterly over sensitive after being built up to two orgasms already but forbidden to go over the edge.

Minho places a kiss against your back and taps your thigh for you to hop off him. It takes a moment to reorient yourself, legs jelly-like but you ultimately make your way across to Jisung.

Wearing a face of absolute devastation and pain, he blinks up with damp eyelashes. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this hard in his life that it has every muscle in his body twinging from trying to twist and turn out of the rope.

“Please,” he begs quietly while his eyes are tracking your hands to see where they’re heading.

Thinking that he’s had enough of the teasing, you waste no time. Straddling over his lap, you adjust his neglected cock so that it slides into you with ease as you fully sit down.

“Fuck!” Jisung curses through gritted teeth.

Meanwhile, from the small distance, Minho smirks to himself when he sees his own cum slowly leak from your insides when you start to lift your hips.

Jisung’s fingernails are digging into the palms of his own hands, the only outlet he has to manage the overbearing pleasure and relief he’s forced to receive. The alleviation induced by how hot you are inside consumes his body. It’s like an itch he had been waiting to scratch.

As you rock down over his dick, it’s hard not to pass up on watching his expressions. How he looks so relieved, in a state of bliss, and spaced out at the same time.

“Yes…” he sighs out, eyes rolling slightly as his head tips back over the chair. “Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” You ask him. “Been waiting too long haven’t you?”

He can only nod and barely speak, but he’s truly thankful on the inside. His moans and mewls are heavenly when your hands smooth over the lines of rope across his chest reminding him that they’re still there.

As gorgeous of a sight Jisung was to admire, you couldn’t ignore the growing ball of pleasure taking shape for the third time so far. This one feels different - stronger, like the force between two giant magnets repelling from each other when trying to connect them.

“I’m gonna come,” you whimper, feeling tears prick your eyes from the amount of pressure intensifying. “Gonna make me come so hard.”

Within a few moments, you’re clinging to him for dear life, rhythmically squeezing around his cock as your thighs tremble. A string of curses leave Jisung’s mouth right up to the point where he’s about to come. After that, he goes quiet with nothing but a silent scream on his face.

His head sways languidly back and forth like a doll each time you rock down on him to ride your orgasm out. It drives him to coat your walls white, his body shuddering in waves when he does.

At any point either of you are rendered voiceless, that’s when Minho knows you’re coming hard. The pleasure is that powerful it makes you incapable of speech or any sort of noise for that matter.

Once you’ve both ridden over the crests of your orgasms, the two of you remain as a conjoined mess, limp and breathless. Your body is slumped over Jisung, still sensitive and stretched over his cock.

Minho promptly rises from the couch to untie all the knots he secured to the chair. The rope loosens around Jisung’s chest, then his waist, thighs, and ankles. All of his energy has been drained as he rests there, completely fucked out.

“Good boy Jisung,” Minho kisses the back of his head and quickly dips out of the lounge, into the bathroom to get the shower running.

Your eyes open ever so slightly, and as soon as you’ve regained a bit of energy, you peel yourself back just a bit to take a look at Jisung. Minus the fact that there’s a faint smile on his face and his pupils are blown out, he was in total bliss.

“Jisung,” you whisper softly, squishing his cheeks together to see if it gets him to focus.

He bats his eyes a couple of times, “hmm?”

“Feel better?” You ask him.

Jisung’s hands smooth over your hips then behind to the small of your back. His fingertips slowly trail up and down your spine while he buries his face into the crook of your neck, resting there.

“So much better,” he mutters, warm breath fanning over your skin.

“Let’s hop in the shower,” Minho appears again, offering his hand out to you to help you up off Jisung.

You inhale sharply from the overwhelming sensitivity of having to move yourself off of Jisung’s dick. Once your two feet are on the ground and you have some balance back, Minho helps Jisung with his other hand.

“Had I known that you two were conspiring against me, I wouldn’t have worn jeans,” Jisung says to the ceiling when the three of you are in the shower.

His arms were crossed over his tender chest and head tilted back while Minho was shampooing his hair.

“We weren’t conspiring,” Minho retorts. “Call it a reward.”

Jisung scoffs, “reward my ass. Who’s idea was it anyway?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Minho almost laughs. “You got what you wanted didn’t you?”

“Uh, it does matter,” Jisung corrects him. “Because the next time we do anything like this, it should be that person's turn.”

“Guess it’s Minho then,” you say.

“Fine by me,” he shrugs.

Note: I strictly do not permit any copying, editing, rewriting or remakes of my work nor do I allow them to be uploaded to any other site or social media platform. Tumblr is the only site I will be using to post this type of content so if you see it elsewhere, then it has been stolen.

#skz smut #Lee know smut #Han Jisung smut #stray kids smut #minsung x reader #stray kids imagines

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