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pkg4mumtown · 1 month ago

Text

All-Inclusive Obedience

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You and Hotch are volunteered to go undercover as newlyweds on a couples retreat suspected of hiding something more sinister. Emotions, tension, and your giant crush on the man are all running high.

Content Warnings: alcohol, GN!reader (no Y/N), strong language, first person POV, canon-typical injuries and violence, cults, knives/guns, blood, newlyweds, voyeuristic surveillance, SMUT, drugging, kidnapping, human trafficking, fluff, hurt/comfort

A/N: My entry for @imagining-in-the-margins Criminal Minds Undercover Challenge No art this time, I dropped a longer fic than I intended to 😂. The Spotify playlist for it is below the break. Heed all warnings, please and thank you.

Also available on AO3

Intro

Going undercover wasn’t necessarily a new experience. Going undercover as a newlywed, however, was. It was made worse by the fact that Hotch and I were volunteered to go on the assignment together.

Me.

With my boss.

As newlyweds.

My boss.

Who I'd had more than one wet dream about since I'd been on his team.

That boss.

The BAU was gifted a case by Violent Crimes that they simply couldn't crack and Hotch reluctantly took it under the expectant glare from Strauss that he wouldn't fuck it up. The case revolved around an exclusive couples service catering to the ultra-wealthy—a place where high-profile clients would be sent on an all-inclusive trip with their partner in a reinvigorating retreat. It was the perfect match for affluent couples looking to reconnect with their partners.

The FBI was called in when some of these couples had begun to disappear with their assets drained and their whereabouts unknown. After weeks of investigation after the case was given to us, we suspected a trafficking ring where these couples were ending up either sold to the highest bidder or outright murdered. Some of the couples who survived were discovered on surveillance in countries far removed from where they disappeared, yet others came back home with no issue. It was never consistent and the BAU worked tirelessly to figure out what made the unsubs choose one couple over the other.

We checked flight logs and identification of passengers, seeing patterns of a few faces on multiple trips. That one important aspect continually brought us back: if couples were going missing, why were previous attendees returning? Were some of the couples in on the trafficking ring? Or were they ignorant of the happenings?

There was really only one way to find out.

After much research on Penelope's part, we discovered the only safest way was as an affluent married couple. The cover story came together easily: we were looking for a secluded honeymoon getaway hoping to enhance our relationship through one of the service’s elite couples’ retreats—one that many of the couples disappeared from.

As we signed up—well as Penelope signed up for us—we saw how the entire process was too good to be true.

I wasn't one to complain about a semi-dangerous free vacation, though, it might have been less stressful without my attractive boss.

Our only line of communication with the rest of the BAU would be a satellite phone that Hotch was bringing, locked and hidden discreetly in a Faraday cage. The retreat was strictly no-phones, so finding a place to hide it had been a challenge. The team would be on a nearby island monitoring the situation, gathering as much information as they could over there, and ready to extract us at a moment’s notice.

Hotch and I went over briefly what we would be expected to do on the trip: sleeping in the same bed, kissing, various public displays of affection, and if it came down to it—faking a sexual encounter. It was obviously the most nerve-wracking one, one, because of the subtle realism required to make it believable and two, because of the automatic implication that we would both have to be nude. Most things had to be on the table—within reason—for this to be both believable and a success.

Day 1

From the moment Hotch and I got in the car to the charter plane which was provided by the service, it was game on.

The driver had asked for our names, which Hotch provided the aliases for without hesitation. Hotch played the ever attentive new husband, taking the luggage from my hand and tossing our luggage in the trunk. We slid in the cushy car, Hotch automatically throwing an arm over my shoulder and pulling me close. It was automatically understood that seat belts were a suggestion in a car like this.

The driver was attentive, a little too much, continuously looking at us in the rear-view mirror. It meant that Hotch had to be handsier than we both anticipated right off the bat.

“Relax,” I felt Hotch's lips brush the shell of my ear, pressing his lips against my cheek.

It would be easier to relax if I wasn't so attracted to him. Frustrated with myself, I forced my body to relax. I slumped into his body, smiling up at him. His eyes flicked down to my lips, a sly smirk that I couldn't tell real from fake spreading over his features.

Biting the bullet, dropped a hand to his exposed thigh, clad in tan shorts and a flowy white button-down, and trailed it high up his leg, tilting my head up until my lips brushed his. It was brief and I pulled away almost immediately like I was teasing him.

“I cannot wait to get you alone,” he muttered just loud enough for the driver to hear. “Waves crashing, fucking you as loud as I want.”

I bit my lip, the butterflies his words caused being all too real. I hummed, smiling at his words and pressing my lips firmly against his.

So that was what it was like to actually kiss him, I vaguely wondered as his teeth scraped over my lip.

The plane trip had a reasonable flight time, shorter than many of our domestic flights with the team, taking us somewhere off the coast of Florida near the Bahamas. The plane ride itself was a blur as drinks were poured, accompanied by a few other couples and more “undercover” kissing than social interactions.

“So, h-how long have you been mm-married?” one of the wives slurred, leaning forward with her third flute of champagne. She had introduced herself as Becca, here with her husband, Leo.

They were one of the repeat couples.

I sipped on my own drink, having discreetly tested both mine and Hotch's for any drugs with an invisible polish on my pinky finger. Satisfied that nothing had come up, I shrugged and toasted his glass before taking a long swig.

“We just got married last month,” I answered, leaning forward toward her and gushing with her.

“Oh, newlyweds,” Becca cooed, clasping her hands together.

One of the partners from a different couple, Avery, who wasn’t as inebriated spoke up, “That’s wonderful! So, what made you decide to come on a retreat so soon after tying the knot?”

I gave Hotch a quick sideways glance, curious how he’d handle this one. He didn’t hesitate.

“We travel a lot for work,” he said smoothly, resting a casual hand on my knee. “It’s been…hard to find time to just be together.”

I smiled as if this were an inside joke between us, letting out a soft laugh. “And my sister swears by couples retreats. She and her husband went on one last year—oh I forget what company—but they came back glowing.” I widened my eyes like I was just so desperate to recapture that newlywed bliss.

Avery's partner, Quinn, was more reserved, simply holding their drink and not interacting much. I thought that maybe they might be like us, new to the experience, especially considering I didn't recognize them from our repeat attendee list.

Across from us, Leo gave Hotch a look that was half camaraderie, half warning, “You’ll be pushed outside your comfort zone, that’s for sure. The exercises can get…intense.”

I leaned in conspiratorially, grinning suggestively, “Intense how?”

He only chuckled, shaking his head, “You’ll see. It's all worth it.”

I shot Hotch a secretive look, as if we were about to be in over our heads—but in reality, I was watching for his reaction. He remained unbothered, simply lifting his glass in a toast, “To new experiences, then.”

I tapped my glass against his, our fingers brushing. I licked my bottom lip, watching the liquid pass his lips effortlessly and his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed.

He gave me a smirk over the rim, playing into the sultry looks I was giving him. It wasn't even pretending on my part, resisting the urge to shift too much in my seat and tell on myself about how aroused I was.

Upon landing on the island, there were several other planes already landed on the small airstrip. We were driven a short distance to the resort, consisting of lavish architecture weaving around the tropical foliage on the way in. The grounds were a typical beach haven, with bungalows lining the pristine beach. Workers covered every inch of the grounds, stopping and waving as the SUV passed, with wide, welcoming smiles.

Chills ran through my body as I made eye contact with one of them.

We were greeted immediately by a man who introduced himself as Trent, the Day Manager. The resort staff poured out to grab the bags of the couples, even to our light protest at being okay to carry our own luggage. More drinks were thrust into our hands as we were directed by Trent to a check-in desk—each couple assigned to a different staff member's desk.

“Welcome to Twin Palms Resort, we hope your travel accommodations exceeded your expectations,” the woman smiled stiffly, watching us for any type of complaint.

“Oh, it was wonderful,” I leaned into Hotch, smiling up at him.

“I’m pleased to hear that. Before we assign you your room, we do need a few signatures,” she slid a document and a pen across the table.

“Non-disclosure agreement,” stood out in bold letters at the top.

Interesting.

I leaned forward, picking up the pen and giving her a smile. Hotch put his hand on my wrist, halting me with light pressure and prying the pen from my fingers gently.

“One second, sweetheart,” he murmured, picking up the papers and skimming over them with a relaxed expression, not wanting to come off too tense or calculating.

I feigned tiredness, resting my head on his arm and glancing at the text every so often. It was painfully vague, talking the resort up about how it’s for an exclusive selection of people and that a level of discretion was warranted. And—did that say loyalty incentives and disciplinary actions? My eyes drifted to the staff member who was writing something on her side of the desk before looking back up to scrutinize Hotch. A lot of the verbiage wasn’t even in “legalese”, considering I wouldn’t need Hotch to translate some of it later. It was vague but self-explanatory, if not a little aggressive.

The very end made me grimace internally.

“By signing, you commit yourself wholly to the experience.”

Hotch gave the woman a smile and set the paper down, scribbling out his alias’ signature effortlessly.

“Just wanted to make sure I wasn’t signing my yacht away,” he winked.

The woman barely cracked a smile, “Of course, sir.”

I signed with my alias after and snuggled back into Hotch’s too comfortable warmth.

The staff member got our room keys sorted, actual physical keys, not plastic cards.

“Your luggage will be taken to your room, shortly,” she stated and stood. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your accommodations.”

Hotch nodded, grabbing his drink in one hand and taking my hand in the other. I walked loosely, keeping up my appearance of having one too many drinks on the plane while scoping out the place. My ears tuned into a conversation Avery and Quinn had with their staff member in regards to the NDA.

“Disciplinary action? What the hell does that mean?” Quinn, who was so quiet on the plane, spoke up, agitation in their voice.

Cameras littered the resort, starting to feel more like a cult compound than a freeing topical resort. Some were hidden in foliage and some were out in plain sight, but it was clear that they were covering their bases.

We approached the end of the path we were led on, where the concrete ended and sand began. Hotch toed out of his very expensive looking loafers, while I stumbled trying to get my shoes off. His arm wrapped around me to keep me steady, sighing happily as it finally popped off. He bent down, faster than me, and picked all four shoes up off the floor, tucking them under his arm.

“Come on,” he smiled gently, pressing a sweet kiss to my mouth and guiding me to the sand.

The staff member stood off to the side waiting and writing like before, waiting for us to catch up. The view from the beach was breathtaking and I groaned internally because we were here to work, not play.

“You'll find everything you need here,” she said while opening the door to the bungalow, the inside looking modern and immaculate contrasting the wood and straw outside. “Everything,” she stressed with a smirk.

We got the hint.

Sex stuff. Yep. Got it.

“Please don’t hesitate to let any staff member know if you need anything else. Your schedule is on the desk. Do try to be punctual to the highlighted events. Everything else is at your own leisure,” she gave us one more tight smile, leaving the keys on the desk and leaving us alone, shutting the door behind her.

“Alone” was a generous word.

We couldn’t be certain if there were bugs or cameras, not yet anyway. Our scanning devices were hidden in Hotch’s bag with his satellite phone.

Hotch tossed our shoes to the floor, sending bits of sand that stuck to the tread bouncing across the floor. I took Hotch’s glass out of his hand, setting both on the table and turning back toward him. Both of my hands trailed from his shoulders down to his chest, giving him a gentle shove until the back of his knees hit the bed.

He bounced on the bed with a “oof” escaping his chest. He propped himself up on his elbows, then his hands. His brows were questioning, but I only smiled and kneeled between his open, inviting legs.

“You said you wanted me alone.”

“I did,” he confirmed, eyes following me as I crawled up his body until he was looking up at me.

Using my hand to push him all the way back down to the bed, I covered my mouth with his, letting out all the pent up arousal from the beginning of this trip.

To him, I might just be a superb actor.

But, there was very little acting being done as I moaned into his mouth and blindly found the buttons of his shirt. As I ground my hips down against his while his hands trailed down from my back to my ass.

This operation was going to be rough.

Before I could completely unbutton his shirt, two knocks sounded on our door. I pulled away, dazed but not from the alcohol. From him.

He looked equally mussed, eyes still trained on my mouth until two more knocks sounded. I got off him hurriedly as if we were about to get caught by our parents. His shirt hung open, skin on display as he answered the door.

A different staff member stood on the other side, bags in hand.

I stood up to help Hotch, “Sorry about that, I can’t keep my hands off him,” I directed to the staff member, a younger man who simply smiled and blushed knowingly.

“N-no worries,” he stumbled, nearly tripping over himself.

He must be new.

After he left, we threw our luggage on the bed, unzipping them and taking out some of the contents. Hotch glanced at me, subtly getting my attention and flicking the small luggage lock he had on the bag that had been cut. I nodded, and took more things out. He fumbled in the bag for a moment before coming out with his toiletries.

“Mind putting those in the bathroom?” He handed the bag to me gingerly.

I felt the dent of the scanning device inside and grabbed my own toiletries to check out the bathroom for bugs. It was unspoken that Hotch would check over there.

The device lit up in only one spot of the bathroom, just under the mirror by the sink. Should be easy enough to drown out with the shower and the sink on.

When I came back, Hotch’s bag was just about empty, with one drawer left open for me. He made eye contact as I came back in.

I winked at him. One.

He blinked at me twice. Four.

“Look in the nightstand,” he grinned.

I hesitantly opened it, seeing it filled with condoms, lubes, dental dams, and factory sealed toys. Holy shit, she wasn’t kidding.

One.

“This drawer has the same,” he laughed. “I guess I didn’t need to bring so many.”

Two.

I put more of my clothes away, “Guess we can’t be too prepared.”

“Oh! You think we can catch the rest of Shark Week out here?” he pointed at the TV.

Three.

“You really want to watch sharks attacking people when we’re at the beach, babe?” I laughed, throwing a pillow at him.

“It’s educational.”

“Mhm,” I shook my head.

He stalked toward me, a smirk on his face. He backed me up against the desk, pushing the glasses and keys aside and lifting me onto it. He stepped between my legs kissing me breathless.

Four.

“Babe,” I moaned, torn between bringing him closer and pushing him away. “I’m not done putting my stuff away.”

Hotch groaned, feigning annoyance, “Hurry. They have a whole welcome thing in two hours and I have been dying to fuck you all morning.”

My jaw just about dropped to the floor at the words that came out of Hotch’s mouth. My brain was short circuiting. What twilight zone had I gotten myself into? Undercover Hotch was so different. Flirty, smiley, attentive, and kind of a slut.

I loved it.

“Yea?”

“Mm, I was ready to take you on that damn plane, the way you were looking at me.”

Internally, I was screaming.

Screw this.

I pulled Hotch back in, moaning as I felt his hips press into mine. I dug my heels into his ass, hearing him grunt and groan in response.

“Fuck me now, then,” I grinned, nipping at lips.

The fact that he was playing into the scene so hard told me he had something he needed to say or else he wouldn’t be so urgently pushing. I pushed myself off the desk, ripping my clothes off roughly as Hotch shrugged the rest of his shirt off and remaining clothing. I didn’t dare look down, shoving our luggage off the bed and pulling him down with me.

I ignored the hot press of his cock against my stomach. Both of us had a silent understanding that it would look strange if we pulled the sheets back when we were supposed to be so desperate and considering we weren’t supposed to know about the potential for bugs and cameras. I hoped it would be convincing enough.

I heard him dig through one of the drawers to locate lube to make it more believable. I didn’t expect him to flip the cap open and pour some out; wiping most of it on himself. Hotch groaned, adjusting himself until I felt his cock slide against my ass, the lube providing much needed relief from chafing where we met. He took a deep, shaky breath with his hips pressing forward mimicking pushing into me.

Hotch hid his whispers with groans and I did my best to help him, “Alarm clock has a camera. I think. Mirror, too.”

He kept his sentences short and in between breaths, “We can’t half ass this,” he muttered into my ear and I squeezed his shoulders in understanding.

“Cameras everywhere. Outside,” I responded against his mouth.

Hotch nodded, pressing his face into my neck, “NDA was fishy. Felt like a cult.”

I moaned in agreement, "Right there,” I hoped he understood the double meaning.

His hips slammed faster, his pubic area providing delicious friction with every writhe and thrust.

Don’t cum. Don’t cum.

Hotch made a passing glance at the alarm clock and I followed his eyes, “Still good on time, don’t worry,” he panted, making a show of lifting my hips and thrusting harder.

I moaned his alias’ name. It felt strange to call him anything but Hotch, especially when I’d dreamed of this moment—well it would be going much differently, but still. I did my best to breathe through the impending orgasm, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable until I felt his fingers dig desperately into my arms and torso as his orgasm snuck up on him. His hips stuttered and stilled, his chest still heaving as he breathed rapidly into my neck.

My ass was slicker than before, his cum coating my skin.

I was surprised; almost sad I hadn’t let myself cum, too.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into my neck. He sounded distraught, concerned, and embarrassed all wrapped into one package. “I’m sorry.”

My feelings immediately shifted and I felt bad, not considering how he’d feel. The post-coital realization hit him hard despite actual intercourse not taking place. I reassured him with a squeeze of his torso, letting my hand brush the hair at the base of his neck. He pushed himself up after a beat, looking at me with a satisfied smile for the camera but the most apologetic gaze I’d ever seen.

“Feel better?” I asked, bringing him down for a languid kiss.

Hotch nodded and sat all the way up, groaning as he did.

“We have time for another,” I bit my lip, reaching out for him.

He laughed, taking my hand, “I don’t want to sleep in a sweaty, crusty bed tonight.”

I pouted.

“Shower?”

He cocked his head toward the bathroom in an invitation, so I pushed myself up and followed him in.

“I thought you said you were too old for shower sex,” I joked on the spot.

“That scotch worked its magic. I’m pain free for another hour at least,” he laughed.

As soon as we entered the bathroom, I tapped his wrist, subtly pointing to where I had found the bug. Tapping the faucet, I pointed to him, then myself, then the shower. I held my hand out, telling him to wait and opened the shower. With one hand on the faucet and one hand counting down to him, we turned them on simultaneously.

“Holy fuck, this shower is huge,”I looked back at him.

He made a noise of interest, coming over to me, invading my space. As tempting as it had been, I still didn't look down and kept my eyes carefully trained on his face.

“Wow,” he commented. “Plenty of room for…activities.”

I let my laugh float around the bathroom.

Unsure of where to put his hand, he held my upper arm, murmuring lowly, “I'm really sorry, I didn't me—”

“Relax,” I stressed. “It's natural, considering what we were literally doing. Stop feeling bad,” I brought my hand to his shoulder comfortingly. “You probably needed it,” I joked, pushing his shoulder.

He barely cracked a smile, still looking like someone stole his favorite cufflinks.

I stared at his embarrassed, pinched look, “Oh my God,” I gasped, clapping my hand over my mouth. “I knew you were a giver. You're embarrassed because you came and I didn't.”

His face was beet red and though he could explain it away as the steam filling the room, I knew better.

“Well, come on, you can make it up to me. There's two shower heads in here, too.”

Hotch looked conflicted, on one hand—it was only fair, but on the other hand—this would be as ourselves rather than an act.

It would be on purpose. And that left room for danger in regards to returning back to normal life after all this.

Truthfully, I didn’t think he was going to step into the shower. I stepped back to take the pressure off of him, letting the warm water run over my head as I washed off our travels and the cum. I didn’t hear the shower door close softly over the spray of the water, my only indication that he had joined me being the skimming of his fingers on my abdomen as they traveled to my sides, and then my back.

My eyes flew open, obstructed by water, but I didn’t need to see as we came together. Our mouths moved surprisingly slowly, a stark contrast to the urgency not long ago. His tongue dipped into my mouth as his hand wormed between us, finding my sensitive skin still aching for release. How his hand managed to be slick with the water beating down on us—I didn’t question it (though my nose told me it was something scented). His mouth left mine, trailing down my neck while his hand and fingers worked several miracles.

I gave him one more out.

“You don’t have to,” I moaned loudly after as his hand moved just a bit faster with more pressure, letting my head drop back against the shower wall. His free had plastered against my back to keep me upright.

Hotch’s teeth scraped my neck.

It was enough of an answer.

He brought his face out of my neck, water dripping from his hair, down his nose, and beading off his eyelashes. His lips parted in concentration, watching as I came apart under his touch. His tongue swept out, gathering drops of water along the way making his hooded gaze more sensual if it was even possible. I could feel when the slick substance started washing away, Hotch letting me go shortly after.

I whined pitifully, clutching shoulders and digging my fingers in out of frustration, “Please.”

Without a word, my hips were pushed firmly against the wall and Hotch was on his knees.

He was so going to feel that later.

“Wait—you do—,” I moved to protest both the position for his own comfort and the fact that I didn’t intend for him to have to use his mouth.

He didn’t react to my fingers in his soaked hair, only glancing at me and blinking water out of his eyes. It took half a second before I was covered by his hot mouth, sucking, licking—

My mind went white and fuzzy.

My back pressed into the wall as my hips arched involuntarily toward Hotch, “So good—y-yes—mmm.” The pleasure coiled in my abdomen, tighter and tighter, “Fuck, I’m gon—”

It didn’t take long for my body to tense, feeling Hotch’s arms hold me tighter as I trembled so as not to slip. Bliss coursed throughout my body, making my fingertips clench against his head and my toes tingle. Hotch took everything in stride, not stopping until I was practically begging him and pulling him off me by the hair.

My chest heaved as I fought to catch my breath. Hotch didn’t care, covering my mouth with his and stealing my breath all over again. I tasted myself on his tongue, sending a new wave of excitement through my body.

Finally, he let me breathe, forehead pressing into mine as he still helped to keep me upright.

“Did that make you feel better?” I laughed softly, brushing my lips against his for a second.

“Surprisingly, yes.”

I dreaded having to leave his arms and stand on my own. I dreaded more, the idea of having to wash myself instead of letting my eyes slip closed in his arms.

But, we had a job to do and a schedule to follow.

Groaning, I planted myself more firmly on my feet, “Thank you.”

He hummed, releasing me from his arms.

I almost wished he had said “any time”.

We toweled off and dressed shortly after, needing to make up for wasted time.

“Wasted” was subjective.

The mirror was still partially fogged as I checked my appearance, Hotch at my side combing his hair and fixing his collar with practiced ease. He looked relaxed and comfortable like we were getting ready for an actual date and had done this a million times.

“I gotta say, honey,” I mused, dragging the word out and adjusting the back of his collar for him. “For a guy who hates shower sex, you sure were dedicated to it.”

He flicked his eyes to me in the mirror, a small smirk gracing his lips, “Nothing a little scotch can’t fix. You know I don’t half-ass my work.”

“Clearly.”

He turned to me, extending his arms out for approval on his outfit.

“Hot,” was the only word that tumbled out.

Hotch shook his head, pressing his lips to my forehead, “You look perfect.”

It was for show. It was for show. But damn, he really looked like he meant it. He was too good at this.

I rolled my eyes, patting the buttons on his chest, “God, you’re annoying.”

“You’re welcome.”

The moment settled around us, familiar and teasing.

I could get used to this.

The welcome dinner was a stunning display of wealth and indulgence, with chairs and tables perched neatly in the pristine sand. The tables were round, dressed in white linens, and encircled a stone and cement patio that overlooked the ocean behind us. Lanterns swayed gently from the trees and the ocean breeze, casting flickering golden light over the guests as the sun set. Laughter from the tables blended in with the rhythmic crashing of waves. Some hidden speakers played tranquil music softly in the background, the music almost having a lulling effect.

That or the orgasm really did more than I expected.

Hotch sat beside me, his arm draped lazily over the back of my chair, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against my shoulder. It was an easy, affectionate touch, one that made it appear as though he simply couldn’t keep his hands off me. It was a simple performance and a silent form of reassurance, a way to remind me he was there and that we were in this together.

At the front of the gathering, Trent, the charismatic day manager from earlier, stood beside a polished mahogany podium. He tapped a spoon against his champagne flute, the chime ringing out over the guests, drawing all eyes on him.

“Good evening, everyone!” he beamed, his voice practiced and smooth. “On behalf of Twin Palms Resort, I want to extend my warmest welcome to our newest guests, as well as our returning couples.”

A smattering of applause followed, though something about it felt performative, not unlike myself and Hotch—rather than genuine excitement.

“This retreat isn’t just an exciting getaway for you all. It’s a transformation,” Trent continued, sweeping his gaze over the attendees. “Here, you will learn to surrender completely—to your partner and to the experience. Only when we let go of our fears and inhibitions can we discover the depths of true connection.”

I felt Hotch’s fingers press just slightly against my shoulder, the tiniest acknowledgment that he, too, had caught the unsettling wording.

From across the table, Becca, one of the repeat attendees, let out an airy sigh and lifted her champagne flute, “To surrendering.” She murmured dreamily before taking a sip. Leo echoed her sentiment, his gaze flicking briefly to Hotch, as if gauging his reaction.

Hotch only smiled, raising his own glass in an effortless toast, “To new experiences.”

The moment passed, but not without leaving behind an undercurrent of something unspoken.

Waitstaff moved seamlessly between tables, refilling glasses before they were even half-empty, their presence almost ghostly in how little they disturbed the atmosphere. The meal was plated with precision and was undeniably delicious, clear that they spared no expense when it came to reeling couples in and retaining them. I took small, deliberate bites, acutely aware of how dangerous it was when we couldn't test the food. We had tested our drinks earlier, but there were more ways to manipulate people.

At our table, the conversation meandered between pleasantries and oddly pointed questions.

“So,” Becca said, resting her chin on one hand and swirling the last of her wine with the other. Her glassy eyes trained on us, “Have you two decided which exercises you’re most excited for?”

Hotch let out a soft chuckle, as if the thought had never crossed his mind. He had been swirling amber liquid in his short tumbler and blinked in thought, “We’re trying to go into this with open minds,” he said smoothly, moving his hand from my shoulder to rest on my knee. He hesitated just a beat too long, then let out a quiet, almost bashful chuckle. “Truthfully, we uh—” He cleared his throat and glanced at me. “We didn’t really take a second to…look.”

His meaning was clear.

Becca gasped in delight, while Leo let out a knowing laugh, clapping Hotch on the back. “That’s the spirit! Didn’t even make it past the threshold, huh?”

I bit my lip, feigning embarrassment, and nudged Hotch’s knee under the table. “We were just—” I exhaled a soft laugh and shook my head, letting the implication hang.

Across the table, Quinn shifted uncomfortably, while Avery gave a tight, uncertain smile. “Well,” Avery said, “there’s certainly a lot to look forward to.”

Leo grinned, “That’s one way to put it.”

I let my fingers skim absently over the back of Hotch’s hand on his knee, as if it were second nature. Hotch glanced over at me as he took a sip from his glass.

Across the table, Avery looked distinctly uncomfortable, their grip tight around the stem of their glass. Quinn, even more reserved, barely touched their plate, only offering nods or small smiles at the conversation around them.

Before I could pry out of sheer tipsiness, the murmur of voices died down as a figure moved into the periphery of my vision.

An older man had appeared at the edge of the gathering, where the glow of the lanterns met the darkness beyond now that the sun had fully set. He wore a darker version of Trent’s uniform, leading me to believe he was the Night Manager to compliment Trent. His posture was ram-rod straight, hands clasped neatly behind his back. He did not speak, nor did Trent acknowledge him from where he stood in the back. His assessing gaze swept over the tables, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was cataloging us, memorizing each new couple.

Hotch shifted just slightly beside me, enough that his thigh pressed against mine. He gently tapped my leg to get my attention, not realizing that I’d been too focused on the Night Manager as his gaze was about to come our way.

I forced a small smile, turning toward Hotch and kissing him.

The rest of the dinner was uneventful minus the watchful gaze of the Night Manager as Trent handed off the festivities to him.

We slowly made our way back to our room, doing our best to not look like we were in a rush despite needing to get back and update the team. Becca and Leo were walking near us and still in earshot, their bungalow not far from ours, so we had to be careful.

“Think we’ll be able to sneak out and skinny dip?” I held his hand, turning and walking backwards through the sand to face him.

“If you were more quiet maybe,” he smirked.

The couple made eye contact with each other, Becca nudging Leo.

“Hey,” Leo got our attention. “They’re kind of strict around here about not wandering at night. It’s a safety thing I think with the water and premises being pretty dark, they don’t want anyone drowning or getting lost.”

“Oh, thanks,” Hotch nodded, offering them a wave. Hotch tilted his head at me, making a mental note to mention that to the team.

We got back to the room, tossing myself unceremoniously onto the bed.

“Tired?” Hotch chuckled.

“Mhm,” I moaned softly, burying my face into one of the pillows.

He let out a soft breath of air through his nose, pressing a kiss to my head, “Get comfortable and pull the covers back, sweetheart. I'm just going to run to the bathroom real quick.”

I grumbled at the thought of getting up to undress and get under the covers, but did anyway. Hotch took a bit, likely sending a message to the team in as much detail as he could with just the satellite phone and no ability to call with all the bugs.

The toilet flushed, Hotch coming out in only his underwear with the rest of his clothes rolled up to hide the satellite phone.

He let out a groan, “My stomach did not like something at dinner.”

Hotch safely stored the phone again and joined me under the covers, where my eyes were nearly shut.

“Mm, you okay?” I mumbled.

“All good now,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head.

Day 2

I woke to the sound of the gentle lapping of waves to shore, my sinuses filling with the scent of salt and whatever harsh detergent they used on the bedding.

Inhaling deeply, I startled as I felt a tickle on my leg. I jerked my leg back and turned, only to remember—Hotch.

Oops.

His eyes were still shut and I couldn’t tell if he was awake or not but knew I needed to not act weird to the cameras, so I curled myself into his side and rested my head on his bare chest. Early morning light streamed in through the thin, flowy curtains, casting a glow across our bodies half covered by sheets.

I pressed my lips to his chest.

No reaction.

Maybe he was actually asleep.

I pressed my ear more firmly to his chest, hearing a slightly elevated rate and smiled to myself. I let my fingertips trail lightly down his abdomen, tickling the skin with the rough edges of my fingers. His heart rate picked up more.

I looked up at him, eyes still shut but the corner of his lips had pulled up ever so slightly.

“I know you’re awake,” I let my hand slip lower.

His abdomen tensed under my hand, his eyes blinking open and finding my gaze immediately.

“You were just going to lay there and let me have my way with you?” I smiled, pushing myself up to press my lips to his jaw.

“It’s called acting,” he murmured.

“Mm, so you can make your heart race like that on command?”

“Mmm,” he stretched his legs and arms, “no comment.”

As he brought his limbs back to his body, Hotch spared a glance at the clock on the nightstand.

“Oh, shit,” he sat up quickly, even with the weight of my head and torso on him.

“Wh—”

“The first exercise starts in ten minutes,” he whispered, frantically pulling on clothes.

“Shit.”

I jumped up after him, getting dressed and moderately fresh in record time. Running through sand was not my ideal cardio for the morning, especially on a not-vacation with my very hot boss.

We made it to the gathering on the beach with either thirty seconds to spare or five minutes late. It was impossible to tell.

A staff member we hadn't met yet introduced themselves as the leader of the exercise and started immediately.

“Good morning, everyone, My name is Celeste,” she greeted with a serene smile, her voice carrying easily over the soft rush of waves behind her. “I hope you all had a restful first night.”

Some of the couples murmured their agreement—more so the couples closer to her—while the ones in the back near Hotch and I looked just as disheveled as we did.

“I’ll be guiding you through this morning’s exercise,” she continued, clasping her hands together and scanning the group. “Today, we’ll be exploring trust—learning to rely on your partner even when you feel vulnerable. This is all about surrendering and allowing your partner to be your guide. You will be placing your complete faith in them, allowing them to lead you without sight.”

A table was set up next to her, neatly arranged with blindfolds. A murmur passed through the crowd of couples upon seeing the display. Becca shot me an excited look, while Leo leaned in to whisper something to her.

I touched Hotch’s wrist, prompting him to look at me and give me a squeeze in response.

“The exercise is simple,” she continued. “One of you will be blindfolded while the other partner leads. You’ll guide your partner through a short obstacle course using only your voice. Then, you’ll switch so both partners have a turn. This isn’t about your partner controlling you—it’s about letting go and trusting them.”

The phrasing sent an uneasy prickle down my spine.

Couples looked at each other with nervous excitement and stepped forward to grab a blindfold. We exchanged one more glance before Hotch reached for a blindfold after I hesitated for a second too long under the watchful gaze of Celeste.

Celeste smiled as if she didn’t just ask us to surrender ourselves entirely, “Take a moment to decide who will lead first.”

All of the couples looked at one another, Hotch glancing at me with a subtly raised brow in question. I could barely take him seriously with his face adorned in stubble from not shaving in our haste to leave earlier. I didn’t mind it, though I’m sure it drove him insane to have. The flecks of white on his face amidst his natural color was endearing and made him look softer than when he shaved.

“Can I lead first?” I asked nervously, touching the material in his hand.

“Are you sure?” He murmured, his thumb moving over my fingers soothingly.

“Yea,” I nodded. “I already know you’ll lead me perfectly.”

Something flickered in his eyes at my words. Pride? I couldn’t exactly tell, but he gave me a small nod as his expression melted into something fond.

“Alright,” he murmured, surrendering his grip on the blindfold. “I’m yours to guide.”

The words made a strange warmth spread through my chest, one I ignored as we turned into Celeste as she guided the group to the sand. Small obstacles were placed in a course, wooden beams breaking up the smooth sand, wooden platforms giving higher obstacles, and even some ditches in the sand we would have to avoid.

It wasn't anything too crazy. Nothing like any of the courses we had to run at the academy. It was more focused on communication than anything.

“We’ll be sending couples out every minute so it’s not so crowded. Go ahead and line up for me,” Celeste got the couples in somewhat of a line.

Hotch and I watched the couples start, seeing a lot of people tripping, peeking through the blindfolds, and touching their partners when they’d get frustrated. Staff had to verbally reprimand them and remind them of the rules several times.

Soon, Hotch and I were at the front as the couple in front of us went. I tied the blind fold over his eyes, adjusting it so it was snug but comfortable.

“Can you see?”

“No.”

I reached for his hands, steadying him as he shucked his sandals off.

“Trust me?” I laughed softly next to him.

“I do,” he squeezed my hand before dropping it.

I swallowed, pushing down the unexpected weight of those words. Celeste instructed us to start with a hand tap on both of our shoulders.

Hotch took careful steps on to the sand, trusting my estimations of distance to the next obstacle immediately. I walked next to him like we were simply taking a stroll, not wanting to confuse him by walking backwards in front of him or behind him.

“Pause,” I stopped him. “You’ll take a step over and it's just sand on the other side. Good…the next one is a little higher.”

We continued on, keeping my voice steady and calm even when he veered off too far to the right, almost going out of bounds, “You got it, just hear how close I am to you.”

Using his ears a little better despite the laughing and frustrated groans around us, he walked with more and more confidence with each passing step. It was intimate in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

“Stop,” I murmured. “You’re done.”

I reached up, untying his blindfold and watching his eyes blink to adjust to the light again. His eyes immediately focused on mine with a soft smile.

“Good job, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning in for a quick kiss.

He took the blindfold from me and tied it around my head, plunging me into darkness so we could continue the course.

“Ready?” Hotch’s voice was low, but close, meant just for me.

“Always,” I took a deep breath, nervous all of a sudden as I only focused on his voice.

His voice was just behind and to the left of me, taking a slightly different approach than me.

“Step forward, slowly.”

I followed his instructions, relying entirely on the warm, grounding tone of his voice. Each of my steps was tentative and careful, the sand shifting unpredictably under my feet to add another layer of uncertainty.

“Little more to the left, listen to my voice,” he murmured. “Good, baby. Another step and you’ll step over.”

“I feel like you’re guiding me through a minefield,” I laughed.

“Same principle,” he responded dryly.

Hotch didn’t tell me when I finished, instead winding an arm around my waist and pulling me close to him. I felt his lips meet mine, my eyes involuntarily closing underneath the blindfold. When I opened my eyes, the blindfold was removed and Hotch was grinning at me.

“I think we were the best ones,” he dove back in, smiling into the kiss.

“You might be biased,” I murmured.

“Mmm,” he made a noise of protest, indicating his head to where couples were finishing covered in sand and either mad or laughing at each other.

Staff members lined the obstacle course, clipboards in-hand and writing furiously. I accidentally made eye contact with one, who leaned over and spoke to the staff member next to him.

“What do you think they're writing?” I murmured.

“I don't know, but we need to find out,” his eyebrow twitched in contemplation but his hand trailed up and down my lower back to keep up the charade.

Celeste clapped her hands together, signaling the end of the exercise and gathering the couples together, “Wonderful work, everyone. Remember, this wasn’t about speed or perfection—it’s about learning to trust and communicate. Some of you did beautifully, while others…” she gave a knowing smile as some couples groaned and dusted sand off themselves, “may have discovered a few areas to work on. For now, take a break. Breakfast is being served in the main hall, and afterward, we’ll dive into our next exercise.”

Hotch’s fingers brushed against the small of my back as we trailed behind the other couples toward the dining hall. “We’ll have to be careful about how much we stand out.”

“Yeah,” I exhaled, glancing back toward the staff. “But I still want to know what they wrote."

Breakfast was a mix of tired grumbling and overcompensating excitement. Some couples barely spoke, still frustrated over the obstacle course, while others dissected every move they made, analyzing what they could do better. Hotch and I ate in a comfortable quiet, making small talk with the other couples.

“—haven’t seen them all morning.”

My ears tuned into a conversation at a different table, Becca’s chatter becoming nothing more than droning as I did.

A couple was missing already? Looking around at faces I already recognized, I hummed thinking who might be missing.

“Maybe they slept in. We almost overslept,” someone responded.

“Travel will do that,” another response.

“I felt kinda hungover, I don’t remember drinking that much,” another chimed in.

I trailed my hand up Hotch’s thigh, squeezing and leaning toward him with a teasing smile. With my lips brushing his ear, I murmured, “Couple missing. You hear that? Maybe drugging?”

Hotch chuckled, letting his hand come up to the back of my neck, “You’re insatiable.”

It was a simple response but let me know he heard me.

Tuning back into the conversation, I saw his eyes scanning other tables for any one he noticed was missing.

By the time we were called back outside, the sun had climbed higher, heating the sand to an uncomfortable temperature. The next exercise was the eye contact challenge. Simple in theory—five minutes of uninterrupted eye contact with your partner. But as I sat across from Hotch, knees nearly touching on the white sheet draped over the sand, I felt my stomach twist and regretted eating immediately.

No words, no distractions.

Just looking at each other. Easy.

The timer started.

I held his gaze, reminding myself that this was just acting, just another role to play. Hotch’s expression was unreadable. His eyes were dark and searching—glinting amber as the sunlight filtered through his eyelashes just right. It felt like they saw straight through me. The longer I looked, the more I felt stripped bare, as if every layer of protection I built up about my feelings for him was being peeled away. The mask I wore, the careful detachment despite our brief lapse in judgment yesterday—it all threatened to crumble under the weight of his stare.

I swallowed hard. My pulse thrummed in my throat.

Five minutes had never felt so long.

I fought every urge I had to look away but couldn’t help the heat I felt on my face as I licked my lips. And it wasn’t from the sun.

When the time was up, I deflated slightly, taking a deep breath as I recovered from the intensity.

“Okay?”

“Mhm, I forget how intense you are,” I rubbed my eyes.

“You forgot yesterday already? Must be losing my touch,” he teased.

Cocking my jaw to the side, I laughed and shoved his chest, “Oh, hush.”

We were put through a few more exercises throughout the day but with not enough time to relax back at our room, unfortunately. It was only after dinner—once the sun had already set—that we were released back to our rooms. Thankfully, according to our schedule, the second day was the most structured day out of the retreat, giving Hotch and I more free time to explore later.

Our missing couple also turned up after lunch, looking lost, not believing that it was two in the afternoon. They insisted that they hadn't been drunk but a couple from their flight—another frequent-flier couple—insisted that the husband had been consuming drinks pretty rapidly. He denied it, of course, but it was up to the listener’s opinion on who to believe. Hotch and I knew something more sinister was happening behind the scenes.

“The hot tub sounds heavenly right now,” I groaned, rubbing my hands over my arms in a desperate attempt to get rid of the feeling of sand sticking to my skin.

Hotch opened the front door and ushered me in, “Then use—”

He paused his movements and stopped speaking as he took in the room.

“—it.”

I looked at the room too to see what he was looking at. The bed was made, which wasn’t all that strange. Then, I noticed my bag wasn’t where I had left it this morning and neither was Hotch’s. Both bags were tucked neatly under the desk with the zippers done up neatly.

“I need to wash the sand off,” I rubbed his back and moved toward the bags.

“Good idea,” he grunted and followed me.

I rifled through my bag, seeing nothing missing, and moved to Hotch’s bag. Luckily, his bag had a hard bottom that hid the hard edges of the electronics inside well. Locating the phone and other electronics with a few quick zippers and Velcro pulled back, I emerged from under the desk with a random tube from my bag for show.

I waved it in front of him before moving my hands to the hem of my shirt, “Join me?”

His eyes followed my movements as my shirt slipped off my body, followed by my bottoms. I smiled sweetly as I opened the back sliding door, letting the night ocean breeze flow through the room. It took a moment, but I soon found the exterior lights and flicked them on long enough to turn the hot tub light on.

I felt him before I heard him, warm skin pressing against my back, “Just one bug in the far corner,” he murmured in my ear.

Hotch’s mouth dropped to my shoulder, peppering kisses for any other surveillance we might be missing. His hands smoothed down my sides, pausing when he expected to hit underwear and didn’t. His fingers tightened on my waist and I waited with baited breath for his next move.

His hands released me, so I took the opportunity to step into the tub. The hot water made me sigh contently as I sat fully, facing Hotch as he stood outside of the tub watching me.

The muscles in his chest jumped as he rested his hands on the edge of the round, wooden tub. His shorts slung low on his hips, showing just the top of his underwear.

“Are you gonna make me sit in here by myself?”

He didn’t respond, still staring like he was warring with himself. Slowly but surely, his fingers came to his shorts, flicking open the closure and hooking his thumbs into the sides. His shorts fell to the floor, underwear staying on as he fiddled with the side of the tub. He soon hummed in success as the hot tub bubbled to life and stepped in with me.

He lowered himself as much as he could until his shoulders were submerged, letting out a groan at the feeling. He, then, sat in the seat, exposing his shoulders and chest to the air again. His feet kicked out across the tub, landing on the seat across from us as his arm draped over my shoulders.

“Thoughts?” He murmured softly, trying not to be louder than the bubbling of the jets in the tub.

We kept our mouths close to each other's face when we spoke.

“I don't remember seeing them when we arrived but maybe they asked too many questions or weren't compliant enough yesterday? That other couple was gas-lighting them.”

“Mhm,” he sighed, fingers absentmindedly moving over my skin in the water. “We need to see the files they're compiling. They're storing the information somewhere.”

“Might be assessing compliance or weak relationships?”

“Yeah, I think so, too. Did you see the key cards they have clipped to their uniforms? That might get us somewhere.”

“Mhm, I thought it was strange that we got physical keys and they had key cards.”

Laughs and gentle splashing were thrown about in between our speaking to throw off whoever was listening and make it sound more natural than quiet, as well as drown out our words if they were too recognizable.

I stilled as a loud creak and a hushed whisper sounded, not too far from our patio. I listened for footsteps but the sand made it hard to hear movement. Hotch’s eyes squinted in the low light but if I couldn’t hear anything further, then he sure as hell wouldn’t be able to either.

“I think I'm gonna fall asleep in here, sweetheart,” he murmured, arm tightening over my shoulders to put me at ease.

“Yea, you're right,” I sighed unhappily.

“Shower and sleep?”

I hummed in agreement and followed him inside. I made sure the backdoor was locked tightly and followed him to the bathroom. Entering the bathroom, I started the shower and watched as Hotch averted his eyes and unfolded the sat-phone from his shorts to update the team.

I rolled my eyes at his actions, making the number two with my fingers and pointing at the shower. He glanced my way and nodded, holding a lone finger up.

Was he seriously being reserved now? Especially after what transpired yesterday. Or was he regretting it? The thought made my gut churn uncomfortably.

I knew it was a bad idea. But, I was also overthinking the whole thing.

Yesterday was a favor. It didn’t mean anything.

All of the fake affection was bleeding into my ability to think clearly.

By the time I had rubbed my skin raw, Hotch was opening the shower door with his eyes trained on the free shower head. As soon as his side turned on, I turned mine off and stepped out of the shower to avoid making him uncomfortable any further.

At least the towels were soft.

With the interior room lights on, it was difficult to see outside in the dark. I squinted, still uneasy from the sounds we heard earlier but did my best to shake it off.

I pulled on something loose to wear to bed and was laid back with my eyes shut by the time Hotch was done.

I heard him flick the lights off, then softly step over to the bed and slide between the sheets. I could practically feel him watching me in the dark.

“What’s wrong?”

Of course he could tell.

“Mm,” I hummed. “Just tired.”

“Okay,” he whispered over the gentle waves outside. I heard him shift his body closer, feeling the warmth of his hand as it traveled around me. “We can sleep in tomorrow, nothing mandatory until eleven.”

I was half asleep already and made a tired noise in the back of my throat, turning on my side to be more comfortable. I dampened down my feelings as his chest met my back and his bare legs and feet tangled with mine.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been asleep for but the sound of muffled voices nearby made my eyes snap open. I must have tensed my body because Hotch' tightened his arms around me immediately. His voice murmured lowly in my ear, “Don’t speak, listen.”

I was barely able to make out his whisper, but did as he said.

The voices sounded out of breath—like they were exercising, carrying something heavy—as they walked.

“w—t d—we tel—them?” one voice came through. (What do we tell them?)

“t—at th—y—eft early.” (That they left early.)

The distance and huffing didn’t help but I managed to understand the words. Their voices passed closer to the wall our bed was against, the voices much clearer now that they were practically up against our bungalow.

“This batch is going to take longer than expected to break in.”

My heart was racing and I wanted nothing more than to rip Hotch’s arm off of me and help whoever the staff were taking. I couldn’t jeopardize the entire mission. I would have to hope that they were still alive. The voices faded out eventually but Hotch held me still, waiting just in case.

The whine of a golf cart sounded in the distance, a mental note made of the direction it traveled.

“Do. Not. Get. Up,” Hotch murmured. “Can’t help if we’re caught.”

“We don’t even know where they’re taking them,” I murmured back.

“We’ll find out,” Hotch responded.

I clenched my jaw in frustration, ready to shoot back another protest when sounds of shifting sand came closer. They were different voices speaking to each other this time.

“Think they heard anything?”

“Nah, they’re newlyweds. They fucked as soon as they got here yesterday, I doubt they’ve stopped.”

“Yea, but—”

“Dude, pay attention, you’re missing parts.”

Missing parts?

“Sorry, sorry. Wait, so you—like—watched?”

“That’s the entire point of camera duty.”

“Was it hot?”

“Bro.”

“What?”

“Just fucking rake.”

Were they covering the tracks of the other two staff?

My heart rate eventually slowed, but I was still on edge. My eyes stayed open in the dark, my brain creating floating shapes born from my distress.

“Try and sleep,” he sighed.

I wouldn’t be very successful.

Day 3

Hotch had fallen back asleep after the events of last night, but I laid there in the dark listening—waiting and helpless. As soon as the sun rose, I wormed out of Hotch’s arms, made myself a coffee, and sat out on the patio. I tried to look for any evidence of the kidnapping we heard, only to see combed sand with footprints stepping sideways rather than forwards. It was still follow-able but I couldn’t very well go without Hotch and risk him getting pissed off.

Or worse—getting myself taken, too.

I tried to follow the tracks back to a specific bungalow with my eyes, squinting as it got harder to distinguish in the distance. It had to be one of the two to our left but I couldn’t tell which.

The resort looked normal like this. Serene and quiet, like a real vacation. Like none of what transpired last night could have happened.

Footsteps around the corner made me tense, my head snapping toward the sound. A staff member trudged around the corner, shoes heavy with sand. Her hands were full of white envelopes that she shuffled through, looking at each bungalow where our unit numbers were indicated on the outside.

She finally noticed me, pausing her movements and making eye contact. She looked startled before blinking and making her way over to me.

“Good morning,” she smiled, shuffling through the envelopes and locating one with our unit number on it.

“Morning,” I smiled back.

“We usually put these on your door but since you’re up…” she handed me the envelope. “This will take the place of your mandatory slot today. Congratulations. We hope you’ve been enjoying your time here with your partner. You two have been a delight to watch—blossom.”

The hitch in her voice didn’t go unnoticed.

“Oh—uh—thank you,” I took the envelope from her.

She tilted her head slightly, her smile was polite but otherwise unreadable, “Hopefully, you’ve both found the experience enlightening.”

I nodded slowly, fidgeting with the envelope, “We—we certainly have.”

Her eyes flicked to the glass door, where Hotch's sleeping form was visible through the thin, fluttering curtains, “You and your husband make such a lovely pair, so natural together.”

It made me all too aware of how exposed we were at night.

Her smile widened, something darker in her eyes than before, “We love to see couples fully embracing every exercise here.” She tapped the stack of envelopes against her palm, her tone friendly and teasing, “Those who don’t take full advantage of the retreat…let’s just say they don’t always get the same privileges.”

The meaning settled like a weight in my stomach.

She took a step back from the patio, still watching me intently, “Be sure to enjoy each other tonight after this reward. It’s one of our most special ones,” she added, voice lilting as if it were a friendly suggestion, but it wasn’t.

It felt like an order. Like a warning.

“Of course.”

Her gaze lingered a second longer before she turned away and left her tracks in the sand. She went back about her business, moving to the other bungalows. I watched her discreetly, feigning reading the letter as I watched her drop off at every unit except for the one diagonally from us to our left, closer to the shore than we were. That must belong to whoever got taken last night.

I tried to wrack my brain to remember who got placed there when we arrived. It wasn't the couple who had gone missing yesterday, I knew that for sure. It was—

Oh, shit.

I glanced back at Hotch, still tangled in the sheets, surprised that her voice hadn’t woken him. I glanced down at the letter I extracted from the envelope—a couples massage. Though, we wouldn't be getting massages together—no—we’d be giving them to each other.

I fought the urge to groan in protest. I chewed the inside of my cheek and stood, leaving my coffee on the table.

Gingerly, I got on the bed with one knee, throwing my other leg over his hip so I was straddling Hotch.

It was cruel considering what we heard last night but I figured it would help stay in character.

Hotch jumped at the contact, eyes flying open. He was practically ready for a fight, but as his groggy eyes focused on me his whole body relaxed.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” I smiled, running my hands up and down his chest.

He took a deep breath, willing his adrenaline down and blinking his eyes rapidly to focus better.

He rubbed the sleep from the corners of his eyes, “Morning, what’s got you so excited?”

I turned the paper toward him, which he squinted at and tried to distance his face from the paper but his head was blocked by the bed and the paper was blocked by my body.

“Need your glasses?”

Hotch threw me an exasperated look, closing his eyes in frustration and blinking a few times again.

“Read it to me?”

I tossed the paper on the bed, leaning down so my lips nearly touched his, “We have been gifted a couple’s massage.”

“That sounds nice.”

“Mhm,” I pressed my lips to his, then trailed my mouth to his jaw. “It was Avery and Quinn. They didn’t get an envelope on their door and the tracks go that way,” I whispered. I came up speaking at a normal volume, “But we’re giving each other the massages.”

“Yea?” He grinned slyly.

“Sounds kinda fun,” I kissed him, letting my tongue dip past his lips. “I can give you a massage right now, in fact. So, nice and hard for me already,” I cooed, wiggling my hips as if I could feel his fake hard on.

It was insurance to make sure we were worth keeping around, I told myself.

I waited for his approving nod before sliding under the sheets, keeping my movements slow and natural. My hand trailed over his stomach, my nails barely scraping his skin as I shifted between his legs. I smiled to myself as I felt his muscles tense beneath my palm, his breathing steady but elevated.

I wasn’t actually going to do anything to him, but the cameras and microphones didn’t need to know that. I let my head dip low enough so the sheets shifted and moved my shoulders just enough to insinuate that something was happening. My fingers ghosted over his thighs, my palm meeting coarse hair, while my other hand pressed against his hip.

Hotch exhaled through his nose, tilting his head back against the pillow like he was relaxing. The noises escaping his throat warmed me from the inside out, sounding like he was actually enjoying himself.

I had no way to know if the staff watching the cameras were buying it, but I had to assume they were. I let out my own moan as his fingers slid under the sheets and found the back of my head, feeling more like reassurance than performance. I let it go on for an extended amount of time, letting Hotch tell me when it was an appropriate time to stop. His moans grew in volume, keying me into the act. His hips shifted under me as he let out a long groan, hand pushing my head down until my nose made contact with his stomach.

I was so close to where I could see the outline of his actual erection through his underwear, our actions likely having made it appear. I could smell his natural scent this close to him, almost jealous that he’d been able to taste and smell mine and I hadn’t been able to do the same the first day.

After a beat, I slowly dragged myself back up. I made a show of pressing a lazy kiss to his chest and wiping the corner of my mouth before settling next to him.

“It still surprises me how good of a cock-sucker you are,” he hummed.

My face felt like it was on fire at his words despite me not actually doing what he said, just the words alone made me heat up. I hid my face in his neck, away from his teasing grin.

“The person who gave this to you. Lady? Dark hair? Short?” he murmured, pretending to turn and chase my embarrassed face. “Don’t get all embarrassed now,” he said louder.

“Mhm,” I laughed as his breath tickled my neck, pretending to push him away.

“She walked by, stared at me while you were under and smiled,” he hummed against my skin.

His words sent a chill up my spine.

Hotch laid back against the bed and pulled me against him again.

“That wasn’t a smile,” I inhaled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “That was approval.”

The massage wasn’t until the afternoon, so we had time to kill. Under the guise of breakfast, we got ready and left the room. I took Hotch’s hand, and dragged him to the water first. It was warm enough outside in the late morning that the water felt refreshing rather than shocking.

Naturally wandering down the wet sand, I stared in the direction of Avery and Quinn’s patio. I didn’t see any movement, but squinted through the glare of the sun.

“Trust me?” I murmured to Hotch, who looked like he dreaded what I was about to do.

A muscle in his jaw jumped but he finally nodded. I clenched his hand and took off in a jog toward their patio.

“Avery! You guys up?” I turned up the excitement in my voice, blocking the sun from my eyes with my free hand as I got to their patio. “Quinn?”

I squinted harder, seeing the room pristine as if it hadn’t been lived in. There was no luggage to be seen and the bed was made the same way ours had been when we arrived.

“Hi, there,” a staff member appeared from the other side of the unit, a tight smile adorning her features.

I jumped at the sudden voice. It wasn’t the woman from earlier, but her attitude was very similar.

“We discourage interrupting couples in their rooms for privacy reasons,” she continued.

Privacy? How rich.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” I laughed, my hand over my chest. “We had made plans to get breakfast together and I didn’t see them pass by us, is all.”

The woman clasped her hands together, not budging, “Unfortunately, Avery and Quinn had to leave earlier than expected.”

My heart dropped into my stomach.

No.

“Oh—what ha—”

“We can’t disclose that personal information. I’m sure you can understand?”

“R-right, of course. I’m so sorry, again,” I spared another glance at their room.

“Enjoy your massage,” she smiled, effectively ending the conversation and sending us on our way.

We ate lunch in relative silence, my knee shaking as I wanted so badly to ask Hotch what he would and wouldn’t be comfortable with during this massage, especially since I fully expected it to be under the watchful eye of a staff member. By the look on Hotch’s face, he knew I had something important to talk about and read me like a book.

As soon as we finished eating, he held out his hand and led me out to the beach away from everyone and hopefully any surveillance. We still had about an hour until we were to meet a staff member at a secluded cabana down the beach. It was both enticing and terrifying knowing we would be on our own.

Hotch stopped near the gentle waves, just close enough for our feet to get wet every so often and hugged me from behind comfortingly.

“Are you nervous?” he murmured.

“Yea,” I swayed with him. “It feels like a trap, but I also can’t get past what she said about this being a reward. We’re obviously doing something right if we didn’t get disappeared.”

“I don’t think they’d do something like that during the day, it’s too brash. Remember, they do need people to come and spend money on the trip regularly.”

“Yea, you’re right.”

“Then, what else is bothering you?” he wondered, his nose brushing the shell of my ear.

“I—I don’t want to make you more uncomfortable if they—you know, make us touch each other for an hour all sexual and shit.”

Hotch laughed, an honest to God laugh, not whatever bullshit laugh he put on for show here.

“I trust you with my life,” he assured me. I opened my mouth to interrupt him, but he gripped my waist tighter, “Let me finish. We’re both professionals and I know we didn’t really talk about the other day but you didn’t make me uncomfortable, I promise.”

He sighed, letting his lips fall to my shoulder, “I enjoyed myself…and I hope you did, too.”

I hid my face from him, groaning at his teasing laugh, “I did, I did.”

“Good,” he paused. “I’m glad it was us on this mission.”

I looked back at him, waiting for an explanation but only saw him looking out at the waves. He blinked and looked at me, kissing me softly and tightening his hold on me. I didn’t know what to do with my arms besides hold on to his forearms.

“I don’t think I could have done this with anyone else,” he murmured.

I did my best not to read into it, knowing he very well could do this with any other member of the team with lives at stake.

“You don’t believe me?”

“No, you would have made it work regardless. That’s just who you are.”

“Maybe,” he nodded. “But, it’s easier with you.”

That. That, I couldn’t ignore. By the intensity in his eyes, he wanted me to read between the lines, too.

“Okay,” I nodded.

“Meaning, whatever they have us do? I trust you completely. I promise. And I hope you feel the same.”

“I do,” because truthfully, I’m sure I could have felt safe with any member of the team, but the way I clicked with Hotch? I knew I was in perfectly capable hands.

“Good. Ready?”

I nodded my head, but stopped him from walking by turning in his arms and placing a hand on his exposed chest beneath his loose button down. Out of pure-selfishness and to seal the promises we just made, I used a hand to guide him in for a kiss. One of his hands pressed into my lower back to hold us together, but let us part all too soon for my taste.

Hotch gave me a knowing smile, bringing his thumb and forefinger up to my chin, “We’re going to be okay.”

We set out down the beach, where the invitation indicated, seeing a cabana with huge, white, flowing curtains billowing on each side. They were transparent enough that you could see two people shapes inside but not transparent enough to make out details.

We slowed our steps as we approached the wooden platform. It was surprisingly void of sand, which made me kick my shoes off and leave them in the sand rather than track it on the platform. Hotch held my hand as I stepped up, finally letting my hand go to ditch his own shoes and follow me.

Two staff members, one woman and one young man stood clutching a clipboard each to their hips with their arms straight down. Their smiles felt less sinister than many of the other staff members, but they were dressed in the same white button downs, slacks, and plain work shoes as every other staff member.

“Welcome, we’re so glad to have you,” the woman greeted. “I will be guiding you through this experience and training my associate, if that’s okay?”

“Of course,” Hotch smiled, reaching out to shake the young man’s hand, recognizing him as the young man who brought our bags on the first day.

The young man seemed a little nervous, earning a glare from the woman but he presented his hand to Hotch after some hesitation.

“We provided drinks for you as well,” she indicated, gesturing to two drinks that they’d clearly taken notes on us ordering often. “If you would like any more, please let me know and my associate would be happy to make you more.”

“Thank you, so much,” I smiled, reaching for mine.

Hotch mimicked my movements, bringing his glass to mine for a small toast. The noise he let out as he sipped the scotch was borderline criminal—a cross between a hum and a moan.

“The scotch you use here is…” he hummed appreciatively again. “…it’s so good.”

He brought the glass to my lips, the little bit that I tasted making me wince both at the strong flavor and the flavor change from my own drink.

I blinked rapidly, feeling like I was breathing fire, “You can keep that.”

Hotch just laughed at me and took a bigger sip.

Realizing we were getting off track, I cleared my throat and turned my attention back to the woman, “Sorry.”

“No, please, this exercise is all about you two to bring you closer. I want to encourage you to be as expressive as you want with your partner,” she smiled, her voice as soothing and serene as the breeze around us.

I nodded, feeling Hotch’s hand come to rest on my waist, “So, how is this working?”

“Well, typically, couple’s massages occur when a couple gets a massage together by two separate masseuses, as I’m sure you’re aware. Due to the nature of this retreat, we want to teach and encourage partners to implement massages to be closer to one another, for use as a form of foreplay, or even as aftercare. To start, you will massage your partner's back side from head to toe before moving to the front from head to toe. You’ll focus on non-sexual areas first. We have different oils you can choose to use for your partner. Take the time to undress one another completely, and when you’re ready and choose who will give first. If you need guidance, I am trained and can offer help without any physical intervention,” she stated with practiced ease. “Do you have any other questions?”

“What’s our time limit?” Hotch asked, ever the planner.

“No time limit, you can take as long or as short as you need. If this experience brings on sudden urges, you may act on them once both partners have gone. We are not here to rush or judge. You’re to treat us as if we’re not here unless you need something.”

Urges.

Sex.

Did she just insinuate we could get busy in front of them? Not that it was much different than the cameras, but…still.

We both nodded at her, then looked at each other.

“If there’s no more questions, you may begin when you’re ready.”

At that, Hotch nodded and tossed the rest of his drink back for some extra courage. I followed his lead and placed my empty glass next to his on the platter.

I smiled as Hotch invaded my space, his fingers finding the edges of my clothes easily.

“Can I give you yours first?” he asked, bringing his forehead to mine so his eyes solely focused on me as if we weren’t being watched or out in the open.

“Yes,” I let my fingers skim over his chest and fall to the buttons of his shirt, starting to pop them open.

With one last brush of his nose against mine, he began slowly dragging my clothes off my body. I stopped him from shrugging out of his shirt, letting my hands move up the planes of his chest to his shoulders to push the fabric off. I guided it down his arms and off one, then the other, until it fell into a pool on the floor with my clothes. My fingertips trailed down his abdomen, meeting coarse hair on his stomach just before I reached the waistband of his shorts. I managed to undo the shorts without looking and hooked my thumbs in both the shorts and his underwear to push them down his legs.

“Lay down,” he murmured.

I didn’t need to be told twice and laid down on the massage table covered in a soft, white sheet. My toes clenched anxiously as I was hyper aware of my exposed skin to the elements as the breeze filtered through the cabana. Hotch’s hands grazed my back briefly as he rounded the table, then made more firm contact. The tension melted from my shoulders at his reassurance.

“Any scent in particular?”

“Surprise me,” I mumbled.

I heard the clinking of glass for a moment, then felt Hotch’s presence by my head. I bit my lip in anticipation, not having to wait long before I felt his thumbs pressing into the muscles in the back of my neck. The moan that immediately escaped my throat was involuntary but warranted as he dug for every knot he could feel in my back.

I had a lot.

My boss was a bit of a hard-ass, I laughed to myself.

I inhaled deeply as his hands found my lower back, whimpering at a particularly sensitive area near the middle. As he moved onto my arms, I realized he’d picked an unscented oil. I could only smell the alcohol on my breath, the beach, and Hotch. The faintest vestiges of the soap from his shower this morning were overtaken by his own scent and a hint of sweat from the heat.

“No scent? You did surprise me,” I hummed, shying away from his hand as he went over a ticklish area.

His hands didn’t stop their movements, his mouth suddenly by my ear with his nose brushing my neck repeatedly, “I only wanted to smell you.”

I had to fight sleep as his hands bypassed my ass, digging into my hamstrings instead. As much as it hurt, it was relaxing as I felt my muscles unwind for the first time in ages. My feet twitched away from him as his calloused fingers skimmed the bottom of my foot rather than held my foot.

“I’m gonna kick you,” I mumbled, hearing him laugh and finally grab my foot.

The man had magic thumbs. It was unreal.

With my feet happy and pliant, his fingers teasing along the inside of my legs. He wasn’t stopping either, rising higher and higher until his thumb notched perfectly into the crease where my ass met my thighs. I let out the smallest of whimpers, one I would deny until the day I died.

But, Hotch heard it. The environment was quiet enough that there was no way he missed it.

“Can I get another round?” He murmured to the staff members.

The young man was all too quick to make himself busy, placing his pen and clipboard down on the chair he stood up from.

I didn’t realize I could have knots in my ass, but feeling how loose and pliant the muscles were after Hotch’s hands were done with them made me realize my body was in worse condition than I thought.

My breath hitched as this thumb slipped between my ass cheeks, his other fingers reaching forward to tease whatever sensitive skin he could reach. My hips pushed back against his hands, making him laugh softly and retreat his hand.

“Turn over, sweetheart,” he whispered.

I didn’t want to as I felt my body reacting to his teasing rather than relaxing. Whining as I tucked an arm in to roll over, Hotch’s hands helped guide me so I wouldn't fall off.

“Sit up a little,” he murmured, reaching for my freshly made drink and bringing it to my lips.

The ice cold liquid helped to cool my face and wet my dry mouth.

Hotch pulled it away from my face when I was done, easing me back down onto the table. He picked up his own drink, sipped it, and came back.

Before he re-oiled his hands, he brought his fingers to my temples and pressed his fingers firmly into my scalp, moving them in even patterns. Hotch’s hands moved down to my neck before disappearing entirely. Before I could open my eyes, I felt soft lips press against mine twice. They were gone too soon but replaced by freshly oiled hands on my shoulders.

His hands worked down to my chest, only getting level with my armpits before moving to my arms again. He redid each arm, gently placing it back down with a kiss to my wrist. His large hands gripped my rib cage, just under my arms, smoothing over the skin simply to touch. Just like before, he skipped straight to my legs, digging into my quads and calves until they were a loose puddle of muscle.

I kept my eyes closed, knowing what was coming next as Hotch’s fingers skimmed the inside of my thighs again. Bypassing where he knew I wanted to be touched the most, his thumbs happily dug into my hip flexors just above my thighs. It actually felt good but I let out a frustrated moan.

“So needy, sweetheart,” he murmured.

He wasn't much better, I noticed, feeling his erection brush my hand. I behaved and let him be. I let out a low moan as his slick hand finally made contact with my heated flesh, moving in agonizingly slow rhythms just to tease. He didn't tease me long, removing his hand after a couple minutes of torture.

“Shh, shh,” he smoothed his hand over my abdomen and flicked my nipples with his thumb. “Can't have you cumming and getting sleepy before it's my turn, honey. We have plenty of time.”

I nodded, agreeing, though not happy about it.

Giving me a satisfied smile, he pressed a kiss to my pouting lips and let me get up on my own terms.

It took me a second to get my footing, my legs wobbly after being so relaxed. Hotch finished his second drink and sat, brushing his hairy knees against my thighs in the process. He let out a full body groan as he laid face down, shoulders slumping against the table.

“The key here is to not rush,” I heard the woman speak up from the corner.

I nearly forgot they were here.

“Too often we neglect our partners when we’re too tired or already satisfied. Be aware and give him as good or better than you think you received.”

I was actually getting sound advice from a cult. Nice.

Deciding to copy Hotch on the unscented oil, I started much the same as him. The system was efficient, just like him. Why change it?

I let my hands run soothingly over his skin first, admiring the constellations of freckles across his shoulders and back. I fought the urge to gasp as my hands pressed into the muscles at the back of his neck and shoulder. He didn’t just “have knots”, the man was a walking knot. I couldn’t even press very hard without receiving a whimper in response.

No wonder he’d been drinking so quickly. He was trying to relax for this part. How did he exist like this?

“It’s okay, just go. I’m okay,” he assured me. “I’ll feel better after.”

I glanced at the staff member for guidance, not believing I was actually seeking guidance from these assholes.

She nodded, “Just go slow.”

Taking a deep breath, I worked on his back in sections and tried not to pay attention to his pained cries unless he outright told me to stop. Which he wouldn’t, I knew that much. I was relentless on the knots, not stopping until each one unwound and his whimpers eased. The pain in my hands from the effort stopped registering after a while.

I gave his back a break and worked on his arms, paying more attention to his forearms, wrists, and hands than anything because of our job. After paying attention to both arms, I placed my hand at the middle of his back.

“Feeling okay?” I looked his way despite his face being hidden.

He sniffled, releasing a shaky breath, “Yea, keep going.”

I sighed, threading my fingers through his hair and scratching his scalp soothingly. He jumped as I pushed my thumb into one of the erector spinae on either side of his spine. I adjusted my pressure, thinking I had hurt him.

“That part’s just ticklish, it’s okay.”

I continued, enjoying the quiet laughs as my fingers pressed into his sides, surprisingly ticklish there. My thumb pressed into the top of his glute, earning me a grunt.

“Sciatica?”

“Mhm.”

“Is there any part of you that doesn’t hurt?”

“I can think of one,” he lifted his head to look back at me with a smirk.

“I walked into that one,” I murmured and continued.

Thankfully, it looked like he carried most of his stress in his upper back, so the rest was a breeze. He seemed to enjoy the digging of my thumbs into his ass cheeks a little too much, but as long as he wasn’t crying anymore, I’d take it. I put extra oil on my hands as I got to his legs, not wanting to accidentally tug on his leg hair and cause any further pain. The groans he released as I worked on his legs and feet were far more pleasurable and turned me on more than I anticipated.

I still didn’t rush. She was surprisingly right.

The smile on his face as he turned over was worth it.

“You’re going to be sore tomorrow,” I commented, patting his abdomen, not really massaging just yet, just touching.

“That’s what the hot tub is for.”

I shook my head, walking around to his head and pressing a kiss to his forehead. I wrapped my hands under his head as I did, letting my thumbs press into the sides of his neck. Happy hums left his chest as I paid attention to his head, surprised that he didn’t have a million knots there, too. It would be unrealistic of course, but I was still surprised.

Eventually, the hums stopped, his face slacked, and his breathing evened out.

He’d fallen asleep.

I couldn’t do anything but smile, keeping my movements slow and steady to avoid jostling him awake. I pressed my fingers into his chest loosening the taut muscles, especially where they met his shoulders. Not wanting to tickle him awake, I skipped his abdomen and moved to his leg—focusing on those and not his half-hard erection. His foot twitched as I grabbed it but barely reacted as I pushed my fingers into the arches of his feet. The only noise he made was a simple breath releasing from his nose.

I brought my hand back to his abdomen, letting my hand skim down to his protruding hip bones.

I still didn’t look. I—

“Are you just going to stare or…?” Hotch murmured, an arm—one I didn’t even notice had moved—tucked behind his head. His eyes were half open, glancing down to where my fingers teased his hip.

“Are you going to ask nicely?”

He was silent, but the smirk didn’t leave his face. His eyes twinkled, and not with tears.

“Touch me, sweetheart,” he requested, and I was weak to resist the way his lashes made his eyes impossibly darker.

“You’re the one who has to limp back to the room,” I commented, adding a little more oil to my hands. If I had to wait, so did he.

I did my best to not look hesitant as I reached out and teased his cock by trailing my finger up the shaft and pressing the head between my thumb and finger. Wrapping my hand fully around his cock, he was thick and hot in my hand. His hips pushed into my hand at the contact, but I didn’t budge, still moving my hand up his shaft at my own pace. He fully hardened in my hand, and I let go when he did.

“Babe,” he pleaded as his cock slapped against his stomach, leaking precum onto his oiled skin.

“Can’t have you cumming and getting sleepier,” I threw his words back at him.

He groaned, sitting up and stretching his newly loosened back.

“You’re free to use this space,” the staff member spoke up again.

Licking my lips, I looked at Hotch. I could see the hesitation in his eyes but he wouldn’t vocalize it.

The gentle smile on the woman’s face began to vanish.

So, I improvised.

“There’s a toy I found in the room that I’ve been dying to try on him, honestly.”

Her smile suddenly returned.

“We can give you a ride back to your room, if you’d like. I’m sure you’re…impatient…by now.”

“That would be great, actually,” Hotch smiled at the offer.

The cart ride back to the room was heated. The woman drove quickly and efficiently while the man sat fidgeting in the front seat. It was stupid of us to be so engrossed in each other rather than paying attention to our surroundings, but Hotch’s tongue was down my throat and my hand was down his pants as soon as we sat.

I don’t even think we were acting.

A clearing of a throat broke us out of our actions.

The cart had stopped.

It took me a moment to realize we had arrived at our room. Removing my hand from his pants hurriedly as the staff members looked back at us, I scrambled out of the golf cart with Hotch close on my heels.

“Thank you!” I called back to where they still sat in the cart.

The woman flashed me a knowing smile.

The door gave way to my key easily. The door had barely shut behind Hotch when I was met with his broad form backing me up against the edge of the bed in a few long steps. My knees just about wobbled at the look in his eyes.

No words were exchanged as we ripped the clothes off of one another that had barely been replaced a few minutes ago. I found myself astride his hips, large hands gripping and plastering my body against his with his cock trapped snugly between us. His cock was aching—practically purple from neglect—and leaking all over his stomach.

“I need you, sweetheart, please,” he whispered against my cheek. “I need you.”

The look on his face was pure desperation. He wasn’t acting. Frankly, neither was I.

“Sure?” I mouthed.

He nodded furiously, “Please.”

I leaned over him, pulling open the nightstand drawer and digging my hand in. Hotch’s mouth attached itself to my chest, licking over the dips and peaks, laving over sensitive nipples. It was a miracle I was even able to grab a toy as I promised the woman. I pulled a small finger vibrator from the drawer along with some lube and a condom. I shrugged, figuring that would do as I looked it over in view of the camera.

I rolled the condom on him with a teasing slowness he didn’t appreciate for a second. Still, ever the gentleman, he slicked two fingers up and wormed them between us, pressing against my entrance.

“I don’t nee—” I moaned in the back of my throat as his fingers pressed deep, stretching and pressing against my walls.

“I know what you need,” he interrupted me, curling his fingers and pressing harder, ripping another moan from my throat.

“I need you inside me,” I gasped, holding his wrist down with one hand so I could raise myself off his fingers.

Lube was spread haphazardly over the condom in our haste. His hand gripped the base of his cock as I lined myself up, hands and fingers digging with bruising grips into the same shoulders and chest I had just healed.

The stretch of him was intense, more than I expected but very little had gone in the way of preparation besides the massage. His hum was satisfied, finally feeling some kind of relief as I worked my way down his shaft. Each groan leaving his throat was wobbly, as if he had to keep himself together to avoid cumming too quickly. Hotch’s hands itched on my waist, eager to urge me along.

I patted around the bed for the little vibrator I’d found, ripping it out of its packaging and thanking the stars that it was charged. I hooked it on my finger and waited for the perfect moment to introduce it.

When I felt ready, I found an easy rhythm. If this was the only time I’d be in this position, I wanted to savor it. Hotch’s feet came up to plant themselves on the bed, giving me more stability with his knees supporting me from behind.

“That’s it,” he praised as I sped up.

One hand left my waist to help me along, using his fingers to tease, rub, stroke—anything. I craned my thumb to switch the vibrator on and brought the finger-shaped device to his nipples, enjoying the gasps that left his throat with each teasing vibration.

“Kiss me,” he requested.

I couldn’t refuse such a pretty gaze, meeting his mouth with a needy whine. I did my best to keep the rhythm, assisted with his hand guiding me every time I faltered. His eyes just about rolled back in his head as I clenched around him. As patient of a man as Hotch was, he was pent up from the massage and the long three days we’d had so far.

His impatience made itself known as he used his hips, feet, and arms to roll me onto my back. Hotch’s hips took off from there, jack-hammering that spot inside me so perfectly I could hardly catch my breath through the moans. His arms hooked just under my legs, lifting my hips off the bed enough to accomplish his feat.

“I’m gonna come, sweetheart,” he panted, hips and abdomen flexing and straining in full view. “Come with me, come with me,” he panted, on the verge of pleading.

I righted the vibrator that hung uselessly from my finger and pressed it against myself, hands shaking as I fought to hold it together and come with him.

“Yes, yes,” I gasped as my toes curled, my body tense and squeezing Hotch in more ways than one as my hands reached out for his arms where they still hooked my legs.

Hotch was dropping my legs and plastering himself against me, grasping at anything he could reach as he came with a few sharp thrusts. He hid his precious gasps and groans in my neck, but I tugged him away by the hair, kissing him and swallowing the vibrations as I purposefully squeezed around him.

I could feel the urgency and adrenaline leave his body, his tongue slow and languid as it pushed past my lips. His body was heavy against mine but slow to move away.

I didn’t mind the weight, happy to hold him as long as he wanted as he came down from the events of the day.

Eventually, his lower back ached from the position, and in an attempt to not regress all of my hard work on his back, he pushed himself up and away, slow and measured like a cat rising from a nap.

I made a noise of discontent in the back of my throat, desperate to keep contact with him after all that.

“One second, baby,” he pressed a kiss to one of my outstretched hands and left to clean himself up, rummaging through a drawer, presumably to update the team considering—we were definitely here to bring this organization down rather than let them convince us to fuck.

When he returned, he produced a damp resort towel for me.

“I knew I married you for a reason,” I smiled, reaching for the towel only for him to bat my hand away slither into the bed next to me.

He brought the towel to my messy, hypersensitive skin; taking care to clean me up while looking at me with more emotion in his eyes than I was used to seeing from Hotch. He pressed his lips to my brow, then my cheek, tossing the towel somewhere unimportant.

“Okay?” he murmured.

I nodded, languid and sleepy after the events of the evening. With care I could have wept at receiving, he pulled the covers back and out from under me, then covered both of us.

“Go to sleep,” he smiled softly,

He reached for the light switch, the soft click being the only noise in the room besides our breathing. His body pressed up against my back, warm and comforting with his arms holding me close. I felt myself slowly spiral into sleep, lulled by the waves outside and Hotch’s gentle breathing.

Day 4

When I blinked my eyes open next, I didn’t expect the room to still be dark. I blinked my eyes again.

Why was I awake?

Attempting to move my arm, I felt Hotch’s hand immediately grab my wrist and pin it tight to my body.

“Don’t move.”

“W—”

I didn’t have time to ask my question as a knock sounded at the door, clearly not the first one. I heard a staff member saying our aliases through the door, apologizing for the interruption, then muffled, hushed tones.

“Are you sure they’ll wake up? They didn’t the other nig—”

“Shut up, you’re so fucking loud,” a voice growled back.

“If they wanted us gone, they wouldn’t have knocked, no?” I murmured.

Hotch was quiet, thinking through my question, then made a noise of agreement.

Hotch groaned, making a show of stretching his long limbs, before getting out of bed. I moaned grumpily at the loss, sitting up while he answered the door, not even bothering to cover himself. I flicked on the lamp on the nightstand to help him, letting my eyes drift over his backside for just a second before focusing back on our safety.

Hotch answered the door, greeted by two male staff members, one older and burly, while the other younger was lanky but toned. Hotch’s hair was a mess, eyes bleary and still trying to focus in the low light. The staff members immediately averted their eyes back to Hotch’s face when they realized he hadn’t bothered putting any clothes on.

“Yes?” he murmured, rubbing a hand over his face, feigning an attempt to wake up.

“Good morning, sir, we apologize for the interruption,” the older one spoke and bowed his head slightly. “The night manager has requested an audience with you and your spouse to congratulate you on your achievements the last few days.”

“Right now? What time is it?” he sighed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“3:35 AM, sir. And, yes, now. The night manager does his best work—well—at night,” the man chuckled to himself.

“Uhm, yea okay. Give us a few minutes? We don’t smell all that great,” Hotch gave them a sheepish smile.

He shut the door, coming to me and bringing his mouth to my ear, “Quick shower to wake yourself up. We’re meeting management.”

My heart pounded as I got out of bed and followed Hotch.

It didn’t take us long to wash the leftovers of our earlier activities off and get dressed. For what? We didn’t know, but decided to dress no differently than during the day. The night air was still warm in this part of the world, so the shiver I expected to hit as we stepped outside never came. Instead, the air was moderately humid causing our skin to feel tacky as soon as we stepped onto the sand. It only added to our discomfort.

The golf cart ride was short, but I wrapped my arms around Hotch’s arm nonetheless, not exactly happy about being awake at this hour. His hand came down to the inside of my thigh, rubbing his hand soothingly to calm both of us.

The cart whined to a halt as we reached the main resort area. The staff members stepped out quickly, guiding us precisely where to go before we could wander off by accident.

“Follow us, please,” the older one instructed, waving his hand in the direction of the younger staff member in front of us.

We entered the main resort building where we’d checked in, but were taken to the opposite side of the spacious lobby where private offices were located down a hallway. The only reason I wasn’t more hesitant as we followed them was the lack of drugging or knocking us out to get us here and the fact that Hotch was with me.

One of the staff members knocked on the door twice before a gravelly voice sounded on the other side, “Enter.”

The office was dimly lit and the angle caused it to cast long shadows as we stepped inside. The air smelled faintly of something harsh—like a cheap cologne and mildew.

Behind a large, immaculately polished desk sat the Night Manager. He was a frail-looking man, almost ghostly pale, with deep-set eyes that rapidly assessed us in the low light. His fingers were long and bony, drumming slowly against the desk as he observed us with an unreadable expression.

“Ah,” he rasped, voice like sandpaper grinding against metal. “Our star couple. Please, sit.”

We exchanged a glance before obeying, sinking into the uncomfortable wooden chairs in front of his desk. I clasped Hotch’s hand in mine, not too desperately so as to give off fear but to give the impression of comfort and love.

The Night Manager leaned forward slightly, clasping his hands together, “I imagine you’re wondering why I’ve called you here at this hour.”

Hotch fell into his role, giving the man a slow smile interrupted with a pretty convincing yawn that he covered with his free hand, “A little. We were told you wanted to congratulate us?”

A slow, thin-lipped smile stretched across the man’s face. It was chilling. Though I was convinced any smile the man gave—genuine or not—would be much the same.

“Yes,” he nodded. “Congratulations. You’ve done remarkably well these past few days. Your commitment to the experience, your trust and confidence in each other, your…affection for one another. It’s exactly what we like to see.”

I swallowed hard, resisting the urge to shift in my seat. There was something off about the way he said it, but it was quickly becoming clear that the Night Manager was far more important to the operation than we thought, given his absence from our initial intel.

“Thank you,” Hotch said smoothly.

The Night Manager hummed, “You see, this resort is an opportunity to test your relationship—one that not everyone is suited for. But you two?” He gestured at us with spindly fingers. “You are exactly the kind of couple we hope to cultivate.”

Hotch’s fingers twitched ever so slightly in my hand, but his voice remained calm, “How so?”

The Night Manager smiled again, “We pride ourselves on our…special clientele. People come here looking for paradise, for an escape, for a place where the constraints of the outside world don’t apply. But the truth, of course, is that not everyone deserves paradise. Only couples who preserve what it means to be two halves of a whole. Two souls separated at creation.”

He let that statement linger, as if expecting us to piece something together. Maybe expecting us to give up that we knew more than we let on. A test of our true intentions and that our aliases weren’t fabricated.

I kept my face pleasant, an easy smile drawing across my lips, even as my mind raced.

“There are initiates here,” the Night Manager continued. “Couples who need…guidance. They’re uncertain, resistant, sometimes even fearful. But a reassuring voice, a friendly face, a convincing couple—they can make all the difference.”

Hotch exhaled through his nose, “You want to…hire us?”

The Night Manager’s grin widened, his teeth small and yellowed, “In a manner of speaking. Think of it as…helping people find their purpose. Some couples come here hesitant about our methods. But with the right encouragement? With the right examples?” He gestured between us. “They see how fulfilling this experience can truly be. They commit. They invest. And in return, they are rewarded beyond their wildest dreams.”

Hotch tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable, “And those who don’t?”

The Night Manager exhaled, as if disappointed by the question, “Not every couple is suited for this level of privilege. Some find it difficult to embrace the experience fully, to synergize with what we offer here. Those who resist? Well,” he gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “Some people simply aren’t meant to move forward with us.”

My stomach twisted at the sneer that came over his face.

“Others,” he continued, his fingers drumming idly on the desk, “have all the potential but… lack harmony. A couple must function as a unit, don’t you agree? If one partner hesitates while the other acts, it creates imbalance. And imbalance, unfortunately, has consequences.”

The implication settled between us like a thick fog.

“And what exactly are those consequences?” Hotch asked, his voice smooth but pointed.

The Night Manager regarded him with something akin to amusement, “Oh, I think you already understand.” He was smart to not say it out loud. “You've already met some of our other star couples who have been instrumental in our work.”

Silence stretched between us.

“Leo and Becca?” I asked.

He smiled—more like a grimace, “Yes, lovely aren't they?”

“Yea, they're great,” I smiled, looking over at Hotch, who smiled in return.

“I hope you don't mind that we’ve done some extensive research on you two. We do with all of our new clients,” he opened a folder containing much of the information Garcia had fabricated for us. “A lawyer and an accountant are also very, very valuable to us as you can imagine.”

Hotch smiled smugly portraying that he was well aware of his worth, “I don't mind at all. Talking about my victories is my favorite pastime.”

“I'm sure,” he grinned. “You're both exceedingly impressive.” Then, as if nothing had happened, the Night Manager straightened, brushing off his lapels. “Now then. Let me show you the true heart of our resort. I think you’ll find it…enlightening to our work.”

He stood, moving with an eerie, effortless grace. Behind his desk, a door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit hallway.

Hotch stood, reaching his hand out to me to help me stand. His hand engulfed mine with a gentle squeeze as we stood side by side, following the Night Manager through the threshold with the two staff members we came with bringing up the rear.

The deeper we went, the harder it would be to leave.

Was it a mistake to follow him? Probably.

But we couldn’t leave now without drawing unwanted attention to ourselves.

The Night Manager led the way, his boney fingers laced behind his back, the soft shuffle of his loafers the only sound in the pristine hallway. The two staff members flanked us, close enough to remind us of their presence.

“There’s another reason we chose you two,” the night manager rasped, barely above a whisper, yet his voice echoed through the cold, sterile corridor. “Most couples come here thinking they’re strong, but you…” He turned his head slightly, glancing at us from the corner of his sunken eyes. “You’ve demonstrated a unique harmony. An understanding of partnership. And that makes you valuable.”

Hotch didn’t react, his facial expression carved from stone. I forced myself to do the same, even as unease curled in my stomach.

We reached a set of double doors, sleek and white, with an old-fashioned keycard scanner. One of the staff members produced it from his pocket and swiped it. A soft beep, a mechanical click, and the doors slid open.

Inside, the atmosphere was light. The air was cool, unnervingly fresh, like a high-end spa. The hallway stretched before us, lined with private rooms. Each had a frosted glass door, obscuring the view inside, but movement flickered behind some. A quiet sob. The shuffle of feet. The hum of a soft-voiced recording playing through speakers.

“These,” the Night Manager gestured with a long hand, “are the Conditioning Suites. Couples who need a little…encouragement. The ones who arrive too afraid to embrace their potential or simply don't synergize well enough. But with time, with guidance, they see the benefits of our philosophy.”

We walked past one of the doors just as a figure moved inside. A woman sat on the edge of a plush, white bed, hands folded in her lap, eyes vacant. A man knelt in front of her, whispering something, his grip firm on her wrist. The door was soundproof, but her lips trembled as she nodded along. I vaguely remembered them from the welcome dinner the first night, but they had been sitting at a different table.

My chest tightened.

“Their progress is monitored, of course,” the Night Manager continued, his fingers lightly brushing one of the frosted panels. “Some take to it quickly. Others…” He made an amused squeak in the back of his throat, his voice trailing off as we reached the end of the hall.

At the end of the hall, we met another set of doors. This time thick metal, with a biometric scanner. One of the staff members pressed his thumb to the scanner while the Night Manager waited.

The doors groaned as they opened, revealing a room that contrasted starkly to the suites behind us.

It was colder here. The sterile freshness of the previous hall was replaced by something stagnant, metallic. The lighting was dimmer, buzzing overhead, casting long shadows against the gray-tiled walls. There were no frosted doors here. Just cold metal, like cages to house animals. Horizontal slots were cut into the cages like prison doors for inmates to receive food.

“This,” the Night Manager said, voice almost reverent, “is where we separate those who are incompatible with the program and from whom you will be generously compensated for your troubles.”

A sharp clang echoed down the corridor. A weak, shuddering cough followed.

The faintest smell of bleach and something coppery. Blood, likely. My fingers twitched at my sides.

“Couples who resist—,” the Night Manager sighed, shaking his head. “Who cannot or will not embrace the beauty of partnership…” He trailed his fingers along the closest cage. It was empty but no less chilling. He, then, turned to look at us with a small, knowing smile. “They don’t last long.”

I fought the urge to glance at Hotch.

“Shall we?” the Night Manager asked, not specifying whether we were done or if there was more.

Hotch cracked a smile, “Preferably somewhere warmer?”

“Certainly.”

The Night Manager gestured back the way we came. As we turned my eye caught a familiar face.

Avery.

Their hands were shackled, skin littered in bruises and cuts. They silently sobbed into their palms.

Quinn was nowhere in sight.

As if feeling my eyes on them, Avery's eyes snapped to me, their breathing quickening as they pleaded for help.

“W-wait! Help me! Please!” their cries echoed. “Don’t leave me here!” I heard them crying out our alias’s names, their voice cracking and straining through the sobs.

A stern bark sounded from across the room with a loud clunk followed by hasty, angry footfalls.

“Come now,” the Night Manager ushered us away.

One of the staff members not-so-gently pushed Hotch forward from his back, my body being forced forward as a result. I tried to catch myself to not stumble, my arm tightening around Hotch’s to steady myself.

The screams followed us until the door shut behind us. Then, blissful silence as we re-entered the Conditioning Suites.

“The couples here,” Hotch spoke up. “Do they return to the beach when they're better?”

“Oh, they get far better than that,” he smirked. “A European getaway for their hard work, and they’re well taken care of. If a couple you bring in graduates to that, you also get compensated.”

The way he said “European getaway” made me feel sicker than I already felt. That had to be the trafficking part of this operation. All the compensation he kept mentioning had to be their stolen assets.

“How lovely,” I cooed. “You still need to take me to Italy, my love.”

“In due time,” Hotch hummed, pressing his lips to my head.

“If you come on board now, you'll have more than enough for an Italian villa by next summer,” the Night Manager grinned, turning back toward us, gesturing vaguely with his boney fingers.

“How does that sound, hmm?” Hotch hummed, nose brushing mine.

“Perfect,” I answered, pressing a quick kiss to his lips and finding comfort in his embrace as we continued walking.

As we entered the Night Manager’s office once more, the door shut behind us with a quiet click and hiss. He waved us back into the seats across from his. The two staff members posted up at the door to his office, as if they didn’t trust us to stay put. It was clear that we couldn't leave until he was done.

“I hope this has been an enlightening experience for you both,” he sighed, groaning as his joints popped as he sat. His eyes searched our faces with an eerie amusement playing about his lips, knowing we didn’t have much of a decision. “I trust you understand what’s expected of you, now, based on your interactions with Becca and Leo?” His fingers were steepled under his chin as he asked us.

I looked at Hotch who nodded to me and took my hand, “We do,” we said at almost the same time.

“In sync as we love to see,” the Night Manager grinned. “Well before I can let you return to your room, I need a show of good faith. Loyalty.”

Hotch blinked, fingers barely twitching on my hand, “What do you need?”

The Night Manager smirked, his eyes flickering between us. The tension between us was making me anxious. Were we going to have to hurt someone? Each other?

His chair creaked softly as he leaned to reach for one of his drawers, unlocking the drawer and pulling out a thick, worn leather-bound ledger. The pages were old and yellowed, crinkled from the moisture in the air, but the contents were easy to decipher. A detailed record of couples on their payroll, those who had pledged themselves—unwilling or otherwise—to this cult. Names, dates, signatures and—blood?

“This book is older than any of us,” he said, running his hand reerently over each page he flipped through. “Everyone who matters to this operation has signed their life to us here. But, ink isn’t quite…binding enough for my liking.”

He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a small, sharp blade that we both looked at warily.

“Not to worry,” he produced sealed wipes and slid them over with the knife. “We’re not in the business of infecting our prized possessions.”

Hotch reached for the blade first, looking at the Night Manager questioningly.

“Just your fingerprint, dear boy. Right here,” he tapped the page where our aliases had already been written with what seemed to be an ID number. “A proof of your commitment and insurance that you will keep things here confidential.”

I made note of where he’d pulled the ledger from, the DNA evidence in it could be priceless to the investigation and catching any stragglers. When we raided the compound, this would have to be one of the first grabs besides the victims downstairs.

Hotch flicked the blade open, cleaning it and his skin before pricking his thumb. He squeezed his thumb, letting the blood bead up and leaned toward the ledger which was now facing him the right way. His blood joined others’ fingerprints, which were now more brown than red from exposure to the elements.

Hotch handed me the knife and I followed suit, wiping his blood off the blade and cleaning my thumb before pricking my thumb. I cringed slightly, unable to completely ignore the sting. I pressed my own on the space next to my alias, shoving my thumb into my mouth immediately after to lap the drying blood off my thumb.

The Night Manager smiled, satisfied, and snapped the book shut. He tucked it back where he pulled it from and sat up straight once more.

“Welcome to the Twin Path.”

He gave us a final nod, waving at us to indicate we were free to go. As quickly as we were ushered in, we were being ushered out.

“You’ll receive further instructions later.”

I rose from my seat slowly, almost unsure, but was reinvigorated by Hotch standing up casually with a nod and smoothing the wrinkles from his shirt.

“Let’s go back to bed, honey,” he murmured, hand finding mine easily as the staff members opened the door for us.

“I’m excited to have you two on board,” he gave us one final sentence as the door shut behind us.

The cart ride back to our little bungalow was quiet, the tension still wound tightly in our bodies though we did our best not to show it to the two staff members. When the cart arrived, we couldn’t get out fast enough, bidding them goodbye and scrambling inside.

We had been with the Night Manager longer than expected. The sun was breaking over the land behind us, shining bright orange across the sky and bringing out the blue of the water sharply against the greyed sand. No one was up yet, the beach around us still sleepy and quiet, with the only sounds being the lapping waves and local wildlife waking up.

Stripping off the clothes I hastily put on earlier, I tucked myself back into bed without bothering to look at the agenda for the day. I heard Hotch rummaging through his bags and head to the bathroom, clearly still coherent enough to work. My eyes fluttered shut, only opening when I felt the bed dip next to me.

“It’s okay,” he hushed, pressing his lips to my head as he slid between the covers. He buried his face into my neck, wrapping his long limbs around me, “Have to hold out for the day so they can get ready. Nothing mandatory on agenda, just sleep.”

I wrapped my arms around him, fighting the way my hands shook from the adrenaline dump.

“You’re okay,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my cheek.

I dug my fingers into his back, tilting my head to search for his mouth. His lips found mine, pressing softly; more comforting than anything. The situation had bled dry all the residual sexual desire we might have had from the night before. His hand engulfed the back of my head, pulling me tightly against his body. His unshaven face prickled against my chin, making me grimace but it was a welcome distraction. Hotch pulled away with a sleepy hum, laying on his back and inviting me to tuck myself into his warmth. I admired the way the light outside began glinting against his salt and peppered beard before my eyes finally shut.

Sleep didn’t last as long as I would have hoped.

I woke to the feeling of something…not right. Not unlike the feeling of being watched the last few days. I pressed my forehead into Hotch’s chest, groaning as I felt his hands trying to rouse me gently.

I opened my eyes, my body shooting upright and back toward the headboard.

Silent figures surrounded the bed, watching us intently.

Hotch reached out to settle me, having woken up before me and seen them first.

I was terrified at the intrusion but confused given that it was broad daylight. The heat was emanating through the back sliding door, the harsh light outside making it seem unnaturally darker inside.

A shiver ran down my spine as I realized this wasn’t over yet. But, the team was on their way, weren’t they?

“Time for your initiation,” Trent’s voice chirped in a sing-song voice from the doorway, more warmth to his tone than the Night Manager.

This rollercoaster of a morning was not sitting well with my stomach. It continued rolling and churning from the stress, lack of food—not that I’d be able to hold anything down right now—and the sterile but damp musk that still clung to my nose. The only time it had calmed was when I’d breathed in Hotch’s scent.

They’d been pushy about wearing all white and I grimaced at the thought of getting the inevitable stains out if blood was to be involved again. Honestly, after this op, all the clothes I brought with me were getting burned. I’d never be able to wear them again without smelling this awful place.

“Sorry for the interruption,” Trent apologized, turning to face us in the back of the cart, though he didn’t sound like he meant it. “You weren’t answering the door and we were worried. Just one more task to complete and you’ll be fully fledged members,” he grinned, sharp, white canines contrasting his tanned skin.

“No problem,” Hotch smiled, clutching the coffee they provided in his hand, taking a sip after I’d tested it with my pinky. “Had an eventful night, then the meeting at three, so we were beat.”

“Ha, I can imagine. You two didn’t waste any time when you arrived,” his grin was sly and predatory.

Bile rose up in my throat despite the sweet smile on my face. Hotch’s free hand came to the back of my neck, his touch helping to ease my fear as he traced imaginary circles there.

We were ushered back down through the Conditioning Suites into the damp dungeon that re-assaulted my nose immediately. I tried to emulate the same confidence that Hotch presented as we followed Trent down the hall with staff members behind us, only being half as successful as I’d hoped.

The damp air thickened as we descended further. The sound of dripping water echoed in the narrow hallway, the fluorescent bulbs flickering overhead like they were struggling to stay alive in solidarity with the captives just below them. Each step felt heavier, my heartbeat growing louder in my ears. It smelled of damp rot and old blood. The air clung to my skin, heavier than the humidity outside, soaking into my lungs all over again.

The first thing I noticed as we passed through the biometric door was the Night Manager on the other side, waiting to bear witness to…what?

Trent led the way, hands casually clasped behind his back like this was just another morning ritual, “You’ve done well so far,” he mused. “It’s rare for newcomers to be so…committed after such a short time, so we wanted to be sure,” His tone was syrupy and fake.

The Night Manager followed closely behind us like a grim shadow.

I forced a chuckle, “We believe in the process.”

Hotch hummed in agreement, his grip tightening ever so slightly against my neck—just enough to remind me he was right there. That we’d get through this.

Then, Trent stopped.

A heavy metal door loomed ahead. The two staff members behind us shifted, and I felt the weight of their presence, an unspoken warning that turning back wasn’t an option.

Trent produced a key and slid it into the rusted lock. He took his time unlocking the heavy steel door, the clank of metal on metal grating against my nerves. It clicked open with an almost theatrical slowness.

I wasn’t prepared for what was inside. The room was dim, lit by a single bulb swaying from the ceiling. At the center of the room sat—

Avery.

With still no sign of Quinn, though I’d been too distracted to look properly.

Avery was bloodied, restrained, and barely conscious.

I sucked in a breath through my nose, struggling to keep my expression neutral. Hotch, ever composed, merely tilted his head as if assessing the scene with detached curiosity.

Trent gestured toward a small wooden table where various knives and a set of pliers rested. A sick little selection that nearly made me squirm, but my fingers rested on the table for balance.

Hotch reached for a small knife first, inspecting the blade as if considering its craftsmanship. “And?” he prompted, raising an eyebrow at Trent.

Hotch tested the weight of it in his palm as he waited for an answer, the blade not even long enough to clear the length of his palm.

Trent leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, “Avery’s been…more difficult than we anticipated. We need to soften them up. A little pain, a little fear. Nothing lethal. Just enough to remind them of their place.” Trent sighed dramatically, like this was just an inconvenient chore, “Before you fully join our family, we need something concrete.” His grin widened, flashing too many teeth, “A shared burden, if you will.” He gestured lazily to Avery, “We’re not asking you to kill them—just a lesson. A little reminder that non-believers don’t thrive here.”

Avery groaned weakly, their swollen eyes cracking open just enough to see us. And then pure, raw terror filled their gaze.

They thought we were really going to do it. My heart clenched at the thought of them believing Hotch and I could be so monstrous.

Hotch exhaled slowly, spinning the knife in his grip before sighing with an air of casual indifference, “Are you sure this won’t just make them more withdrawn and scared?”

Trent scowled, “They’re failing to adapt. We don’t tolerate weakness here.”

I swallowed thickly, glancing at Hotch.

We were out of time.

Hotch looked at me, still holding the knife, as if we were deciding together. But I saw the way his fingers shifted subtly on the handle. He was stalling, too; waiting for an opening.

Avery let out a weak whimper from between their cracked and bleeding lips, making my pulse roar in my ears.

If we stalled too much, we’d blow our cover. If we played along too well, we’d have to live with it.

And then—

BOOM.

The entire room rattled as something crashed above us.

A heartbeat later, the distant sounds of shouting and pounding footsteps. One of the staff member’s radios crackled for a moment but no one spoke from the other side.

Trent snapped his head toward the door, his scowl deepening, “What the hell—”

I dared to make eye contact with Hotch again. The raid was here.

Before we could fully register what was happening above us, a blast went off; the heavy metal door to the basement blasted off of its hinges. Armed agents barged in through the smoke, trapping Trent, the Night Manager, and the other two staff members before they could bolt. It couldn’t have worked out any better, honestly.

Hotch dropped the knife and we both raised our arms up and kneeled on the ground as guns were pointed our way.

It was easier like this.

One of the other agents used bolt cutters to unchain Avery as we were taken away in zip ties. We passed through the Night Manager’s office again, seeing Reid and Prentiss forcing open the drawer that contained the ledger.

Good.

As we were ushered back outside, we were met with agents sifting through the attendees, separating those on payroll from those who were innocent.

“I’ve got these two,” a voice spoke up, my body relaxing almost instantly hearing Rossi through all the noise.

He led us to a helicopter where JJ was waiting for us already with our belongings packed.

“Good work, you two,” Dave gave us each a pat on the shoulder and helped us into the helicopter.

As we took off, JJ finally cut our restraints. We practically melted into the seats as the stress of the day vanished.

“You two aren’t injured?”

I shook my head tiredly and Hotch gave her a short, “No.”

“We’ll wait for the others at command and debrief on the plane, so you two can rest a bit,” JJ smiled, understanding the exhaustion evident in our postures.

We slept fitfully while the rest of the team oversaw the raid, only allowing for a couple hours of sleep before we were loading onto the jet home.

We debriefed in detail, glossing over most of the sexual encounters to save the team from those mental pictures. The agents who had raided the basement found Quinn in far worse shape than Avery, but alive. Both of their recoveries would be trying and long but they at least had each other.

The next phase would include finding everyone in the ledger to cut off every head possible of the cult, but that would be a job for tomorrow.

I nodded off as the conversation died down, feeling Hotch’s eyes on me for most of the debrief. He was worried, probably that this whole thing had affected me more than we thought, and he would be right. But, all things considered, we got off with an insane amount of luck.

I startled awake as the plane landed, sitting up straight and gripping the arm rests with worried glances thrown my way. It was only logical, my reaction, considering we’d been woken up several times to those damn cultists doing strange things.

“You need a ride home?” Morgan asked as we got off the plane, hand hovering at my back but not making full contact, just in case.

“I’ll be okay, I promise,” I gave him a barely there smile.

Morgan sighed, resigning to my decision. He nodded and let his fingertips drift to my shoulder as he stepped away. I glanced back to the plane where Hotch was talking to Prentiss as they were the last ones to exit the plane, but ground my teeth at the thought of asking him for help.

I was home. I’d be fine.

I met Rossi and Reid’s eyes as they glanced in my direction, but just gave them a tight smile and a wave. Reid returned the wave with sympathy written all over his face, but didn’t say anything.

“Night, kid,” Rossi called as he walked off.

I made my mind up, straightening my shoulders and marching to my car as bravely as possible.

I missed him, I realized as I drove home. Hell, I probably lov—no, no.

I glanced at my phone several times on the way, refusing to call him but slightly hoping he’d call me. But, he was going through the same thing I was, he was just better at hiding it. I’d be lucky if he even looked in my direction tomorrow, his words and actions over the course of the operation just collateral damage. It wouldn’t be unreasonable.

A hot shower helped my nerves to a point but laying in bed by myself, remembering hearing the staff members dragging out Avery and Quinn and being unable to do anything about it. Remembering waking up this morning surrounded. Remembering the stench from the basement…

I stared at the empty dark ceiling above me, lit occasionally by headlights reflecting off windows and passing through the cracks in my blinds.

I wanted to sleep. I wanted to wake up tomorrow and have everything I witnessed be nothing more than a nightmare. I wanted Hotch here to tell me we’d be okay. I wanted—

The scraping of feet on concrete broke me out of my thoughts. I sat up in bed, immediately reaching for the sidearm I neglected to put away. Throwing my covers off, I stalked as silently as I could toward the front of the house, the scraping still there but localized to one spot now. Like someone was pacing. The feet stopped and I held my breath as I brought my face to the peephole, seeing Hotch standing there illuminated by my porch light.

I unlocked the door slowly so as not to startle him since he hadn’t knocked. His head snapped to the slowly opening door as I brought my face out from the darkness.

“Hey,” I greeted softly.

His eyes softened as he realized I’d heard him, “Can’t sleep?”

I shook my head, stepping back and opening the door wider, hand still gripping my pistol. His eyes flicked to it but he didn’t acknowledge its presence.

Hotch stepped inside as I put the pistol down and scrubbed my face with both hands. He closed, then locked the door behind him, finding his way to me in the dark. I heard him take a breath in, like he was about to speak but nothing came out.

I couldn’t hold it in anymore, stepping forward and crashing myself into his chest. My shoulders sagged as I breathed him in, hiding my face against him so he couldn’t see my chin trembling.

He wasted no time wrapping his arms around me, tucking his face in and pressing his lips to whatever he could reach. It was a desperate embrace, arms holding on for dear life but bringing peace nonetheless.

“I’m here, we’re safe,” he murmured.

I nodded against him, the few tears that escaped being absorbed by his t-shirt.

“I’m sorry,” I cleared my throat, attempting to step back but his arms tightened.

“Don’t be.”

“I—you came here for something?” I wiped my face, stepping back more intentionally.

He let me this time.

“To talk,” he nodded. “But we can do that tomorrow, okay?”

I licked my lips, “Yeah, yeah.” I couldn’t help the, “Sorry,” that slipped out immediately after.

We were silent and I briefly wondered if he was going to just leave but the words tumbled from my mouth faster than I could stop them, “Will you stay?”

“Of course,” he murmured, finding my hand in the dark and letting me guide him to bed.

We faced each other under the sheets, fully clothed but shier than we’d been when we were void of clothes.

“Can I…?” my hand twitched toward him under the covers.

“Yea,” he whispered.

Our arms reached for each other at the same time, limbs tangling together and heads practically sharing a pillow.

“Can I kiss you?” he murmured.

“Is that my fake husband asking or my boss?” I let out a soft laugh.

“Neither,” he hummed, his nose bumping mine from our close proximity. “Just Aaron.”

“Please,” I pulled him closer, welcoming his kiss.

It was soft, languid, and reassuring. As soon as it ended, I tucked my face into his neck and felt my eyes growing heavier with sleep, until I snored softly in his embrace.

#mentioningmargins #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #gn!reader #hotchner x reader #hotchner x you #Fic: All-Inclusive Obedience

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jeanbie · 1 year ago

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ALL THE TIME (IF YOU WERE MINE) ★ masterlist.

pairing: jake x reader

warnings: explicit sexual content, human!fem!reader, porn with a lot of plot, establishing feelings, reader's nickname is "Spellman/Spelly", size kink, face sitting, finger fucking, manhandling, begging, riding, dirty talk, squirting, whatever you call this, breeding kink, creampie | wc: 19k

note: i became obsessed with jake + spelly ᨳ ˶ᵔᴗᵔ˶) thank u for the love on fantasize + i hope u all love the development between our fav dummy avatar and our fav scientist!!

★ ⏤ sequel to fantasize

⏤ Now that feelings are known and the lucky chance to be alone in the lab together arises, Jake wants to go even further than he did before.

“Hey, marine, where’s your log from last night?”

Of course, the first thing out of Grace’s mouth when Jake rolls himself into the front workspace is something to do with video logs. Jake does everything he can to stop himself from groaning in her face and presents her a smile, one that she can no doubt see right through when he appears in the dim daylight falling through the windows.

“It’s not there? Must have deleted itself.”

Grace’s eyebrows raise. “Are you trying to tell me that the camera just…deleted the footage? I have everyone else’s logs on here except for yours. Conveniently for you…”

“Can’t even make a log right,” comments Norm — Jake had almost forgotten all about the eldest Spellman and turns his head to see him, and quite frankly, even just looking at Norm this morning feels like a silent victory, the excited feeling of thrilled anticipation bubbling in Jake’s stomach.

“Ask your sister,” Jake says in reply, almost laughing at loud at the contorted face of disgust that appears in replacement of Norm’s sneer, “she saw me last night.”

“Here we go,” Norm sighs.

Luckily for Norm, Grace buts in: “Enough, you skxawngs. Just make a log while it’s all still fresh.” She pauses then, and pulls out one of her beady eyes to stare intently at Jake, “It is still fresh, right, Jake?”

“Fresh as a daisy, doc,” Jake replies, but his eyes have already begun wandering around the lab for the notably absent scientist he enjoys seeing the most in the mornings — the same scientist he fucked stupid last night and hasn’t stopped thinking about since.

Considering your unbelievably obvious feelings for Jake, it shouldn’t be a surprise that he managed to entice you out to the little forest behind the shack, and yet he still can’t believe that it even happened. There’s a phantom tingle in his stomach as he thinks it over — did it even count when he did things in his avatar?

Everybody has noticed your interest in Jake, including Jake himself, and yet a strange doubt gnaws at his mind as his eyes wander across the lab, seeking you out, looking for signs of you on the counter or out the windows. More than anything, he hopes he hasn’t completely severed his chances with you.

What if you woke up and regretted all of it? What if you woke up and despised him all of a sudden? That probably wouldn’t surprise him, since there’s plenty of anti-Jake sentiment being spread in the lab right now, and he’s never had too much of a good thing before it slips away somehow.

Still, there’s a small crack inside of Jake that remains open with the possibility that maybe everything is fine.

Jake doesn’t know how long he’s been staring out the window for before Grace speaks again, but when he looks over at her, he’s grateful that she’s not looking at him already to catch him in his daydreaming.

“I don’t hear you making that log, marine,” she says carefully, her eyes once again glued to her microscope. It’s a wonder she doesn’t just fall asleep next to the damn thing.

Jake tries his best to look casual as he rolls to the end of the lab and fiddles with the camera, asking, “Where’s everyone else?”

Grace shuffles and swaps one of the samples under the microscope. “Outside. I sent Little Spellman out to collect a sample from the fyìpmaut tree that we noticed on our first outdoor sweep. I think in the next few days, we might even get a bit of fruit from that sucker.”

“That’s a squid fruit tree, by the way,” adds Norm, and Jake casts him a filthy glare that Norm unfortunately doesn’t see since he’s got his nose buried in some papers.

“I know that,” Jake says in the calmest voice he can.

Does Norm forget that Jake goes through what burns down to a routine of drills with Neytiri on almost everything and anything the woman can think of that can be found on Pandora? From his, quote, “valuable field research”, Jake thinks he’s learned more about Pandora and what you can find in the forest than Norm has in three years.

“I sent Chacón out with her so she can stretch her legs,” Grace continues, having no energy to waste on trying to get Jake and Norm to coexist peacefully. “I don’t think she even goes outside unless it's to fly, so it’ll do her some good.”

Jake looks out the window again. He wishes he could at least see you — maybe that would make the twisting discomfort disappear. He tries very desperately to think about last night again, running his memory over every detail until he knows for sure that he wasn’t overanalysing or even imagining the entire thing.

He likes you. You like him. He fucked you in the forest. He liked it a lot. You sounded like you liked it a lot. You looked sad to see him disappear before going inside. He didn’t imagine any of that, did he?

Grace’s chair creaks menacingly and it makes Jake switch on the little camera quickly and start listing off whatever he did with Neytiri the day before. It would be hilarious if he were to accidentally mention the fact that he stretched out Norm’s sister and filled her up with cum, but Jake has the decency to know that the timing isn’t right.

Plus, he kind of wants Norm to figure it out for himself.

As he recites his day, all he can think about is how he wants Norm to find out — when he’s out on a pathetic patrol around the shack, maybe he’ll get a whiff near the forest; god, Jake hopes you’re walking with a goddamn limp just to rub salt in the wound. There are too many ways, too many possibilities, and Jake has to work overtime to fight the grin that wants to appear on his face.

The story he’s sharing about tracking yerik through their shit isn’t funny at all, and he’d hate to have to try and explain why he’s smirking while he’s telling it.

Jake can’t think of anything else to say to drag on the log that Grace apparently wants so badly, so he calls it a day and switches off the camera. He then steals another glance out the window and is absolutely delighted when he can actually see you this time.

You’re sprinting with Trudy back towards the lab while frantically looking up above your head. Jake can’t even see the sky from where he’s sitting, and suddenly feels a pang of pity for you for having to sit in here until Grace essentially gives you the green light to go outside.

No wonder the stars had been so fascinating last night — you can’t see anything through these frosted glass panes that the science department were forced to call windows.

Jake feels his heart pounding in his chest when the sound of the doorway pressurising fills the room, followed by Trudy’s relieved sigh as she whips off her exo-pack and takes a deep breath of air. But he’s not looking at her as desperately as he is at you, and Jake doesn’t know if it’s the afterglow of fucking you last night or if it’s two months' worth of feelings rushing back towards him like a tidal wave, but you look so beautiful that it leaves him sitting there dumbly, taking it all in.

“Fucking rain,” Trudy sighs, immediately b-lining for the fridge. Since they first got here, the fridge has expanded in size after a few trips back to Hells Gate for emergency supplies or board meetings Grace couldn’t get herself out of, and now the fridge can store beers that Trudy is all too pleased about cracking open.

“Good timing,” notes Grace as she turns in her chair. “You get it?”

“Yep, here,” comes your voice, and Jake watches quietly as you hand Grace her priceless sample. “The ground near that tree is really wet, though. If you want more samples, I won’t be going until the rain stops.”

“That tree won't bear fruit until the end of the week, maybe,” Grace replies, waving her hand dismissively. “…This is a good sample, Spellman, great eye.”

“Thanks,” you laugh in reply.

Your back is still facing Jake, and each second you waste looking away from him makes Jake feel more impatient to see your eyes on him again. He watches very observantly as you stretch your arms up with a small groan, the bottom of your tank rising as you reach for the ceiling and iron out the aches in your bones.

Grace looks at you for a minute and her brows pinch. You clearly don’t notice as you turn in Norm’s general direction and make a comment about how terrible his notes were last night, but Grace doesn’t stop eye-balling you until she throws a short glance at Jake and narrows her eyes.

He says nothing, dares not even move until Grace raises her eyebrows as if it will clear the calculating expression off her face. She sets the sample down on the counter and leans her weight on her elbow, reaching into her pocket for a cigarette.

“Hey, you’ve got a crazy ass rash on your chest, Spellman,” Grace says suddenly, and you whip around to look at her so quickly that Jake has to refrain from sighing in pity. “What happened?”

You peer down at your chest and Jake knows you’ve remembered and by now noticed the mark on your chest that is shaped like Jake’s mouth. For a second, there’s a tense silence, and Jake feels his stomach turning, half out of anxiousness and half thrill — could this be? Could this be the moment everyone finds out?

He gives Norm a single look, but he’s not even interested in what’s being said, for he’s rearranging the notes he’s been reading and turns to his binder of other random papers.

“One of the samples Jake found for me kinda made me go all itchy,” you lie, very flawlessly too, and finally, you look at Jake.

It’s as if a volt of electricity has been sent through him — Jake has no idea what has suddenly made him feel this way, but something tells him it might be last night; might be the fact that you’re the most beautiful person in the room, on Pandora, in the entire universe. His mouth goes dry.

“Fngapsutxwll?” Grace asks, and when you look back with a gentle and clueless nod, she frowns and sneers at Jake, “I told you to avoid bringing her carnivorous plants, Jake!”

“I didn’t know it was gonna make her break out in hives,” Jake replies. The lie is so natural that Grace scoffs loudly in reply.

He hasn’t even brought you any fngapsutxwlls, and yet here he is, lying about it just for the sake of protecting this secret that more than anything, Jake wants your brother to know about.

“Where is it?” asks Grace. “I need to document this.”

“I told you that taking samples from Jake was a bad idea,” Norm pipes up, giving you a sympathetic, tight-lipped smile.

“Oh, quit bouncin’ my dick, Spellman,” Jake groans, looking away from you with reluctance when you peer over at him.

“You’re a danger to this department. And a danger to my sister.”

“Shut up, Norm,” you huff, marching towards Jake and wrapping your arms around his head in a way that somehow smushes the side of it against your chest. Hey, Jake’s not complaining — he knows this is your own slight rebellion against your brother, but he will relish in this feeling and enjoy the displeasure that writes its way onto Norm’s face.

“Your sister’s quite capable of making her own decisions around here,” Grace says, her voice tired suddenly. “And the very last thing I wanna do is listen to you fucking assholes fighting. It’s actually boring me. If you’re going to keep at it, I’ll send you back to the Gate, Norm, don’t tempt me. If it weren’t for the fact that this jarhead is days away from becoming one of the People, then believe me, he’d be back there faster than you can say Eywa. So knock it the fuck off.”

Message received: Norm all but deforms into a ball and rolls away to the bunks, with nothing to say for himself besides a disgruntled sigh as he disappears. Jake studies the sound of his footsteps as they stomp down the length of the metal corridor, but then he tunes his senses back to the feeling of your heartbeat lightly thudding against his temple, your hands cradling his head like a baby.

He savours the feeling for a long minute before pushing the boat out and snaking his hand up the back of your leg, pulling you closer against him.

For a second, Grace glances over at Jake once more and then gives you a warning look. “And don’t encourage them, Spelly, you’re better than that.”

“Sorry,” you laugh, and Jake melts into the soft curve of your breasts like a cold animal craving warmth. Grace spares another fleeting moment looking at you with her menacing beady eye, the same she likes to give Jake whenever he does something slightly wrong, and then she turns back to face her microscope, giving Jake the opening to press his fingernails into your bare legs and look up at you.

The expression on your face when you peer down at him makes a smile bloom across his mouth before he can even stop it. He tilts his head back appreciatively and takes it all in; the look of slight shyness on your face and the soft yet slightly cheeky grin where your mouth is.

Little Spellman, his woman — decorated with the imprint of his mouth on your tit, a kind of ethereal glow on your skin that he knows he helped put there.

For a moment, despite all of the thoughts whirling around in Jake’s head, he can’t think of anything to say to you. All he can think of saying is something absurdly stupid about last night, but he’s acutely aware of Grace on the other side of the room, and Trudy floating in and out of the hallway as if she can’t quite decide on where to go.

Slowly, and then all at once, you unravel yourself from Jake and push away to lean your lower back against the lab desk.

His eyes wander all over your face before you ask, “Sleep well, Sully?”

He sighs from the back of his throat, like he’s thinking, and then relaxes slightly.

“Best night’s sleep in a while,” he replies, folding his arms, watching the way your eyes glimpse down at the very slight curve of his biceps — they’re nothing on his avatar’s physique, but he finds with amazement that you somehow still find something to look at with fondness.

He has no idea why you like him so much, or why you’re still looking at him like that despite having been tangled with his avatar just last night. On one hand, he knows it’s flattering that somebody likes everything he doesn’t about himself, from his boring personality to his dumbness to his disability. On the other hand, Jake knows that you could do ten thousand times better than with him — even if he factors in the Na’vi body that he suddenly feels more comfortable in than his real one.

“I didn’t even hear you get back in,” Trudy says, deciding to stick in this part of the lab rather than enter the dark lair of sulk that Norm has channeled in the bunks. She drags one of the low stools over with an obnoxious screech, and Jake has to tell himself it’s fine.

He likes Trudy, likes that she’s a good friend and takes his side on things, but right now, he just wants her to go away; he wants everyone to go away so that he can steal five extra seconds with you before he has to roll back to the link unit and find Neytiri.

“Well, I thought I’d be considerate and roll by everyone’s bunk extra quietly,” Jake replies. “You guys were out like lights.”

“I feel like all I do is sleep around here,” Trudy mutters.

“You’re welcome to join us on our study later,” Grace offers.

But Trudy cringes. “Can’t say I’ll be much help in a lab, doc.”

“No, we’re collecting wet samples later,” Grace explains. “The rain tank will refill our recycled water, but I need to patch up the reserve tank with Norm while we’re out. Little Spellman here will take cuttings from the forest out back, and we could use a lookout just in case any unwanted visitors join us.”

“I didn’t know about this,” you say confusedly. “When did we decide this?”

“Just now, I decided,” replies Grace. “While Jake’s out doing his shit, we need to do ours. Hope you packed your raincoat, Spelly.”

Paying no attention at all to the string of groans that come from your direction, Jake looks out the window again and gives himself a few seconds to think.

If he manages to land a clean kill today with Neytiri, then he’ll be choosing his own ikran tomorrow. It is the single most important part of becoming an Omatikaya warrior, according to what he’s deduced from Neytiri’s repeated stress of the whole rite, and the pressing necessity of Jake perfecting his kills has been made his top priority by two women in his life; the woman showing him the ropes and the scientist beating his ass if he misses a video log.

But Jake has carved out a part of his mind and left it open in your name. More than anything else, he wants to stay here and watch you frantically running around in the rain cutting little leaves, talking shit about cells, looking awkwardly at where he fucked you last night in the very forest Grace is making you turn into a new study.

On top of all that, Jake wants to be there when Norm takes his first whiff of the seeds planted for Jake’s revenge — oh, god, how he wants to see the sinking look of realisation on Norm’s face when he catches Jake’s scent all over his sister…

“Why are you still here, marine?” cuts Grace’s annoyed voice as he glances to the side and sees that the scientist is glaring at him like he’s pa’li shit on her shoes. “Don’t you have animals to hunt?”

Jake sighs through his nose and glances back at you. He wants to do what you asked of him, to tell you he likes you so much it’s making him go insane, how last night was incredible, how he wished you had rolled over and seen him before he went to sleep. But he doesn’t. Now’s not the time, and Jake all of a sudden thinks that he’s behaving like a freak and he moves to roll himself towards the link unit at the far of the link chamber.

As he busies himself by flicking all the necessary switches and deliberately taking longer than normal to get everything ready, he keeps his ears trained on the conversation happening behind him.

“We’ll have to work overtime on the new samples,” Grace says as she slides yet another sample under the microscope. “Parker’s calling us in for a routine meeting and inspection of our data tomorrow. Jake’s doing his Omatikaya training, but Parker will be expecting results to justify the rest of us coming all the way out here.”

“What, all of us are going?” Norm has decided to reappear from the bunks, much to Jake’s dismay.

Grace hums — she probably nods too, knowing her, but Jake makes it a point not to look as though not to blow his cover of listening in. “If I have to go, you guys will suffer with me.”

Jake feels the cavern in his chest hollow out even more.

“So…Jake’s just staying here?” Norm asks, confused. “…Is that safe?”

“You worried about me, Norm?” Jake calls.

Norm probably frowns — yup: Jake turns and sees that sinister scowl on his face. “Somehow, you’d find a way, just like always. But we’re all the way up in the Hallelujah Mountains.”

“Funnily enough, I knew that, Norm,” says Grace.

“If something happens, Jake will need someone,” Norm continues, and for once, Jake actually agrees. If something were to happen with the link unit or the pressurising system, Jake wouldn’t know the first thing about fixing any of it — that is if he even got out of the unit without falling or dying.

But now that Norm has mentioned it, Jake’s body fills with dread. Is Norm suggesting that he stay behind with Jake? Then his thoughts spiral: did Norm already know? Was he planning a whole thing to confront Jake or get him back? Norm didn’t strike Jake as the type to outright murder somebody, but hey, he wouldn’t put it past him to try somehow.

Grace contemplates the idea for a moment and takes her time glancing over at Jake and then back at Norm. “Good point. You stay here, then.”

“Can I stay instead?” you interrupt, and Jake looks at you so quickly he fears he might get whiplash as a result.

Grace eyeballs you curiously, as does Norm.

“Why?” Norm questions in a rather curt tone.

“No offence, but I haven’t met Parker since our orientation in the Avatar Program when we were students, and pretty much all of our conclusive research is made up of your notes, anyway. I can stay here and manage the lab, continue my own research, and make sure Jake gets in and out of the unit alright once he’s done.” You glance at Grace for good measure, “I’m reliable. But when it comes to talking to the guys in charge, you might be better off with Norm.”

If Grace thinks what you’ve said is suspicious, then she doesn’t show it. After all, you’re right, and everybody in the lab knows it. Jake, for one, knows how reliable you can be around the lab.

He’s not biased, but he knows that you’re a far more trustworthy scientist than Norm is when it comes to checking the systems, keeping the lab clean and tidy, doing all of your chores and completing your logs, and in general, keeping the entire shack functioning as normal while everybody else is busy.

He also knows how shy you can get, particularly with your work. Not even a few hours ago, you had tried to downplay your interest in the Na’vi to justify Norm’s graduation into the Avatar Driver program, and he can’t think of a single time you’ve told somebody that their research isn’t as important as your own. In fact, Jake isn’t even one hundred percent sure what you’re interested in when you’re not aiding everybody else’s research.

More importantly than any of that, Jake knows that you staying behind in the shack while everybody else flies out for an overnight at Hell’s Gate is particularly advantageous. It spells the perfect setting for the next stage of his so-called ‘revenge’, although he’s beginning to believe that soon enough, Jake will be fucking you for more than the thrill of it pissing Norm off.

Jake blinks and finds you looking at him, as if trying to coax a word or two of support from his mouth. He throws you a simple smile and angles his head towards Grace.

“It’s a no-brainer who I’d rather be spending a night with,” he says. Then he immediately cringes on the inside — that came out horribly wrong, no matter how truthful it may have actually been.

But still, Grace doesn’t think twice about the otherwise nasty implications of his words. Instead, she shrugs and turns to the janky coffee machine that is tucked nearby to a selection of mason jars by the mini microwave.

“Wait, wait, wait. You’re saying you willingly want to spend a whole night in this remote shack with Jake?” Norm asks, looking at you as if you’ve grown a third head. “Alone?”

“What would be so bad about it?” you reply casually. “He’ll hardly be here, anyway. Besides, if he pisses me off, I’ll just kick him out of his chair and leave him somewhere.”

Jake laughs, “Rude? I thought you liked my wheelchair.”

“Whatever,” Grace announces, just before you get the chance to reply with something witty to make Jake laugh in return. “We’ll be back as soon as the day breaks. Chacón says she needs VFR to get through the mountains, so we’ll play it safe. As long as you can hold out until then, Spelly, then go ahead.”

The sound of the link unit whirring to life makes Jake jump slightly, and he reluctantly glances away to punch in the data on the screen while the rest of the lab busy themselves in their usual routine.

Jake can’t believe it. He could not have predicted a more perfect result.

Tomorrow, there’ll be nobody else besides you and him.

It is quite literally perfect news.

As Jake hears Norm begin his on-brand rant over how you should be cautious around an idiot like himself, he allows himself the simple pleasure of grinning wickedly to himself, feigning innocence as he very carefully looks at you again out the corner of his eye.

After a while of fighting off your brother, you eventually look back at Jake and smile, so radiantly and mischievously that he immediately knows that whatever he’s thinking, you’re thinking too.

He heaves himself up and lets Grace think she’s God incarnated by helping him nestle down in the unit, all while he savours the last few minutes he has letting his mind be swarmed with thoughts of tomorrow — thoughts of him with you wrapped in his arms, nobody around to watch, nothing in the world to keep him from claiming you as his own all over again.

Following Grace’s orders isn’t often a challenge for you — in fact, being given instructions on what to do has become a reliable part of your daily schedule, and it just so happened that you did a lot of what Grace asked without any fuss at all. But right now, you’re having a hard time understanding just why taking samples of a few wet leaves is in any way necessary.

Since earlier that morning, the rain has transformed into a torrential downpour; the raincoat covering your entire body is drenched through, the hood tightened so intensely around your face that it shadows the outline of your exo-pack comically. Still, you practically glare down at the pamtseowll taking lashes from the rain, its catty appearance looking pathetically sad as you snip a segment off and secure it in the sample bag, huffing as you go along.

Everybody in the laboratory has their own interests, their own research to conduct. Grace has been working on a dense study of forest fauna since you arrived on Pandora, and now Norm has decided to work on a branch of research concerning the fauna and its changes when in contact with rainfall.

So far, he’s accumulated a valuable cache of research, and yet, here you are, collecting his samples while he stands on his blue tip-toes and helps Grace fix the faulty water reserve tank.

You can’t even think of the last time anybody offered to help you out with your own research. In a way, the only helpful person has been Jake, and that’s only by a stretch. The variety of cuttings or entire uprooted plants that he brings you after his hours and hours spent on the ground and in the village have been the subjects of your research, but dying plants flattened and prodded in a lab only communicate so much at a time.

Being out here, in the open field, would be the most beneficial if it weren’t for Grace’s restrictive ‘field hours’.

With a frown, you pop open a small sample tube and carefully angle it underneath another pamtseowll, catching a generous amount of rainwater and firmly sealing it closed. You’ve snipped and sliced a dozen different plants, shadowed by Trudy and her chorus of equally unamused sighs, before Grace and Norm successfully patch up the tank and join you.

“Felinafolia ferrugenia,” says Grace as she stands over your shoulder. She looks annoyingly refreshed considering the onslaught of rain, dressed in a large raincoat of her own but with her legs on display, her shorts the only clothing she appreciates when in her avatar. “Cat ear. Another great sample, Spellman.”

You grunt in reply. Based on the way Grace busies herself with one of the starfishing pxiwll plants instead of replying, you predict she hasn’t heard your complaints, and so you stomach another sigh and crouch over another plant.

“How many cuttings do you want, Norm?” you ask, teeth chattering in the cold.

“As many as we can before all the bags fill up,” Grace replies instead. She jerks her head towards the deeper forest and suggests moving inwards. And honestly, you’d want to, if it weren’t for the fact that she’s currently prowling towards the same lay of forest that Jake took you to last night, and the nerves root you to the spot.

It’s the very last place you’d rather visit with your boss, your brother, and a friendly yet sometimes intimidating aviator pilot. Your eyes close in on the familiar jag of the rock, feeling your heartbeat tremble as Grace approaches it without a care in the world.

Trudy passes by you with a confused curve of her eyebrows, already stepping in Grace’s oversized footprints and making her way into the concealed cover of trees and branches, and it is only when Norm drops to a crouch beside you that you finally tear your eyes from the rock and look at him.

Norm’s eyebrows are low, a ripple deepening across his forehead as he stares at you, like one would a tricky puzzle in the newspaper. His eyes flicker up and down the raincoat analytically, his lip curling in distaste before he inhales, nostrils flaring, and bites out, “Why do you smell like that?”

Your heart is hammering so loudly that it makes your chest ache, and around the gigantic lump in your throat, you gape at Norm and manage to ask, “Like what?”

“Like… I don’t know, all weird,” he continues, looking perplexed and disturbed at the same time. “Like. Musky. Like… No. I don’t know, but it’s weird. I don’t even know what you smell like, but it’s not normal.”

Without having to put too much thought into it, you’re confident that you know exactly what and who you smell like. A certain oversized ex-marine who Norm just so happens to hate all of a sudden.

It shocks you how scared Norm’s assessment makes you feel. Of course, you knew that the Na’vi had an incredibly heightened sense of smell, and had that fact confirmed yesterday with Jake sniffing the damp spot between your legs, but you somehow didn’t expect Norm to be able to smell any difference on you.

This is exactly what Jake wanted to happen; you gauge Norm’s facial expressions for a long time, trying to figure out if he’s made any connections yet, but he continues to sniff at you in disgust, permanently confused by what the hell it could even be.

“Are you sure it’s not just the raincoat?” you ask lamely, taking a pointed look down at the waxy coat enveloping you. “It was just in one of the supply boxes, it probably smells really weird since it’s been in storage for a while.”

Norm inches closer and takes a massive inhale.

“I guess it could be the coat,” Norm decides slowly, watching you as you hover for a moment before stepping off to follow Grace and Trudy. All of a sudden, being over there is better than being here, being interrogated by Norm.

Still, he doesn’t get the hint and he says as he follows you, “But it’s just strange. It’s so strong.”

“If you keep going on about it, it’s gonna hurt my feelings,” you tell him, hoping that he might shut up and spare you the anxiety of him figuring it out. “You trying to say I stink?”

“Yeah,” Norm replies dumbly. “Because you do. You usually smell fine, I know what body wash you use because I steal it all the time.”

“Right,” you drawl, peering at him from the corner of your eye as you both near the others. Trudy tosses her head over her shoulder and startles at the sight of Norm, as if she forgot he was even there and slowly creeping up behind her.

For a moment, you wish you had the ability to forget about Norm, but even when he crouches next to Grace and assists in marvelling over a rather average-looking moss blanket, you can’t help but anxiously stare at both of them, as if waiting for something more to be said.

It’s not as if you regret any of last night. On the contrary, you think it might have altered your body chemistry and made you more desperate. While your first tumble with Jake hadn’t been in the way you expected, or even in the form of Jake you were most used to, there’s nothing you can say to make you convince yourself that it was a mistake. Since when did mistakes feel that good?

Your embarrassingly long crush on Jake has been dragged out until now, and quite frankly, the last thing you want to do is suppress the elation you feel about finally taking the next step with him; to finally hold his attention, to be someone he actually feels interested in.

To be “his woman”, to hear Jake say that you were one of the only things ever keeping him from throwing his life into being Na’vi felt like a dream last night, and even now, in his absence, all you can think about is how badly you want him back here, how badly you want him.

But not at the cost of total humiliation. If Norm were to turn around right now and accuse you of the truth, you genuinely believe you might die from embarrassment. It’s one thing sleeping with Jake Sully, but it’s another thing entirely to be found out for sleeping with Jake’s avatar.

Is it even safe?

Instead of helping Grace and Norm in their collection of samples, you fall deeper and deeper into your spiral of thoughts. You’re so deeply immersed in them that several minutes go by and Grace and Norm have moved a few feet closer to the rock, studying the moss that creeps up the jagged edges, moss you felt on your back last night. And yet, you still don’t startle out of your thoughts — at least not until a dark shadow falls over you, and Trudy jumps around with wide eyes before groaning with annoyance.

“How the hell did you get here so quietly?” Trudy snaps, and the distress in her voice makes you turn your head over your shoulder. When you see a strangely slender blue waist in front of your eyes, you jump too and look up to find Jake’s face hidden in a slight shadow.

When he looks away from Trudy and finds your eyes behind the glare on the exo-pack, his mouth widens into a giant smirk, and despite the shivering cold of the stormy weather, you feel your body flush with a sudden warmth.

God, sleeping on the fact of what you did with Jake did not make the yearning go away.

Jake shrugs. “At least I know my training’s paying off.”

At that, Grace acknowledges Jake standing behind you and turns to face him with her hands on her thighs. “Oh. Marine. Why are you here? Aren’t you supposed to be hunting?”

“I’m done for the day,” he announces, his grin widening, if it were even possible. You take the moment to soak up the sight of him in his Omatikaya attire — the rain sliding across his wide torso, looking a shade darker in the dim light, the very faint glimmer of his freckles creating a stitch work of light across his skin. When Grace asks why, he tells her, “I’m ready.”

Grace gasps — she sounds happy, and after your eyes linger for a fleeting second on the wet cloth hanging across Jake’s crotch, you turn to face her.

“Really?” she asks.

Jake nods. “My iknimaya is tomorrow morning.”

Grace laughs disbelievingly and rises to stand, her hands falling to her hips while Norm remains all but glued to the floor, his eyes glazed with envy as he glances at Jake.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Jake!” Grace laughs again. “Really. Well done.”

“Nice work, man!” Trudy adds, nodding her head at Jake. “You a tough warrior now, huh?”

You hear Jake snickering behind you, the noise making you shudder. Thankfully, it’s still raining, so you hope it looks like you’re cold rather than on edge about the avatar behind you.

“You walked all the way here to tell us that?” asks Grace, sounding genuinely curious as she turns back to Norm and quite literally yanks up a whole plant. “Why?”

“Nah. Neytiri wanted to show me the basic route for tomorrow morning,” Jake explains. You can hear him shuffling around behind you, but you’ve become rooted to the spot facing away from him. “Tsu’tey pretty much hates me. He’ll be gagging for the chance to abandon me before we even get to the rookery.”

Grace makes a noise of agreement, which launches her into a serious discussion of how Jake needs to respect Tsu’tey more in order to receive more respect in return. From behind you, Jake groans playfully, although lets Grace continue her presentation on why Tsu’tey is a good leader (not that Jake ever said he wasn’t), and you intensely watch Norm lean his arm on the wedge of rock you recognise from last night until you become aware of the fact that the rain has slowed — or at least above you, it has.

Craning your head up, you notice Jake’s hands hovering over your head, as if acting as some kind of personal umbrella. He’s still looking at Grace when you peer at his face, but instinctively, like he felt you looking, his eyes flicker downwards to yours and he smiles again, his eyes halving into curves.

Yep. The yearning has definitely persisted.

“Don’t stay too long, Jake, you’ll have to take yourself back down to the village before the storm picks up,” Grace says after her rant has stretched for at least five minutes on the value of Tsu’tey’s comradeship.

“Yeah. Though Neytiri says it’s almost passed,” Jake replies, adjusting his footing behind you, his hands unmoving.

“Is Neytiri here?” you decide to ask suddenly. Hey, you can’t help but feel curious about the woman who has been helping Jake get to where he currently is.

You somehow miss the confused scrunch of Jake’s eyebrows, as though he finds the question completely irrelevant.

“She’s…around,” he says. “On her ikran somewhere. Practically left me all by myself.”

“Well, I imagine she has better things to do,” says Grace, sparing you the humiliation of coming up with a reason for even bringing her up in the first place, other than to just be nosey. You picture Neytiri stalking the lot of you from a perch with her ikran, trying to figure out if the Sky People keeping Jake’s human body alive are worthy to be left alone in the beautiful Ayram alusìng.

The mention of Neytiri seems to set something off inside Grace, who was apparently looking for any excuse to talk about the village again. She turns around on her haunches and begins another lengthy discussion on the Omatikaya and their ikran, all while Norm scowls into his sample pouches and Trudy steps away from you all to glare at the unassuming grey sky.

You are uncomfortably aware of Jake’s figure still looming over you, his hands sheltering you from the spitting rain and his tail occasionally curling around his leg to jab into your waist playfully.

There’s nothing to fear with Jake, nothing to fear of his potential interest in other people, and you banish the thoughts before they take up permanent residence. You’re better than that. And besides, if Jake didn’t really want you, he wouldn’t be acting like a Na’vi umbrella just for your convenience, wouldn’t be having so much trouble stopping himself from grinning down at you every once in a while.

A gust of cool air pushes its way through the forest, and you shudder dramatically, hoping it might guilt Grace out of the trees and back into the labs. Instead, she snorts, tells you to suck it up, and snaps at Norm for manhandling a sample, all before you feel a warmth surge behind you and two large, blue arms securing around your body.

Before you can even process it, you’re between Jake’s thighs, the large and solid expanse of his torso flat against your back and his cheek against the wet waxy material of your hood. You peer around the side of your coat to find his face, almost jumping when his big golden eyes are staring back at you.

“Don’t catch a cold, Spelly,” Jake says, his taut muscles tightening around you. He smirks at the fleeting look you throw in the group’s direction and purses his lips in an effort not to laugh at how funny everything is. How Norm is leaning against the rock he fucked you on and has no idea. How beautifully hilarious it is to see.

“Famous last words,” you reply, teeth chattering.

“Then go inside, grumpy,” Grace huffs, waving her arm in a flamboyant gesture, “Sully, walk Spellman back before you head to the village, will you?”

Jake shrugs, your body moving with him as he does so. It feels strange to be wrapped up in his arms so openly, with no rush or thrill of being caught through a window or a sniff. Norm looks purple with rage as he glares daggers into Jake’s face, though Jake’s barely looking at Norm, not when his much more favourable sibling is so close and pretty in his face like this.

He very gracefully moves to a stand, his hands moving from your body with reluctance before he reaches out, fingers widening and curling as he grabs for your own. Shyly, you reach to take it, hearing Norm mutter something not-so-graceful under his breath and stepping in Jake’s shadow to follow as he makes his way with you back towards the lab.

The muddy ground squelches under Jake’s feet, but with the way he walks so carelessly, it’s as though he has already become acclimatised to the Na’vi ways. And, you have to admit, he sports the village clothing with class and style.

Jake’s beads clink together as he turns his head in an incline to see you.

“Tell me it was everything I hoped for,” he says suddenly, and as you spot the cocky little smirk on his mouth, you laugh and shake your head, already knowing what he’s asking about.

“Norm said I smelled weird. I tried my best not to be offended.”

Jake sniggers, “That man has no idea.” Looking pleased, Jake swings your intertwined hands and adds quickly, “And you just smell like me. I like it.”

“You would like it.”

“In the village, couples smell like each other all the time,” he says, a bit too casually, and you sideways glance at him. “Like, to lay claim.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about laying claims when the only other man I see on a daily basis is literally my brother,” you remind him.

“Yeah. But, still. The idea,” Jake shrugs. “Isn’t it nice?”

The both of you round the corner of the lab and disappear from sight of the scientists back in the forest, now totally concealed behind the front of the lab and the drab look of the short grass and mud. On the bright side, the rain is slowing considerably, which is probably the only reason why you’re not cringing when you have to look up at Jake just to see his face.

“You know Neytiri has zero interest in me, right?”

You refrain from groaning. “I know, Jake.”

“Okay, ‘cause maybe it wasn’t obvious, so I’m just saying—”

“Let’s not… We’re not gonna do that, okay?” you say, cringing at the fact you brought it up in the first place. “I get it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Jake,” you laugh, pausing. What can you even say?

He shifts slightly. “I told you that scientists are more my thing, and you know, what I meant by that was—”

“I know,” you groan, waving your hands desperately, “and I believe you. Don’t make this weird, Jake.”

Mercifully, he surrenders, holding up his hands to announce his resignation from the point. For a few more seconds, he stares at you, assesses every flinch or twitch of features on your face, and seems relieved when he finds nothing that indicates you’re upset with him.

Better than that, he completely sets aside the conversation; he smiles genuinely, as close to innocent as Jake can get, and then his eyes avert to the ground and he runs his tongue across the inside of his cheek.

Before the silence stretching between you can fester into anything else, you announce your leave with a heavy sigh and twist towards the doors.

“Get out of here, big guy,” you tell him, already punching in one of the codes to access the pressure chamber. “I’ll try and stay up to see you tonight.”

“Yeah right,” he teases, still in the same position you left him in. “My sleepy girl. Couldn’t manage it last night, I was gone like fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen precious minutes of sleep,” you say, watching Jake’s grin widen as the doors slide open and in you go. There’s no need for a goodbye; you’ll see him again later.

As soon as you’re inside of the lab again, you waste zero time in climbing out of the horribly drab coat and leaving it to dry in a cupboard that Grace hangs wet clothes in from time to time. The wax won’t run properly through the laundry machines, and so you leave it there, thankful that no rain seeped through to your clothes underneath, and shudder at the temperature change once back inside the strange comfort of the lab.

Dutifully, you place a bag of samples next to one of the microscopes, and you’re about to fish out a towel to head straight for the showers when you catch a glimpse of something blue outside the window — Jake, bending over to peer into the lab, tapping his finger on the glass to get your attention.

You look at him questioningly. Then, you watch in disbelief and amusement as Jake grins, puts his fisted hands down by his abdomen and then lifts them up to his shoulders. It takes a moment of confusion before it clicks — this motherfucker is asking you to lift up your shirt.

Jake nods, no doubt laughing to himself outside the lab as you gape at him. Perhaps you misunderstood him, but the look of eager anticipation and smugness on Jake’s face tells you otherwise.

You look at the window to the right of you, paranoid that any of the three people you live with happen to be approaching the lab. The fear of someone like your brother or your boss seeing you with your tits out for the enjoyment of a massive flirt like Jake Sully blurs into thrill, and just to see him grin like he did last night, you laugh to yourself and fist the bottom of your shirt, rolling it up and over your breasts until they fall out on display.

You look at Jake expectantly. He peers closer, his fangs displayed as he smiles so wide you think his face might split into two, and after a long, drawn-out moment of ogling them, Jake finds your eyes and nods appreciatively, raising one thumb for good measure.

Your shirt is back down over your breasts by the time Jake is standing upright and stalking towards the edge of the cliffs, a speed in his step. Waiting until he’s completely out of view, you watch him disappear past the drop and spin back to stare at nothing in particular, until a ripple of laughter bubbles out of you uncontrollably, your face unbelievably hot.

The possibility of the shower running cold all of a sudden sounds kind of appealing.

True to his word, Jake makes it back to the labs just after you’ve eaten, and is subject to Grace’s maternal fussing as she thrusts a food pouch into his lap and watches him until the contents have been devoured. Jake would need all of his energy for tomorrow — the first crucial steps were to be well-fed and well-rested.

“What’ll happen once you’re one of the People?” you ask Jake, comfortably nestled on one of the deck chairs that Grace found in storage that has been set up in the corner of the lab designated for eating and talking.

From spending a few months with Grace, everybody has become neutralised to her obsessive habit of separating her needs in her living space — somewhere to eat and talk, somewhere to work; somewhere to link up, somewhere to bathe, somewhere to sleep.

Jake shrugs with a smile. “I guess that’ll be it. I’ll have my ikran, they’ll throw me a little party, I’ll have suitors dancing at my feet…”

You smirk, eyebrows raised playfully. “Mighty bachelor.”

“But that’s not important, is it, Jake?” Grace interrupts pointedly.

“No,” he replies in genuine agreement. “The first course of action will, of course, be making Grace the boss. There’ll be a school in the village by next week.”

“Har, har,” replies Grace sarcastically. She takes a swig of her beer and smiles. “I just meant that relations are important. If we can do anything to establish friendly alliances with the People, it saves a whole lot of bloodshed and pain.”

“I hear you,” Jake assures her. “I am excited for my party, though.”

“Gotta pass first,” Norm says, balancing a pencil on his upper lip. “Easier said than done.”

“Hey, I just thought of my first plan of action. How about you do everything I’ve just done Norm? I’d love to see you try,” Jake says.

Now that he’s already bedded you and is fairly certain of the longing twist in his stomach being there as a physical reminder of his feelings for you, Jake’s not really interested in letting Norm treat him like a loser anymore.

Norm just throws a middle finger in Jake’s direction. Before Norm’s usual dark and depressing energy pollutes the good vibes in the room, you quickly jump back into the conversation.

“I wanna go to your party,” you say.

“Grace can come,” Jake replies sympathetically, his lips vanishing into a downturned frown. “If you have time and find a link unit in the Gate, then you’re welcome, Neytiri said so.”

“What about me? While you two are out getting drunk, I’ll be here, what, on my own?”

“Sorry, Spelly,” Jake frowns. “Hey, how about we paint you blue and try and sneak you in? Might pass as a Na’vi child if you’re lucky.”

“Charming…”

You tune out of Grace’s promises to make it to Jake’s party — if one even happens in the first place — and focus your attention on Jake.

You’ve only been in close proximity with Jake’s avatar for less than two days, but already, you’re making out the shape of his Na’vi features in his real ones. When he laughs, his head tilts up in the same way it did last night; his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek as he tries to reign the laughter in, the crease near his eyes as he purses his lips, the angle of his head when he finds your eyes locked on him once he does a scan of the people in the lab.

All it took was one night with his avatar to completely amplify the feelings you have for him. And all it took was one night in his avatar to breathe his own feelings into reality.

By the time Jake has made his way to the bathroom after pulling the short straw and being the last one in there, you’re already cocooned in bed, staring up at the fuzzy darkness intensified by Trudy’s top bunk.

With Trudy cleaning her pistols and Grace and Norm making sure all of their notes are in order for the early flight out to Hell’s Gate tomorrow, you focus your attention on the sounds of Jake in the small bathroom — the sounds of him brushing his teeth and cursing when he knocks something off a shelf, the little squeak of his wheels as he does his best to move around.

Your heart is hammering twice its usual pace when the light vanishes and his wheels grow louder as they amble towards the bunks.

Cracking open one eye, you just about make him out in the faint light cast by your overhead lamp. He rolls into view, his eyebrows furrowed slightly, although his features even out and he relaxes once he confirms that your eyes are, in fact, still open.

“Got me worried for a sec,” he says quietly. Everyone is still up, and he can’t risk giving them yet another reason to cockblock him.

“Just in time. I was dozing off,” you reply, nose wrinkling as you laugh at the roll of his eyes.

Jake adjusts himself, leaning down on his elbows as they mould into the thin mattress and cushion by your side. You shuffle, shifting your head to look at him as his eyes flicker across your face.

He supports his face with his hand pressed into his cheek, the other hand lifting to ghost across your face, lightly trailing over your hairline. There is a slight vacancy in his eyes, like his mind is full of thoughts that are taking his attention elsewhere, and for a moment, you wonder what to even say until his eyes snap back down to yours and his hand on his cheek moves.

His finger and thumb shift to squish your cheeks together, bringing your mouth into a pucker as he leans his head down and plants a kiss on your lips.

Jake breaks away after a moment, barely creating a distance between you before he kisses you again, and again. His hand releases your cheeks and with the other, he gently strokes the top of your head, all so softly it’s as though making any sudden movements might cause you to jump away.

There’s a faint taste of toothpaste on your mouth when Jake pulls away, your eyes still closed for a second longer than his as he maps your expression, not even trying to hide his pleased smile when they do open to the sight of his face still hanging over yours.

Jake steals another quick kiss on your chin, heaving himself back up with a forced and slightly dramatic groan.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night, then,” he tells you quietly, his voice suddenly hoarse as though kissing you has winded him. His chest is falling a bit more unevenly than before — has kissing you left Jake with the same fluttery feeling as it has with you?

You nod, your teeth tugging on your bottom lip to prevent the blinding smile from shining through. You’ve gotta leave him with a little bit of yearning — he can’t have it too easy.

“Really hope you don’t die in the morning,” you reply.

He laughs unexpectedly. “You know what? Me too.”

The lab is silent.

After so many weeks of being surrounded by the noise of other people, it is jarring to be alone. The metal lab groans in the wind, the frosty glass rattling as it gusts past the container you now call home. Outside, the front of the cliffside the shack is perched upon is glowing vibrantly, pulsing with energy, but unlike a few days ago, you have no desire to head outside, all too content in the toasty warmth you’ve curated in the lab.

You try not to feel too alone — in the link chamber, Jake is in deep like a tick, probably partying with the clan. With no distress calls from Grace and no disturbances from Jake’s most likely agonising session in the unit, you assume that all went well with Jake’s iknimaya. He must be buzzing, light and dizzy with whatever native alcohol he’s been rewarded with.

Meanwhile, here you are, waiting for one of your watercolour paintings to dry. A quiet night in the lab constitutes a well-earned night off, although you could consider your relaxing drawings of yesterday’s sample research if you really needed to.

With your knee up by your chest, you swirl the lab chair in a lazy circle whilst you wait, listening to the silence grow tinny as it stretches on. It occurs to you that you actually don’t enjoy being alone the way you used to. You’ve grown so accustomed to noise that without it, the world feels hopelessly lonely. You find with shock and horror that you even miss Norm complaining about everything, followed by some fancy Grace quip or Trudy laugh.

You don’t know how much longer Jake may be in there for. A couple more minutes? Hours? The longer you stare in the direction of the link chamber, the more anxious you feel.

So, maybe being all alone in the Hallelujah Mountains wasn’t what you dreamed it was going to be, except for the opportunity it gave you to colour a few pictures of stems and flower buds.

Sighing, you dab your little finger into one of the dry petal paintings and swirl the paintbrush in the water again, deciding to start on colouring in some of the bioluminescence outside into a spare square of space. In no way, shape or form are you an artist, but the painting calms you, and welcomingly takes your mind off the fact that you’ve been alone in this lab pretty much since you woke up this morning.

The paintbrush flicks over where you’re trying to imagine a tawtsngal from memory to spruce up the otherwise dull-looking painting of the view in front of you, and you’re just about to dip the paintbrush into the water to dilute the colour when you hear a rumble outside the shack.

Never a good sign.

You still, listening: the shack rattles twice, the table shaking, and for a moment you consider the possibility of there being a landslide nearby. With wide eyes, you jump up off your chair and rush to the window, peering out into the vibrant dark to check for any fallen rocks, but you see nothing besides grass and plants, and an even darker outline of jagged wings landing where Trudy normally lands her ship.

The ikran manifests into shape, a map of twinkling white freckles settling down in the short grass and screeching out in the night. You try to manage your breathing as you take in its sheer size; it raises up and screeches again, digging the speared claws under its spread of wing into the soft dirt beneath it and it bows down.

For a moment, it does not register to you that someone is climbing down off their back until you see their starry shape jogging towards the window — your eyes are still glued to the proud ikran showing off in the night, settling down in one of the low yet fluffed out trees near the fyìpmaut tree Grace has become infatuated with.

When your eyes finally snap over to the approaching Na’vi, you let out an embarrassingly loud sigh of relief when you realise it’s Jake, followed by a strangled noise of shock when you realise, yet again, that it’s Jake. Avatar Jake. Big, blue and beautiful Jake, who is currently punching in a string of numbers into the door and letting himself inside the lab.

Your hands are trembling like crazy when the air pressurises around him, and you almost don’t even know what to do when the inside door unlocks and swings open, and in he comes. Jake glances around the lab in a crouch, looking somewhat uncomfortable as if he forgot just how large he was, and he grins when he finds you.

“Hey, my hì’i syulang,” he calls, his hands reaching in a fumble under the emergency exo-packs to fetch one of the AAS-RO2s secured in a rack underneath. They were rarely used unless Grace or Norm needed to for some reason bring their avatars inside for something and were too lazy to wake up and do it in their human bodies, and for some reason, seeing Jake fiddle with one and actually get it to work despite having never touched one before feels absurd to you.

You hum with interest once he’s successfully geared up, smiling when he looks at you for approval.

“Hey, yourself. You got good with Na’vi.”

“Practise makes perfect,” he shrugs, though looks too cocky for his own good now that you’ve complimented him on it.

“I’m not tiny, by the way. You’re just huge.”

“Yep,” Jake grins, stepping towards you with two equally huge strides. His eyes catch sight of the drawings on top of the table and he drops to a comfortable crouch by your side, his brows high as he asks, “Aw, you colouring?”

You scoff quietly. “It’s research. Botanical, legitimate research.”

His hands skim through the pages with interest and he hums. “Looks fun.” When he looks up, it’s outside of the window, and you follow his gaze back to the resting ikran outside. “Wanna draw him? He’s real cute.”

“I see you survived your iknimaya in one piece, mighty warrior,” you reply, feeling the muscles of his arms with a teasing smile, and Jake looks at you from the side and his gaze softens. “How was your party, then?”

“Good,” he nods thoughtfully, gaze averting as he looks one more time at his ikran before dedicating his attention solely on you. After all, you are what he came here for in the first place, if not to show off to then just to see. His eyes find yours again and he brushes one of his hands up over your forehead again, thumbing your hairline, gaze so soft and warm it could melt butter.

“Grace came,” he continues, “the kids got her dancing by the fire. I tried some rank liquor, had to do my own ceremonial dance with about ten different people.” Jake’s smile widens affectionately, “Neytiri showed me the Tree of Voices. Utraya Mokri, the People’s direct link to Eywa.” You can’t help but smile with him as he tells you all of this. His happiness is infectious. “Eywa is…incredible. Grace needs to try it, she’d lose her mind.”

You laugh at that. “That could be your first course of action, Tsyeyk Suli.”

Jake’s entire face reshapes with adoration, so much so that he physically cannot stop himself as he pulls your head forward and presses a soft kiss to your forehead. The action takes you by surprise — you’ve barely begun processing the kiss Jake left you with last night, let alone accepted the possibility of another one being given by the body that lay you over a rock once.

He pulls away, and when he does, you notice the lurching gesture in his chest, as though he's struggling to breathe, and you pointedly bring up the respirator around his neck and laugh.

“Damn. I took all your breath away. Chug some dioxide.”

Jake rolls his eyes but takes a sip of the CO2, eventually falling back into place. Now reminded of the tedious ritual he’s made himself a slave to by coming in here in his new favourite form, Jake quickly thinks back to whatever it was he was talking about and continues.

“Neytiri also told me that I have now earned my place in the village,” Jake begins again, his voice a little bit dreamy. More than anything, you wish you could have been there to be a part of the vision playing in Jake’s mind, to visualise his stories of the village and the forest and his place in all of it.

“I may live in the village, so to speak, I can carve my own bow from the wood of Hometree.” When his eyes search your face hesitantly, he adds very slowly, “and I may also take a woman.”

“Oh,” you say, quickly scanning his own expression for anything out of the ordinary. When his eyes round in shape and his ears flatten against his head, the corners of his mouth twitching, you raise your eyebrows and ask, “and how do you feel about that?”

“Well, I told Neytiri that I had already chosen someone,” Jake tells you.

“Did you?”

He nods with a hum, trying not to look so amused, though failing horribly at it. “And so Neytiri told me that I should go and seek out my woman to tell her that I have made my decision. She was a little eager to get rid of me, actually.”

“And…that’s why you’re here?” you ask, almost regretting it when Jake opts for staring at you for a second too long, in a silence too concerning. Then, he smirks, brows high, eyes narrowed, like you asking is the silliest thing in the entire world.

“Obviously, Spellman.” Jake laughs as you do, bemused, “Jesus. For such an intelligent woman, you’re so stupid sometimes.”

“Takes stupid to know stupid,” you reply.

“Exactly,” he croons, face so close to you that he’s able to push his face forward to kiss your lips without much effort at all.

It’s not as though you forgot what being around Jake’s avatar felt like; it’s only been a few days since you last encountered him, and yet it feels like the first, your stomach rolling over itself like a tsunami as Jake’s lips find your own in perfect harmony.

Admittedly, you had expected your next tumble with Jake to be in his human body, but now that he’s here, now that he’s already flown himself out here to find you, you can’t think of any reasons to turn him away.

Last time, any possibility of kissing Jake had been next to impossible thanks to the exo-pack, but now, with nothing in the way, Jake relishes in the feeling of your lips against his own, his large hand cradling the side of your face.

Of course, he’s kissed you before, yesterday at a strangle angle to accommodate his unfortunate wheelchair. Now, there’s nothing to hinder his progress, nothing to prevent his plans — it’s just you and him, alone in the lab, exactly how he wanted it to be.

It’s as though the gravity in the room is being sucked out when Jake pulls away; you feel like you’re floating merrily off the chair, leaning forward as though to find him in the space he’s created, and Jake laughs from his throat and sweeps his gaze down your body.

No longer are you wearing your favoured shorts or tank top. To his delight, you’re in a long t-shirt that hangs around your knees, presumably only panties underneath, and his mouth twitches with intrigue.

“Cute outfit,” Jake says appreciatively, using his finger to lift up the bottom of the shirt and peering at your thighs, seeking out the bite he left you with the night before. When he finds the very faint outline, he laughs boyishly and glances back at you, “even cuter tattoo, honey.”

You laugh, and then Jake runs his finger across the nearly gone indent and hitches your shirt higher up over his wrist, the sight of your baby blue panties peeking into view as his grin widens.

“Why are you grinning so hard?”

Jake shrugs; now both of his hands are at your hips, shirt pulled up at the front, his golden gaze trained on your crotch.

“Just happy,” he says simply. Though he appears perfectly content zoning out on the sloping curve of your crotch, Jake looks up and says, “Did you know I was coming?”

“Well, I expected the real Jake to be here by now,” you confess, thinking about Jake lying in the link unit controlling his avatar with his hands on your hips.

Jake’s brows furrow, his smile flattening to an amused line. “I’m real.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Forget about him.”

“I like him.”

“And that makes me really happy, believe me, but this is real for me. This right here, you and me,” Jake says, his voice a little lighter than it was before, which is the only real way you can tell that he’s not joking.

This is serious for Jake. It’s not just part of a ploy to piss off Norm. Jake has become undone with his feelings, in a way that is so unbecoming of him that it’s actually embarrassing; now that he’s practically on his knees in front of you telling you it’s real, telling you that he’s pretty much told Neytiri and by extension the whole village that you’re his and he is yours, you know without a shadow of doubt in your heart that he is being sincere.

“Believe me, honey. It brings me no greater joy than knowing that you’ve been interested in me since we first met—”

“Well. If we’re being technical, then it was just before you got chased by the than—”

Jake simply frowns. “Hey. I’m not fucking around here, Spellman. I’m trying to tell you how I feel.”

“…Sorry. Go on.”

“…If I knew in my heart that I could give you what I want you to have from my wheelchair, I so would, but everything is easier like this. I can move. I can do whatever you want. I can be whatever you want. And you took all of me so well. Didn’t even struggle. You’re a perfect woman.”

“I love that you think that, but, you know, you're already everything I want from that wheelchair, Jake,” you tell him, and his ears pin back in surprise and his entire expression falls; he doesn’t look upset, however. Rather, he looks in awe. “You don’t have to walk or fuck me on a rock to give me everything you think I want. I just want you. Everything else is a huge, incredibly pleasant bonus.”

You reach out for his face and rest your hand over his cheek, feeling his skin on your own. He feels warm to the touch.

“You know how I feel,” you continue quietly, “and I like every second with you. I just wanted you to know for sure that even though you met my needs in your avatar, you never needed to.” Jake has barely moved an inch since you started talking, but when you add, “Even though I really like you like this,” Jake’s face twitches, like he’s trying his best to hold himself together. “A lot, actually.”

The splitting smile that stretches on Jake’s face fills your chest with a giddy type of glee.

Then, Jake leans forward, his forehead tilted against yours. Being so close to his face is unreal — you don’t know what to look at first: the lines of tanhì over his skin, the smooth look of it, the slight pink of his snout, the tug on the inside of his lip...

“You’re mine, Spellman,” Jake murmurs.

“Yeah,” you agree in a whisper, matching his own look of delight and feeling a fluttering rush through your chest when Jake secures his hands in a cradle around your face, bringing your lips back together with a sudden fierceness that, this time, is not met with surprise.

Unlike before, unlike the short kiss that had felt stolen between you, you’re surprised by Jake’s eagerness. His mouth presses against yours with a gentle firmness, as though not to hurt you but at the same time, enough to convey just how badly he’s wanted this. His mouth is warm against yours, the glossy sheen of saliva over his bottom lip slippery and inviting as his kisses become more open-mouthed.

Jake kisses you for so long you wonder how he can even breathe — even for you, it feels breathless. When he pulls away, you pinpoint the slight spasm in his chest, the tight veins in his neck as he fights his impulses. With a small laugh, you push the mask around his neck up to his lips and force him to capture his breath, occupying your lips elsewhere in the meantime.

Trailing your mouth across his cheek and jaw, it’s as though Jake is gulping down as much CO2 as he can manage to keep stored inside of him to go a little longer. Eventually, his chest rises and falls evenly while you gently smooch the expanse of skin under his jaw, catching the soft scent of whatever powders and paints he may have been decorated with earlier in the night.

The mask falls back down past his collar and he shifts; Jake’s hand pulls at your face, his thumb on one cheek and fingers on the other as he guides your mouth back to his, wasting no time in getting back to whatever he was doing before his lungs so rudely interrupted him.

If he had to die losing breath while kissing you, then it would be a suitable way for him to go.

“Okay,” he breathes, pulling away for a brief second before planting a wet kiss back on the pucker of your lips. You can taste the honey from the alcohol he’s been drinking all night in your mouth. “Up and out.”

With that, Jake lifts you up by your waist and ungraciously tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of flour. Then, with his back hunched slightly, he moves with familiarity through the metal corridors of the lab, navigating his way to the bunks.

Even like this, you feel so high off the ground, and you squeal with surprise and fist at nothing behind his back. He’d never let you fall, not that the landing would damage you in any physical way except for your pride, but still, you stare at the moving metal beneath his feet in a blur, half excited and half full of nerves.

The floor plan opens up to the bunk chamber, the familiar worn woven rug that Grace had been given from the villagers and had put on the floor appearing in view. You know confidently that there will be as little room back here as there was in the workspace at the front; the bunks are bolted to the wall but barely big enough for human bodies, let alone avatars, but Jake already has a solution.

He sets you down, his hands already working to pull your shirt up and over the top of your head. Not that he has to work very hard at all — you’re already helping him undress you, pulling the shirt up over your head, marvelling at the wide-eyed look of excitement on Jake’s face.

“Missed these,” he says, carelessly tossing your shirt to the bunks off at the side. He wastes no time in moving closer to you, his mouth attaching itself to the curve of your breasts, his tail flicking happily at your noisy approval.

With Jake mouthing around your nipple, the taunting graze of his teeth making you shudder, you let your body float into an astral plane of goodness and close your eyes, your head lulling to the side.

His eyes flicker up, greedily memorising every lift and twitch on your face until he catches sight of your hands sliding down your sides from his arms, fingers inching towards your little blue panties. He grins, tongue flat against your nipple, and after pressing a sloppy kiss to the side of where he’s been sucking, Jake breaks away and harmlessly slaps his hands over yours, holding them in place as you hook your fingers under the panty fabric.

“It’s like you’re doing this to me on purpose,” he groans, lips pressing kisses all across and down your body as his mouth makes its way to the smooth skin of your tummy. Jake rubs his thumbs in circles on your lower stomach, eyes finding yours.

“Doing what?”

“Being so fucking sexy,” mutters Jake, his tongue licking like a lion against your naval. The feeling makes you squirm and laugh slightly, your hands flying up from the clasp of his hands to the sides of his head.

There had been the expectation that perhaps human Jake would roll himself towards you once he got back, excited and turned on by your uncharacteristic lack of clothing. Instead, it had been avatar Jake who found you first, but it’s not as though your efforts have exactly gone to waste. If anything, they are met with the highest amount of appreciation.

Jake tugs the top of your panties with his teeth, moving them off your skin and down until he can see the sloping curve of your pubis, until he can smell the lust between your folds. Stopping him from stripping you bare is the last thing you want, but still, you look down at him playfully.

“Do you really need to take all my clothes off, Sully?” you ask, feeling his teeth graze on your skin as he unwillingly releases your panties from his mouth.

“Yes,” he replies, like it was obvious. Why would he want you to stand there in your panties all night when there were more fun things to do?

“Well, what about you?” Your hands slowly trail down from his face to his broad shoulders, fingers ghosting across the darker lines etched into his skin. Jake shudders slightly, his ears pricked tall, and they twitch in amusement when you point out the same thing he did when he bent you down over the rock.

“One of us is halfway there, and it’s not you.”

Between his legs, same as always, hangs his tewng, perfectly and teasingly in place of the large growth hiding beneath, and your eyes glance at them pointedly. Your gaze lingers there until Jake takes the hint, his smile turning lop-sided as he sniggers and reluctantly pulls away from you.

“As you wish,” he croons, his hands swiftly shifting to the flimsy little string that he so courageously entrusts to hold his tewng together. Full of anticipation, you roll back on the heels of your feet as the knot undoes behind his back, and the strings cascade down as the fabric loosens and pools to the floor in a puddle.

Jake's cheeks are aching with how much he’s smiling. Any cool composure he wanted to pretend he had is betrayed by the smile that has taken up permanent residence on his face, the enthusiastic swish of his tail beating against his back and the floor behind him.

With your eyes still trained on the stiff arousal between Jake’s legs, you bite your bottom lip in an effort to restrain yourself and smooth your hands over the weaved sheath fastened over his chest.

“Miss me?” Jake asks, eyes pinned to yours as you peel back the sheath and gently set his blade and armour to the side. Now, the only things on Jake’s body are your hands and the bands around his arms, tightly outlining both his muscles and pudges of blue skin.

“Shut up,” you mutter.

“I know you did,” he continues anyway, pressing a swift kiss to your stomach and hooking his fingers back through your panties. He appreciates the blue more than he’d care to admit — you probably didn’t do it on purpose, picking blue when it's the very colour of his existence, but it’s a nice touch despite that. “Can smell you.”

Jake twists the fabric around his finger like a ringlet and drags the panties down your legs, and once they’re bunched down by your ankles, he takes a deep inhale and secures his gaze between your legs, his chest rising and falling.

His hands instantly shift to your thighs, holding them as he gently, yet forcefully, widens your feet apart. Your pussy parts with the movement, the wet smell filling Jake’s nose like a drug. Behind him, his tail thumps against one of the stack of black storage boxes, and he groans with pleasure.

“Fucking perfect,” he says, a thumb moving to swipe up the partition of your pussy. The familiar feeling of it swiping makes you tense up, hands tightening around Jake’s shoulders. “My perfect girl.”

With another kiss planted against your naval, Jake pulls you closer to him, mumbling under his breath and against your skin a string of words you can barely hear.

He saves himself the unflattering carpet burn from shimmying across Grace’s rug and picks himself up, one hand on the floor and his other arm and hand keeping you flush against him while he adjusts himself on the ground.

Once he’s lying flat on the floor on his back, he grins up at you and guides you over him, gaze flashing to the approaching pussy he wants nothing more than to shove his face into.

“Come’ere,” he says quietly, tapping a finger against his chin while trying to bring you closer with his other hand. It would be very easy for Jake to just pull you forward — you’re not a weak human being, but you still have nothing on his Na’vi strength, and you know this.

You slowly step towards him, your feet on either side of his body, a warm flush engulfing you as you stare down in amazement at the eagerness of Jake’s expression, the giddy movements of his body. He can barely stay still.

“You…want me to sit on your face?”

“Clearly.”

Though you’re already straddling him, hands trembling, you ask, “What if you suffocate and die?”

At that, Jake laughs, sliding his hands up the length of your legs and pushing down slightly, until your knees buckle and you’re all but hovering over his lips, feeling the chuckles of laughter brush against your bare skin.

“It’s the only way I’d wanna go,” he tells you. “A true warrior’s death.”

You scoff, anxiously positioning above him. “How would I explain that to Grace?”

“With pride, hopefully,” and then he helps bring you down until you're comfortably positioned over his mouth, his tongue flat against you, your own mouth suddenly falling into a circular shape of pleasure.

“Oh!” you gasp. Although Jake has been between your legs before, it hadn’t felt like this. The refined, little, rough ridges of Jake’s tongue brush against you; his tongue feels like a cats in texture, prone and wet as you slowly grind across it, Jake’s hands back around your body though he barely even moves you.

Almost as soon as you take a seat on his tongue, Jake groans again, the satisfied sound grumbling from his throat and against your cunt. In all of his attempts to relive the memory of being between your legs, Jake forgot how good you tasted.

Around your waist, his hands tighten before adjusting themselves to help move you against his mouth, his tongue curling up once you’re coated in your own juice and his saliva.

There is a slight ringing in your ears that you’re thankful for, but the sound of Jake against your pussy is no doubt erotic, making Jake’s body twitch and his cock harden uncomfortably up against his stomach.

You’re cautious with putting all of your weight on Jake’s head, still lifting up instinctively off his mouth as he runs his tongue across your pussy, prodding the top against your hole and gorging himself on your taste.

The feeling of his mouth so firm against you is intense compared to the other night, where Jake had all but pinned you down with his arm and had his way. He seems to grow fed up with your caution and his hands tighten around you, bringing you down to rest your weight entirely on his face. He groans, arms and hands locked in place, his ears smushed by your knees.

“Fuck,” he grumbles, his baritone voice vibrating against you. You moan at that, your hands coming to fist at the pretty beads hanging down by his face. If the tug hurts, he doesn’t show it; Jake only moves you harder against his mouth, his eyes tightly closed in pleasure until they all of a sudden burst open, his golden irises boring up into your face as you stare back.

You watch his eyes flickering from side to side, memorising every pull and tug against your features as you grind yourself on his mouth. His tongue is hot against you, his hands curling around your thighs possessively to hold you in place.

Now that the feeling of him plush against your pussy is more familiar, you chase his tongue, moving against him until he’s prodding exactly where you need him the most.

Jake’s mouth shifts, his tongue flicking against your clit while his hand slides from your thigh to the gap between your legs. One of his fingers stirs up the slicky wetness residing between your folds before slowly pushing up, slipping past the clenching resistance of your hole. Without meaning to, you smack your hips down on Jake’s face, feeling his finger sink up to the knuckle inside of you as a low grunt sounds from his throat.

You’re somewhat relieved that Jake is in his avatar and can withstand the full weight of your body throttling him, but he almost seems to relish in the feeling, a second finger wiggling its way past your folds and up your snatch with the other. The thick widening of his fingers makes you gasp, toes curling, and one of your hands releases his hair and grips at the stack of boxes behind Jake’s head.

“Mmf—fuck, Jake,” you rasp, voice broken and high and whiney. A shaky exhale catches in your throat as his fingers fuck inside of you, and your hips seem to have a mind of their own as they rise and fall over his hand like his fingers were his cock — you’re bouncing slowly on them while he smirks to himself, tongue flicking over your swollen clit, mouth and chin smothered in saliva and juice.

“You likin’ that, honey?” he asks, planting a sloppy kiss on your thighs as he curls his fingers inside of you. “Feel good?”

“Uh huh,” you whine. At this point, you cannot bring yourself to look at him and all of his smugness. You feel his smile widen against your thigh as he nips at the skin, licking a stripe before turning his mouth back to your pussy.

“God… Jake, oh my—” You don’t finish that sentence, don’t even get the chance to.

It is embarrassing how close to an orgasm you feel. Jake’s barely begun, barely spent any time at all between your thighs and yet you can feel your body seizing, a small ball of warmth expanding inside of you. Jake’s eyes are still glued to you and the arched view of your body over his face, and you can practically feel his gaze burning into you, willing you to look back at him.

“You gonna cum up there, baby girl?” mumbles Jake, his voice muffled by your pussy. If it weren’t for the vibrations his voice sends up your pussy making you aware of his question, you might have missed it over the sound of your moaning and whimpering.

His fingers prod at the spongey insides of your pussy, one prod in particular making your hips buck furiously across his mouth.

Jake makes a noise of happy surprise, and like the smug asshole he is, he repeats the action, fucking his finger into the spot that makes you wriggle on top of him. The unravelling warmth inside of you is spreading; you can barely feel your toes, your thighs shaking around him.

“Jesus, Spelly,” he chuckles, his erection so hard and uncomfortable by his belly button that he grumbles to himself. That needs to be attended to immediately, if you weren’t so stubborn as to drag out the orgasm you so obviously want to have.

Jake moves his fingers faster inside of you, the other hand that’s around your thigh snaking to your hips to sink you down harder against him. You feel his knuckles at your entrance, his tongue pausing lazily at your clit.

“I—” you gasp, voice catching with surprise. Then, to his amazement, you frantically look down at him with a wide-eyed look of desperation. “Can I—?”

“Yep,” he grunts, greedily holding you firmly against his mouth as your hips rut like an animal. After a humiliatingly small amount of time, you feel your entire body tense with a blistering heat, and when you cum onto Jake’s tongue, it is the sweetest relief.

The burst of sweet white fluid that drips into Jake’s mouth is taken with desperation. Jake’s tongue coaxes it all out of you, his voiced approval rumbling into your pussy as he drinks it up. Meanwhile, your head is positively spinning, your vision white and starry and limbs numbed. You can barely catch your breath, and you have no idea how Jake is still alive down there, the mask around his neck virtually forgotten.

When Jake has finally milked all that he can from your cunt, he gently pushes you up and off his mouth, your whole lower body trembling like a rabid dog as he shifts you down onto his chest. Your cunt is fluttering with the absence of his tongue and fingers, the heartbeat between your legs pulsing intensely as you stare down at Jake’s face.

You’ve never seen a man more content with a mouthful of your cum before. A sheen of white coats his tongue as he laughs breathlessly, his pupils wide. Then, as though he’s only just remembered that he needs to breathe, Jake fumbles for his mask and pulls it up over his face, gulping down the CO2 whilst simultaneously trying to compose himself.

“My god,” he splutters, his chest rumbling beneath you as he laughs again. You feel sticky all over. “I love this pussy, Spellman.”

The compliment tears a laugh from your throat. “Gee, thanks.”

Laughter fills the space between you for a moment, but when you look at Jake he’s looking up at the ceiling, his mouth parted and his breaths heavy, the mask still in his hand by his chin. Now that he’s gone quiet in an effort to catch his breath, you come to the abrupt realisation that you’re in the lab, in the bunk chamber, sitting naked on Jake’s chest after cumming in his mouth.

It feels hilarious all of a sudden, though you don’t voice the amused vision in your mind. Jake seems content doing whatever he’s doing, a dazed look on his face, and for a moment, you sit there until your thighs clench and the sticky cum between your thighs begins to dry, and then you slowly heave yourself up off him.

Lifting his head up off the floor, Jake startles and looks at you in confusion. “What’re you doing?”

“Getting up,” you wince as you move, but Jake’s frown deepens. He lets the mask fall by the side of his neck, his hands speedily rushing to your waist to lock you in place.

“What? No, no, no, no, we’re not done yet,” Jake blurts, his brows high and eyes wide.

“More?” you ask, surprised.

“Obviously,” he splutters, bemused. “Don’t be so selfish, I’ve been missing you like crazy out there.”

You fall down the length of his body as Jake sits up, your pussy brushing past the hard tip of his cock. You gnaw at your lip bashfully — okay, maybe you had somehow forgotten about that.

His cock sits between your bodies, the thick and tense figure of it flat against your stomach as Jake leans his face towards yours with a disgraced look of unhappiness.

“You thought you were gonna cum and then just get off?”

“At least let me catch my breath,” you laugh helplessly.

“You’ll live,” he tuts. “Goddamn. Definitely Norm’s sister, you’re cold.”

Hearing the childish whine in his voice makes you laugh out loud, though his look of unhappiness softens when you smile at him, stroking the side of his face.

“Aw, come on, big guy, you don't mean that,” you try, pushing yourself up against the tight wedge between your bodies. He flinches slightly, the crease between his brows lifting with intrigue. Try all he wants, but he soon gives up on looking displeased and grins back at you.

“You don’t even have to do anything,” Jake suggests thoughtfully, his face tilted as he tries to entice you.

In all honesty, you have no protests against fucking Jake. In fact, the thought of his cock being buried in your stomach again is nothing short of a need for you. He’s not the only one who’s been thinking about it all this time — it’s not a competition, but you’ve been daydreaming about the cock between his legs a lot longer than he’s been thinking about you.

“All you’d need to do is sit on it, really.” You tune back into Jake’s voice. You don’t know how much you missed, but the message is abundantly clear.

You smooth your hands down his neck, fiddling with the beaded choker. “I don’t think it can fit in today.”

Jake barks out a laugh. “Please. It fit fine before, princess.”

“Yeah, before you destroyed my vagina permanently. I’ll be too tight!”

That only makes Jake look more pleading. “That’s a good thing!”

“Jake, I—”

“Fine, then just the tip,” he tries, surging forward and pressing a desperate kiss to your lips. You taste the tangy sweetness of your cunt that Jake loves so much on his lips; seeing him so desperate for you to sit on his cock would be funny if it weren’t so sexy.

You bite your lip in thought as he peppers a string of kisses across your face, as if trying to persuade you.

“You only have to take the tip, that’s all. You’re dripping, you’ll take it no problem, but you don’t even have to work or do anything. I’ll do everything.”

“You’re begging,” you state flatly.

“I know,” he drawls in a whine that makes you roll your eyes. “But you’re my woman and I need this pussy like a fucking flower needs water.”

“According to Norm’s research,” you start, reaching for the tip of his cock with a hidden smile, “rainwater and Pandora plants are—”

“Fuck,” Jake laughs into your mouth, his teeth bared in a grin as he kisses you between his words, “off. You’re so annoying.” Another kiss, though his heart soars when your body rises slightly off his thighs, “Always yappin'.” His tail thrums excitedly behind him as you position yourself over his cock, brows knitted together. “Always going on and on about something.”

“You want me to sit on it or not?” you ask bluntly, but your half hearted attempt at sternness is seen through immediately.

“Hell yeah, mama,” he quips, hands already busy on your hips as he tries to sink you down on his cock.

You stifle a laugh at his eagerness. Who would have guessed that Jake would be begging you to let him fuck you? Two days ago, it would have been hard to imagine.

“Shut up then,” you mutter, but he graciously says very little besides his own personal vocabulary of vulgar words when the tip of his cock pushes into you.

It goes in so easily that you know Jake is trying his absolute hardest to remain true to his word. Your pussy lets him in with virtually no refusal, swallowing the tip of his cock so flawlessly that he physically tenses, his hands tightening around you as he lifts you up and down on the tip, being ever so careful as to not accidentally sink you all the way down to the base.

Even just the tip of his dick elicits such a primal response from your throat, your eyes blown open. Jake’s barely given you breathing room since your last orgasm, and the overstimulating feeling of his cockhead loyally spearing inside of you is mind-blowing.

He grunts desperately against your mouth, eyes closed as he tries to reign in his deepest impulses. You press a kiss to his lips; you know how hard it is for him to hold himself back. It is as though your body is remembering who he is, how his cock felt deep inside of you, and when you next feel Jake’s hands lifting you up off the tip and sinking you back down, his eyes immediately blow open when he feels you clench around him like a fist.

“I—shit,” he blurts, momentarily letting go as you sink back down on his cock, the tip of it pushing deeper inside of you as more of his cock pistons inside. He looks apologetic for a moment, because he didn’t mean for you to take more than the tip when that was all he had promised, but after hearing the strangled and high-pitched moan that escapes your lips, he rides his hope for a moment and curls his arms around your body, moulding his mouth against yours.

“Goddamn,” Jake whispers, catching every gasp and breath you take and give. “That’s right, beautiful, you can do it.”

Whimpering, your trembling hands come to hold his waist while he lounges back, his back leaning trustingly against the stack of crates under the window, his hands remaining firm around your body. Jake watches in anticipation as you drag yourself up off his cock, leaving behind a shining trail of juice down the deep blue of his length.

While you’re up there, Jake takes a quick gulp of CO2 — the sound of him taking a deep breath as he contents himself with watching you makes your heartbeat quicken, although you’re much more focused on sliding your pussy across his tip, the roundness of it slipping up your slit while a litany of moans produce from your mouth.

And then, by happy surprise, Jake realises he doesn’t have to fight it anymore when you go to slowly sink back down on him and slip, half of his dick disappearing up your cunt with almost no resistance whatsoever, and the breathless gasp that fills his ears is nothing short of sinful.

“Fuck yeah,” he moans, sitting up restlessly with his lips on your mouth again, as his hands complete his desire of sinking his cock deeper up your pussy. You whimper into him, the dull ache in your stomach intensifying when you feel his dick spearing up into your cunt, his hips rutting underneath you.

He did his best, but he can’t hold back anymore. The sight of you swallowing up his cock is the very picture of perfection.

It was one thing seeing you with your legs spread on that rock. It’s another thing entirely to have you around his dick like a flesh-light.

“You said just the tip,” you whimper.

“You slipped, I didn’t make you take more of it.”

“I—” You groan as his hand grips around your waist like you’re just a doll. “God, you’re so big.”

“Yeah,” he sniggers, lips still against yours like he’s glued there. “But look how well you take me.”

Your attempts to make him feel bad are pathetically wasted; you’re drenched, your wetness like a lube to Jake as he pistons his hips upwards. The squelch between you is embarrassingly loud, although to Jake it is the most heavenly sound in the world.

He grunts into your mouth, softly whispering encouraging yes’ into every word you attempt to speak but fail at saying.

“A perfect fit,” Jake mumbles, his tongue flicking past your lips with a gasping grunt, “’s'like I was made for you.”

There’s nothing you can say to that, nothing coherent at least. In your best effort to please Jake, you suck in a deep breath and lift, only to bottom out and sink to the base of his cock. It feels like Jake’s buried near your lungs; he’s so deep, much deeper than he felt at the rock.

Jake shifts back against the boxes stacked behind him. Then, he gracefully lifts his hips, shoving more of himself up there until he can see the dent of his dick in your tummy. He groans appreciatively, eyes darting back to your face after marvelling at the size of him buried inside of you.

“You’re so good,” he mutters, his breath kind of shaky as he takes in the image of you, looking all spent on his cock. He picks up on the struggling shake of your legs and feels your cunt tighten around him. “Lemme fuck you nice, mama.”

The speed at which you go limp on his cock tells him you have no protests. Jake secures his wide hands around your waist and tightens, focusing all of his energy into his arms as he lifts you up his cock and slams you back down. Both of you moan at the same time, and the clear image of you fucked out and exhausted in his lap makes his dick twitch inside of you.

A heat simmers between your legs — Jake has reduced you to a hole to fuck and you can’t even be bothered to move anymore. You can trust that your body will make room for him, and you can trust that Jake will be careful as he has his way with you. With that in mind, you relax like putty in his hands, shapeless as he fucks into you.

For a while, Jake says nothing of significance. It is as though he is buffering or on a loop, entirely focused on jerking you on his dick, his pupils blown black and wide as he zones out on the sweat lining your chest, the soft rise and fall of your tits as you bounce on his crotch. You watch him the whole time, eyes half-lidded and glazed but unmoving; he is a man in Heaven, in his greatest element.

There is nowhere he would rather be than here, and there is nothing you’d rather be doing than giving your body up for the man you have become completely enamoured with.

One particular thrust inside of you makes you cry out unexpectedly, and his eyes flicker back up to find yours. His dick punches back up to where he last found himself, desperately searching for the spot that made you cry out, and when he finds it, a lazy smirk lifts on his lips.

“You’re a dream.”

Your mouth opens, and another blubbery cry falls out without you thinking: “Yes…m'yours, Jake..."

Not exactly what he said, but his chest swells with pride regardless.

“Damn straight,” he grunts, flicking his hips roughly. You choke a noise of surprise, feeling the coil of pleasure tighten in your belly right as Jake for some reason begins to move. He picks himself up off the rug and lifts you, spinning until he finds a surface he can set you down on. The first thing he finds is the little desk near the door, and he clears it with a sweep of his arm and wraps his arms around you tightly.

The cool metallic surface makes you shudder, although, with the way he spears himself back inside of you, the warmth quickly returns to consume your body. Jake bows his chest over you, fucking himself between your legs and watching with fascination at his cock disappearing past your folds. It looks the same as it did last time, to his delight, and he sucks in a hiss of breath, reaching for the mask again.

“Mmm, Jake, I really can’t anymore,” you rasp out, wrapping your legs desperately around his waist and clinging to the round shape of his biceps. He groans loudly once the mask falls back down from his face, his lips curling to a pout.

“You can’t cum yet,” he protests dumbly.

“Jake,” you say again, already feeling your orgasm threatening to spill. His eyes flash with worry, though you can’t imagine what he might have to be worried about. “I need to—”

“Please,” he says, pressing a kiss to your cheek quickly, his voice a mumble against your skin as he says, “just a bit longer.”

You whimper right into Jake’s ear, his hips staggering into you for a second. More than anything, you want to find your release, to give up and let go and take a breather, but the desperation to make Jake happy finds itself taking precedence.

In your heart, you know that Jake is currently on cloud nine, overjoyed just with fucking you like this — if you came right now, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. More than likely, he’d just carry on. Still, you tug at your bottom lip with your teeth and your whole cunt clenches tightly around him, which he takes as a silent order to keep going, and he receives the message loud and clear.

Now, he is a man on a mission — see how long you can go until you cum all over him.

Jake would happily spend all night between your legs, fucking the hole he’s stamped his name on, filling you up with so much cum you’d be finding it for days. Something chemical has happened to him since acting on his greatest desires; he dreads to think what he’d be doing, how he’d be feeling if he hadn’t been inspired by Norm’s hatred.

To think that he’d be at his party in the village, maybe being swarmed by curious Omatikaya women with fascinations for their newest clan member, potentially even trying to redirect the feelings he has elsewhere…

No. He schools the thoughts into silence. Why fret over the what-ifs when the present is the most perfect thing in the universe?

Jake drives his hips forward, shifting his lips from your cheek to your mouth and accepting the breathless kiss you eagerly give him. Your arms slacken; you keep one hand poised loyally on his bicep while the other reaches for the side of his face, fisting around one of the dishevelled braids to the side of his head. The burn of you tugging on them is barely even noticeable, or if it is, he doesn’t show it. Jake just presses his mouth against yours with a profound laziness, his hips slowing as he thrusts into you at a comfortable pace.

A part of you bursts open; as Jake pounds into your pussy in an uncharacteristically slow manner, he kisses you each time his cock burrows back inside. Your face is unbelievably hot as one of his thick arms curves around your back and appears by the side of your head, hand cradling your face. He has you pinned in place, yet with such little force that it would be easy for you to slither free if you wanted.

You want nothing less. Not when Jake is kissing you like it’s his favourite thing in the world to do. Not when your body is so numb and warm you can barely even feel your legs anymore. Not when the man you would do anything for is right where he belongs — up your snatch, on your mouth, smiling between each kiss.

His tail swirls from side to side slowly, content as he listens to the wet sound of your mouth against his own, the squelch of your drenched pussy filling his ears as they prick to hear himself sinking inside of you. Jesus fuck, you’re so wet — if it wasn’t making you so turned on at the thought of Jake being over the moon from the sound of it, then you’d be squirming in embarrassment.

Jake grins into your mouth, sniggering as the soaking sloppy sounds grow more pronounced. Knowing that he’s grinning because of that, and because he knows he’s the cause of it, your bottom lip curls into a pathetic whimper.

“Hear that?” It’s obvious that you can, he knows that.

How he wishes you could smell it the way that he can — the smell of the sticky mess between both of your legs is nothing short of incredible; it's so sweet that when he inhales he almost shudders. You wouldn’t even need heightened Na’vi senses to smell the sex in the air, to smell Jake on your skin, to smell you over Jake’s face and body.

A witty reply is on the tip of your tongue, but as Jake kisses you again, slobber around his mouth and yours, you can no longer fight the bubbling pleasure in your abdomen, the pressure that gets heavier the longer you hold out.

Jake takes a sharp intake of breath, as if he can smell the distinct change in your body, the orgasm lapping over itself like a tidal wave until it breaches the surface — but his thrusting does not cease, not even when your entire body shakes beneath him, legs falling limp around his waist. And not even when he feels a wet warmth burst up over his chest, a horrified yet pleasured squeal ripping from your mouth as he glances down and sees your gushing release, the billows of cum pushing past the tight fit of his cock, and a shiny layer of juice on his chest.

He blinks in surprise, his eyes wide, and when his nose fills with the smell of you, the smell of your squirt over his torso, he laughs unexpectedly and lifts his head with the widest grin you’ve seen.

"Shit,” he laughs in disbelief, kissing away the aghast gape on your face.

Even as he chuckles into you, you feel your face burning with embarrassment. It’s one thing to cum on Jake’s cock. It’s another thing to squirt on him. It’s an entirely different thing for Jake to find it hilariously sexy.

“I’m so sorry!” you blurt, hands immediately cupping Jake’s face. His nose furrows as his face twists, both in amusement and confusion.

“Why’re you saying sorry?” he asks, still trying to reign in his disbelieving laughs. It’s been a hot second since he made anyone squirt that hard, no less squirt down his chest.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” you explain breathlessly. You barely even register the fact that Jake’s still thrusting into you until the numbness of your body subsides and each thrust upwards is met with a cry of overstimulated pleasure. “I’ve never done that, I—”

“You’re incredible,” Jake grins affectionately. You’re incredible.

Jake thinks he could go on for hours. He could go on until daybreak, until he heard the whirs of Trudy’s Samson over the top of the lab; he would continue fucking you until Norm stepped inside, until he found you both back here. But when you stare at him exhaustedly and smile back, his heart lurches out of his chest and changes his mind for him.

You feel Jake’s dick twitch inside of you, the feeling making you jolt slightly as he thrusts in a few more times, as if milking every last inch of your pussy until he’s forced to withdraw, and then he staggers forward, moaning loudly with a tight and sharp hiss, and a familiar warmth spurts in your stomach.

Jake’s back is bent over, his chest bowed over yours as he shudders through his orgasm; the unmistakable warmth of his cum pools in your stomach, ropes of it filling you up until it slips down past your quivering hole to the table beneath your ass and back. He groans a few times, fumbling for the mask before pressing it to his mouth.

“Yeah,” you sigh. You could very well be floating up off the table for all you knew.

Peering down at the sight of his hard dick still snuggled in your cunt, you watch the thick trails of his cum squeezing out of you. You kiss his temple while his head is still hanging low and mutter, “Fill me up, big guy.”

Jake moans, lips sealed closed — actually, it sounds more like a sob. “Jesus.”

“Give it to me,” you continue, murmuring the words against his head. Hey, you’re feeling much bolder now that he’s exhausted himself and you don’t have to worry about having another orgasm denied and then ripped out of you.

Jake chuckles breathlessly, all of the breath back in his lungs now that he’s emptied himself inside of you. “Didn’t you say you were glad humans couldn’t get knocked up by Na’vi?”

“No? When?”

He scoffs, eyes lifting to yours as he levels you with a challenging look. “Oh, so you want that? Want me to breed you like a dog, Spellman? Fill you up, watch that tummy grow?”

The revelation of Jake’s unexpected breeding kink makes you laugh. Once, Jake had told the lab that he didn’t know if he wanted kids — didn’t think he’d be a good father, didn’t think he’d be able to cope with the pressure of it. Perhaps it’s his Na’vi instincts calling out in a tune, making him besotted with the idea, but either way, you grin at him playfully and press a kiss to his mouth.

“Nah,” you assure him. His smile neither fades nor grows, thank goodness. “I’m in no rush for any of that, Sully.”

He sniggers, then. “Me too,” and after a quick kiss he slowly heaves himself out of you, watching your jaw slacken as he slides out with a sickeningly loud pop. “It’s fucking sexy to say it, though.”

Suddenly, as if he forgot for a moment, Jake’s head cranes to your cunt and as his cum swells near your hole, he grins and watches it as it threatens to drool out. When it does, down your ass cheek and onto the surface of the table, his tail thrashes in joy and his fangs glint in the light.

“Yum,” he says, swiping his thumb across the little puddle of your cum and his and he sucks his lips around it, the little smack of his lips as he pulls it away making your thighs clamp together. “You taste good, honey.”

“It’s more you than me.”

Jake rises, his back still bent due to the low ceiling of the lab, but even now he’s looming over you, his hands reaching to help pull you up from your uncomfortable position to sit upright. You lift with a comically dramatic groan, and Jake rolls his eyes as you hunch forward, hands massaging your thighs sorely.

“I’m broken again,” you mumble, feeling the burn in your muscles as Jake takes himself to where his bunk is and fetches a towel from one of his storage boxes. By the time he gets back, the puddle of cum between your legs has doubled in size.

“You’ll manage,” Jake tells you affectionately, laying the towel flat in his best attempt to milk up the cum still pulsing out of you. He looks at the towel with a cringe — he can only hope the smell and colour will come out in the laundry.

After Jake’s done his best to clean you up, he takes himself to the laundry shoot and tosses the towel inside, making his way back to you quickly before you can stand up and stalk off somewhere.

“I brought you something, actually,” he tells you, suddenly thinking back to the gift he has strapped to his ikran’s leathers outside.

You hum vaguely. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. Neytiri helped me think of it before I got here. Just something quick and silly, but you’re gonna—”

“Oh, yeah,” you interrupt, reminded of how Jake ended up here in the first place. “Are you sure it was a good idea telling Neytiri that you already had a woman?”

Jake pauses. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing like that. Just that… Well, won’t she say something to the other villagers?” you think aloud. It had been on your mind in passing when Jake first told you when he’d arrived, but now that it’s back in your head, you can see Jake processing the thought before dropping to his haunches in a valiant effort to see you evenly.

“She’s close with the village, that’s all,” you continue. “And with Grace, I imagine.”

He blinks dumbly. “Oh yeah.”

For a second, nothing is said. How could Jake have not thought of that?

Realistically, you know that Jake was just excited to tell someone that he had a woman in his life — you hadn’t been presumptuous enough to believe that Jake couldn’t find someone even if he hadn’t acted on his impulses a few nights ago, but even now that you know he meant you after all, you can’t help but think of all the ways it may come back to bite you in the ass.

“I mean,” Jake says slowly, tail flicking, “I was hoping we’d tell people eventually. I don’t wanna hide with you forever.”

“Wait, you want to tell people?”

He looks at you with a funny look of bemusement. “Obviously.”

“About us fucking?”

“What? Well, I mean, yes, in a sense, but more like that we’re together.”

“…Are we?”

“I thought you were the smart one.”

“I’m just… You wanna be with me?” you ask. You’re almost certain that you look and sound stupid, based on the way Jake is staring at you with a wild look of alarm, but, can he blame you? You were just about getting around Jake wanting to sleep with you — now, he’s basically asking you out.

Jake splutters out a nervous laugh. “Was that seriously not obvious?”

You don’t allow him to feel nervous as you reach for his arms in reassurance. The feeling of your hands around his wrists calms him almost immediately.

“If you want to be my man, Jake Sully, there are requirements to meet.” His brows curve curiously, though the sloping smile on his face reappears, to your relief. “I will also need to speak with human Jake Sully about this development. This relationship goes three ways, as you know.”

“Fair enough,” he says, doing his best not to laugh at how cute he thinks you are. “I’m sure he’d be more than happy for you to just forget all about him, though.”

“Never gonna happen,” you stress to him. “And I need quality time with you. If we fuck all the time, I’m scared my vagina will actually break beyond repair. You have two bodies to please me with, I’ve only got the one. You have to go easy on me.”

“Noted,” he nods. It’s sweet how seriously he’s taking all of this.

“And, last but not least…” You trail off and reach forward to kiss his lips again. Jake’s eyes flutter closed — his lips are still slightly tingly from kissing you stupid. You pull away all too quickly for his liking, and when he opens his eyes to look for you, his entire face softens affectionately. “We need to do something about Norm.”

Sighing dramatically, Jake weighs the very difficult options in his head.

Become his woman by spending more time with you? Easy. Consider it already done. But kill all the fun and tell Norm before he figures it out the hard way? Jake’s lips curl into a scowl at the thought of such a marvellous opportunity going wasted.

“How about…we do all of that and let Norm find out by himself?” Jake suggests. It’s an even trade — you’ll both get what you want, and you’ll both feel scores of satisfaction at the end of it.

When you don’t say anything for a moment, Jake is prepared to sign his defeat and give in, but then, when you grin at him and shrug, he hears the holy gates of Heaven open up in his favour and the angels sing.

Yep. You’re his. He’s yours.

Now he just can’t wait for everyone else to find out about it.

#jake sully #jake sully x reader #jake sully x human reader #avatar (2009)#avatar x reader #na'vi x human #avatar the way of water #avatar driver jake sully #human jake sully #norm spellman #jake sully smut #avatar smut #smut #ittojean #jeanbie #fantasize

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lila-lou · 1 month ago

Text

✨Run✨

Summary: Hunting monsters was the plan. Hunting you was Dean’s. And when he caught you? Game over.

-requested-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language

Word Count: 3629

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

You and Dean wandered around the woods, your flashlight beam cutting through the thick darkness as branches scraped against your jacket. The cold air bit at your skin, but it wasn’t what had you on edge. You’d been tracking this damn wendigo for days now—exhausted, pissed off, and worst of all, completely out of sync. No time to rest, no time to breathe. No time alone.

Sam was back at the motel, nose-deep in online research. You and Dean volunteered to sweep the woods for signs, mostly because neither of you could stand sitting still any longer. But now, at near midnight, the only thing you’d found was more trees and your own rising frustration.

Dean moved ahead, stepping over a fallen log like it was nothing, his shotgun slung casually over his shoulder. His silhouette in the moonlight was doing absolutely nothing to help your situation. And yeah, you were annoyed. Tired. But mostly? You were just horny as hell, and Dean freaking Winchester was not making that any easier.

Every time he smirked at you, every time his hand brushed yours when he passed you a weapon or touched your back to guide you through tight paths—it added to the heat simmering under your skin. And right now? You were so done pretending like you didn’t notice.

“See anything?”, he asked over his shoulder, voice low, gravelly.

“Just trees and disappointment”, you muttered.

Dean chuckled, that deep, rumbling sound that always sent a shiver down your spine. “Well, disappointment’s kinda our brand”.

You rolled your eyes, but your gaze lingered on him a second too long. The tight line of his shoulders, the way his jeans clung to his thighs, those sharp and focused green eyes… You hated how hot he looked when he was in full hunter mode. And damn it, you hated even more how badly you wanted him.

You walked a few more paces, kicking at a pile of leaves, scanning the area with your flashlight. The woods were too quiet. No birds. No wind. Just the sound of your own boots crunching over the forest floor.

“Dean?”, you called after a few minutes of silence.

No answer.

You frowned, shining the light in the direction he’d been. Nothing but shadows. You quickened your pace. “Dean, quit messing around”.

Still nothing.

Your heartbeat started to pick up, not from fear of a monster—but from the fact that Dean freaking Winchester never wandered off like that. Not without a heads-up. Not unless… Your brain threw the worst-case scenarios at you like darts. Wendigo. Ambush. Injury.

You swung the flashlight around, spinning in a slow circle. “Dean?”. Louder now. More anxious.

A branch snapped behind you.

You froze.

Slowly, you turned, shining the light behind you—and saw nothing. Just trees. Just silence. Your breath caught in your throat.

And then—

Out of nowhere, arms wrapped around you from behind and a figure lunged, letting out a loud, guttural growl.

You screamed, dropping your flashlight and instinctively elbowing back with a hunter’s reflex. You spun around, heart racing, fists raised—only to come face-to-face with a damn scream mask.

“WHAT THE FU—”, you choked out, staggering back.

Dean ripped off the mask mid-laugh, grinning like the devil himself. “Holy shit, you should’ve seen your face!”.

“You son of a bitch!”, you yelled, punching him hard in the chest—not enough to hurt, but enough to make a point.

He laughed harder, actually doubling over, wheezing like it was the funniest thing in the world. “I’ve been waiting all week for that!”.

Your pulse was still going a mile a minute. “You disappeared! I thought something got you!”.

“That was the point”, he said, through chuckles, tossing the mask aside. “Payback, sweetheart. You scared the crap outta me last week—middle of the night, wet towel, no warning? Fair game”.

“That was an accident!”, you shot back, still trying to get your breathing under control.

Dean wiped a tear from his eye, smug grin plastered on his face. “Yeah, well. This wasn’t”.

You stared at him, arms crossed, the adrenaline still pumping through your veins—not just from the scare, but from him. The way he looked now—eyes gleaming, cheeks flushed, that stupidly charming smirk—it pushed you right to the edge of your patience.

“You’re such an ass”, you muttered, turning away.

But Dean stepped closer, voice lower now, a hint of something else in it. “You gonna make me pay for it?”.

You turned back slowly, brows raised. “Maybe I will”.

Dean’s grin widened as he looked down at the mask still dangling from his fingers, then back up at you with that spark of mischief that always meant trouble. The playful energy between you shifted, thickened, like the air itself was holding its breath.

He took a step closer, voice low and rough around the edges. “You know”, he started, lazily twirling the mask in his hand, “this kinda reminds me of that little book you wouldn’t shut up about a few weeks ago”.

Your stomach flipped.

He saw the flicker in your eyes and ran with it. “Yeah”, he said, stepping even closer, crowding into your space now. “That one scene you got all flustered talking about. Where the guy was chasing her through the woods, promising that if he caught her… he’d fuck her… right there against a tree”. His voice was a murmur now, intimate and deliberate.

You tried to hold his gaze, but your breath hitched, just a little. Of course he remembered. You hadn’t meant to get that carried away describing it, but it had slipped out after a few drinks, your mouth moving faster than your brain. Dean had gone quiet then, real quiet—but now, apparently, he hadn’t forgotten a damn word.

“You said that scene made you horny as hell”. He was right in front of you now, his hand reaching up to brush a loose strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering against your cheek. “You said you imagined what it’d be like if it were me chasing you”.

You swallowed, heart pounding, your body practically vibrating from the energy rolling off him.

Dean’s thumb brushed down your cheek, slow, almost reverent, but the heat in his eyes said something else entirely. You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Every nerve in your body was locked on him—on his closeness, on the low gravel of his voice, and the tension thick enough to drown in.

You and Dean had only fucked once—months ago. A messy, desperate night after a brutal hunt, where emotions were high and boundaries blurred. You’d both sworn it wouldn’t change anything. That it was a one-time thing. But everything had changed. And ever since, neither of you had said a damn word about it.

Until now.

Dean’s eyes searched yours for a long beat, then his lips twitched—not with amusement this time, but something darker. Deeper. A flicker of restraint threatening to snap.

Then he leaned in close, his breath warm at your ear as he whispered, low and commanding—

“Run”.

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a challenge.

Your heart nearly stopped, then slammed back into motion. You stared at him, stunned—but his expression didn’t waver. He meant it. You were already breathless before you moved.

You didn’t think. You just turned and ran.

Branches scraped your arms as you tore through the woods, your boots pounding the earth, adrenaline roaring in your veins. You didn’t know where you were going—you didn’t care. All you knew was that he was behind you now, somewhere in the shadows, and that made everything in you ache.

The chase was a tease, a game laced with tension you’d both ignored for far too long. Every step, every heartbeat, felt like it could tip you over the edge.

And then—

A hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking you back hard.

You gasped, stumbling, crashing into a solid chest. Dean’s arms closed around you like a vice, his grip unrelenting, breath hot against your neck as he slammed you gently but firmly against the nearest tree.

“Gotcha”, he growled.

You could barely breathe. You didn’t want to.

Pinned between him and the rough bark, the air pulsing between your bodies, you felt the full weight of everything you’d been avoiding. His hands planted on either side of your head, his body caging yours in, his eyes wild with something feral, something possessive.

Dean’s breath was ragged against your skin, one hand gripping your hip like he was anchoring himself, like he needed you right there in that moment or he'd unravel. His eyes searched yours, dark and burning, and for a second, you thought he was going to kiss you—claim you.

But you were a hunter, and hunters didn’t go down easy. Especially not when the game had just begun.

So you did the only thing you could think to do. You smirked. And then drove your knee up—sharp and fast—right into his abdomen.

“Oof—shit!”, Dean stumbled back, more surprised than hurt, doubling over just enough for you to slip from his grasp. You darted away with a laugh, the kind of laugh that felt wild and alive, echoing through the trees as your adrenaline spiked all over again. “You’re gonna regret that”, he called after you, voice rough and hoarse, laced with something that sounded a lot like a promise.

You didn’t look back.

Leaves crunched beneath your boots as you ran, heart pounding in rhythm with the thrill coursing through your veins. The woods blurred around you, moonlight flickering between branches, cold air biting at your skin. Somewhere behind you, Dean was giving chase again—more determined now. More dangerous.

It wasn’t just a game anymore. It was war. And you wanted him to catch you just as much as you didn’t.

You twisted through a thicket, breath coming in sharp bursts, grinning like a lunatic as you heard him closing in again—closer, faster this time, the sound of his boots hitting the ground sending another jolt of heat straight to your core.

This time, when he caught you, you knew he wasn’t letting go.

You ducked under a low branch, breath tearing through your lungs as you slowed, listening—nothing but the wind in the trees and the thundering of your own heartbeat. You grinned to yourself, half-dazed, half-high on adrenaline. You’d lost him. For now.

Leaning against a tree to catch your breath, you scanned the woods, ears straining for any sound of pursuit. But there was only stillness. You let your eyes fall closed, chest heaving.

That was your first mistake.

Because the second your guard slipped, hands grabbed you from behind—rough and fast—and you barely had time to gasp before you were spun around and shoved chest-first against the nearest tree trunk. The bark scraped your palms as you caught yourself, Dean’s solid body pressing into your back, his hand curling tight around your wrist, pinning it high above your head.

“Thought you could outrun me?”, he growled into your ear, his voice low and wrecked, breath hot against your neck. “Cute”.

You squirmed, but he pressed in harder, his hips flush against your ass, his free hand bracing against your hip. You weren’t getting away this time. Not like this. Not when he had you caged, breathless and burning.

You could feel him—every inch of him. Pressed tight against your back, no room to move, no room to breathe that didn’t taste like him. His arousal was unmistakable, hard and insistent against you, sending a fresh wave of heat rushing through your body.

Dean leaned in, his breath warm as it coasted down the side of your neck. “You feel that?”, he murmured, brushing your hair gently out of the way with one hand, his fingers trailing soft against your skin before curling around your shoulder to hold you still. “That’s what you do to me”.

His voice was rough, strained—like he was barely holding himself back. “And you’ve been walking around for weeks”, he whispered, mouth grazing your ear, “acting like you don’t know exactly how bad I’ve wanted you”.

Your breath hitched, your body strung so tight it hurt. You could feel his lips ghosting along the curve of your neck, the slow drag of his breath, the barely-there touch of his teeth. Every nerve was lit up, every part of you buzzing under his hands.

“But not tonight”, he growled. “Tonight, I’m done pretending”.

He pressed forward just a little harder, enough to make your knees tremble. His grip on your wrist tightened slightly, not rough, but firm. Possessive. Like he was reminding you exactly who had you now.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the grin threatening to spread across your face, but it was impossible. You knew that tone in his voice. That edge. And you knew exactly what was coming.

Dean’s hand trailed down your side, slow and deliberate, until it found the waistband of your pants. With one sharp tug, he yanked them down along with your panties, the fabric catching briefly at your thighs before dropping to your knees. The cold air hit your skin, but the heat rolling off him kept you burning.

Still pinned to the tree, you shifted slightly—enough for him to notice, not enough to escape. Not that you wanted to.

“Shit”, he muttered behind you, like he’d forgotten how much he liked the sight of you like this. His hand grazed over the curve of your ass, slow and possessive. “You’re not even pretending to fight me this time”.

You let out a breathy laugh, still facing the tree, cheek pressed to the bark. “Didn’t say I wanted to win”.

Dean huffed a dark, low sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. His hand slid up your back, holding you firm against the tree, while the other stayed low, fingers teasing at the edge of where you needed him most. You squirmed again, more for show than anything else, your body already aching with anticipation.

Because the truth was, no one had ever touched you the way Dean did. Rough and reverent. Like he couldn’t get enough and didn’t know how to stop. And you didn’t want him to. Not tonight.

Without wasting another second, you heard the soft clink of his belt unbuckling behind you—fast, urgent, like he couldn’t stand the wait another moment. The rustle of denim and cotton followed, and then silence. Heavy. Loaded.

You didn’t have to look to know what he was doing. The sound of his breath shifting—short, low, ragged—and the unmistakable pressure of anticipation building in the space between you told you everything.

Two rough strokes, and then he was there, the heat of him brushing against the back of your thigh as he lined himself up behind you.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to.

You could feel the tension radiating off him, coiled tight like a spring—every inch of him wound up from the chase, the silence, the weeks of pretending there was nothing more between you than hunts and long drives and shared glances that lasted too long.

You braced yourself, one hand flat against the tree, the other gripping a low branch above you, your breath catching as he settled one hand low on your hip again, firm, claiming.

And then, in a voice barely more than a growl, he spoke against your neck: “Hope you’re ready, sweetheart… 'cause I’m not holding back this time”.

His grip on your hip tightened for just a beat, like he was giving you one last second to breathe. But you didn’t need it—you were already on fire, already aching for it, already his in every way that mattered.

And then, he thrust forward.

One deep, hard movement that knocked the breath straight out of your lungs—and his. A raw, broken sound tore from his throat as he pressed fully inside you, his chest collapsing slightly over your back as the heat and shock of it sank in for both of you.

Your hands clawed against the tree, fingernails digging into the bark as a moan slipped from your lips, ragged, desperate, hot. You hadn’t meant for it to sound like that, like need, but it was real, and it was all you could give.

Dean’s head dropped against the curve of your shoulder, breath rough against your skin. “Fuck”, he growled, the word more of a prayer than a curse. “You feel… fuck, you feel so damn good”.

You could only nod, lips parted, eyes shut tight as you tried to remember how to breathe, how to think—how to do anything but feel. Because that thrust wasn’t just physical—it was everything. All the tension, the silence, the things neither of you had said for months, buried in one brutal, perfect motion.

And he wasn’t letting you go. Not now. Not when he finally had you again.

Dean didn’t give you time to recover. His hips pulled back just enough before driving forward again, hard, precise, like he knew exactly how to undo you. And he did. Over and over, he set a rhythm that was rough and relentless, each thrust hitting deep, shaking something loose inside you.

Your fingers scrambled for grip against the tree as your knees nearly buckled, but his arm slipped around your waist, catching you, holding you up like he knew you were seconds from falling apart.

“Uh-uh", he growled, breath hot against your neck, voice thick and wrecked. “You don’t get to fall yet, sweetheart. Not ‘til I’m done with you”.

Every word he spoke was laced with grit and heat, a perfect echo of the scene you'd once described to him—mocking you and honoring it at the same time. You’d imagined this before, in the quiet of too many motel rooms. The chase, the rough bark against your skin, the way his voice would rasp against your ear while he took you like he meant it.

Your body trembled in his grip, heat coiling tight and low until it finally snapped—sharp and overwhelming, white-hot and all-consuming.

You came hard, a strangled cry slipping from your lips as your legs gave out completely. Dean held you firm, one arm locked around your waist, the other braced against the tree to keep you both upright as you clenched around him, wave after wave tearing through you.

You saw stars. Literal flashes behind your eyes, your breath stolen from your lungs. The kind of release that left you half-limp, half-floating, completely undone.

Dean groaned—low, ragged, wrecked—the sound of your release clearly pushing him right over the edge. He thrust deep once, twice more before burying himself completely with a heated curse.

“Fuck”, he growled into your shoulder, voice hoarse. “That tight little body’s gonna ruin me”.

You felt the heat of him spill deep inside you, the press of his hips holding you right there, still trembling, still trying to come back to earth. His breathing was heavy and uneven against your back, both of you lost in the haze of it—sweat-slicked skin, bruising grips, and that sense of finally.

For a moment, there was only the sound of the wind in the trees and the slow, matching rhythm of your breathing.

Then, softer, breathless: “You good?”, he murmured, voice gentler now, lips brushing your shoulder.

You managed a small, dazed laugh. “Eventually”.

Dean chuckled, pulling you back against him, wrapping both arms around you like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet. He stayed there for a moment, chest pressed to your back, both of you still catching your breath. The air was cold, but his body against yours kept you flushed and burning.

Then, with a low grunt, he finally moved—pulling back just enough to let you breathe again, though he still kept one hand on your hip like he wasn’t ready to fully let go. You were barely steady on your feet, the aftershocks still rolling through you, when he crouched slightly behind you and began tugging your panties and jeans back up.

Dean smirked, not even trying to hide the pride in his voice as he leaned in close, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Leave it in”, he whispered, voice thick and low and smug as sin. “Wanna keep you nice and wet ‘til round two”.

Your breath hitched, a slow burn blooming all over again in your belly.

You turned your head slightly, catching a glimpse of that wicked grin, that sparkle in his eyes that always meant trouble—and always, always, meant you were about to enjoy it.

“Cocky bastard”, you muttered.

Dean just smirked and slapped your ass lightly. “Damn right”.

He took your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world and started guiding you back toward the trail—like the two of you hadn’t just lit up the middle of the woods with weeks of pent-up tension.

And all you could think was: round two couldn’t come fast enough.

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A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

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dovveri · 10 months ago

Text

in my head

synopsis: you're paired with your crush and resident popular girl on campus for a project for the rest of semester

warnings: maybe a swear word or two

w/c: 5.5k

a/n: I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE REQ IM SORRY TO THAT ANON who requested this and also sorry it took me so long to get around to this i just couldn't think of anything to write bcs i alr did the nerd momo x popular reader fic and i fear this trope is too overdone for sana so... there is nothing rly original here LOL i stroogled i lwk wish i did not fill this req bcs i hate this fic HAHHA i gotta learn to say no ><

༺☆༻

“alright class, pair projects for this semester will be randomly assigned.”

there are collective groans from around the room but you only pray that you get a partner who knows what they're doing. you didn't really have a problem doing group assignments all on your own, it was better quality that way anyway, but it'd be nice if someone else could contribute a little every once in a while.

"check your emails for who your partner is. please get acquainted and exchange contact details before next week."

everyone quickly pulls out their phones, laptops, or whatever device they use during class, you follow along, logging in and scrolling to find the correct email.

minatozaki sana.

before you can even conjure up the thought oh shit she's skipping up to your table with a bright smile.

"hi! y/n?"

you sputter, unable to look at her, choosing to fiddle with your screen and panic scroll through random weather predictions and calculator apps. yes, plural, apps.

she's hard to ignore though, bending down and tilting her head so you're forced to look at her. when she catches your eyes she smiles again, "we're working together on the project this semester."

"u-uh y-yeah i s-saw."

"mhmm. wanna exchange numbers now?"

"oh! right yes of course sorry." you fumble, handing your phone to sana. she giggles, taking it from your hand and replacing it with her phone.

"cute background."

"oh that's- i'm not-"

"it's okay y/n. i'm a closet glee fan too." she winks at you, handing back your phone with exceptional speed.

you curse under your breath, quickly typing your number in and handing her phone back, thinking about the brittana wallpaper you have set on your homescreen. why did you have to be such a nerd?

"thanks! i'll text you later and we can meet up sometime this week to talk about the project?"

"y-yep. that sounds g-good."

she smiles that bright, blinding smile again, turning with a flourish and skipping over to her friends.

you were so fucked.

༺☆༻

minatozaki sana was the most popular girl on campus. captain of the cheerleading team, notorious for her ditzy charm and line of admirers. girls like that weren't exactly the type to be top of the class or put much effort into their studies. they were already guaranteed shoo-ins at major marketing or HR firms that liked pretty faces to hike in business, if they weren't already signed to modelling or acting gigs that was.

it also didn't help that you were at the wee end of her long, long line of admirers. you hadn't intended to fall for her. you knew it was completely unrealistic, you'd bet she didn't even know your first name until she got paired with you. so you knew what you were getting into when you first started paying a little more attention to her in class, noticing small things about her like the way she'd scrunch her nose when she was confused or didn't know how to do a question, or the way every time she'd get even remotely excited her left foot would start tapping, like a puppy wagging it's tail when it gets excited. you couldn't help but notice these things and who could you blame? it was minatozaki sana, you certainly weren't the first to fall for her charms, just definitely the most unlikely to actually end up with her.

so it was fine that you were paired up. totally fine. you didn't mind putting in the extra academic work if it meant you didn't have to speak to sana or even mildly interact with her. you were fine doing everything on your own so that she, or god forbid, any of her popular clique would never be able find out about your embarrassingly impossible crush for sana.

santana💜: hi! is this y/n?

you blink down at your phone. this was not who you thought it was. there was no way.

y/n: who's this?

santana💜: im sana! i named myself santana in ur phone bcs of ur brittana wallpaper ;) yk... ur brittany bcs ur a secret genius and im santana bcs... well our names are kinda similar!

y/n: oh... haha right. yeah this is y/n

santana💜: would u be free to come over tmr? to get a headstart on the assignment? or i can go over to urs instead if u want :)

y/n: oh it's fine sana u don't have to pretend to do anything. idm doing the whole thing and submitting for both of us i won't tell the teacher dw

santana💜: what?! who do u think i am y/n?! im not just going to let u do the whole thing on ur own! come to mine 8pm tmr ok? i'll text u the address later

you stare down at your phone. okay so that plan wasn't going to work. you could be cool though. this would be fine. totally fine.

y/n: ok

༺☆༻

you knock on the door of the address sana gave you after her cheer practice. you had spent the past day overthinking exactly what was going to happen, whether or not sana really did want to contribute or if she was still just doing this for show. or if something even more sinister was planned, probably not by sana, but you'd seen some of the people she hung out with, you wouldn't put it past them to go back to their high school bully ways and pull a prank on a nerd like you, even at their adult age.

but when sana opens the door with a beam, her smile is bright and seems devoid of any hidden intentions. you honestly feel a little bad that you had doubted her when she's looking at you like that. but you remind yourself that sana was just that sweet of a person, she looked at everyone like that, you weren't special.

you cough awkwardly, offering a polite smile and stepping in.

"my housemates are out tonight so we have the whole place to ourselves."

"oh cool."

"do you want anything to drink?"

"just water would be great thanks."

"you can go ahead to my room. it's the second door on the right. the bathroom's right opposite it as well if you need to go or anything. i'll be with you in a sec." she smiles at you again, going off towards the kitchen to prepare some snacks and your water.

you tentatively step further into her home, feeling very out of place, but also curious at the pictures and trinkets everywhere, your first glance into sana’s real life.

you follow her directions, walking towards her room and stepping inside, not really surprised at the pink-tone hues that greet you.

sana’s room is cute. she has polaroids and film prints of her and various friends and family hung up next to her bed, a pinboard with small reminders decorated with stickers and more pictures, posters stuck up with and fairy lights strung across various surfaces.

“sorry it’s kinda messy. i haven’t cleaned in a little.”

you turn at the sound of her voice, suddenly finding her much less intimidating in her pink fluffy slippers, suddenly she just seemed like another girl, not the person on the pedestal that you, and most of the campus put her up to be.

you smile, genuinely this time albeit still a little awkward, “it’s fine. i don’t think it’s messy at all, i like it, it’s cute.”

“really? you don’t think it’s childish or anything?” sana pouts slightly as she settles a tray of snacks and water on the table next to her bed and then sits down, shuffling the various amount of japanese plush toys around.

“not at all.”

she grins then, gesturing for you to sit.

you follow suit, crossing your legs and sitting on the floor, taking out your laptop and papers from class. “so have you had a chance to read over the assignment brief yet? it’s okay if you haven’t, i was honestly surprised you asked to meet up so early, technically the only assignment for this week was to exchange contact details.”

sana slides down so she’s on the floor next to you, knees touching, you don’t see it because you’re focused on the fact that your skin was now touching and she was close enough for you to smell her designer perfume, but she pouts before speaking, “do you seriously think i’m just some slacker y/n? i asked to meet up because i wanted to get this assignment out of the way while it’s still early in the semester. before things get busy and we both get swamped with our other classes.”

“o-oh right i’m sorry! i didn’t mean to… well yeah anyway... so i was thinking-"

"you totally thought i was a slacker didn't you?" you can't ignore her when she peeks around to eye you.

"i- well-"

"it's okay. most people think we're all just bandwagoners and yeah i admit i know some of the people i may be... affiliated with are those types of people, but i'm here because i wanted an education and i'm serious about it. so don't try and do all the work on your own okay? we'll split it evenly."

you're more than embarrassed now. you had boxed sana into a stereotype that she was obviously aware of and actively against. “right i’m so sorry oh my god- i didn’t mean to- i-“

she laughs then, hitting your shoulder playfully, your skin burns at the contact, “it’s okay y/n! you’re adorable. thanks for wanting to do everything at first but i can handle my own and i won’t let you down!”

you blush, looking back down to your papers but comprehending none of the words on it. "right. i'm sorry again... and thank you." you manage to mumble out.

sana giggles internally, finding you very cute. and she loved cute things as evidenced all over her room.

༺☆༻

the following weeks you start spending a lot more time at sana's place, to the point where you've met all her roommates and their partners, and it doesn't feel weird for them to see you around the house. it was a pretty rigorous assignment and it involved a lot of hands-on research and time dedicated to it.

you're still complete strangers at school though, sana was still the popular it girl, always surrounded by groups of people, while you were the nerdy nobody.

so it definitely comes as a shock when sana slides into the seat across from you while you're eating your lunch peacefully alone in the cafeteria, mindlessly scrolling through tiktok.

your eyes almost bulge out of your head when you look up and see her bright smile, scrambling to make space for her and take your airpods out, almost knocking your juice popper off the side of the table in the panic.

"s-sana! what are you doing here?!" you're pulling the straps of your bag towards you so it's no longer occupying the table space opposite you, that obviously meant that spot was occupied, a cue sana chose to cheerily ignore.

"just saw you eating alone and wanted to join you!"

"o-oh. you don't have friends waiting for you?"

she shrugs, plucking a fry off your plate, "not really."

you shrink into your seat as you feel the eyes of the cafeteria land on you and sana, whispering and pointing at you. you’ve never wished more for the floor to swallow you up than in this moment.

“so i was thinking-“

“sana! what are you doing here?”

oh no. you did not need any more attention on you right now. least of all from park jihyo, student council president, and kim dahyun, student council treasurer, both of whom were on the same level of popularity as sana with just as many admirers.

jihyo slides in right next to you while talking across to sana, dahyun happily greeting sana and sliding in next to her with her lunch tray.

“jihyo! dahyunnie! i thought you both had a student council meeting right now?”

“got postponed. our secretary fell sick and we can’t proceed without her so we just decided to wait until she got better.”

they fall into easy conversation while you shrink even further into yourself, squeezing your arms into your sides so you’re not made known to the other two who still haven’t acknowledged your presence.

“ugh practice was such a drag today.” yoo jeongyeon slides in next to you, still in her lacrosse uniform, throwing an arm over your shoulders without seeming to realise who you were. you flinch at the action.

this was so not happening to you right now.

hirai momo slides in next to sana, eyes trained only on her tray as she mumbles a greeting with her mouth full with food already.

oh good lord what did you do to deserve this?

at least you’d met momo before since she was one of sana’s roommates but she still only really knew you as ‘sana’s project partner’. the others you’ve only seen from afar, and until now you were half-convinced they weren’t really real, too far up the social ladder to ever be associated with the likes of you. jeongyeon was the star lacrosse player and team captain of your school, which was renowned for it’s lacrosse team. hirai momo was apparently roped into playing lacrosse but really excelled in the world of dance. apparently she’d already had experience touring as backup dancers for major hit singers.

jihyo wrinkles her nose, speaking over you to jeongyeon, “yoo jeongyeon you stink. didn’t we allocate an extra $3000 to shower renovations last year? we did not do that so you could continue to sweat all over me.”

jeongyeon sticks her tongue out at jihyo, “i was hungry. besides i’m not sweating all over you. and you don’t mind do you- wait- who are you?”

your eyes widen when you realise jeongyeon’s now addressing you, and then suddenly the entire table’s eyes are on you.

you feel your face going bright red, coughing awkwardly and staring down at your plate of food. “u-um-“

“this is y/n! she’s my friend!”

you look up to see sana beaming at you.

“oh… how do you guys know each other?”

“we were paired together for that pair project i was talking about- you know for my class about sustainable engineering? momoring knows!”

momo grunts in acknowledgement, offering you a fleeting smile before returning back to her food, not entirely interested with this conversation.

“wait- how does momo know her and i don’t? momo spends all of her time in the dance studio, and if she’s not she’s only ever focused on food!”

“maybe you should be a better student council president and know all your students then hyo.”

im nayeon, co-head cheerleader along with sana, her title alone demonstrating her popularity status, teases jihyo with a grin, standing at the end of the table in her cheer uniform, commanding all attention from anyone who wasn’t already watching your table in curiosity.

“oh shut up nayeon.” but jihyo quickly turns to face you, offering a hand and a bright smile, “hi y/n! it’s nice to meet you! i hope we haven’t been giving you too much trouble.”

you quickly shake your head, taking her hand gingerly, surprised at the strong grip she has.

“momoring and nayeonnie have already met y/n because she’s been over at ours a lot to work on the project together.” sana perks up again, and then looks at you again, not that her eyes have really left you but you didn’t know that, “sorry for all this by the way. my friends are obviously people blind.”

“speak for yourself sana. the amount of times you’ve called out the wrong name in bed-“

sana flushes bright red, shooting up and slapping a hand over nayeon’s mouth while the others crack up in laughter.

"ignore her y/n. she doesn't mean that."

sana smiles through her teeth while nayeon makes muffled sounds of disagreement, and honestly it is a little funny so you can't help but laugh alongside them.

in the end, you don't mind too much that sana's friends invaded your lunch time. they were a lot less intimidating than you had thought they would be, similar to how you had judged sana prior to actually spending any time with her. it was still awkward to feel the eyes of jealous onlookers but sana stealing food off your plate every few minutes and making sure you were included in the conversation was enough to make you feel welcome and ignore those looks.

༺☆༻

"y/n! i got those projections we were talking about last week." sana bounds up to you outside your lecture hall.

"sana? how did you even know i had class at this time?"

"i asked around." she shrugs as if it wasn't a big deal for her to actively be looking for you and for her to know your schedule, "here- what do you think?" she hands over a few documents and you shuffle to the side so students can continue moving in and out. that also meant you were basically boxing yourself into the small corner next to the door with sana blocking your way out. you can feel a few weird glances look your way, wondering how you of all people knew one of the most popular girls on campus.

"it looks good sana."

"great! are we still on for tomorrow night? coach put nayeon and i in charge of practice this week but i may have bribed nayeon into running it herself so we can spend some more time on the project without her nosy self at home."

you nod, handing back her papers, "yeah, i'll be over around 6?"

"sounds good! see you then!" and then she's kissing your cheek and flying off before you can react, your hand coming up to touch where she had pecked you seconds after she's gone.

"-don't know what she sees in them."

"right- you think y/n's paying sana or something?"

"no way sana would do that though. i bet she's just using y/n for help with study or whatever."

"nah i've seen sana's marks, she doesn't need the extra help. maybe she's just toying with y/n. could be a dare or maybe she just has a nerd kink, or wants to try it out once and drop her."

"oh true hahaha i'd almost feel bad for y/n but it is pretty funny watching her prance around sana like she has a chance."

the sounds of laughter drift down the hallway as you stay rooted to the spot, completely invisible to the rest of the student body.

were they right? was sana just pulling you along? fuck you were so stupid. of course she knew you had a crush on her. everyone had a crush on her. you thought you knew sana but now you were starting to doubt your perceptions of her all over again. ugh you couldn't do this. you felt so embarrassed thinking about the amount of time you've spent with sana. all that for her to just be stringing you along, maybe even laughing behind your back with all her friends, you were so stupid for thinking you'd ever move out of your miserable social status. you were at the bottom of the social hierarchy, and she was at the top, it would always be that way, and people at the top don't want anything to do with people at the bottom unless it's for their own benefit or entertainment. sana was not an exception.

༺☆༻

santana💜: hey u still coming over? i maaaay have tried to cook dinner for us both even tho momo always warns me not to step foot in the kitchen and ig she was right this time... so i'll order takeaway? thai food okay?

santana💜: everything okay? sorry if thai food wasnt ur style >< i can order sth else instead but the foods getting cold :((

santana💜: im guessing ur not coming :( hope everythings okay w u!! ill see u at school soon 🥺

༺☆༻

you’ve been trying your best to avoid sana ever since you overheard what those people thought of your relationship with her. it was difficult when she would send you daily texts asking where you were and how you’ve been, even i miss you texts with the little sad face emoticon that had your fingers aching to text her back but you resisted. this was for the best.

but of course as soon as you started avoiding her you also started seeing her around campus a lot more than you used to. she’d pop up everywhere you were, at the library, in the hallways, on the fields, you’d always manage to shy away from her gaze but you don’t think she was doing this on purpose. maybe it was just the fact that because you were avoiding her, you were a lot more noticeable of her presence.

it was hard to keep this up though, especially when the time of the week came that you shared the class you had been assigned project partners in. you had seriously considered faking sick when you woke up in the morning, thinking she could manage class on her own and you’d just email her your parts of the assignment or something. but you got out of bed reluctantly and trudged to class, coming up with as many excuses as possible for having not responded to any of her messages and ditching your last meetup.

you sigh in relief when you walk into class and see that people are still milling about, slowly trickling in, and sana’s seat is still empty. you slink to the back of the classroom, pulling your hood up and turning on your laptop to tap mindlessly at the keyboard, hiding your face behind the screen.

you can hear when the class starts filling up, sliding down further in your chair and avoiding eye contact with everyone.

you can also hear the moment sana walks in, flanked by her friends with that high-pitched laugh and sunshine energy, the class suddenly seems twice as bright as it was. god you missed her. and that was pathetic of you! she didn’t even care about you! you stay resolute in your avoidance, only allowing yourself a second to bask in her voice before closing yourself off again from the outside world.

it’s only when the teacher walks in and starts reading the roll, that you have to squeak out a small ‘here’ when they read out your name. you avoid her gaze when you speak up but you can see in the corner of your eye, sana whips her head around and stares at you with wide eyes, her mouth open in surprise. you shrink back down but she continues to stare at you for a few more seconds before frowning and facing back forward when her name is called out.

you spend the rest of class hiding behind the screen of your laptop, formulating a plan on the fastest way to get out of class once it's over so you don't have to talk to sana.

unfortunately, the teacher seems to have taken notice of your lack of participation, when usually you're the only one in the class who is able to answer their questions, or even mildly paying attention, so you're pulled back when you try to escape, the rest of the class chattering excitedly while leaving class.

"what's wrong y/n?"

"nothing. sorry, just not feeling the best today."

the teacher eyes you, "is the pair project going alright? you didn't sit with sana today."

you gulp, "it's fine."

"are you sure? if sana's making you do all the work you'll tell me won't you?"

your eyes widen, "no! no sana's a sweetheart she-" you catch yourself, sana wouldn't really be a sweetheart if she was playing with you would she? "she's been great, she's contributing and pulling all of her own weight and more. to be honest... i'm probably the one who's not doing my part right now..."

the teacher hums, "alright y/n. let me know if there's anything i can do for you. go home and rest."

you nod, adjusting the straps of your backpack and trudging outside.

only to find sana waiting outside the classroom with her arms crossed, tapping her foot in the way she does when she gets annoyed.

as soon as you’re outside she doesn't spare you a second glance, grabbing your wrist and dragging you to the closest empty classroom and closing the door behind the both of you, standing against it so you have no way of escaping.

"wh- sana! sana what are you doing? i have class!"

"no you don't. the only class you have on wednesdays is the one we share. after that you normally go home or to the library before getting dinner outside."

"what- how do you- have you been stalking me?"

she frowns, "have you been avoiding me?"

"i- what makes you think that?"

"you didn't come last week. and you haven't been answering any of my messages. and i'm not stalking you i just thought we were friends and i like to know my friends' schedules, so when you didn't turn up to any of your usual study spots...i got worried. i thought you were sick or something. but then i saw you at the dessert shop outside the council centre where i volunteer and you didn't look sick at all. in fact, as soon as you saw me you were healthy enough to run off."

you gulp nervously, stepping back, only for sana to step forward. your eyes flit around, looking for any possible exit or distraction, anything would be better than confronting sana right now.

"i just- um- i-"

sana pouts, "did i do something? you'd tell me if i did right?"

"no! you didn't do anything. i just- um-"

she raises an eyebrow. you fiddle with your fingers, unable to look her in the eye.

"w-what do you want with me?"

sana doesn't seem to expect this answer. "what do you mean?"

you sigh in frustration, running a hand through your hair, "it doesn't make sense. why would you want to be friends with me? you're popular and smart and beautiful and you don't hang out with people like me."

"is that what this is about?"

"no- well- yes- i overheard the other day, some people talking about how you were only using me or that you didn't have good intentions with me and i just- i didn't know what to do."

"and what do you think?"

you look up at her then, her gaze is steely, there's no hint of her usual smile. "w-what?"

"is that what you think of me? that that's the kind of person i am? that i'd do that to someone?"

you're taken aback, "i- n-no! i-"

"then why did you listen to them? you're not stupid y/n i know you can form your own opinions on people. you're not like the others, or at least i thought you weren't. i didn't think you'd judge people off of what you've heard about them, i thought we were friends y/n."

"i didn't i- we are- i just-"

you take another step back, needing to create distance between the two of you, needing to think without sana's presence making your head all muddy. but with each step back you take, sana takes one forward.

"was there something else? were you looking for a reason to avoid me?"

another step back, another step forward.

"no! i- i didn't-"

"tell me the truth? please?" you're backed into the wall, nowhere left to go, and sana only steps closer. you can feel your heart rate picking up at her proximity, she's looking up at you, puppy eyes and a pout on her lips, you were so weak.

"n-no i don't- there's nothing else-"

"hmm." she's so close you can see the way her eyelashes flutter when she blinks, can feel her breath on your lips.

you can feel how hot your cheeks are, sweat collecting in your clenched fists. she's studying you, eyes flicking over your face, when your tongue pokes out to wet your lips, purely out of habit and stress, her eyes dart down and watch the movement, snapping back up to your eyes once you were done.

and then suddenly, she blinks and there's a change in the atmosphere. there's a curl of her lips, her eyes conveying something you can't quite decipher.

"do you... like me y/n?"

you blush impossibly brighter, "i-i- well- i-"

then her lips are on yours, just the barest brush of her skin against yours, like a sigh against your lips, but when she pulls away, she doesn't go far, her lips still hovering over yours, looking up at you through her eyelashes.

"it's okay if you do."

you're completely dumbstruck, hand twitching, wanting to reach up and feel your lips, to see if this was really happening.

"because i'd be lying if i said i didn't find you attractive."

your mind goes blank, struggling to catch up. "w-what?"

"i don't kiss just anyone. nayeon may have made that comment about how many people i bring home but none of them compare to you. you're different. you don't want me just because i'm pretty and easy."

"i- i-"

she leans in, pecking you softly again, before leaning back fully to give you space, turning on her heel. "think about it y/n. once you have an answer, stop avoiding me. you know where to find me." and then she's stepping outside the classroom, and you feel like you can finally breathe again, letting your brain catch up to what your body just experienced.

༺☆༻

it takes you a few days to fully come to your senses.

sana stops actively searching for you, but you still see her around campus, only she seems to have decided to give you space, not acknowledging you if you saw her in public or walked past her.

so sana obviously knew you liked her. it just didn't make sense that she could like you too. you took days trying to find any way this could've happened, tracing over every interaction you've had with her in your head over and over, trying to find any clues for her feelings towards you.

it crossed your mind briefly that this was another one of her possible ploys to embarrass you. but she was right when she confronted you, you didn't think she was that kind of person, and none of her actions or the time you've spent with her indicated that she was that kind of person, you needed to trust your own eyes and feelings, sana was being genuine.

it just baffled you how this was possibly genuine, how it was possible for sana to like someone like you. and the only way you'd be able to find out was to talk to her.

you inhale, standing outside sana's apartment. you knew momo had dance practice at this time and nayeon had told you she wouldn't be home because she was meeting up with some friends, so it would just be sana at home.

you knock tentatively, stepping back and collecting your thoughts.

it doesn't help though, because when the door opens, all comprehendible thoughts fly out of your mind, replaced with the mental energy required to memorise sana, her hair up in a messy bun, oversized t-shirt and sweatpants, large glasses on, looking like she just woke up from a nap.

sana's eyes brighten when they see you, leaning against her doorframe and raising an eyebrow expectantly.

"h-hi sana."

"hey yourself. what are you doing here?"

you take a deep breath. you had prepared for this. "why do you like me?" well that was not what you had prepared.

sana smiles amusedly, "i told you. i like that you see me for who i am rather than who i present myself to be. i think you're very cute, you get along well with my friends, you're incredibly smart, and even though you think a little too much over what other people say, we can work on that."

your eyes widen at her answer.

"it's simple y/n. do you want to be with me or not? don't overthink it. we can work out any issues that come up overtime."

"i..." you look down to your feet, blushing, then looking back up to her, "yes. i do want to be with you."

sana grins then, not missing a beat, swooping in and kissing you gently, tasting of berries and sunshine. when she breaks apart, finally welcoming you into her apartment, she teases, "i finished our project by the way. you owe me. but i'll accept kisses as payment."

you whine, finally letting yourself be free around her, no longer hesitating to do what you've wanted to this entire semester, bring her up into a kiss that hopefully makes up for the utter loser you've been in her presence.

#sana #minatozaki sana #twice sana #sana x reader #twice x reader #twice sana x reader #twice imagines #sana imagines #dovveri

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margowritesthings · 4 months ago

Text

I'll Be Home for Christmas (If Only in My Dreams)

A Christmas gift for @cassidylynnj <3

Being shut away in a safehouse wasn't exactly how you wanted to spend this Christmas, but somehow Steve and Bucky manage to bring some festive cheer to you.

pairing: Steve Rogers x reader x Bucky Barnes word count: 5520 words warnings/tags: starts out a little sad, flirty Bucky, ever so slight suggestive language, brief mentions of passed loved ones/grief, lots and lots of festive fluff tbh authors note: Happy belated Christmas! I wrote this as a fic exchange with my wonderful friend @cassidylynnj. A lot of this was completely new to me, including writing Steve, but I loved creating it! I hope y'all have had a lovely, restful season and I wish you all the absolute best for 2025!

Christmas divider by @saradika-graphics

Endless white nothing.

It’s been 3 weeks since that day, when Bucky showed up at your work with a packed bag and a deep line between his brows, ushering you out and promising to explain when you got there. Where there is, you’re still not sure. James drove for hours, and once it got dark, it was difficult to decipher any road signs. He dodged every question, though you spotted that wince he couldn’t hide every time you asked how long you were going to be gone. Your heart sank a little, your Christmas shopping list still lying discarded on the kitchen island now.

The two of you drove deep into the woods, the headlights the only things leading the way around winding paths and douglas firs. Steve was already waiting for you at the cabin, so secluded you’re sure somebody threw a dart at a map to decide where to build the thing. Bucky always was harder to read, but the second you saw Steve’s face, you knew something was horribly wrong. The tension in his jaw, the way neither of them could properly look you in the eye in case they saw just how sad you were and caved. They told you everything, taking it in turns to divulge all the terrible, awful details, but you could hardly concentrate over the ringing in your ears. The short of it was this: Avenger’s loved ones were being targeted and people were getting hurt. Laura Barton had been attacked on her own farm, and somebody had shown up at Morgan’s school. The others were taking precautions and Steve and Bucky weren’t planning on being exceptions. You’d stay here, in hiding, while other family members of Avengers were scattered around the globe until they neutralised the threat. This little cabin in the woods was to be your home… for as long as it took.

The first week was almost peaceful. Steve and Bucky came and went between watch shifts and meetings, and even though you had to ditch your phone on the way here, it kind of felt like a detox. None of the noise of daily life, a forceful break from social media, not even the mad Christmas rush at work. The log cabin was small, but cozy. Draughty, but the boys made sure the fireplace was always stoked. Completely isolated, but a little bubble that Steve and Bucky visited to cuddle and eat with you and every so often stay over. Sometimes, it’d just be one, but occasionally you’d be lucky enough to get squished up between the two of them while they showed you just how grateful they were that you were safe. There was even a stunning view, picturesque trees dusted with snow, tiny flakes falling from the sky.

But as bubbles often do, it burst. One week turned to two which turned to three, the possibility of going home for Christmas becoming bleaker. Your boys got busier with the mission, the visits got fewer and farther between, and suddenly you found the days dragging, the worry getting so much more intense and harder to ignore. The snow fell heavier, until the vivid green leaves were swallowed up and the ground was so thick with it you could no longer see the deer tracks.

Which brings you here. With your forehead pressed against the window, your breath fogging up the cold glass. It’s all you can see. Endless white nothing. Your mind is churning, as it often does by this window. Worrying about damn near everything, missing your family, wondering just how long they can keep you cooped up in here. No, that isn’t fair. You’re here for your own safety, you know that. Steve and Bucky are doing everything they can to keep you alive, as are the rest of the team. You’re so grateful, of course you are, but it’s not all that easy. The lonely days can drag, the whistling wind sometimes the only reprieve from an unforgiving silence. At first, you tried to write, reframing this whole ordeal as some sort of retreat, but your muse quickly depleted around the same time your festive spirit and optimism did, making it oh so difficult to tell the difference between the empty page in front of you and the snowstorm outside.

Thoughts drift to home as you pull your knees up to your chest, hugging them in tightly. Wondering if your loved ones have finished their Christmas shopping, if your cousin has matched her ribbons to her wrapping paper again or if your nephew has gone to meet Santa yet. Thinking about the cookies you were so looking forward to making everyone, the new cutters you bought probably collecting dust in the drawer right now.

You’re debating if your neighbour has opened the packages you ordered when the wind breaks through the doorway, almost killing the quickly dwindling fire as Steve and Bucky both bundle inside. Though they bring a chill in with them, the warmth you feel at the sight of them seems to thaw a little of that wretched numbness growing in you. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you stand to greet them, feeling the blood rush back into your toes now that you’re not scrunched in on yourself.

“Missed you, sweetheart,” Bucky mumbles first over the thick collar of his coat, “You doin’ alright?” He sets the logs he’s carrying down by the fireplace, coming back to wrap his arms around you and place a kiss on your forehead. You nod, though Bucky doesn’t look convinced as his eyes scan over your features.

Steve discards his portion of firewood in the same pile as Bucky’s, your body instinctively turning to his when he comes for his kiss. He blows into his hands for a moment, breath warming his palms just enough to take the edge off when he cups your cheeks to raise your face up to his. Your lips meet in a tender kiss, while Bucky’s hands fall to your hips. Somehow, even though they’re fresh from a snowstorm, they’re two pillars of warmth. Some of the heaviness clinging to you dissipates instantly.

“You’re freezing, angel,” Steve almost scolds, glancing over to the fireplace. “You been sitting here all morning?”

When he lets go of your cheeks to go and fix the fire, you nod again, needing to clear your stuck throat before you can speak actual words for the first time since they were last here. “There’s not much else to do,” You explain simply, trying not to sound so ungrateful for your safety. “I missed you both, though.”

“We missed you so much, doll,” Bucky whispers into your ear, his breath tickling the shell as he pulls you into him from behind. “You’ve gotta keep that fire going, though, baby. This storm ain’t a joke.”

You hold back a scoff. As if you didn’t know, as if that storm isn’t the only thing keeping you company lately. A shrug of your shoulders as you tilt your head to the side to let Bucky pepper kisses on your neck. Steve takes no time at all to revive the fire, expert hands working to warm the room back up.

Soon, the three of you are bundled on the sofa, blanket draped over all six legs and thirty toes. Bucky has his warmer arm around you, while Steve draws gentle circles and swirls in the thighs you’ve draped over his. Right now, you’re right where you belong, sandwiched between your boys. It’s enough to drive away all those lonely thoughts. Enough to be completely content for now.

You’re trying so hard not to think about the fact that, even though they’ve just got here, they’ll eventually have to leave again. So lost in trying to enjoy the here and now that you completely miss the worried glances Steve and Bucky are sending over your head, debating who’s going to be the one to ask without having to say a single word. A language built upon nearly a century of connection you often feel honoured to exist in the middle of.

The circles on your leg still, which pulls your attention to Steve. He shifts in his seat. Clears his throat.

“So how are you, sweetheart? Really, I mean… I know it’s not easy, but-”

“I’m fine. Really, I’m fine,” you answer too soon, suddenly not able to look either of them in the eye. You don’t want to complain, don’t want to be any more of a bother than you already feel when all of Earth’s Mightiest Heroes are working to protect you while you rattle around in here.

“Talk to us, doll…” Bucky implores, pulling you closer into him, “We’re worried about you. Can’t help if you shut us out”

“Don’t be,” you plead, finally dragging your eyes up to meet his, hating the concern you see written on both their faces, “I’m okay. I just…” feel lonely while you’re out risking your lives to protect me, miss the christmas tree while my life is in danger? Your throat tightens. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“It’s okay if you’re not,” Steve says softly, his palm now splayed across your thigh and squeezing gently, “You don’t have to carry this on your own.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” Bucky adds, pressing a kiss atop your head. His too kind words make you flinch away.

“You’re doing enough for me. For all of us. You don’t need to be worrying about me missing a stupid Christmas tree on top of all that.” You’re embarrassed that you’ve even said it aloud, even though you know the issue runs much deeper than that. Bucky and Steve’s eyes both flicker between you and each other, while you wish the ground would just swallow you up whole in punishment for your outburst.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just… not so easy, being alone like this all the time. I miss everyone, miss my friends, my family… my little flat with the Christmas lights I put up and that tree we decorated together… I know I must sound insane, thinking about all this trivial, meaningless stuff while people are in so much danger. I just can’t help it when I’m up here all on my own.”

You watch Steve deflate in real time, his shoulders sinking as he processes your words. He pulls his hand out from under the blanket, grabbing yours to bring it to his lips. The kiss is tender and warming on your skin and it makes your chest ache. Even amongst all this, they always find kindness.

“You’re not insane, baby. Not even close,” Bucky whispers into your hair, “and we’re so sorry you have to go through this.”

Tears well in your eyes at his apology. “No, no, please don’t apologise. I know you’re doing everything you can and I’m so so grateful and-”

“Hey, hey… it’s alright,” Steve soothes, his voice steady. “We know how grateful you are. But we’re also sorry. What you’re going through right now is tough, sweetheart, and it breaks my heart every time we have to leave. Trust me when I tell you we’re going as fast as we can so me and Buck can get you back home. With us. Where you belong.”

The picture forms so clearly in your mind. In your own bed, squished between two heated bodies, hard muscles and soft skin and long nights and slow kisses and all the time in the world. No stolen moments between missions, checking the clock and watching on alert every time a deer stalked past. You’d like that. Very much so.

“She’s right though, Steve,” Bucky starts, fingers absentmindedly running through a little section of hair fallen free from your ponytail, “it is depressing as shit in here. I’ve seen barracks more festive than this.”

Steve’s frown forms at Bucky’s choice of language, but it settles into the lines in his forehead as he looks around the palace you’ve tried so hard to call home these last weeks. It’s pretty bare, with each piece of furniture a different soulless shade of grey. A far cry from the festive sanctuary you’d left behind.

Fingers still entwined in yours, Steve straightens his spine and leans forward in his seat.

He pulls a genuine laugh from you for the first time in days when he says, “It is depressing as shit.”

They stayed for as long as they possibly could, talking through everything with you until that heaviness on your chest was replaced with a quiet hope. You kissed them both and saw them out, waving them off until they were tiny dots in the snow. Missing the plans that formed on their cold walk back to base.

You feel refreshed after talking so openly with Steve and Bucky, determined to approach the rest of your time here with optimism and kindness to yourself. Keep the fire stoked, get dressed every day, keep your daily gratitudes. Make the best of what you have, especially when your boys are here. Stay strong. If not for yourself, then to make this all worth it.

You’re folding paper you’d found in a cupboard into a makeshift journal when you first hear muffled voices. It startles you, expecting neither Steve nor Buck to be back with you so soon and deducing the origin must be something violent. You stand, survival instinct making you wield a nearby pen as some sort of magic wand as your defense from the intruder. As the voices get louder, panic sets in and numbs your tongue. The door swings open, revealing the very tip of a… tree?

“I really don’t think this is gonna go through the doorway, Buck.”

“It’ll fit. We’ll make it fit.”

“I’ve heard that before.” “Yeah, and haven’t I always made it fit?”

You can feel the glare Steve is throwing Bucky through the wall of the cabin, no x-ray vision required. You lower the pen to your side as your curiosity takes over, walking you to the doorway. Sure enough, your boys are back, standing on either end of a huge douglas fir, snow still clinging to its leaves that shake off onto the porch.

“Hey, doll.” Bucky stands up front, gripping the top of the tree with his vibranium hand while waving with the other. He grins like a kid at… well, Christmas. “Couldn’t stay away from ya’. Figured we’d bring you a little something to cheer you up.”

“A little something? That thing is huge.” You retort, the smile on your face betraying the accusation in your voice.

“Bigger’s better.” Bucky smirks, raising and lowering his eyebrows suggestively. You’re giggling, so hard you almost miss Steve grumble from the back end of the tree.

“Yeah, yeah, Buck, your dick is huge. We know. Can we get this thing inside before we let all the cold in?”

Somehow, in Bucky’s infinite wisdom, they do make it fit, and are pulling the very base of the tree through the doorway when you can finally get your hands on them. The cold clinging to both of them bites at your skin but you don’t care as you drag them both closer to you.

“I didn’t think I’d see either of you again today… Especially not with a big ass Christmas tree. What’s going on?”

“Couldn’t stand to see you so sad, sweetheart. There’s not much we can do about being stuck here, but you said you missed Christmas so we figured we’d bring a little Christmas to you.” Steve presses a kiss to the top of your head as you snuggle into them, only now noticing the backpacks they’re both carrying too.

“There’s not much to work with out here, so we had to go old school,” Bucky explains, pulling away from the hug briefly to shrug his bag off his shoulder and drop it next to the tree.

“It’s traditional,” Steve counters, almost scolding in his tone. “Christmas like when me and Buck were kids.”

“Same thing.” Bucky shrugs, while your gaze falls to the tree taking up nearly half the space of your cabin.

“Did… did you cut this down just now?”

“Ain’t no tree store in the middle of nowhere, doll.”

You roll your eyes at Bucky’s smart mouth, playfully pinching his bicep before breaking away from them to get a better look at the tree. It really is ridiculously large and you’re 90% sure it won’t even stand without bending at the ceiling, but your heart still aches at the thought of what Bucky and Steve have done for you. The thought of them bickering out there in the snow, wanting to find you the very best one to put a smile back on your face has your cheeks straining.

“And… What's in the bags? If I even dare ask.” The grin is unstoppable now as you watch Steve and Buck take off their coats and shake the snow from themselves..

“Supplies, of course.” Buck teases, kissing your cheek on his way to the kitchen, “200, right?”

“200,” Steve confirms to Bucky, picking up both bags before you get the chance of a sneak peek. “Patience, baby.” He winks, playful, boyish grin lighting his face up.

“200 what?” You follow them both into the kitchen, finding Bucky fiddling with the oven while Steve unpacks both bags out onto the island. So far, you can spot some twine, matches, and a tinfoil parcel that you think might be popcorn.

“Degrees,” Bucky says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You didn’t eat all those oranges, did you?”

He looks relieved when you slowly shake your head no, your mind whirring to catch up with your surroundings. Popcorn, oranges… old school, Bucky had said.

“We’re making Christmas decorations?” You guess, hope and excitement blending into a smile that makes it all worth it for Steve and Buck.

“Clever girl.” Bucky praises, as Steve starts pulling an assortment of candles and tealights from the second bag. There’s a whole pile of stuff now: pomegranates, candy canes, newspapers, even-

“Is that an iPod Nano??” The astonishment in your voice is clear as you pick the little purple device up, the screen lighting up in your palm. An old school Christmas, indeed.

Steve looks a strange mixture of proud and somewhat confused when he pulls out a portable speaker and adds, ”Bruce set it up for us. Says it’s completely untraceable, but he put all the Christmas songs on there. Every single one.”

He’s not wrong. You spin your thumb around the pressure pad, watching Earth’s entire festive discography flash before your eyes. Everyone from Mariah Carey to Nat King Cole. Emotion wells in your chest, forms tears that sit on your waterline. This is too much. Everything they’re already doing for you, and now this? Working so hard to keep you happy.

“You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble, you know you’re doing enough…” You mumble, watching both frowns develop simultaneously. Gods, you don’t want to sound so ungrateful again, but it’s hard sometimes not to feel like such a burden when two supersoldiers wait on you hand and foot.

“And miss Christmas with our favourite girl? I don’t think so.” Bucky weaves around the island to find his way to you and Steve. You feel the cold pinch of vibranium on flesh as he takes your hand to bring it up to his lips. He lowers his voice, “you know we’d go to the ends of the Earth for you, doll. Pulling down a tree or two is nothing.”

And you know he means it. They both do. They’d tear the multiverse apart for you, spend their Christmas swapping watch duties to keep you safe, even find you a freaking iPod Nano in the grand old age of 2024. You look between them, finding such honesty and love in their eyes your heart hurts.

That smile starts to warm you from the inside out again as you clutch the Nano tight to your chest. It might actually be your favourite Christmas present ever.

“You ready to bring a little Christmas cheer to this place, angel?” Steve asks, hand cupping the back of your head. You nod, unable to actually stop smiling now they’ve convinced you that you’re worth all this and more.

“So ready.” You dock the iPod, while Steve and Bucky both gently caress your back through your cable jumper. The moment is so tender and perfect and-

“YOU’RE HERE, WHERE YOU SHOULD BE-” Kelly Clarkson screeches, making all three of you jump an inch. Now shaking fingers quickly manage to shut the song off, leaving you with the residue of Bucky’s laughter ringing in the air. You can’t help but giggle too, watching two of the world’s bravest heroes startled by an American Idol.

“Sorry, sorry. Modern Christmas music is not the vibe, noted.” You hold your hands up in a mock surrender before turning back to the speaker dock. “Wait, hang on, I think it’s sorted by year…” you think aloud, scrolling all the way back to the top. To the likes of Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra and Ella Fitzgerald.

Dulcet tones fill the space between your bodies when you press play, classic strings melting into the honeyed, mellow voice of Bing Crosby telling the three of you to have yourselves a merry little Christmas. The room feels warmer already, absolutely nothing to do with the roaring fire and everything to do with the love woven into this gesture the boys have done for you. You feel so seen, so known, so unbelievably loved it almost hurts.

“Thank you so much for this. Both of you.”

“Don’t thank us yet, doll. Not before we’ve actually managed to get that tree up and standing,” Bucky jokes, eyes now flickering between the fir and the space it should be filling.

First things first, though, the oranges.

“You’ve gotta have them in at the lowest heat for about 2 hours,” Steve explains, slicing the fruit on a board while you lay the pieces on a baking tray. You’ve never done anything like this, most of your ornaments back home hand-me-downs from family or bought at Bryant Park. There’s something really special about it, though, being taught how by men who lived in a world before tacky glittery Christmas abominations took over the world.

“And they have to be the same thickness, or else they’ll dry unevenly,” Steve adds. You look to Bucky just in time to catch his playful eye roll.

“Sir, yes, sir,” Bucky taunts, saluting the Captain (of orange slices) with a stupidly serious expression on his face. You hold your giggle best you can, batting Buck lightly on his metal arm.

“Hey! Leave him alone,” you scold, lacking any sort of conviction when you let him pull your back up against his chest.

As Steve finishes up slicing the last orange, you start to lay the slices on the tray. They both watch you fondly, Steve thinking aloud, “I used to do this with my Ma before the war. She taught me all the tricks.”

You can just see it now: a little Steve meticulously watching to make sure each piece of the garland was sliced evenly.

“We did it too,” Bucky adds, “but me and Becks just fought over who got to eat the leftover slices.”

There’s a moment where each heart in the room aches for those who aren’t, who can’t be. You wish you could have met their families, Steve’s mother, Bucky’s little sister, and thanked them for making your boys just the way they are. Steve and Bucky long for the same, think about how much they’d all truly love you. The moment passes slowly, softly, fondly. Sealed with a kiss Bucky presses to your temple from behind and one from Steve on your knuckle.

The smell of citrus still hangs in the air by the time Steve and Bucky are bickering over the tree, orange slices now drying out in the oven. You’ve been set on paper chain duty, watching them both from the couch as you cut bits of paper up into neat strips. It’s pretty much your own personal sitcom, Steve currently the only one holding the tree while Bucky looks on.

“Yeah, no. A little more to the left, actually. No, the other left. My left,” he sneers, earning a huff from Steve. He lifts the thing with ease, but by the eighth adjustment you’re not sure how long before the thing might be thrown across the room.

“I think it’s perfect right there,” you quickly add, your eyes following the branches upwards to see the tip of the tree bend at a right angle across the ceiling. “...Absolutely perfect.”

You mean it, too. It’s way too big for this room, shedding pine needles all over the place and has a definite tilt to its posture, but you’ve never seen a more beautiful tree in all your life… You just hope it stays upright till New Year.

Steve takes full credit for the tree, ‘since I did all the heavy lifting’, while Bucky tries to claim the title of project manager. One look at you, wrapped in masses of colourful, masterful paper chains, and they both know who’s really the boss here. Which is why they both follow your carefully thought out delegations in the kitchen.

“Why does Steve get the fun job?” Bucky whines, frowning at the pomegranate you’ve handed him as if it has personally offended him.

“Because I don’t trust you with the popcorn,” you answer, narrowing your eyes. “Or an open flame,” Steve adds, earning a swat from Bucky.

“It’s a precise science,” Steve explains to you, as if he’s creating a new supersoldier serum in a lab rather than cooking popcorn. One hand holds the handle of the pot, the other keeps the lid closed as he slowly shakes the kernels around the flame.

You don’t need to be looking at Bucky to know he just rolled his eyes. You’ve seen him throw a bag into the microwave and forget about it on more than one occasion, leaving your apartment to smell like burn for days to come. Really, you didn’t mind. Every time you came home, it made you think of him.

“Sure it is, Captain Kernel.” Buck mumbles, hitting the back of the pomegranate so hard he dents the rind and sends seeds shooting across the room. You pull one from your hair as you turn to him, soft laugh ringing through the room.

“I thought I was Captain Oranges? You can’t keep reusing the same jokes, pretty boy.”

“Sure I can. It’s Christmas,” Bucky argues with a ridiculous pout, reaching to pull another seed from your hair and popping it in his mouth before pulling you closer, a sticky mess of pomegranate juice waiting for you when you get there.

“Bucky!” You shriek, squirming in his arms as he laughs, utterly unrepentant.

“You all good over there, baby? Need me to stage a rescue?” Steve hasn’t stopped shaking the pan, never disrupting the rhythm, though he has leaned in closer to listen out for any pops over the squealing.

“Oh, she’s fine,” Bucky answers before you can, still pressing sticky, pomegranate kisses to whatever skin he can reach. “Just a little sticky.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute, Barnes,” you grumble, wiping some of the juice from your cheek with the back of your hand.

“You’re damn right I’m lucky,” he quips, with a cocky grin, loosening his grip just enough to let you squirm free, though not before stealing one last kiss.

When the corn is popped and the seeds are neatly in a bowl (your own doing), it’s time for the thread. This step does little more to capture Bucky’s attention than the fruit bashing did. He quickly gets distracted with trying to eat as much as he can and inappropriately touching you and Steve, both of which he manages quite a lot of. It’s a delicate task that takes enough time to bring the iPod through to the 50s and into the songs the boys aren’t so familiar with. Still classics, like Eartha Kitt and Chuck Berry, but past Steve and Bucky’s time. Vintage to you, but a strange shard of the unknown future they missed to them.

This decade of music brings a little more energy into the cabin, and by this time, the entire place smells like sweet citrus and pine. A truly festive attack on the senses. The orange slices have dried enough to thread, which you and Steve team up to tackle while Bucky lights the candles. Apparently, Steve would prefer Bucky be in charge of open flames rather than sharp needles. You’re so content in this bubble, so lost in each activity that you’ve hardly noticed the sun setting outside. The candlelight feels intimate and cozy as the three of you finally decorate the place. Hanging paper chains from the walls, wrapping your freshly made garlands around the tree.

“Aren’t they so perfectly seeded?” Bucky teases as he lifts you up onto his shoulders, allowing you to reach the tallest part of the tree to hang some of the oranges up there.

“Masterfully done, darling,” you respond, tongue pressed between your teeth as you reach for the farthest branch you can, “don’t think we could do Christmas without you.”

Steve helps you down, your frame landing right up against his as his hands fall to your hips. You feel every hard muscle against your supple body, every ridge and mound and-

“Are those candy canes in your pocket, Captain Rogers, or are you just happy to see me?”

“Both. Can’t it be both?” He teases, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“I’d honestly be kind of disappointed if it wasn’t.”

Bucky joins you at your back. “Alright, lovebirds. Break it up. I was told I had to behave at least until we finished the tree, Rodgers. No cheating.”

You’re reluctantly separated to focus on hanging candy canes by a suddenly all too dedicated to the cause Sargeant, giggling and teasing as he slips several into his own pocket for later.

The very last ornament fits right in the middle of the tree, which Steve lifts you a couple of inches off the ground to reach. The three of you stand back, admiring your handiwork. Leaning to one side, too big for the room. It’s messy and uneven and may fall down at any moment, but you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything so beautiful in your entire life.

“You think we did good, doll?” Bucky asks, the soft candlelight glowing against his skin.

“I think we did perfect.”

And the moment is just that: perfect. Peaceful and cozy and wonderful… until Elton John starts shouting about Christmas. It’s so jarring you snort, heading over to the speaker before you have to attempt to explain the concept of Elton John to men born in the 1910s. “Sorry, on it.”

You scroll back through the ages, eyes scanning over each song title until you stop near the top.

I’ll Be Home For Christmas - Bing Crosby.

A smile twitches onto your lips, heat blooming from your chest. That was what started this whole thing, wanting to go home for Christmas. Yet now, looking at your boys in front of the tree they cut down with their own two hands, the one you decorated together as a family, you realise you’ve never felt so at home in your life.

The mood instantly fixes itself as the song plays. You stand thoughtful for a moment, before you feel that familiar warmth at your back. Steve.

“Dance with me?” He whispers, fingers already running around your waist to spin you into him. He holds you in the traditional position, left hand holding yours, right on your waist as you both sway to the melody. Your eyes meet in a tender moment that feels like it lasts a lifetime, but Bing is only singing his second verse when you hear:

“Can I cut in?” Bucky’s voice interrupts, playful and hopeful and happy after watching you and Steve.

Somehow, you fit perfectly between them as the three of you dance together. It feels like a moment you could bottle in a snowglobe: the music, the warmth, the candlelight. A Christmas unlike any other, with more heart and love than you’ve ever known, not a single bit of glitter in sight.

Eventually, the song fades into another, leaving you all standing in this tangled embrace. In front of your perfect, messy tree.

“Merry Christmas, doll,” Bucky whispers, pressing a kiss on your cheek.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” Steve echoes, his head resting atop yours thanks to the considerable height difference.

“Merry Christmas, boys,” you whisper back, eyes glistening as you unravel just enough to look up at them. “I love you both so very much.”

And it doesn’t matter where you are geographically on the 25th of December. It never did. You were always going to be home for Christmas, as long as Steve and Bucky were by your side.

#stucky x reader #poly!stucky x reader #steve x reader x bucky #bucky barnes x reader #stucky fluff #bucky x reader x steve #steve rogers x reader #margowritesthings #stucky fanfic #stucky x you #steve rogers #Bucky Barnes

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domesticgoddess22 · 4 months ago

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wish upon a cowboy

chapter 2: i like my whiskey neat

pairing: raider!joel miller x fem!reader Summary: A rugged raider takes you under his wing after hunters leave you for dead. The two of you form a team and you quickly grow attached to him–mumbling, grumbling, protective Joel Miller. When you divulge your wishes to experience life before the outbreak, Joel decides to make them come true. All of them. warnings: age gap (early 20s/mid 40s), praise kink, breeding kink, daddy kink, unplanned pregnancy, unprotected piv, canon-typical violence, light choking, dom!Joel, angst word count: 4.6k (this is ch 2) rating: 18+ explicit MDNI masterlist here

Down a winding, unpaved road, you and Joel traverse deeper into the trees. Birds sing their afternoon tunes and the rubble from civilization is completely out of eye’s reach, fooling you into believing that the world is still as it once was.

A lone cabin comes into view, seemingly untouched from the horrors. The windows are intact and not shattered, the vegetation hasn’t swallowed the structure, and there’s a truck neatly parked beside the house, dusty and unused.

Inside, like a perfectly preserved moment in history, the cabin still has a few pots and pans, blankets, and a bed. Your eyes light up when you notice the fireplace in the living room. September in Texas was blazing hot during the day. At night, it was far too cold for your liking.

“Looks like we don’t have to cuddle tonight,” you say playfully. Not that the two of you ever did anything like that.

“You sound disappointed.”

“Not as disappointed as you're about to be when I tell ya I’m an excellent cuddler,” you add.

“That so?” Joel tilts his head and you search his expression for any sign of emotion, but his gaze is rigid. Bored even.

He isn’t interested. Quit with the flirting and pull yourself together.

“Hungry?” Joel asked. Like he always did, ready to provide for you.

“A bit, yeah.”

“I‘m gonna get us some firewood ‘n see if I can catch us a rabbit.” He declares before dipping outside. “You wanna see if you can find anythin’ useful in here?”

“You ever gonna teach me to hunt?”

Joel’s mouth pulls into a subtle smile. “Soon. Just relax for now ‘n I’ll take care of it.”

You think about how sweet it is for him to think about your comfort. It’s true that your feet are in blistering pain and you’d give anything to just kick back on the sofa and snooze.

Sinking into the cushions you dusted and wiped clean with a damp cloth, you drift off to thoughts of the rugged man outside, chopping wood and hunting game. Thoughts of what it’d feel like to have him kiss you, tongue exploring your mouth, hands groping your soft mounds. You craved to feel his touch, and longed for his faroff gaze to focus on you and only you.

A gunshot shakes the quiet earth. Through the glass window, you see birds emerging from the trees in swarms like dust exploding from an old quilt. You peek outside to see dark storm clouds brewing in the distance.

Joel returns about an hour later with an armful of firewood and kindling. The sunlight slowly fades, casting a soft, orange glow on the logs–receding gently with each passing minute until the house is covered in shadows, the only source of light now is flickering flames at the center of the room.

“Cabin is nice,” you hum, poking the fire with a stick before tossing it into the heap. The flames swallow it appreciatively, dancing more aggressively from your offering.

“‘S good for the night.”

“Just the night? Why don’t we stay here for longer? Settle down for a while–it’s gonna get colder soon, and this seems like a good place to stay for the wi–”

“Ain’t a good idea.” He clicks his tongue, cutting you off before you can say more.

“Why not?”

“‘cuz I said so.”

“Joel. This place is safe. You saw that little corner shop we were in. It was barely picked over,” you plead and it was true. Places like this were so detached from the cities that they’d have less clickers, and if you were lucky, more stuff to scavenge.

“We don’t know who’s around here. Ain’t never been in these parts before so it’s best we keep movin’.”

Always so strict, this one.

You don your best puppy dog eyes. “Two days. Just–just hear me out…” Your hands wrapped around the neck of a whiskey bottle tucked in your bag. It was a lucky find, sitting in the back of one of the cupboards. “I promise it’ll be funnn.”

He tuts, shaking his head but a subtle smile betrays him.

There it is.

That smile that sends your heart soaring.

He shifts his weight to one side and crosses his arms across his broad chest. The green flannel shirt now stretches across his muscles, nearly ripping at the seams. “Fine,” he caves. “But just two.”

“Who knew Joel Miller liked to have a little fun?”

“scuse me?”

“You’re always so strict. That’s all.”

He frowns. “Ain’t strict.”

“Okay, stern.”

“Ain’t stern. I was a lot of fun back in my day, I’ll have ya know.”

“Okay, cowboy,” you tease.

“Alright, miss know-it-all, how am I strict?” Brow cocked, elbows resting on his knees. “Enlighten me.”

“Well–first of all, you’re all do what I say any time I try to challenge you on somethin’.” You exaggerate his southern drawl and he narrows his eyes at you. “Plus, you won’t even tell me anything personal about you.”

The first drops of rain pitter patter against the cabin walls.

“First of all, I say what I say ‘cuz I know what’s best for us.”

Us.

You loved the sound of that. Like you were a team now and he wanted to protect that.

Your lips fold together, hiding that damn smile that creeps up whenever he says something you like.

“Been through a hell of a lot more than you have ‘n I know what we need to do. Where we need to be. Who and what we need to stay away from.” He leans back against the couch cushion, gazing into the fire that dances in his dark orbs. “Was doin’ just fine until you came along, if I’m bein’ honest.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that. I’m a hoot.”

“You… are trouble. The amount of times I’ve had to run into a Randall’s to search for Twizzlers is plain stupid.”

“Shut up. They’re good and you know it.” You press the neck of the whiskey bottle to your lips and tilt it back, letting the liquid heat bloom across your tongue.

“They were good ten years ago. Not worth it now.”

You hand him the bottle and his calloused fingers brush yours.

“Ya ain’t got any sense of danger, dunno how you made it this far before you met me, baby.”

Baby.

Joel runs a hand through his hair. “Far as I can tell, I’m all you've got, so have a little faith in me.”

He wasn’t wrong. Mom and dad were long gone. FEDRA killed them for leaving the walls past curfew. Had to do with contraband or somethin’, you weren’t too sure. Just knew that it was bad enough to get them killed. You were fifteen when it happened and on your own. Took ten years later for you to bust out of there with a desert eagle and a backpack full of ammo and granola bars.

Not that you got very far.

Hunters found you trekking along the outskirts of Austin, shot you down just because they wanted your piece of shit backpack. You were lucky they left you where they did and that Joel found you when he had.

You never imagined it would lead you here, though. Sitting in a cabin right outside of the middle of nowhere Texas, drinking a bottle of crown with the man who tossed a coin and snatched you from the grim reaper with his bare hands.

And you wanted to thank him for it.

Kiss his co–

Stop.

The rain picks up, nearly drowning out the crackle of the fire with it’s steady rhythm.

“How’d you get this far all by yourself?” There's enough liquid courage running through your veins now, and probably his too, so you figure now is as good as ever to learn the secrets that build Joel Miller.

“Ain’t always been just me.”

“Oh? You save someone else from death and let her tag along with you for a while?” There’s no way he’d pick up on the jealousy hidden beneath the slight strain in your voice. The worry that he’s got someone, somewhere, waiting on him. You run your fingers through your hair and pretend to be disinterested.

“Not quite. Brother, actually. We used to hunt together, but uh–haven’t seen ‘em in a few years.”

The breath hitched in your throat finally escapes.

“Do you know where he is?”

“Thinkin’ he’s up north from here. Had to know he was alright, so I got a tip from the fireflies and they suspect he’s in Wyoming.”

“You gonna go see ‘im?”

Joel breathes in, eyes watching the dancing flames. He brings the bottle to his lips–the same place your lips were, you note–and tilts his head back.

When he rests it back on his knee, he rubs his thumb against the smooth amber glass.“We had a little disagreement ‘n he took off.”

You scoot across the carpet to sit a little closer to him, letting the weight of your body rest on the balls of your feet. Your hand is a featherweight on his knee. “You should go see ‘im.”

“No.”

“Come on. The fact that you have a family member that’s still alive is a fuckin’ miracle! You should celebrate that and reunite with your brother.”

“Ain’t gonna happen.”

He leans forward and offers you a swig and you accept, letting your hand abandon his knee.

Even though you’d only known the man for a short while, you were familiar with his moods.There were a lot of things he didn’t like to talk about, and if you pried too much he’d ignore you. Change the subject. Some would probably say he was cold, but you knew that there was pain beneath his hardened exterior.

There was a silence that fell over you for a while, a comfortable silence as the two of you watched the fire and clung to the smallest shred of comfort left in the world. A warm fire. A false sense of safety–for the night. Someone to sit next to.

And then his gruff voice rips through the silence, scraping the floor with its rich baritone. “Forty-eight.”

“What?” You knew what, but you couldn’t believe he’d just shared something else about himself.

“‘M forty-eight.”

Fuck.

Forty-fucking-eight.

You knew he was older, sure, but now that you had a number it really sank in. It’s not like you were bothered by his age, but it was moreso a confirmation that he wasn’t going to do anything with you and you weren’t ready to accept that.

“You?”

“Me?”

“Your age.”

“Ah,” you hesitate before speaking again. As if to buy yourself time and keep him guessing for a stretch longer. You almost think about lying but the truth slips from your lips before you cook one up. “I’m twenty-five.”

Joel’s arm is draped across the back cushion of the couch, casting his gaze over his shoulder at something in the room. His expression bored, legs spread, features hardened.

This is the first time in your life you wished you were forty. You take another sip of whiskey to wash the thought away.

You’ve had your fair share of booze at this point and now you’re buzzing, the weight that’s been on your chest for weeks is slowly lifting.

He rolls his head back to you and casually says, “Figured you were in your twenties or somethin’. Makes sense.”

“What makes sense?”

“Why you ain’t careful,” he’s smirking at you now and you roll your eyes.

“I’m careful when I need to be, Miller.”

“Yeah. Well ya got me now to look after ya. Keep ya outta trouble ‘n all.”

What does it even matter if he’s twenty something years your senior? It’s the apocalypse and you’re both adults.

Fuck it.

“Musta been lonely before, just you and nobody else...” Your eyes are on his denim, right around his knees and then up, up, up until you reach his face. “You ever uh–you ever been with anybody since the outbreak?”

Joel’s eyes snap to yours. “What?”

“You know what, Mr. Quietly Charming. Can’t imagine you haven’t run into someone looking for a little escapism?”

His brow lifts when the realization finally hits and he clears his throat. “I’ve had a few...”

“A few? Impressive considering there aren't a lot of people around. So you got a type then?”

“Not really.”

“Oh come on, everybody's got a type.”

“Well…I like a woman that's got a mind of her own.”

“How modern of you to let the woman take control.” There’s no hiding your smile that’s stretching from ear to ear.

“Didn't say that. I like her to have a mind of her own… during the day. At night…” He leans forward, voice low, the scent of whiskey on his tongue. “...I like ‘em submissive.”

You sink your teeth into your bottom lip.

“You been with anybody?”

“He was a FEDRA guard. Took him for a spin so I could steal his ration cards.”

Joel chuckles. “Now why doesn't that surprise me?”

“And just what do you mean by that?”

“Nothin’ bad. Maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe you do have what it takes to survive.”

“That I do.”

“But you could learn a thing or two about fightin’,” Joel's hand lands on your shoulder, giving you a gentle squeeze. It's the first time he's touched you since the day he found you and carried you to the doc.

When he removes his hand and leaves your shoulder cold, you feel a desperate need to feel more of him. The two of you drink and talk and it isn’t long before Joel sheds more of those thick outer layers of his, revealing little pieces about himself that you didn’t know before.

He used to play guitar, still would if he had one around. The Eagles and Pink Floyd were a few of his favorite artists to play to. Back before the outbreak he was a carpenter, could build anything from a wardrobe to a house with his bare hands.

The key takeaway: Joel was good with his hands.

“How do you normally take your whiskey?”

“Only way I can take it. Neat.”

“Not now. Back in your day when you were loads of fun. I would love to hear more about that too, by the way. Ya ever get arrested? Steal a car? Have a one night stand and knock somebody up?”

Joel chuckles, getting up from his seat and kneeling in front of you. “The hell kinda guy did you think I was back then?” You feel his calloused palm brush against your fingers again as he takes the bottle from your grasp. “I think you’ve had enough of this for tonight.”

“‘I was just gettin’ started.”

Joel reaches over you to set the bottle up on the aged wooden table, filling your lungs with his smoky aroma the closer he gets.

“I stole plenty of cars.” The glass thuds against wood, Joel rests his palm on the edge of table so that he’s caged you in. “Since the outbreak.”

Deep brown eyes bore into you, a muscle working in his jaw as he contemplates the rest of his story.

You loved his stories.

“Wasn’t worth it to steal back then–we had rules.”

His scent. This position. It’s making you positively feral. You look up at him, doe eyed and eager.

“What were your rules when it came to sex?” A bold inquisition, but you're ready for the answer.

There's a brief pause as Joel’s dark gaze is on your lips. Parted, plump–kissable, you hope.

“Don’t go lookin’ at me like that, sweetheart. If you keep givin’ me those eyes, ’m not going to be able to control myself.”

“Then don’t.”

He groans with temptation. “You’re young. I should know better.”

“What happened to fun Joel?” You tease.

He chuckles darkly, his bedroom eyes focused on the curves of your lips. “Tell me what you want, baby and I’ll give it to ya.”

A single beat of time passes, letting the heat between you two fester for just an agonizing stretch longer. Joel traces circles into your inner thigh with his finger.

“You said you like ‘em submissive,” the sound of your voice is sultry, inviting. “Show me what you’ve got, Miller.”

Now his hand is possessively gripping your thigh. He nods, a silent agreement between the two of you that what you once were to each other is now going to change tonight. What was about to transpire would undoubtedly redefine your relationship, but you didn’t care. You needed him, so, so badly. And by the burning look of desire in his gaze, he needed you too.

Thick fingers take hold of your chin and force you to look up, cranking your neck back so Joel is dominating your view of the world. “Needy lil’ thing,” he teases, but his tone is thick with approval. With lust.

Joel’s lips crash onto yours, his hand still firmly gripping your jaw, digging his thumb into your cheek bone to better force his entry. His tongue commands yours, lapping in a circular motion to taste you.

Strong arms wrap around your waist, slowly laying you back until you’re pinned under his heat.

The wetness of his tongue glides across your neck with insatiable desire while a rough hand cups your mound, kneading your breasts.

Joel’s urgency felt animalistic as he explored every inch of you, hands sliding down to your waist, saving the feel of you to his memory for now until the end of his days.

He smooths his hand across your stomach, down until his calloused fingertips brush your waistline. You moan into his mouth, grabbing a handful of his plaid shirt to reel him in closer to you. He groans, rutting into you. “Fuck. You’re already soakin’ wet for me?”

“Mhmm,” you say, eyelids heavy with lust.

Licking his lips cravenly, he tugs your panties down with ease. Your back arches when the pads of his fingers slide along the wet slick of your swollen bud, a euphoric feeling coupled with a desperate thirst to taste his lips again. As if he heard your plea, his tongue is sliding against yours again, the taste smooth like whiskey. His fingers glide across your folds, slowly at first, gradually picking up the pace as he masterfully brings you to the edge.

“Joel, I want you so bad.”

“I know, baby. I know.” He nuzzles his nose into your neck and breathes deep before looking back at you, pupils blown out. “Just be patient. I wanna make ya feel good first–think ya can do that?”

You bite back a moan and nod your head with eager obedience. Joel lifts your shirt, revealing your bare breasts as he hums in approval, his lips graze your skin and then he’s biting and sucking your sensitive peaks with fervor, groaning and sucking, sucking and groaning. Two fingers sink into you and your jaw goes slack, the sensation utterly electrifying from head to toe.

He pumps into you with a slow and steady rhythm, rubbing the pad of his thumb against your clit. You feel his cock hard and throbbing against your leg, his hips bucking into you with carnal need, a male response to the sounds of your feminine moans.

“Good girl, show me how much you like it–lemme hear your pretty little voice.”

“Joel–please–I need more–I need–” You babble.

“Just be patient. If I take you right now, baby ‘m gonna split you open. Need to warm up this lil’ pussy first.” He sinks a third finger into your heat, walls tightly constricting around him. You beg and plea for more as he pulls his name from your lips over and over again until finally, he’s guiding you to your sweet release. Needy fingers pull on the fabric of his shirt, toes curling with pleasure, mouth agape as you absorb the blissful sensation of Joel’s wide fingers, knuckledeep inside your cunt.

Then the fullness of him is gone and the emptiness of the room is replaced with the angry sound of a zipper. Between your knees you see Joel’s massive, pulsating cock bucked in his hand and a dark, lustful smile painted on his lips to match. “Spread your legs,” he growls.

His hand is pressed to your thigh, spreading your legs even further apart, drawing his hips closer to yours. You shift your gaze downward to see the bead of precum oozing from the head of his cock. His tip tastes the sweet slick of your entrance just before he plunges into you and your back arches violently, jaw slack as you struggle to adjust to his impossible girth. He pulls out slowly only to thrust back into you, curses pouring from his lips at the feel of your walls snuggly wrapped around him.

It’s this moment that makes you realize that you were made for him.

And if you weren’t, you were utterly ruined. Your pussy would forever be molded to the shape of him.

“So tight baby–fuck. You’re takin’ me so well–such a good girl.” The man was so deep inside you and drunk with lust, he could barely construct coherent sentences.

“M-More!” You beg despite his brutal pace, you craved for more of him.

He craved more of you, fucking you dumb, the wet sound of his balls slapping against your skin is drowning out the downpour outside. You’re moaning at a decibel so high, if anyone else is in the neighborhood, they’d surely hear you. Everytime you moan, Joel groans. Sometimes he growls, usually when he was buried to the hilt in your heat and you’d grind against him, urging him to stay there and never leave, wrapping your legs around his hips.

“H-Harder.”

“Needy lil’ thing, beggin’ for more.” The pace quickens and so does the amount of kisses on your neck and the sweet nothings you only dreamed he’d be capable of saying to you. His praises are endless. How tight your pussy is, how wet you are, what a good girl you are for him.

Wanton moans pour from your lips after each praise–shameless noises, really, but you don’t care. You scream for more, more, more as he mercilessly pounds into you, fucking you with the same ferocity that he fights with.

“You like that baby? You like getting fucked by someone old enough to be your daddy?”

“Come in me. Please. Please.”

“Can’t do that, darlin’.” He smiles sinfully into your neck, licking and nibbling at the sensitive spot just under your ear. “But I wish–wanna fill you up so fuckin’ bad ‘til you’re full of me.”

His hand firmly grips the base of your throat, a grip strong enough to keep you pinned down but not enough to hurt you.

“Joel–I’m gonna come!”

“Come on my cock like a good girl.” The deep command of his voice sets you over the edge and Joel takes you to the finish line, thrusting into you in slow, long strides and then merciless pounding. “Baby, you’re suckin’ me in, ‘m not gonna be able to hold it.”

You wrap your legs tightly around him, body still convulsing as you ride your high, walls fluttering dangerously around his cock.

“Fuck it,” he says through gritted teeth, taking your waist in each of his hands with a bruising grip. His thighs are slapping into you, jeans still half on, his loosened belt buckle branding the right side of your ass and then he’s pouring himself into you. Hot ropes of Joel’s cum fill you to the brim, his cock pulsing, straining to empty his last drop. Warm seed trickles down your ass.

His chest is pressed against yours, both of you heaving as you settle from your climax. The only sounds are the crackling fire, the once harsh downpour of rain that’s now reduced to a gentle simmer, and the sound of your breath tangled with his.

“Again.” His voice is more of a demand than a request, his cock twitching inside of you with interest.

“Joel, I can’t take it anymore.”

He grabs your chin, forcing you to look at his eyes, wild with lust. “Yes, you can.”

Your chests are heaving and foreheads tacky with sweat.

“Mmmmm, Joel…”

The sounds of your tryst carry on until the early morning hours when Joel’s desire finally subsides. Your ear is pressed to his chest, listening to the sound of his beating heart, his ragged breathing. In between breaths, he says, “Been thinkin’...” The rumble of his gravelly voice reverberates in your ear.

“Oh yeah?”

“‘Bout helpin’ you finish that bucket list of yours.”

“I don’t have a bucket list, Joel.”

“Learn to drive, eat pie, go to school, go on a date…” He starts listing everything you mentioned earlier. “Ain’t that what you wanted?”

“Yeah, but it’s a fantasy. Can’t go on a date at the diner when the world has ended.”

“Sure ya can, just gotta have a little bit of ‘n imagination.” The scruff of Joel’s beard brushes against your forehead as he speaks to you. “Close your eyes.”

You oblige, a playful smirk on your face.

“You’re wearin’ one ‘a them summer dresses. Pink.”

“Yellow,” you argue.

“I like yellow.” Joel says with approval.

“Does it hug my chest real nice?”

“Sure does, darlin’. But I ain’t just lookin’ at that. ‘M lookin’ at how beautiful your eyes, wide and lit up with excitement for our first date.”

“Go on.”

“I just got off of work, picked you up in my old chevy and drove us down to 4th Street to the town’s favorite, the Millcreek Diner. Fifties style, decked out with a jukebox and red leather barstools, and a glowing neon sign that says Milkshakes ‘n Fries.” There’s a vivid picture painted in your head as Joel narrates the world from before, images pulled together from old photos and books you stumbled across throughout your travels.

“I want a burger. Extra fries, extra cheese, and a milkshake.”

“Good choice.”

“What’s it taste like?”

“The burger is juicey ‘n savory–Fresh. Fries are salty and crispy, ‘n then they melt in your mouth after the first couple crunches.”

Your mouth waters at the thought of having something so hot–so fresh.

“And the milkshake?”

“‘S a little cold, perfect for dessert. Tastes like sweet strawberries. Comes with a little cherry on top of the whipped cream. You ever had a cherry before?”

“Once.”

“Tastes like that, but sweeter. The color is bright red. They’re called maraschino cherries or som’ like that.”

“You sure know a lot about things.”

“Was basic stuff everybody knew back then. And shh–ain’t done with our date yet.” He clears his throat and continues, “Watcha goin’ to school for, darlin’?”

“Film. Parents think it’s a bad idea though. It’s not practical, probably won’t pay the bills. Blah, blah, blah.”

“Bills. That’s one thing I can say I’m glad is gone.”

“Joel.”

“Sorry, sorry. Yeah–film, ‘s good. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with following your dreams. Everybody can’t play it safe and be a carpenter like me, otherwise we wouldn’t have nothin’ to look forward to at the end of the day. Movies, books, all the good stuff.”

“Yeah, well I think carpenters are pretty sexy. Might even mean a guy is good with his hands, no?”

He rolls over so his body is hovering over yours. There’s an arrogant smirk on his face, his breath ghosts your lips when he says, “you tell me, sweetheart. But we ain’t even had our first kiss yet.”

“Kiss me then.”

This time his lips gently press yours, his tongue slowly sliding between your lips. Unlike the makeout session from earlier, this kiss is sweet and gentle. Like the kiss of a lover.

You couldn’t imagine a better way to end a first date.

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#joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel x reader #joel x reader smut #joel x you #the last of us #fanfic

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i05wook · 11 months ago

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NOW LOADING... GAMER BF! GUNWOOK HEADCANONS!

PAIRING: GAMER BF! PARK GUNWOOK X GN! READER

GENRE: FLUFF

SUMMARY: GAMER BF! GUNWOOK MINECRAFT HEADCANONS

WORD COUNT: 278

AUTHORS' NOTES: THIS CAME AROUND AFTER A CONVERSATION ON THE ZUMBLR DISCORD SERVER AFTER I SAW A VIDEO OF GUNWOOK WITH HIS SILLY LITTLE MINECRAFT TORCH THAT HANBIN BOUGHT HIM AND I JUST HAD TO MAKE THIS!!!

DOWNLOADING...██████████

Gamer bf! Gunwook who makes the prettiest house and farm for you both to live in. Gamer bf! Gunwook who will defend you from all the hostile mobs, even if it means he loses his enchanted diamond armour. Gamer bf! Gunwook who picks all the types of flowers in the world and leaves them in a chest where you last logged out along with a letter across a couple of signs. Gamer bf! Gunwook who says he’s over this stupid game, but then 10 minutes later he’s back rebuilding the farm after a creeper blew it up Gamer bf! Gunwook who if anyone touches his server, there’s murder (evidence: he’s already chased gyuvin around the dorms after he accidentally killed your family of pink sheep!!) Gamer bf! Gunwook who goes mining for diamonds and lapis so he can enchant a diamond sword for you Gamer bf! Gunwook who arranges (and builds) the cutest minecraft dates on the server. Gamer bf! Gunwook who builds an automatic farm after hearing you jokingly complain once about hating farming wheat on the game. Gamer bf! Gunwook who also built you a honey farm for the bumblebees after seeing you excited about them every time you come across one in game. Gamer bf! Gunwook who builds a statue in the shape of a brown bear for you as a surprise but now he uses it to house the baby zombie you declared as your child after you accidentally trapped it in a boat. Gamer bf! Gunwook who is adamant on placing your beds next to each other in your little wooden cottage.

NOW LOADING... ZEROBASEONE TAGLIST

@haecien @nonononranghaee

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roosterforme · 2 years ago

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The Younger Kind Part 34 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley convinces you to order a new bed by using an interesting tactic. And when you realize you were Bradley's first for something, you're already excited to find out if you can be his first again. Because he was yours, and with one simple word, Noah had you wrapped around his tiny fingers even more.

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, spanking, smut, and age gap (18+)

Length: 5500 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

After work on Friday, Bradley picked Noah up on his way home. Casey tried to talk his ear off when he arrived at the daycare center. She seemed pleased that Bradley was alone today, and she pulled the clipboard away from him with a smirk when he tried to take it from her to sign it.

"I was wondering if you wanted to grab dinner with me tonight? Or another night?" she asked, and Bradley just stared at her. "Us and Noah, of course."

She was probably the same age as you. Maybe he'd been giving Casey some sort of hope when he'd wrapped his arms around you yesterday. But even if he were single, he wouldn't go for someone who worked where Noah went to school. "I have a girlfriend, Casey. You've met her several times. She's on my approved list of people who are allowed to take Noah home."

With a sigh she set the clipboard down in front of him. "I didn't know it was serious."

"It's serious," he promised as he scribbled down his name on the correct line. And then without another word, she went to retrieve Noah for him. It was unbelievable. Suddenly, because of you, Bradley was appealing to younger women. And you were obviously appealing to everyone, including Beau Simpson. Every time Bradley saw him at work, he smirked at the admiral. That man wanted you that night at the bar, but you were Bradley's. He could get hard for you just thinking about it.

"Daddy!" shouted Noah as he ran across the small lobby.

"Hey, Bub." Bradley scooped him up and got a kiss.

"Where's Princess? I like it when you pick me up together."

Bradley shifted his gaze to Casey as he said, "Let's go home and get her."

"Do you think she made ants on logs for me?" Noah asked as Bradley carried him outside.

Bradley kissed his son and said, "I think there's a good possibility."

Before he started the engine, he texted you and let you know that Noah was asking for you and for his favorite treat. Your response left him aching to get home as quickly as possible.

My Princess: Of course I made him some ants. I know what you boys like. Dinner is nearly ready, too. Can't wait to see you Daddy.

When he finally rushed in the front door in his flight suit with Noah in his arms, you were there in the living room, ready to greet both of them.

"Princess!" Noah gushed, climbing from Bradley's arms to yours. "I made you a painting of a dinosaur in a crown."

You kissed his cheek and said, "I absolutely need to see it right now."

So Bradley pulled it out of the backpack with a smile on his face, even though you'd completely ditched him in favor of kissing Noah. Because he loved the way you interacted with his son.

You gasped when he held it up and said, "Noah! It's perfect! Let's hang it on the refrigerator." It actually just looked like some green and purple blobs, but you took it from Bradley's hand anyway as you whispered, "Hi, Daddy."

"Hey, Baby." Bradley had a lot of things in mind for you, but none of them were really appropriate at this moment, so he just gave you a soft kiss and followed you to the kitchen.

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

After Noah was in bed, you changed into one of Bradley's soft shirts and a cute pair of your underwear. You finally felt like your things were organized neatly in his house and his bedroom. Your house... your bedroom. Just thinking about it made you smile. But the bed needed to go. You'd spent a good portion of your day looking for a new one online, but everything seemed so expensive.

"Why do you look upset?" Bradley asked when he walked in, fresh out of the shower. He removed the towel from his waist and used it to dry his hair. Even when he wasn't hard, he looked huge, and you bit your lip in need.

"I'm not upset," you insisted, closing the distance to him. "Just annoyed at the price of a new bed."

Bradley ran his index finger along your lip. "You have your pretty purple princess credit card. Use it. I agree, we should have a new bed."

You kissed his finger before you said, "The one I like is over a thousand dollars."

"Princess. You know by now that I'm not going to get mad if you spend money. Thank you for giving me a heads up about the price of the bed," he said, voice deep and raspy. "It sounds fine to me."

When you tucked your face against his warm chest, you whispered, "Thank you, Daddy."

One of his big hands trailed down your back until he was cupping your butt and playing with your lace thong. He slid his index finger inside the elastic, and your nipples got hard as he ran his finger slowly up and down your rear end until you clenched around nothing. "I have an idea," he whispered, kissing the top of your head. "Maybe it would be easier for you to use the credit card if you got a punishment of sorts when you did."

"A punishment?" you asked, looking up at him puzzled with your chin resting on his chest.

"A fun one," he said with a nod, squeezing your butt. "I could spank you."

You tilted your head back and gaped up at him as he continued to work his palm along your flesh. You'd never done that before, which wasn't surprising, because you'd never been with an older man before. And that always seemed like the kind of thing a boy your own age would turn into a silly foray into a kink that you thought you might actually enjoy with the right person. "Spank me?"

Bradley's cock was a little hard now as his fingers worked down and down until he was teasing both of your holes. "Only if you want to. Might motivate you to use the credit card," he whispered with a smirk as your eyes fluttered closed.

You moaned for him, long and needy, and when he took a few steps backward toward the edge of the bed, you followed him. When he sat down with his legs splayed, his cock looked gorgeous. Just shy of fully erect. Long, pink and pretty.

"What if I don't like it?" you asked softly, taking a step closer to him.

"Then I'll stop."

"And what if I do like it?" you asked, running your fingers along his thigh.

Bradley pulled your shirt up a few inches and kissed your belly. "Then Daddy will spank you when you use your princess card."

You moaned again and squeezed your thighs tight. "That sounds hot." And next thing you knew, he had you tossed across his lap with your butt up in the air. You could feel the tip of his cock rubbing along your belly as you scrambled to grab the bedding with one hand and his calf with the other. You looked up at him over your shoulder, and before you could say anything at all, he pushed your shirt up and rubbed his hand along your back, butt and thighs. And then he landed a solid slap that left your skin tingling, and you were already prepared to beg him for more.

He spanked you again, right on the round of your butt, and you gasped, "Fuck. Bradley!"

He soothed your skin with his rough palm. "Do you want me to stop, Princess?"

"No!" you nearly shouted, wiggling yourself up in the air for more. And he delivered, spanking you three more times in rapid succession. "I love it," you gasped, wiggling a little more against his thigh.

"I can see that," Bradley crooned. "That's because you're young and sweet, and you've never been bad like this before. You never had a Daddy who wanted you to use his credit card before."

His hand landed with another stinging smack, and you jerked against him, panting as you stared at the bedroom floor, waiting for more. Your thong was pulled taut, the fabric tight along your clit, and each movement brought pressure exactly where you wanted it. "Please?" you whined, and you listened to Bradley chuckle as you rubbed your pussy on his thigh.

"Wow. You really want this." He ran his fingers along the length of the strip of fabric between your cheeks, teasing your holes through the lace. You couldn't stop grinding on him. His coarse leg hairs and his muscular body kept you anchored as he spanked you so hard, you clenched.

Then you were treated to another round of being soothed while Bradley told you to keep quiet. And the next time his hand met your right butt cheek, you jerked yourself against his thigh and whispered, "I'm gonna cum."

"Really?" Bradley asked. "Should I let you?" He was back to soothing you and running his fingers across your holes.

"Daddy," you begged. "I'll order the bed tonight. I promise."

Bradley tucked his fingers inside your thong and teased you as he muttered, "This is going to work out even better than I thought." Then he used both hands on your hips to press you down harder on his lap, and you wiggled until you were moaning and clenching harder and harder.

"Yes," you gasped, and as you reached the peak of your orgasm, he spanked you so many times in a row, your eyes filled with tears of satisfaction. "Daddy," you whimpered, looking up at his smile and his handsome face.

"You're such a good girl for me," he praised, and slowly you managed to stand between his thighs on shaky legs. You kissed his lips softly as his big hands gently cupped your throbbing rear end. "I love you. Now order a new bed."

"I will," you promised, running your fingers along his erection. "After I take care of this." Bradley watched you with eyes wide, as you sank to your knees in front of him. You knew how much he loved your mouth on him like this, and you wanted to make him feel as good as he made you feel. His cock was throbbing in your hands as you kissed the angry, red tip and looked up at him. "After I take care of you."

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

Your mouth on his cock was always a treat for Bradley, but you still had tears in your eyes which made you look even more beautiful to him as he reached for your paper crown and set it on your head. You kissed and nuzzled his cock with your face before pressing soft kisses along his balls. He wasn't going to last long after the spanking when you were as good as you were. But he was feeling smug; you got off rubbing on him while he spanked your perfect ass.

He was planning on rewarding you by eating your pussy all night. He wasn't expecting to be the one who got head, but he'd never complain about this. Not when your perfect lips were wrapping around his cock like you were right at home.

"You're so fucking good," he groaned, head tipping back as you took him deep. He took a few deep breaths as you got him really worked up. You were bobbing and moaning, and he watched you take him as his hands found your face.

When you popped him free to take a deep breath, a pretty strand of your saliva dripped down onto the shirt you were wearing. "Feel good, Daddy?"

He huffed out a laugh. "Baby, you're the best." He stroked your cheek as you sucked on his tip and kept your pretty eyes on his. The crown was crooked on your head now, and he was just a mess for you. "Let me paint your lips up?" he asked, grinning as he thought about the lipgloss you liked to wear. Tonight he wanted you to wear him.

You sucked him expertly until he was panting, and then you jerked him off onto your lips and face as you giggled. "You gonna help me get cleaned up?" you asked softly as Bradley looked at you completely mesmerized. He reached to swipe his long fingers through his cum, but then he paused as he remembered the polaroid camera sitting on the dresser.

"Don't move," he whispered, kissing your forehead as he stood. When he returned and got the camera ready, he kissed the top of your head and whispered your name. "Baby, if you think I wasn't wild about the photos you sent away with me, I can assure you that I was. Will you let me have more?"

"Yes," you whined, licking at your lips as Bradley took a picture of you before setting it aside. And he'd fight a hundred more Carls who tried to take such a pretty photo away from him in the future.

"Let's clean you up, Princess," he murmured, kneeling in front of you and swiping his fingers through his mess. You licked his fingers clean over and over again, and Bradley pressed his lips to yours tasting himself. Then he put your crown back on the bedpost where it belonged, accidentally bumping your butt as he hung it up.

"Oww," you whined as he helped you to your feet. "I'm sore."

"I know," he whispered, collapsing onto the bed and coaxing you on top of him. He ran his palm gently along your ass as you curled up with your cheek on his chest. "God, you're perfect."

"I've never been spanked before," you whispered, and Bradley smiled against the top of your head.

"I've never spanked anyone before."

You looked up at him immediately. "You haven't?" you asked in awe. "I thought you and Meredith..."

But he just shook his head. "Who would I have done that with? I've never had a girlfriend who called me her Daddy before. You make me want to do everything with you."

He watched you preen as you propped yourself up on his chest. "Everything?"

"Everything."

You kissed his pecs as he handed your phone to you. "Am I ordering a new bed right now?" you asked with a little giggle.

"Yes," he grunted. "Put it on your princess card."

You held up your phone so he could see the bed and mattress you picked out. King sized. Four poster. But he liked it even better than the one he had now. He nodded and watched you purchase it. You tossed the phone aside and whispered, "Just wait. I'll earn myself another spanking in no time."

Bradley kissed you and said, "I know you will. Now let's talk about Big Bear Lake."

"Big Bear Lake?" you asked with a yawn as Bradley continued to soothe your rear end with his hands.

"Yeah," he rasped. "When can you take a few days off of work so I can spoil you and Noah with a little trip to the mountains? Penny, Mav and Amelia want to go. We'd have some built-in babysitters."

"Mmm," you hummed, a smile on your lips as you snuggled against him again. "Let me talk to Dr. Kelly." Then Bradley let you fall asleep in his arms.

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

When you woke up on Saturday morning, your butt was still sore, but you were smiling against Bradley's chest. "Morning, Princess," he murmured in your ear. "How you feeling?" He rubbed his hand down your back and gently cupped you.

"So good," you groaned. Truly, you had enjoyed every minute of last night. Plus you were getting a new bed in this room. And Bradley had never spanked anyone else. And you'd slept so well. You straddled his waist, ready to show him just how good you were feeling. "Daddy."

But then you heard Noah jump out of his bed and open his door, and you knew he'd be in your bedroom in a matter of seconds. Bradley sighed as you scrambled under the covers with him, brushing his cock which was already getting hard for you. "I mean, I love my son, but..." he said with a laugh.

"Don't you dare!" you replied with a scandalized giggle. "He's an angel."

"Daddy? Princess?" Noah asked as he pushed the door open. "I'm hungry." He was so sweet, standing there rubbing his eyes as he looked at both of you.

"Head on into the kitchen, Bub," Bradley told him. "We'll make you something yummy."

Once Noah was gone again, Bradley rolled out of bed, and you wanted to reach for him as he pulled some underwear on. Then he set his gray sweatpants down next to you and said, "Take your time."

You stretched and tried to sit up, but your butt hurt so much. So you just pulled on the sweatpants and stopped in the bathroom on your way to the kitchen. When you looked in the mirror, you were smiling nonstop. And when you went to see what the boys were up to, you smelled coffee brewing and saw your favorite creamer on the counter. Bradley was standing in front of the open refrigerator, shaking his head.

"What do you want to eat?" he was asking Noah.

"Pancakes!" he replied from his seat at the table.

He grunted. "How about something I know how to make," he grumbled. "Let's give Princess a morning off."

"I can make pancakes," you insisted, and he turned to look at you over his shoulder with a smile. You kissed Noah on the head and asked, "You want butter and syrup? Some strawberries, too?"

"Yes, Mommy," he replied, looking up at you with questioning eyes. Your heart stopped. It must have. You were having a hard time breathing normally as you looked down into his brown eyes and then up into Bradley's. "Mommy?" Noah asked, quieter this time, and you didn't know how to respond.

"Noah." His name felt so precious on your lips as tears came to your eyes. You weren't sure if this is what Bradley wanted. But you wanted it. You could tell you were on the verge of crying as you stroked Noah's hair with your fingers.

When one tear streaked down your cheek, you asked Bradley, "Is that okay?"

He was right there with his hands at your waist and his lips next to your ear. "It's okay with me, Mommy."

You kissed your boyfriend hard on the lips before swiping at your cheeks and reaching for Noah. "Come here," you said, picking him up even though he was getting heavy and nuzzling your face to his neck. You kissed him and said, "Let's go find the strawberries in the refrigerator."

When you pulled out the carton of berries, you let Noah hold them. He looked delighted as you kept kissing his cheek over and over again while Bradley got your coffee ready for you. And he was all smiles just like his son as you held back your tears. You loved both of them so much, and you didn't want to put Noah down. So you just stood in the middle of the kitchen with him in your arms while Bradley took the strawberries and washed them for you.

Then you whispered to the child in your arms, "I love you, sweet Noah."

"I love you, too," he said with a smile. "But I'm hungry."

"Right," you said with a laugh. "I'll make your pancakes."

Bradley had been hanging back for a minute, giving you a moment with Noah, but now his arms were wrapped around you both. He kissed your temple before saying, "Come help me with the strawberries so Mommy can cook breakfast."

Your ears were ringing with the word Mommy. They both kept saying it. You didn't think you would ever stop smiling. You took a sip from Bradley's Getting high is part of my job mug, and you swore you had never tasted anything so delicious in your life. You made pancakes, and they turned out beautifully. You even made some for Noah roughly in the shape of suns and stars, and he looked delighted when you set them down in front of him. Then you cut them into smaller bites and added syrup and some of the strawberries Bradley had managed to cut up.

"Thanks, Mommy," Noah said as he shoved a forkful into his mouth. Bradley was reaching for a few pancakes from the stack as he smiled at you, but you took the fork from his hand and settled onto his lap even though it hurt your butt.

You cupped his face in your hands and kissed him softly. "Thank you, Daddy," you whispered, combing your fingers through his hair. "I love him."

"I know you do," he replied, pulling you closer. "He's wanted to call you his Mommy for a while. I'm just happy you're okay with it."

You laughed and watched Noah eating a strawberry covered in syrup. "I'm more than okay with it."

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

For the rest of the day, you and Noah were inseparable. You colored together and did some puzzles, and Noah sat on your lap while he ate lunch. And your smile was infectious. Bradley thought about engagement rings and your birth control for most of the day even though he knew he shouldn't. But how was he supposed to help himself when you were playing tic-tac-toe and eating ants on logs with his son? How was he supposed to put it off any longer when he saw how happy you were?

He texted Mav a few times, making sure he could secure that lake house for a long weekend. And when you convinced Noah to take an afternoon nap, Bradley had you in his arms in the quiet house. He scooped you up as you giggled.

"Think I should mark you down as Noah's Mommy at the daycare center?" he asked, dropping you onto the bed and climbing on top of you. He made quick work of the gray sweatpants and your thong.

You moaned and said, "Casey would be so pissed off," as Bradley pulled his underwear down and stroked himself a few times.

"Imagine how annoyed she'll be when I get a ring on your finger," he growled.

You gasped as he pushed his cock inside you, and Bradley devoured your lips with his. You gaped up at him as he pushed your thighs wide and looped his arms around your legs. "Daddy," you whine softly, just spurring him on. He wanted to be gentle, because he knew you were still sore. But he felt feral inside. He wanted to mark you as his own.

It didn't last long, and as soon as he filled your pussy up with his cum, Bradley pulled you against his side for an afternoon nap in the now silent house. He dozed with you and ran his hand along your back, enjoying the soft sound of your even breaths. He had promised Nat that he would make an appearance at the Hard Deck tonight after missing out on so many weeks. When everyone was awake, he would check to see if Amelia could come over and watch Noah for a few hours.

But when you woke up and went right back to playing and snuggling with Noah who kept calling you Mommy, he shouldn't have been surprised at all that you didn't want to go out. As soon as he mentioned the bar, you looked up at him from the craft project taking place on the living room floor like he was very simple.

"What would I want to go out tonight? Noah and I are busy. Besides, if I go and that Beau Simpson guy is there and touches me again, he's getting slapped."

Bradley knelt down and kissed you with a grin. "That's Mav's boss. You know that, right?"

"I don't care who he is," you huffed, gluing construction paper together.

"We'll stay in," Bradley whispered, but you were already shaking your head.

"Go out with Nat. I'll stay here with this sweet boy."

Bradley studied you as you looked at him. Your hand was rubbing Noah's back as he used some safety scissors to turn orange paper into a confetti mess that Bradley would be all too happy to clean up later. Because he could tell you were finally feeling like you belonged here without any stipulations or an expiration date. "You want me to go out for a bit?" he asked softly. "So you can have a night with Noah all to yourself?"

You nodded with a smile and said, "It'll be just like when you had the dating app. You'll go out for a few hours and rush back home pretending you're not completely smitten with me and just dying to have a flirtatious conversation on the couch."

Bradley groaned softly and kissed your lips. "I wasn't hiding it very well, was I?"

"No," you whispered. "But neither was I."

"I love you. I'll ask Nat to pick me up for a few hours so you and Noah can play together."

And the two of you were still playing in the living room when Nat arrived to pick him up. You'd turned the couch cushions into a little tunnel and a fort, and you were laying in it together watching Mickey Mouse on TV and eating popcorn. Bradley had to laugh, because he may as well have gone out for the entire afternoon since neither of you noticed him cleaning up the rest of the house as you laughed.

"Hey, Natasha!" you said, offering her some popcorn.

Nat took a few kernels and asked, "You're not coming out with us?" as she ruffled Noah's hair.

"No," you replied easily. "I'm going to stay in tonight with the little guy. You got the big one."

Nat groaned as Bradley grabbed his house key. "He used to be fun to go out with. Now he just talks about you all night and mopes when you're not there."

"Sorry?" But you were laughing and looking at Bradley.

"Don't be sorry. I love to see a grown man turn pathetic," Nat replied, winking at you. "Come on, Rooster."

Bradley knelt and then crawled across the floor to kiss Noah. "Love you," he said. Then he leaned closer to you and kissed your cheek. "Love you too, Princess."

When he grunted as he stood, you laughed and said, "Don't drink too much, old man." And then they were gone and you snuggled with Noah.

"Mommy, will you make me ants?" he asked softly when the popcorn was gone.

"At this rate, you might turn into an ant," you told him, tickling his sides as he laughed hysterically. His chubby little cheeks were pink, and he looked so happy. He was a tiny, overjoyed version of Bradley, and you loved him so much.

"An ant! Mommy, you're funny," he giggled, and you scooped him up and took him into the kitchen. Once you peeled and sliced the carrots, you let him use a spoon to glob the peanut butter on them, and subsequently also on the kitchen counter. He sprinkled on some raisins and took a bite.

By the time you got him into a bath, he had peanut butter everywhere, and your face hurt from smiling. You and he had a rubber duck battle until your clothing was wet. And you read eight books to him before bed, including the ones that you picked out at the bookshop with Bradley. Noah was yawning and trying to keep his eyes open as he sat on your lap, and if this is what being his Mom was like, you never wanted it to stop.

"Love you, sweet Noah," you whispered, smothering him in kisses once he was in bed. You quietly organized the books on his shelf and watched him drift to sleep. You turned on his night light and eventually slipped out of his bedroom. Then you leaned against the wall in the hallway, feeling a little bit overwhelmed by everything.

Then you giggled. Bradley mentioned a ring earlier. Noah felt like he was yours. Bradley felt like he'd never let you go. All of the sweet gestures and the afternoon sex left you tingling. When you went to turn on his favorite song so you could take a shower, you saw a message from Natasha on your phone.

Fair warning... he's pretty drunk. I'll return him home in one piece, but then he's your problem.

You took a quick shower, still smiling, and then slipped into a pair of your underwear and one of Bradley's oversized tropical print shirts that fell to your mid thigh. You did up most of the buttons and grabbed some Skittles from the kitchen. You were about halfway through a documentary about a serial killer when you heard someone pull into the driveway.

Your heart beat a little faster as you peeked out the window and watched Bradley being led up the sidewalk by his best friend. "Easy," Natasha said as if she was talking to a confused animal.

"Just wanna see her," he replied, way too loud as she tried to quiet him down.

"She lives with you now, Rooster. You see her all the time."

Bradley just stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and started to chuckle. "She fucking lives with me, Nat. It's wild, right? Like she lives here now."

"Yes, she does," Nat grunted, trying to push him the rest of the way up to the porch. But he wasn't budging, and you were laughing now. You decided to give her a break and open the front door.

"Hi," you said softly, and then Bradley was coming for you so fast, Natasha almost lost her footing. You were in his arms before you could say anything else. He smelled like cheap beer, and his eyes were soft as he looked at you. "Did you have fun, Daddy?"

"Mmm," he hummed, pushing you backwards into the house. "Love it when you call me that."

You giggled as you felt his mustache on your neck, and you waved to his best friend as she headed back to her SUV. Bradley kicked the door closed behind him as you whispered, "I think you missed me."

He had one big hand at the back of your neck and the other was up underneath the shirt, skimming along your still sore rear end, making you press yourself against him. "You're so pretty, Baby."

You felt warm all over as he patted your butt gently with a little smirk on his face. You gasped and clung to him, your arms looped around his neck, and then his lips found yours. He tasted like beer, and as you parted your lips for him, he backed you up against the TV stand. It was just like the first night he kissed you, and he was still as gentle as he always was, if not a tiny bit more demanding.

"I love you," he grunted. "And you're wearing my shirt. Looks great on you."

"Tell me about your night, Daddy," you coaxed, running your fingers through his hair.

But he just started rambling as he unbuttoned the shirt with clumsy fingers. "Gonna take you to that lake house. Already talked to Penny about it tonight." Then he abandoned the buttons and cupped your chin in one big palm. His eyes were hazy and fighting for focus as he kissed your forehead. His voice was deep and filled with something a little dangerous as he asked, "When you gonna let me fuck a baby into you?"

He was stroking your jaw with his long fingers, eyebrow raised, waiting for an answer as the TV stand pressed into the backs of your thighs. He was more than twelve years older than you, and he'd been hinting at this for a while. It had always sounded appealing, but now that the three of you were on the same page about Noah calling you Mommy, you wanted it even more. "We should talk about this when you're sober," you told him, playing with the hair at the back of his neck.

"You know I'm gonna feel the same way tomorrow," he whispered, a soft smile touching his lips now. "I'm getting old, Princess. I want another baby. With you."

He was such a good father, so patient and loving with Noah. The idea of him holding a tiny baby- your tiny baby- was almost too much. You let your head tip back as you moaned, "You're not old, Daddy. You're a classic. Let's go to bed."

After he carried you to the bedroom and set you down in bed, he pushed you back against the pillows with his delicious body weight. "You're not wrong. I've been drinking. You don't owe me a real response tonight. But next time we talk about it, I want an answer from you."

You nodded as he eased his body away from yours, and you watched him strip out of his clothing and head to the bathroom. You were going to have to figure out a way to put your feelings into words.

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

Princess Mommy and her purple credit card. Fucking lucky bitch (affectionate). Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 35

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