#and this is coming from someone whos an avoidant

[greatwyrmgold]

Zombie media has the unusual burden that many zombie fans assume zombies would be easy to deal with if people knew what "zombies" are. Recognizing a werewolf doesn't make you better at avoiding its bites, but recognizing a zombie supposedly lets you avoid the threat they pose long enough for someone to remove the head or destroy the brain.

The truth of this assumption* does not matter—a significant fraction of fans assume it to be true, and will judge your zombie media accordingly. So a zombie writer has three options.

First, accept that a lot of fans will assume everyone who doesn't act in perfect theoretical-survivor fashion is an idiot. This will dampen "critical" reception among fans and the potential for fandom activities, so it's not ideal.

Second, change the zombies so that assumptions based on zombie cliches will get you killed. This can be fun, but those cliches are cliches for a reason. Subverting too many can turn off fans (especially ones who like to imagine themselves as perfect theoretical-survivors).

Third, write a world where no one knows what a "zombie" is. This is pretty easy actually—unlike vampires and ghosts and arguably werewolves, the movie zombie isn't rooted in any folklore or legends older than 1968.

If Curt Siodmak and George Waggner don't write and direct The Wolf Man, there are centuries of legends to inspire other filmmakers (or warn potential werewolf victims). If John Russo and George Romero don't write and direct Night of the Living Dead, zombies are corpses enslaved by bokors in obscure Haitian stories.

Of course, in a world with no zombie movies, very few people would think to call zombies "zombies". According to my research, it was a pretty uncommon word until like the 90's. But that sounds pretty silly to people who don't know that Not Using The Z Word has a specific function.

*The assumption is false in any scenario where danger doesn't come from specifically being grabbed and bitten by a single zombie. But the reasons for this are rooted in unpredictability and surprise and resource availability and other things which are easy to abstract away in an argument with friends.

can u imagine if other pieces of media were as scared of calling their monsters what they are as zombie media is about calling zombies zombies

[noctiva]

Behind Closed Doors

Toby Rogers x F!Reader [NSFW!]

-

-

WC: 12.8k

Summary: Toby Rogers was an enigma around campus. He didn’t speak much, he barely socialized, and he always - always - kept to himself. Who knew it would just take a bit of drunken confidence at a college party to find out what he’s like behind closed doors?

CW: 18+ content, explicit sexual content, Toby is an asshole, and also a little shit, unsafe sex, semi-public sex, low-key exhibitionism, biting and marking, semi-clothed sex, vaginal fingering, wet and messy, they’re both so desperate, seven minutes in heaven trope lmfao, forced proximity, wall sex, low-key degradation, Toby’s just a bit mean, creampie, a smidgen of dacryphilia, a smidgen of salirophilia, dom/sub undertones kind of, some possessive behaviour on Toby’s part

-

NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

-

“So what? W-We just gonna have a staring contest for the next s-seven minutes?”

The closet you stand in is small and stuffy. One singular dim lightbulb hangs above you, flickering and seemingly moments from death. Hot, claustrophobic, barely any room to properly stretch your legs out amongst all of the boots and coats piled up around you. It’s a squeeze for one person, for sure, but of course - you weren’t in here alone.

Toby Rogers stands parallel to you, shrinking back against the opposite wall like he was trying in earnest to phase through it. Even in the dim lighting you can tell his face is flushed, gaze locked on yours with you trying to avoid it as he shifts and twitches in place. Feet knocking against yours every time he tried to move and get comfortable. But, it was in vain. There was no getting comfortable in a situation like this - that was the whole point, after all.

About an hour ago, you would’ve laughed at the prospect of something like this. You had been slipping through the threshold of the house party you had been invited to, already tired, but looking forward to this little break from the hectic schedule your college degree forced upon you. You weren’t a party girl, per se, but you liked to indulge every now and then. Like to let yourself just be dumb and uninhibited for a night, before turning your brain back on in the morning.

It was the chaos of it that drew you in. The music loud enough that it begged for a noise complaint, the air around you thick with laughter and the smell of sweat. Hot, sticky. Bodies sliding against one another as you shoved through a doorway to get into the kitchen. The soles of your boots sticking to the tile floors, like you were peeling layers off of it with each step. So much noise, you could barely even get a single thought in through the disorder. That was how you liked it, though. That’s the reason you had even come here, after all.

You downed a drink quicker than you should’ve, and took one for the road before you began scoping out your surroundings. The lights were low on purpose, you knew that. It was easier to make a fool out of yourself when your features could barely even be made out. Combined with blurry vision from the liquor flowing, it was like a mask. A fog of partial anonymity - so that you could brush everything off once the sun rose again. Despite all that, though, you could still make out a few familiar faces as you squint through the crowd. Some you liked, some you didn’t. Some you knew well, some only in passing or from sharing a class together.

But, previous relationships didn’t quite matter in a setting like this, and you knew that. Out of all scenarios, this was the one to put past baggage aside. To spark up a conversation with an absolute stranger like you’d known them for years. That was the point of this, after all. To break down those barriers, to wash away your fears and reservations with each drop of liquor down your throat.

It was a way to be someone else, if you really wanted to be.

And some people were better at that than others. You were always a people watcher, but a situation like this just made it all the more entertaining. The drunk girl giggling and tripping over her own feet, with a hoard of ill-intentioned frat guys watching on - oh so elated to be the one to break her fall. The desperate guy, thinking he’s got his plans for the night locked down, too hazy to see the agonizingly bored expression on the face of the girl he’s talking to. The messy type, the confrontational type. The ones who looked like they didn’t even want to be here.

That’s exactly what he looked like, when your eyes honed in on a far off corner of the room.

Leaned against the wall, with a mop of curly brown haired frizzing up from the heat within the space you both stood in. Drowning in the oversized hoodie he wore, hems frayed and worn at the edges. Not as bad as the jeans he wore, though, which were ripped to shreds at the knees - exposing skin that was scarred and bruised. The fingers curled around the solo cup he held were much the same. Bandaged up and trembling. So was his face. His left cheek mostly covered up by a large plaster, his jaw set. Stubble trickling across his jawline as he ground his teeth together. Even under the low lights, you can see how dark the circles under his eyes are, but they frame the warmest brown eyes you might’ve ever seen.

Long fluttering lashes. Freckles speckling the bridge of his nose and down onto his pale cheeks. The glint of metal pierced through his nose and lip.

You knew him. Toby Rogers.

Well, maybe ‘knew‘ was an overstatement. You knew of him. Saw him often, but never sparked up a conversation. Mostly because he lived his entire life like he was right now. Closed off. Quiet. On the fringe of every gathering he found himself privy to.

He sat at the back of one of your classes. Always showed up late, always left early. Always popped his headphones in right away, drowning out the lecture as he scribbled away in the little notebook he always kept on him. It made you wonder about him, more often than not. Why he even attended the class, if he showed a complete lack of effort. How he was even passing? What he was jotting down, because you sure as hell knew they weren’t notes. What music he had blaring in his ears. Why he always skipped out on the full duration of the lesson.

He was an enigma. Everyone you had asked felt the exact same way. It didn’t take long for you to find out that Toby was just… like that. It didn’t matter the setting, or who he was with. A few words at a time at most, that’s all anyone had ever gotten out of him.

And maybe it was your curiosity reaching its boiling point after so many weeks of speculating. Maybe, it was that he just looked so agonizingly lonely. Not just right now, but always. Constantly solitary. You wanted to know if that was intentional, or just a product of his brusque demeanour.

And well, what better situation to find out?

He doesn’t catch your gaze. Not once as you wriggle your way through a hoard of sweaty bodies, most of which halfway to fucking right before your very eyes. You barely even bat an eye, sliding through the sea of sweat-slick bodies with a one track mind - your sights laser focused on the man hunched against the chipped paint on the wall, looking like being here was driving him to the brink of death. Wincing a little every time he took a swig of his drink, his nose crinkling up as he tried to suppress it.

Why was he even here? You ask yourself as you approach, your own drink going warm as the heat from your palm permeates through the plastic of the solo cup. Fuelled by the singular drink swirling through your veins, mixed stronger than you would’ve usually taken it. The fact that he wouldn’t look up was as endearing as it was irritating. He just looked so lost, so out of place. Gazing out at the party goers like a window shopper. Lips tugged down into a perpetual frown, his expression wrinkling in distaste every time his shoulders twitched or jerked.

You felt like you were approaching a scared animal. Hasty steps, slowing the closer you got to him. Slower, slower, one foot after another. Trying to school your expression, though your nerves were crawling up your throat and closing it up. You weren’t quite sure why you were so nervous. Sure, he was the textbook definition of unapproachable, but you doubted you’d leave this situation with anything more than a bruised ego.

And you’ve lived through that before. Time and time again.

You wrack your brain over and over again. File through your repositories of conversation starters at lighting speed as you encroach on the little bubble he had formed around himself. With your lungs tight and your heart in your throat, all of your efforts are null, because all you’re able to come up with is-

“Hey. Toby, right?” And you’d swear you dropped a bomb right at his feet. He flinches like you’d screamed at him, his whole body going rigid as his head whipped towards you at an almost painful looking speed. You hear his cup crinkle under his fingers when his grip tightens, see the look of absolute bewilderment etched into his features as he stared back at you with wide eyes. Not just observing you, but breaking you down. Eyes scanning across your face like he was trying to decode you, like you had offended him by daring to speak to him at a social event of all things.

He doesn't speak. Not a single word. Not even gracing you with a greeting as he stood before you, shoulders rigid and jaw tense. It’s almost enough to put you off completely. Almost enough to have you spinning on your heel without another word slipping off of your tongue. But, you stand your ground. Try your absolute hardest not to completely shrink under his scrutinizing gaze, though the weight of it was making your skin crawl.

He looked at you like you weren’t supposed to be here. Like coming close to him was breaking some sort of law.

And you know it shouldn’t, but it just fuels this sick little fascination that had been brewing inside you. Made you crave the moment when you finally cracked him. So, you push. “You.. You’re in one of my classes, yeah? Ecom, I’m pretty sure.”

You keep your tone soft, light, like raising it even an octave would ruin this all. Stood before this growling dog, just waiting for him to snap and break free from his leash. You don’t know what you’re expecting, really. For him to curse you out and tell you to leave him alone. Maybe just more stony silence, complete dismissal as he turns his head and brushes you off completely.

He doesn’t do either of those things though - but to be honest, what you do get isn’t much better.

“Y-Yeah, and?” His words come out dryer than a desert, eyes narrowing in a way that makes your gut pinch. Like you were stupid for even trying.

And you might just be, but that might also be an advantage for you here. You were stupid enough to try. Stupid enough to keep going, even when he was giving you every sign to just back off and give up. Stupid enough to hope, that this bitter nature was just shrouding something sweeter beneath it.

Stupid enough to have your heart leaping at the sound of his voice - low and raspy. Quiet enough that you have to strain a bit to hear it. But it's more than you’ve ever gotten from him, and it sinks deep into your veins. It circulates in your blood like a toxin, winds its way up to your brain and makes itself at home.

You needed to hear more of it. You knew that for certain.

“I’ve wanted to talk to you.” You speak back to him, taking another step closer. Toby notes that, his eyebrow twitching minutely as you just creep in closer and closer. Hopping over the walls he built up like it was your right. “I never had the chance to, though.”

“Y-You wanted to talk to m-me?” His tone is almost incredulous, and he’s eyeing you like he’s waiting for you to pull the rug out from under him. Disbelieving. Like it's all an elaborate prank. So on edge, you can see his jaw tremble when you take another step towards him. It’s not enough to be something inappropriate - still a few feet between the two of you as you gaze up at him through your lashes. Cheeks flushed, skin gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat that had accumulated from the balmy atmosphere.

Not drunk, though, even though that’s what he had originally assumed when you had waltzed up to him. Maybe a little tipsy, but not enough to be unaware of what you were doing or saying. That’s what had him so tense. That you weren’t just seeking him out because you were another drunk girl stumbling over to the first guy you laid eyes on. You were here for him, and that was scary to someone like him.

Someone who tried his very hardest to keep himself invisible. Never speaking more than he needed to so that he never gave anything away. Hastening his way back home before anyone had the chance to catch him. Keeping himself in the corner, in the back, where he was easily glossed over.

Not to you, though. You had noticed him.

“Yeah, you.” You hum back to him softly, tilting your head to the side a little. “But you’ve never given me the chance. You’re pretty unapproachable, you know.”

That almost gets a smile out of him. Almost. Just a tiny twitch at the corner of his lips. He hides it well, but what he can’t hide is the look in his eyes. You see how they soften in amusement, how the warmth floods into those deep brown irises. Glinting under the low light, sparkling with underlying emotion you can’t quite place.

It’s curiosity. Intrigue. That’s the only way he could think to put it as he stared down at you. This cute little thing, all sweet and unassuming. Hair sticking to your forehead, your makeup smearing in the creases of your eyes. Trying to hide your nerves, but he can see it clear as day how anxious you are. Gritting your teeth to keep from cowering before him, your voice wobbling on the end of each word.

Like a scared little deer.

And what did that make him, then? The hunter? Staring down at you through the lens of his scope?

“That might be on p-purpose, y’know.” He mutters back to you, quirking an eyebrow as he leans back further against the wall. Arms crossed over his chest, the cup he holds dangling precariously near his hip. “ I’m not exactly a p-people person.” His gaze sweeps down your body, head to toe, watching the way you shift from one foot to the other. “You sh-shoulda picked up on that.”

“I did.” You murmur back to him, taking in a deep breath before lifting your hand to take a swig from your drink. You needed it more than ever right now. The burn of the liquor sizzles in your throat, but it’s a welcome distraction from the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. “But, then why are you here? This isn’t exactly the place for introverts.”

Toby hums softly, thinking on his answer for a moment as he reaches up to scratch at the stubble on his jaw. You can see it, the way he’s slowly but surely thawing. Trying to keep up his icy front, but melting under the warmth radiating from you to him.

“Felt like it.” He answers back shortly after a moment, offering you a soft shrug. “N-Needed a change of pace.”

“Oh.” You answer back, albeit a tad bit dumbly, your brain working on overtime trying to figure out the best way to keep this conversation going. “So, you didn’t get invited or anything?”

“D-Did I need to?” Toby snorts, his lips curling up into a minute little smirk. “Was on a walk, heard the c-commotion, and just waltzed on in. Pretty sure that the dipshits r-running this whole thing are too fucked up to keep track of their guest list.”

You let out a little huff of laughter, lips curling into a grin as you swirl your drink around in your cup.

“Yeah, you're probably right.”

There’s a gap in conversation after that. A moment where you’re left nervously fiddling with the hem of your t-shirt, trying your hardest to come up with something to say - all while Toby just watches you. Observes you. Not coldly anymore, instead equal parts curious and amused.

You were trying so hard. He could practically see the smoke coming out of your ears as you flipped through your thoughts, trying to find something that might just interest him.

Despite himself, he found himself endeared by it. It had been a good long while since somebody had put so much effort into him, of all people.

So, he decides to be nice. To stop torturing this poor girl in front of him, and give you some bait to latch onto. It probably wouldn’t go anywhere, and he was aware of that, but it didn’t really need to. Just having you here was enough. If all he got out of this was a few moments of toying with you, it would still have been far more excitement than he had expected when he planned his evening.

Fate, though, is a funny little thing. It listens. It hears the words you speak and the thoughts you conjure up, just to twist them into whatever sick endeavour it hopes to throw you into.

And fate might’ve just been on your side this particular evening. It gave you a push. Held your hand and guided you through the motions, rewarding you for being so brave in the first place.

The moment Toby opens his mouth to speak again, he’s cut off by a holler. A shout of your name, drunk and slurred - just barely poking out through the cacophony of voices around the two of you. You recognize it immediately, and any other time you would’ve been happy to hear it, but right now of all times your roommate’s voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard - splitting through the somewhat civil atmosphere you had managed to create between you and Toby. Her arm slinging around your shoulder feels like a noose, irritation seeping into your pores as she drunkenly nuzzles into your neck.

“Hey, chica.” You hear her giggle into your ear, her body heavy as she leans into you - all but slumping against yours as her liquor drenched breath tickles your ear. “Been lookin’ for ya.”

“Well, you found me.” You hum back to her, reaching an arm out to try and steady her as you let out a soft breath through your nose. Peering up at Toby, you notice that smirk of his has stretched wider - his eyes crinkled at the corners in amusement as his gaze flickers between your less than impressed face, and the girl all but two seconds from collapsing against you.

“Just in time, too!” You feel her grin against your skin, her hands pawing at you before she finds your free hand and grasps it. “ We’re playin’ a game in Alex’s room, c’mon! You gotta be there, s’no fun without you.”

“A game?” You quirk an eyebrow at the same time Toby does, stumbling a little when she starts tugging you away without a second thought. “If it's strip poker, I’m not playing.”

“Better than that.” Her eyes are hazy when she meets yours, a dopey little grin on her face as she weakly tugs you towards her. “Seven minutes in heaven.” Her voice takes out a singsong lilt, her giggles only increasing tenfold when your face crumples in a mixture of annoyance and exasperation.

“What are we, in high school?” You scoff, but her grip on you is steadfast. Surprisingly firm, despite her sloppiness. It’s pretty clear that you’re not getting out of it, especially when she’s staring at you like you’re obligated. Besides, what kind of friend were you, if you just let her run off on her own in this state? It was just a disaster waiting to happen, and you’re not quite sure how she’s stayed in one piece so far without you.

So, you give in. With a sigh and a wrinkle in your brow, but you do.

Though, not without keeping track of your main endeavour - which had been rudely derailed. “Toby?” You shoot a glance back over at him as she tugs on your arm, your gaze almost desperate - like you just couldn’t bare to lose the minuscule progress you’d made with him. “You wanna come with?” It’s a last ditch effort, something you’re expecting to brush off with a snort and a waved hand.

And maybe he would’ve. Maybe he should’ve, but something within in is tugging him towards you as you’re pulled away. It’s that intrigue, that desire to know just exactly what you want from him. Why you were stumbling over yourself trying to reel him in.

Besides, it’s not like he had other plans. He had just expected to steal a couple drinks, then drag himself back home. He had said he was looking for a change of pace. You were offering that up on a silver platter.

“Sure.” He pushes himself off the wall with a sigh, downs the rest of his drink in one gulp before crumpling the cup in his fist and tossing it off to the side.

His body near protested the movement the moment he started following after you. Knees stiff like they were trying to stop him.

He shouldn’t let you win. He knows he shouldn’t.

Toby wasn’t one to get wrapped up in stuff like this. Messy, impulsive decisions. Following curiosity, instead of rationality. He used to, long before he had gotten the notion beat out of his skull from hundreds of less than kind situations.

Curiosity always led to a mess - one that he was less than keen to clean up.

And yet here he was, following after you, knowing it would end with a stained conscience.

His eyes trail down your form as you lead him up the stairs - your roommate clinging off of your shoulders like deadweight. The softness of your hair, despite the frizziness from the heat. The slope of your shoulders, the curve of your spine. Lower, his gaze drops to the hem of your skirt - his lower elevation giving him a good clear shot of your panties from underneath.

A lacy little thong - barely doing a thing to cover up everything that hid beneath it. Whenever you lifted a leg to climb higher up the staircase, he got an eyeful of your clothed cunt, the fabric of your underwear clinging to each dip and curve. Sheer tights sticking to your skin, thighs glistening with a thin sheen of sweat wherever they poked through the fabric.

The fat of your ass squishing against your thighs with each step, creating a crease in the flesh that made him quirk an eyebrow - a near indistinguishable smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

It’s like you wanted him to look.

A barely audible hum rumbles in his chest as he tilts his head, his eyes flickering back up your body to see if you’ve noticed the weight of his gaze on you. You hadn’t. Too preoccupied with dragging your barely coherent comrade up the stairs to even notice his eyes had been far less than respectful. You hadn’t even turned your head back to him once. He viewed that as more of an invitation than anything else.

Hands shoved in his pockets, his gaze goes straight back up your skirt - his pupils blowing right out at the sight. It was almost better the second time.

You just looked so soft. This forbidden skin before him, so supple and enticing - looking like it was made to be grabbed. Made to be bruised. Moulded to the shape of his touch, bearing speckles of red and purple that his grip pressed into you. His fingers twitch against the fabric of his jeans, tempted to just throw caution to the wind, reach out and touch. He could all but imagine the sound you’d make, the look you’d give him, the blush that would rise up on your cheeks.

Would you push him away? Berate him for it? Or would you lean into it?

You had been the one to seek him out, after all. You had been the one to invite him along with you. There had to be at least a sliver of you that wanted it, right? His hands, slipping under the soft material. Grasping, squeezing, tugging you towards him.

Why else would you want to drag him along? To talk more, like you had said?

He doubted it. But, maybe he was just far too hopeful.

It had been a long while since anyone had actually put the effort in to try and snare him. He was more used to less than passionate hookups, people who cared less about who he was or what he looked like, just so long as the night ended with full body tremors and gasped out moans.

It wasn’t something he often complained about. It got the job done - but you? You and your insistence, your desire to know him - to learn - it was thrilling in a way he hadn’t felt for god knows how long. It sparked up something low in his chest and deep in his gut. Some quietly burning flame, heating up his body from the inside out as his eyes trailed up and down your figure like you were some kind of feast to behold.

He hadn’t noticed it when you had first walked up to him - too busy trying to keep his walls resolute and intact - but now that he had long since failed at that, he was really allowing himself to appreciate this. To appreciate you. How someone as pretty as you, was tripping over your own feet to gain the attention of someone like his.

It was mind-boggling. It was addictive.

By the time you all reach the top of the staircase, there are a few drops of sweat beading up against Toby’s jaw. There’s a tension in the air he’s sure that only he can sense. Palpable desire that thrums through the air like a vibration, making the hairs on the back of his arms stand up. Goosebumps rising on the back of his neck, as if the hallway you walked down wasn’t hot and stuffy enough to suffocate.

“I’m not expecting you to play, or anything.” Your voice tugs him out of his thoughts, his eyes quickly snapping upwards just fast enough to keep him from being caught as you turn your head to look at him. Meeting his eyes with a nervous little smile on your face, the low lighting of the hallway casting shadows across all the high points of your features. “I just wanted to hang out a little longer.”

You say that so sweetly, your voice just barely disguising the anxiety that lay beneath layers and layers of false confidence. Words mostly drowned out by the vibrations of music floating through the air, but all of that was just background noise to him. You were the main focus now. Just like you had been hoping.

He cocks an eyebrow, his gaze flickering between you and your friend.

“Yeah? L-Looks like you’ve already got your ha-hands full, though.” He snorts - taking a moment to soak up the appearance of the other girl, before his eyes wander back to you. You were much more his type, and so much more composed - not falling all over yourself like half of the girls he had observed here.

You looked like the type he’d write off immediately, because he knew it’d be too tough of a challenge. You were sweet, confident, self-assured, pretty enough to make him feel hot under the collar after only a few moments of ogling. You were the type he’d stare at from across the room, his mind running with ideas of what it would be like if he somehow managed to snag you.

But that hadn’t happened. Because you had spotted him first.

He hadn’t even noticed you before tonight. Too busy keeping his head tucked down and his gaze tunnel visioned. Hoping that it was enough to keep him as unapproachable as he strived to be.

Obviously, that didn’t work, because here you were right in front of him - gazing up at him with a cute little smile as you lead him into a different room of the house.

So sweet. Like you had genuinely no idea he was currently plotting six different ways to get you alone, and four different things he could say to get you to stay afterwards.

“She’ll be fine.” You snort, dragging your friend into the new room along with you, as Toby follows suit. “She does this every single time.”

Somehow, the bedroom is just as lively as the party downstairs. About twenty people packed into a space made for two - half of them sat on the stained carpet in a makeshift circle, the other half either spilling drinks on the bed or rifling through the host’s belongings. The chatter in the space was loud, the moisture in the air was thick. The lights were low, save for a few neon LEDs that were strung up in the corners of the walls.

There was a cracked TV that was half buried by solo cups. Clothes, wrappers, and half smoked cigarettes on the ground. Toby lets out a soft hum as he spots one of them - still good for about six puffs - before he snags it off the ground and pockets it for later. He himself had run out about an hour into the function, and he wasn’t about to let such a good amount of tobacco go to waste.

You’re too busy wrestling your friend into a seated position to notice, but he also didn’t have enough shame to care about it even if you did.

You get yourself sat down on the carpet beside her, smushed in between a few less than coherent bodies, with a bottle laying on the ground in the middle of the circle. Toby stands behind you, watching you, hands shoved in his pockets - fingers fiddling with the cigs he had stolen from the ground. You can feel the weight of his gaze on your back, settling onto you like a burn mark, making your shoulders tense up instinctively.

It’s inevitable that you turn back to look at him.

He raises an eyebrow, eyeing the spot that you’d left next to you - that empty space calling to him like a silent invitation.

“Thought you s-said you weren’t expecting me to p-play.” He snorts softly, pulling his hands out of his pockets to fold his arms over his chest.

“I’m not.” You hum back to him, and he rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, sure.” He huffs back to you, before taking a few steps forwards - settling himself into the space you’ve saved, all he had to do was sit down to seal the deal. “You know, all th-this shit is just semantics.” He takes a seat, legs folding crossed with his hands pressed into the carpet behind him to support him as he leaned back. “If you wanted a ch-chance with me alone you could just a-ask.”

It’s bold. It’s worthy of a smack. But it’s worth it when you blush so pink it covers up any freckle or blemish in your skin. You scoff, roll your eyes, fidget with the hem of your skirt - but he’s got you, and he knows it. He has since the start. Since before he even knew you existed.

“That’s not what this is.” You try to protest, but deep in your gut you know that’s not the truth. That curiosity you had within you about him? It was fuelled by something dark. Something heady and lustful you weren’t prepared to try and confront. You could tell yourself all you wanted to that you were simply intrigued, but you knew deep down that it ran deeper than that.

You had never seen Toby be anything less than hostile. There was a part of you that wondered what it would be like to tap into the more intimate side of him - if it even existed.

Those deep brown eyes of his were magnets, sucking you in before you had even first made contact. The aura that surrounded him was one of mystique and a hint of danger, something that you knew you should stray away from in hopes of keeping a clear head - but now that you finally had him so close? You weren’t quite sure that was even an option anymore.

His knee bumps with yours as he gets comfortable. Just a minute point of contact that has the heat of his body seeping into yours like a leech. When you breathe in, you smell him. The air filled with the sickly scent of alcohol and sweat cut through by the scent of tobacco and aftershave. He smells fresh. Enticing. Like his body was tuned just to pull yours in.

Maybe it was.

“Y-Yeah. Keep tellin’ yourself that.” Toby hums, casting you a sidelong glance before his gaze flickers to the sight of someone picking up the bottle and spinning it.

It’s round after round of this. Glass shifting against the carpet and drunken giggles when two people get paired up. The door of the closet in the room closing, then locking. Shuffling, hushed noises barely drowned out under the music playing through a portable speaker. Leaving the confined space with flushed faces with bruised lips.

That’s all this was. A chance to get lucky without having to do the work of actually trying for it. The bottle chose your fate, and through the haze of blurred vision - almost anyone looked like a good enough candidate.

But not for you. And not for Toby. He’d pass up on every single person in the circle if it meant he could skip this whole mess and just tug you into a spare bedroom.

But of course, fate is fickle and so are you - so you stay, and so does he. Keeping himself parked in the middle of this little game with a bored expression on his face. Eyes trailing everybody that disappeared together, before they were flickering back to you - sat beside him like you didn’t know how much of a treat you were. Offering yourself up to him, even though you seemed oblivious to the fact that you were throwing yourself to the wolves the moment you approached him.

The bottle spins. More bodies disappear. It spins again. More bodies. It spins again - It lands on Toby.

The face he makes when it does is one that you don’t miss. Reluctant. Annoyed. Downright offended by the fact that he’d be chosen by anyone but you.

But, the rules of the game stand steadfast, and this just means he’ll be the one to shift the tides in the next round.

He stands up, shackled to hide away with a girl you recognize from one of your classes, but not before resting a hand on your shoulder as he pushes himself upwards. “Don’t worry. Y-You’ll get your chance.” It’s a promise, you know it is. The twinkle in his eyes proves that.

And yet, for some reason, the sight of him slipping behind the closet doors makes you twitch. It’s not your right to get jealous. He’s not yours in any capacity of the word. You didn’t know him. You knew his name, his mannerisms - that was it. You had spoken to him for a total of maybe fifteen minutes before dragging him into a situation that boded this exact scenario.

Despite all that, the minutes drag on. Every second he’s not beside you feels like a punch. You eye the closet doors like they’ve become your own worst enemy - cursing the name of the person in there with him like she had stolen your firstborn child.

It was just hard not to wonder.

Was he letting her touch him? Was he touching her? Did he pounce the moment that the doors closed? Or did he stay the exact same as normal - straight-faced, arms crossed like being in his presence was a sin in itself?

The more you thought about it, the worse the itch under your skin became. It feels like a gift from god when the timer goes up, and the two of them come stumbling back out.

To your pleasure, Toby looks the exact same. No flush on his cheeks, no messiness to his hair. No blemishes on his skin, or bruising on his lips. His clothes are intact, and when he comes moseying back over to you - the girl he had been stuck in there with looks less than pleased. Disappointed by his lack of enthusiasm, probably.

It’s difficult not to feel self-assured by that fact.

When he sits back down, he doesn’t say a word to you. Toby just shoots you a sidelong glance, smirks softly, then reaches forwards to spin the bottle for himself. Pleased with himself, clearly - because his effect on you is obvious, even if you don’t think it is.

The look of relief on your face when he wandered back over to you, completely unscathed? That was all he needed. You were so desperate it was almost pitiful, and yet you didn’t even seem to realize it. Maybe that was the best part.

When Toby flicks his wrist, the bottle spins like an oracle. Determining the fate of the man who sat beside you, and you by proxy. It’s embarrassing to say that you were holding your breath the entire time, but you were - your gaze flickering between Toby and the bottle like maybe if you thought about it hard enough you could manifest the results you desired.

The universe seems to be on your side, just this one time.

It spins and spins. It slows, builds suspense, and then it settles - with the bottleneck pointed directly at you.

You’re not quite sure if you should drop to your knees and thank god right there, or continue playing coy.

You choose the latter.

Though, the enthusiasm when Toby grabs your wrist is palpable. Your pulse thrums under his fingertips when he stands again and pulls you along with him, giving away how you truly felt despite the strong face you were trying to keep. His touch felt like fire on your skin - his hand rough and calloused, scratching against the delicate skin of your arm. His grip firm, but not demanding. Just assured. Confident. Like he was already aware that this was the exact situation you had been hoping for.

Maybe, you hadn’t been as subtle as you thought.

When the closet doors close behind you, that fact is more than clear.

You almost immediately shrink. The space is more confined than you could’ve prepared yourself for - your body shoved between crumpled jackets and sweaters, feet squashing piles of shoes underneath the treads of your boots. Toby is so close that it’s suffocating - his knees knocking against yours, the soles of his shoes bumping against yours every time he shifted. It’s claustrophobic. Nowhere to run, nothing to do but stand there and bask in his presence.

For a moment, you don’t speak. Arms crossed over your chest like you were trying to shield yourself - his gaze burning into your skin with an intensity you couldn’t ignore. The low lighting only makes him look all the more threatening when your eyes flick upwards, your throat feeling dry as you swallow thickly.

You wanted to close the minuscule distance, every atom in your body knew that. But with such little time? With constraints that refrained you from truly appreciating him? It was difficult for you to rationalize it. To take the first step.

Good thing you don’t have to.

“So what? W-We just gonna have a staring contest for the next s-seven minutes?” Toby’s voice echoes through the confined space like a taunt, his head leaned back against the wall behind him - eyes half-lidded as they gaze down at you like a predator. There’s a spark in his irises that you don’t miss. An expectation.

Like he knew exactly what you were thinking, and he was just waiting for you to break. You were seconds away from doing just that.

“Well, yeah.” You mutter softly. “I guess. Seven minutes isn't exactly a lot of time to… Get acquainted.”

“‘Get acquainted’.” Toby repeats with a snort, rolling his eyes minutely at your choice of words. Despite the apprehensiveness, he could see it in your eyes by the way you looked at him - the fascination, the near longing. He had noticed it from the second you walked up to him. It was something that was easy to tap into. He barely even had to do anything - you had just been begging for even a morsel of attention.

It was almost funny to see how hard you had tried to get it, but now that you were face to face with him all alone - you looked so small. Like you were in over your head, barely able to handle it without breaking into a sweat. “We’re d-down to…” Toby checks the watch fitted snug around his wrist. “Six minutes and th-thirty seconds. That’s plenty of time.” His lips twitch. “I’ve taken care of my-myself in less.”

The effect of his words is immediate. So shameless it makes your ears burn, your eyes flicking up to meet his with something close to bewilderment swimming in your irises. His candidness was shocking, something that you didn’t quite know how to deal with. Your brain short-circuiting, it’s difficult to even formulate a response to counter that - and what does end up slipping from your lips is downright blasphemous.

“I’m not going to fuck you.” In this context. Those were the words missing from that sentence. If you had all the time in the world, and privacy that wasn’t one door away from being disturbed by a rowdy room full of part goers - sure.

Despite how much you wanted it, and despite how magnetic Toby’s entire presence was - you still had morals, and dignity.

(For now.)

Toby lets out a bark of laughter that nearly startles you, his nose crinkling up in amusement as his shoulders shake with every rough chuckle that leaves his lungs. His lips stretch into an amused smile, eyes honed in on you and sparkling with something a little too close to fondness for comfort.

“Wh-Who said anything about fucking?” He downright wheezes, his hands falling down to his sides. “G-Got a one-track mind, eh?”

“Oh, fuck off.” You snap back at him, cheeks burning so hot you can feel it seeping down your neck. “Don’t act like that’s not what you were getting at.”

Toby hums, his subtle smirk stretching into a shit-eating grin.

“Got me.” He laughs softly, before checking his watch again. “But f-five minutes? That’s quite the time crunch.” He murmurs. “M-Might just have to s-skip out on the full treatment for tonight.” He leans in a little closer. “Could still give you s-somethin’ though, unless you’re planning to waste all my time ch-chatting like we can out there.”

Your eyes narrow.

“Are you normally this bold?” You ask softly, slowly but surely unfurling your arms - dropping them down to your sides, subtly opening yourself up to him more. “Didn’t strike me as that type.”

“Th-That’s because you don’t know m-me.” Toby snickers. He doesn’t even need to take a step closer to encroach on your space, dipping his head down does the trick just fine. So claustrophobic that you have nowhere to try and shrink away from his presence, unless you were planning to phase through the wall behind you. “But, I-I’m more than happy to help you learn.” Lower, the frizzy hair of his bangs tickles your forehead. “Been wa-watchin’ me for so long.” He hums. “Don’t’cha want some hands on e-experience? This is your chance.”

“Who knew you were such a sly bastard when you crawl out of your shell?” You huff, your breathing growing more and more shallow the closer he gets. You can feel the heat of him - radiating off of him, seeping into your skin through your clothes, and he hadn’t even touched you. “I was expecting you to cower like a virgin.”

“Yeah?” Toby lets out a breathy laugh, just barely refraining from rolling his eyes. “That th-the vibe I give off? A virgin who d-doesn’t know shit?”

“Honestly?” You barely hold back a little smirk. “Yeah. It is.”

“You wound m-me.” Toby hums back to you, his breath tickling against the skin of your face when he speaks. He smells like cigarette smoke, and horrible decisions. It only pulls you in more. “W-Well? Think I can prove you wrong in fi-five minutes?”

It’s bait. Something you know you shouldn’t agree to. The stakes are high, the chance for complete humiliation is almost inevitable. And yet, you cave. It’s a near impossible task to stay strong, when he’s already slipping into your space like he had the right to. Hands creeping to hover over your waist, his eyes flickering down to your lips with less than innocent intentions.

His gaze is dark. All consuming. The overhead light flickering off of his irises, like flames dancing behind his eyes. You’re not quite sure anyone would be able to hold strong in a situation like this - when he’s got you so close, and is promising so much. So sure of himself, confident that he could give you everything you could possibly need in the nick of time. It’s an attitude flip you never would have expected from him. It’s enrapturing.

“You can try.” Your brain and mouth have a complete disconnect when those words leave your lips. A clear invitation, that Toby takes quickly - not giving you time to think it over. With time against you, he surges forwards, racing against the clock to get his hands on you as quickly as he can.

Which, he does. His hands immediately latch onto your waist and pull you in close - fingers digging into your flesh through the thin material of your shirt as he tugs you flush to his body. His touch feels like a brand - a claim - something that’ll linger. You hope it does.

“Kn-Knew you’d say that.” He mutters, before dipping his head downwards and closing the distance. Not even giving you a chance to react before his lips are slotting against yours.

You let out a little squeak - surprised by the sudden progression - but melting into it nonetheless, your heart rate kicking up a notch as he lets out a soft groan against your lips. It rumbles out of his chest and through yours, the vibrations from it searing through your body like a plague, only heightening the desire you had been trying to simmer down throughout the course of this entire night.

It was a losing battle. Especially when his lips slide against yours. Rough, cracked, sloppily - kissing you like he never learned the definition of patience. But, to be fair, in this situation - it was difficult to pay any mind to the word.

His teeth snag on your bottom lip and tug, pulling a soft moan out of your lungs that he swallows down like it’s sugar syrup. Fingers digging deeper into your skin, one hand slipping downwards to grasp at your ass with a grip harsh enough to elicit a moan. He uses that as leverage, slipping his tongue into your mouth the moment your lips part. It’s dirty. It’s desperate. It feels like heaven on earth.

The heat between the two of you grows and grows, the air around you charged with desire to the point you’d swear you could feel it crackle. Toby lapping up your moans as they fall onto his tongue, returning them with soft rumbles of pleasure that make your entire body light up.

Your hands snake upwards as his slide downwards, tangling into his hair in a desperate grip as he presses you further back into the wall behind you - near tripping over your own feet as you struggle to follow his lead, clothes slipping off of their hangers and crumpling against the floor with each shuffled, frantic movement the two of you make.

There’s barely any room to move, but it’s almost better that way. No room to run. No room to escape from his touches as his lips slip from yours and start leaving a sloppy trail from your jawline to your neck. Spit smearing against your skin, each kiss punctuated with a bite that makes you hiss - Toby tugging your skin between his teeth like marking you was something that was a given. Like he knew you’d let him, without even having to ask.

Leaving a scalding trail of saliva and hickeys, his palms greedily knead the fat of your ass through your skirt as his lips travel towards your collarbone. Stubble scratching against your skin, his breath hot and heavy as he pants against you - leaving a thin sheen of condensation against your already clammy skin. He moves like a soda bottle that had just burst its lid, a mess of heady desire all coming to the surface and directed solely at you. Hands clawing at your clothes like he was two seconds away from just ripping them off to feel more of you. Lips latching onto your flesh like he was trying to suck your very essence out through your pores.

You were desperate and trying to hide it. Toby was desperate and letting it all show. His enthusiasm was near maddening. Your lungs choking on every breath that you forced inwards, eyes screwed shut as your fingers tugged at his hair - so overwhelmed you weren’t quite sure if you were trying to pull him in closer or yank him away.

He was everywhere. His fingers leaving indents in every soft spot of flesh he could find, his teeth scraping against any stretch of flesh that became victim to them. He was a wildfire, and you were just a piece of wood waiting to be burned. Leaning into every flame that licked at your body, happily submitting into it all as his heat danced across every nerve signal. “Gonna- Fuck-“ Toby hisses through his teeth, his nails scratching against your ass cheeks when his hands slip under the hem of your skirt - leaving behind little welts that do nothing but get you hotter. “F-Fuck, I-“ Lips dragging, drool smearing against your shirt collar. “I don’t ha-have time-“ He gasps. “Don’t have time t-to do what I want to-“

“Try-“ You breathe back to him. You tug his head back by the grip on his hair, forcing out a hiss from his lungs that sounds far more pleasured than pained. When he meets your eyes, he sees it. The want pooled in your irises is enough to wind him, your pupils blown out so wide with desire it’s akin to two black holes staring right back at him. Ones that he’d be more than happy to let himself get sucked in by - your magnitude so inescapable, he’s sure right then that he’ll be orbiting you for months after this. Maybe years, if you let him. “Just try- Fuck- Don’t think about it-“

All apprehension from before is lost in the intensity. Like his saliva was a drug that washed all the doubts away. Nothing had changed. The stakes were the same. The time constraint was wearing thinner and thinner - and yet the heat within you had never burner hotter. You were half-sure that if you didn’t get him at least semi-bare in the next waking moments, you’d crumble into a pile of ash at his feet. His effect on you was baffling. But at the same time, it had been since the start.

He had hooked you in without even glancing your way. Reeled you in with words laced with annoyance. Pulled you to shore with a heady promise that swam beneath all those layers of disinterest.

To everyone else, he was impossible to get to. But to you right now? He was yours. You needed to solidify that fact.

“Yeah?” Toby sounds almost feral as he chokes that word out, his voice raspy and strained with desire - like it’s an effort just to talk with the heavy lust weighing his entire body down. “Thought-Thought you said you w-weren’t gonna fuck me-“

“Shut up.” You cut him off quickly, your hands shoving his flannel down his shoulders even quicker. You don’t glance at the watch on his wrist. You don’t want to know what the number on the countdown has to say about the escalation of the situation. He lets go of you for just a moment, just to let the fabric of the sleeves slip from his wrists and crumble to the ground along with every other piece of clothing you had knocked off the hangers.

Left in just a t-shirt, you can see the texture of his arms. Scars that litter freckled skin, some looking fresh and pink, others clearly old and leathery. Some wide and deep, others shallow and barely noticeable. A mosaic of memories you’re sure he’d never tell you, but none of that even matters when those same arms are reaching down between your thighs and hauling you up into his grip - hips pressed against his, legs scrambling to lock around his waist to keep yourself upright.

He had kept it hidden until now - probably until it was clear you were willing to do something about it - but now the bulge in his jeans was more than apparent. Pressed right up against the thin material of your panties as his hips nudge under the hem of your skirt. You’d swear you could feel him throb even through the thick denim.

“You u-usually this easy?” Toby murmurs to you softly, digging his fingers into the flesh of your thighs - leaving behind crescent shaped indents now, and surely bruises in the near future. He touched like he didn’t care about the consequences. Even brush of his fingers against you being bruising, marking up your skin like he owned it - even if it was just for right now.

It was almost like insurance. If you wanted to, you could slip out of this closet and never once look his way again, but your skin would tell the story for weeks to come. Fingerprints and indentations of his teeth glaring back at you every time you looked in the mirror. Maybe, it would be enough to have you crawling right back. Maybe, you wouldn’t even stray away in the first place. “Or, i-is this all just for m-me?”

“Don’t talk.” You mutter back to him - half desperation, half embarrassment. “You’re wasting time.”

“G-Guess I am.” Toby hums back to you, an air of amusement dancing among his words as his one hand crawls upwards - trickling touches up towards your core, snaking beneath the hem of your skirt as his body keeps you pinned, smushed right up against the wall. “Gotta tell me wh-what you want.” He mutters as his fingers just barely slip below the hem of your panties. “Because I c-can’t promise that we won’t get interrupted. If you were smart, y-you’d wait.”

“Can’t.” You answer back to him breathlessly, hips kicking as an invitation to touch you more - to dive in deeper. To stop playing coy, and give you what you had been wanting since you first walked up to him. His hands were lovely, and they hadn’t even met your cunt yet. With the time constraint encroaching on you like walls closing in, you knew you’d just have to save the patient exploration for another day. Right now, you needed him, utterly and completely.

You knew how it looked for you - easy, desperate - but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Especially not when the size of the tent in his jeans made your stomach flip. You don’t even want to know how much time is left on the clock when you reach down, grabbing his wrist and tugging it down further, nudging his fingers against your throbbing clit.

“You say th-that I’m the surprise.” Toby snorts, nosing into your neck as he swipes his fingers through your folds. The slick that dampens the digits sends a shiver down his spine. You’re just so ready for it. “Who would’ve thought that you’re s-such a slut?” His words vibrate against your skin, sparking up a heat that simultaneously makes your cheeks burn hot, and your clit throb under the pads of his fingers. “I expected m-maybe a little makeout at b-best.” Two fingers tease your entrance, just gently prodding against you as his thumb slides against your swollen nub - his calloused fingertips barely doing anything, and yet it felt like so much. “But here you are. B-Begging for my dick.”

“I’m not-“

“Yeah, you a-are.” Toby’s silencing you in a second, his teeth sinking into the meat of your shoulder as he plunges his fingers inwards. You’re so wet that it’s an easy glide, the digits slipping in and stretching you open so suddenly that it steals the air from your lungs. Legs twitching around his hips, you grit your teeth to try and keep your noises at bay, eyes fluttering when he scissors his fingers wide open - your velvety walls abiding to his every wish. “F-Fuckin’ tight-“ He mutters under his breath, the words fanning out hot and heavy against your skin. “I don’t even kn-know if you can take me.” Curling his fingers, your hips kick - more slickness just being fucked out of you with every movement. “Should wait- Sh-Should take my time-“

“M’fine-“ You gasp out, your head falling back against the wall behind you with a thud, your chest heaving with every shaky breath. “Toby- Please, just-“ His fingers sink in deeper, pressing crudely against a spot that makes your entire body jolt in his arms - and you’re unable to stop yourself when your jaw goes slack, a broken, choked off moan slipping off of your tongue.

To Toby, you sound like sin itself. He’d be damned if he didn’t hear more of that. If he didn’t taste the noise on his tongue.

“Oh, they d-definitely heard that one.” He chuckles darkly, eyes honed right onto your face as he pumps his fingers in quicker - deeper - almost harsh in his movements. Impatiently trying to stretch you out, knowing that if you were getting so worked up from just his fingers, his cock was probably going to make you cry. And that was something he was impatiently looking forwards to. “No hi-hiding it anymore. Might as well just…”

He pulls his fingers out of you in one swift movement, the wet squelch that rings through the air making your entire body clench up in embarrassment - your whole body red as your cunt flutters around the empty space. Still dripping, so eager it nearly made his mouth water. “‘I’m not g-gonna fuck you’.” Toby snickers under his breath, mocking you softly as his dirtied hand goes down to his belt buckle - smearing slick against the metal as he pulls the leather through the loops. “L-Look at you now. D-Don’t even care that everyone out there’s about t-to hear me fuck you like a whore.”

“Don’t be fucking mean-“ You bite back to him, trying (and failing) to keep your composure and dignity even as you watch him unbutton his jeans. Working clumsily in the squished position the two of you are forced into, it takes him a second to maneuver it all. But, sure enough, it really doesn’t take long until his zipper is all but yanked down, and he’s shoving both his jeans and boxers down in one desperately eager move.

“Not mean.” Toby hums back to you, his gaze flickering up to meet yours as he reaches down and takes hold of his cock. It’s hard enough to look near painful, dribbling precum at the tip that glistens in the light, big enough to make your eyes widen a little bit. He catches that (of course he does) and it only makes his grin widen. “Just h-honest.”

His free hand slips between your thighs, fingers finding a tear in your tights and taking brutal advantage of it - immediately ripping the hole open further - exposing you completely when he tugs your panties to the side afterwards. Stretching the material to the side, he’s got your bare cunt on full display - slick, glistening, still twitching from the loss of his touch.

A little noise of approval rumbles from his chest as his eyes lock onto the sight, his gaze raving over every fold and crease like he was staring straight into heaven’s gate. “Fuckin’ pretty.” He mutters breathlessly. Then, he slaps the head of his cock against your clit a couple times lightly, just to watch the way you jolt and squirm because of it. Just to feel your cunt throb against him. It’s near mesmerizing. “You re-really want me to fuck you?” He asks you softly, voice low and gravelly. “Right here, right now?”

Despite all of his eagerness - how clearly his body craved every inch of you - he was still giving you an out. It probably shouldn’t have come off as sweet as it did, and it probably shouldn’t have made you want him more, but at this point you feel as if you’re a stranger in your own mind.

You would’ve never done something like this before. Never have. And yet all it took was a few sly glances, and a couple minutes of swapping spit, and Toby had you so tightly in his clutches you were near certain you’d roll over and grovel at his feet if he asked you to. It was the confidence he exuded, something that he kept under lock and key. A switch that only got flipped if you were lucky to find your body beneath his palms.

It was addictive. It made you feel so wanted. So special, that you were able to turn the tides with him like this. Someone so unapproachable, so closed off to everyone who gave him the time of day, and yet here he was - near drooling as he ground his cock down against your bare cunt. Hearts in his eyes like you were bestowing a damn gift upon him.

And honestly, you were. It had been awhile since he had gotten someone so fucking needy for him. Borderline dripping down your thighs just at the prospect of him inside you.

For you, you couldn’t remember the last time your body had responded like this to another. Everything about him dragging you in and lighting you ablaze.

So the decision is easy.

“Please.” Your hips nudge back against him - your pussy twitching at the feeling of him sliding between your folds. Thick and throbbing, your thighs quiver just at the thought of taking him - but your mind (and cunt) overrule the verdict. All anxiety smoothed over in favour of learning how that would feel inside you.

“Oh, C-Christ-“ Toby mutters - his words more so a hiss than anything else. Right then, the both of you know that the decision has been made.

It had been from the moment he had closed the door behind the two of you. “F-Fuckin’ desperate-“ As he reaches down and swipes the head of his cock through your wetness - his precum mixing with your slick to just get you both even messier. “Can’t fuckin’ wait-“

One hand slips upwards to grasp your hip tightly as the other one lines his cock up properly, his gaze locked on the point where your two bodies were about to connect. You can see drool glistening on his lips, a pretty flush on his cheeks that swallows up all of his freckles, sweat beading up on his forehead.

His lips are parted, heavy huffs of breath slipping out - and they catch in his throat when he finally sinks in.

He presses into you, slow and sweet. His eyes flicker up to your face as a low groan choked off into the air, watching each and every change in your expression as he feeds you inch after inch - feeling that hot, wet gumminess swallow him up like that was your damn job. “Oh, Jesus-“ His head falls against your shoulder, panting against you like he’d just run a marathon as he pushes himself in deeper - deeper - every little gasp and moan that you let out only encouraging him. You were taking him so well it made his mind go blank, his thoughts consumed with nothing but the feeling of your cunt wrapped around him.

And to you? You think you might’ve just died and gone to heaven. The stretch makes you hiss, but that fullness? It downright makes you drool. It was like his cock was made for you, filling up every nook and cranny so perfectly - the head pressing up against your g-spot like a threat when he finally fully sheathed himself. It was enough to have your eyes going glassy, nails clawing at his back through his shirt before he even started moving. “F-Fuck- That’s it-“ Toby gasps out against your skin, his lips dragging against you as his hands squeeze at your hips. Just holding you there - impaled on his cock, pinned between the wall and his body - making you take a second to just feel it. To feel him. To make sure you remembered this. “God, you feel like f-fuckin’ heaven.” He groans out, his breath hot and heavy against your neck. “Tight little cunt- Gonna be fuckin’ d-dreamin’ about this-“

His nose presses into your skin as he draws his hips back, breathing in a deep lungful of your scent as his cock drags against your walls on the pull-out. His tongue darts out to lap at your skin as he sinks back in, a moan rumbling against you - mixing in the air with the sound that you yourself let out.

It was near dizzying. Pulling out until just the tip remained, letting you really feel that emptiness before he went and filled you right back up again. Stretching you out around his dick so good that your vision goes blurry, your hands grasping onto his shirt for dear life - clawing the material half up his back. His hands slip upwards - using the weight of his own body to keep you pinned as his hands snake up your body, his hips dealing quick shallow thrusts that punch a moan out of your lungs every time he bottoms out. His hips slapping against your ass cheeks, leaving them red. Slick gushing out of you on every stroke in, dirtying the front of his jeans - leaving a milky white ring of sticky wetness around the base of his cock every time he pulled out.

You were just sucking him in. So wet and tight it made his head spin, his pulse in his damn ears as his hands slip under your clothes - shoving up both your shirt and bra in one go, letting your bare tits spill free into his palms. “Fuckin’ crazy-“ Toby grunts out as his fingers dig into the sensitive flesh, only making your moans reach a new pitch. “Crazy that- Fuck- That a pussy this good is begging for me. Me.” He lets out a strained, breathless chuckle - kneading your breasts in his palms as his hips grind in deeper - purposely abusing your g-spot simply because he wants to see the tears spring to your eyes. It works. “I’m one luh-lucky bastard aren’t I?”

His eyes lock on your face, his expression near manic at the sight of you. Breathless, teary, choking on every moan like it almost pained you. Your entire face contorted in pleasure as your body trembled in his arms, flushed all pink and pretty - downright melting in his grip. “P-Pays to be the quiet type, huh?” His fingers pinch at your nipples, tugging at them as his hips just fuck up into you harder. Giving you absolutely no reprieve - not that you wanted that anyway. “Gets ss-sluts like you fallin’ at my feet.”

Harsher, the force of his thrusts have your body sliding up the wall each time his hips meet yours. The air in the closet has grown borderline suffocating - hot and stuffy, reeking of sweat, sex, and bad decisions. The sound of skin on skin ringing in your ears, bordered by Toby’s gravelly grunts and groans.

The pace is desperate and quick, no room for whispered sweet nothings, or tender touches - that’s not what this is. This was two people breaking under close proximity, mixing sweat and swapping saliva. Every fluid tainted with depravity and desperation. Toby can practically taste the lust seeping from your pores when his lips drag against your skin - his teeth scraping another raw red mark into the delicate flesh. And god, did it taste good. Made his tastebuds tingle, and his mouth water - so sweet, like every single inch of you was just fine-tuned to pull him in deeper.

It was so easy to get lost in it. To forget where you were. His hips snapping against yours, his cock bullying its way into your heat on every stroke in. All you can feel is him - his hands leaving heated trails against your body, his teeth pinching your skin between them. And all you can hear is him - the heavy huffs of breath he lets out through his nose, the low groans he tries to muffle against a mouthful of your shoulder, the sound of his belt clinking every time his hips collided with your ass.

Well, that’s all you could hear, until-

“That’s seven minutes!”

The sound of a knock on the door nearly sobers you. Nearly. It would’ve, if Toby slowed down even a little bit - but he doesn’t. Like the interruption doesn’t even faze him, he keeps the pace. Keeps fucking into you like it’s his only mission in life, the only difference being that one hand comes up, pressing against the door to keep it closed, his muscles flexing as he pushes back against the body on the other side.

“Y-You’re gonna cum for me-“ Toby growls to you lowly, your legs twitching every time he sunk in right to the hilt. His thrusts downright punishing, like he was trying to fuck the rational thoughts right out of you, barely even giving you room to think. And his words? They aren’t a request, they’re a demand. “Whether s-someone hears you, or not.”

Another knock, and he only picks up the pace. Forcing the moans out of your lungs, your entire face scrunching up in embarrassment when you can’t hold them back. Knowing that you’re caught, knowing that walking out of here afterwards would be an absolutely hellish walk of shame. One worthy for the history books. “L-Let them fuckin’ hear you. Let them know wh-who’s bringin’ you to tears right now.” Toby just made it so difficult to care. “Say it. Fuckin’ t-tell them-“

You can tell that you’re not the only one starting to lose your composure. Toby’s voice is strained, shaky - the waver at the end of his words betraying just how deep in it he was. He was trembling where his fingers gripped you, his thrusts growing sloppier as your cunt just squeezed tighter and tighter around him.

“T-Toby!” Oh, it’s humiliating when you let his name spill from your lips in a broken cry - the sound absolutely unmistakable. It held all of the desperation of a sound that got fucked out of you, because that’s exactly what had happened. And now, everyone else in the room knew about it.

Maybe you’d take the time to dwell on it, if Toby didn’t throw you over the edge mere seconds after his name leaves your lips. It’s just impossible not to fall apart. Every single one of his thrusts was dead aimed at your g-spot, making your entire body jolt and your legs twitch on every movement. When he snakes his free hand down to thumb at your clit - that’s it. You’re done for.

You downright sob when it hits you, your vision all but whiting out as you convulse in his arms. Shoulders bowing, your back arches off of the wall and into him - your eyes pinching shut as your jaw drops slack, just more and more absolutely humiliating noises ringing out into the air. Loud enough that you know the music in the room outside the door wouldn’t be enough to muffle them.

“Sh-Shit-“ With your ears still ringing, you barely even hear it when Toby chokes out a ragged groan, his grip on you only growing tighter. But you do feel it, when his hips stutter - the feeling of your cunt twitching around him just too much to bear. “Gonna- Hah, fuck-“

He’s too lost in it to even ask, and you’re too fucked out of your mind to even register it before he sinks his cock in deep one last time - his lips parting in a gravelly moan against your neck as he spills inside you. Rolling his hips in deep to pump in into you, more hot, sticky warmth filling you up with each lazy thrust. It makes you shiver, a soft little whimper leaving your lips as he stuffs you full of him - his heart pounding against yours with each sated jerk of his hips.

And then for a moment, neither of you speak. You just let your head fall against his shoulder, panting against his neck as his cock throbs inside you, emptying the last remnants of his load into your twitching, sensitive body. Barely able to get your breath back, barely able to think - too busy trying to comprehend what the fuck had just happened.

Toby breaks the silence. “I… I hope y-you’re on the pill.” He mutters against your neck, one hand still holding the door shut, the other one grasping your waist like you were his anchor to reality. “Probably shoulda…”

“Asked?” You snort back to him. “Yeah. Probably should’ve.” But you don’t hit him with the annoyance and distaste he was expecting, just tired amusement. It’s enough to make him raise an eyebrow, and peel himself away from you just enough to get a good look at your face.

And god, if he thought you were pretty before? Now, the sight of you nearly buckled him. Flushed, sweaty, panting, struggling to come down from the high he had brought you to. Your skin speckled with little bruises, and stinging lovebites, your hair matted with sweat and sticking to your forehead. Still ruffled. Still half dressed, with your shirt and bra shoved up over your tits. Still stuffed with him, because he was a little bit reluctant to pull out even as he started to grow soft.

You were fucking breathtaking, and you had sought him out. The thought still winded him.

“You m-mad at me for it?” He asks, shamelessly trailing his gaze down your body - stopping where the two of you were still connected, watching his spend drip out around his cock. Worth it, even if you were.

“Not mad.” You huff back to him. “I just hope that’s not a habit of yours.”

That earns you a laugh, a genuine one. A warm, raspy chuckle that rumbles from his chest - his eyes crinkling up in a smile he hadn’t yet graced you with until now. An expression that he usually kept hidden, but he was showing it to you now, in the solitude of your own little personal bubble.

“I-It’s not.” He snickers back to you. “But, you were a-asking for it.” His hand slips downwards, giving your thigh an affectionate little pat. “C-Couldn’t help myself.”

“Yeah, well, now I’ve got to walk back out there with cum dripping down my thighs.” You scoff, narrowing your eyes up at him. “You got the easy part. You barely even look like anything happened. Just a little sweaty.”

“Oh, t-trust me, you left your mark.” Toby laughs softly, gently smoothing his palm against your skin. The roughness of his palm feels soothing, as he smears your sweat up to your hip. “Those claws of yours d-definitely drew blood.”

He leans down a little closer, his hair tickling your nose as his lips stretch into a grin. “Besides, n-no reason to hide it. Everyone already kn-knows what I did to you anyway.”

You let out an annoyed groan, weakly bringing a hand up to push at his chest. An action done in vain, because you were actually dreading the moment he peeled his body from yours.

“Yeah, don’t remind me.” You huff, rolling your eyes - to which Toby just lets out another laugh.

“Y-Yeah. Maybe we should keep it more p-private next time.”

-

hellooooooooo everyone! back at it with another toby fic! who’s surprised? not me!

thanks for reading!!

[quietbluetune]

The Unexpected Bend — B.R.

bob reynolds x fem val’s assistant!reader

synopsis: pretending you weren’t falling for your boss’s newly recruited superhero is harder than you expected it to be— especially when you can’t seem to set aside your guilt surrounding him and he can’t help but want you anyway.

or, two times you lied to bob reynolds, and the one time you didn’t.

warnings: 18+, suggestive content but not full smut, heavy making out, grinding, very sensual, slow burn-ish, angst, mutual pining, reader is insecure, valentina is way more evil, the team doesn’t really know how to handle bob’s mental health yet, slight mentions of alcohol (i don’t actually think bob would drink tbh but)

word count: 28.9k (sorry, i got carried away) ao3

author’s note: i wrote this two months ago, but this is my first finished and published work— so i think i’ve been scared to actually share it. i’ve been procrastinating and over-editing to avoid it, but it’s something i had fun doing— so if even one person reads it and enjoys, that’s a success in my book! i’d also like to point out that i know there’s discourse on how some tend to infantilize bob and i don’t want that to come across in my writing at all, as i strongly agree that his mental struggles are often misrepresented. a part of this work gently (!!) explores that subject… you’ll see. oh, also yes, i know i use em dashes oddly. idk i’m rambling— please enjoy!

Crestfallen, you walk, a jump at the click of your heels each time they meet the sullen pavement.

It echoes low, muffled sounds trapped between dense, concrete buildings and sticky, summer heat that burns off in the wake of night. This part of the city wasn’t home; it wasn’t much of anything yet— Just another block that looked like all the others, reminding you through the wind that whipped past windows and wove with intention that you still did not yet belong. 

None of it felt right: not the crosswalks you passed through, not the clothes you wore to look the part—tight, restrictive, unforgiving—not even when you finally reached the Watchtower, unrecognizable, a shell of itself and its memories. 

You used to be able to see it from your old job, just a blink away— An unmistakable beacon shining through the city. It was your favorite building to look at from your office late at night, the light dimming from your eyes as you got lost in your work, yet still found in the faint glow of an A that somehow continued to push you along.

Now, you didn’t dwell on what you felt twisting deep in your core when you saw it, absent-mindedly heading up after scanning your security clearance badges and sharing a routine nod with the doorman.

It was best not to think about it.

Soon, you’d be home and could try to forget who you were for a few hours before it pulled you back in again— Same loop, same lethargy.

Soon, you could just pretend to be someone else again.

You never got off easy, though— Still navigating the endless tasks through the city despite the promise of an 8 pm release. At least no one would be around, so you could make quick work of this one last thing.

And you wished that was still the case when the elevator finally opened to the top floor, reaching the end of your night that somehow only turned into the beginning.

The scent of familiarity—of warmth and peace—that allowed you to exhale a strained breath was the same thing that took it away again, making you freeze abruptly. Your heels scraped against the newly renovated marble, your stiff body hovering uncomfortably in the wake of the warm glow of a very occupied kitchen.

Everything about it caught you off guard, considering you not only were expecting the residential floor to be empty, but the kitchen was almost never used— At least when you were around. 

Bucky was used to frozen… maybe that was a bad choice of words, but it was true. Yelena’s grocery list usually consisted of ramen and box mac and cheeses, Alexei made a meal of team-sponsored junk foods, John and Ava relied heavily on DoorDash, and Bob— Well, you never saw Bob with anything in his hand other than a book or his other hand, wringing in nervous, futile energy. 

Until now. 

You didn’t know much about Bob, admittedly avoiding him a bit— Which he made good on, considering he wasn’t exactly a socialite himself. Part of it was because of the guilt that hung heavy in your chest when you’d catch his eye, the other something else entirely you couldn’t quite place. What you did know of Bob was that he never seemed entirely sure of himself. It radiated through his movements, his smile, his pace, and his laugh. It was doubt that covered him completely, coursing through his veins and mingling with an ice of a power too intense for him to even begin to understand. 

And that was evident as you caught him stuck in his own world— A bit removed from the situation you had just walked into, loosely wading through the kitchen, all like he was looking for something that didn’t want to be found.

His steady grip was wound around a wooden spoon— One you didn’t even know the building owned, considering it was never used, bleeding into the background with other untouched reminders of normalcy and an ordinary life. 

Fingers danced over each other around the handle, then found their way to the nape of his neck, rubbing and searching for a thought as he hung his head over a tablet on the counter, eyes looming down through loose, wavy strands. 

His hair was still that unsettling shade of blonde you hated to see— The shade you tried not to think of, yet could never really forget.

You clear your throat, unsure how to handle the silence the two of you occupied— Him unknowingly, and you, not so much. The sound cuts through the low drone of an old stereo haphazardly plugged in at the corner of the open-concept space, playing an even older song. 

His attention shoots up to you, his spine abruptly straightening as his eyes fall on you. The spoon he clung to rattles against the granite as his fingers twitched it free. 

“Oh, h-hi, uh, sorry,” he rambles, pale complexion flushing a soft and supple pink. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I Can’t Begin to Tell You,” you state, inhaling a breath and finding your feet carrying you to the island where he stood.

“What?” His eyebrows meet each other, knit in confusion at your statement. 

“I Can’t Begin to Tell You,” you repeat, setting down your stack of papers and bag on the corner of the expansive surface, gesturing over to the stereo. “Henry James.” 

His eyes follow your finger and relax when he realizes what you meant. “Oh,” he laughs gently, a hesitant yet sweet sound you wished he would share more often. “Right. It’s, uh, not mine.”

Part of you already knew that, noticing the building was still haunted with old stacks of belongings that had lived a million lives before— Stories and memories whispering behind the layer of dust that dulled them until they were forgotten. Forgotten by time, by people, by what—and who—they were once loved by. 

“I think it was Captain Rogers’,” he continues, eyes darting away from the quick glances they stole of yours and back to his work on the stove behind him. “It just gets… quiet.”

“Too quiet,” you add, understanding the loneliness this city could drown you in.

His back stiffens at that before he glances over his shoulder at you. 

“Yeah.” He says it so quietly you almost wondered if he had even said it at all or if you were just subconsciously filling in the blanks of what intent his eyes held.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here.” You change the subject, not wanting his mind to linger on the heaviness you could sense echoing in his voice, on the weight that held in the air, pushing his tone flat. “I’ll get out of your way, I just had to drop some stuff off on my way home.” 

The simmering pan on the stove began to pop, on the edge of a boil. Steam quickly filled the large room, causing Bob to fiddle with the burner until it turned to smoke. 

He mumbled under his breath as he made quick work of pulling it off the burner, fanning his hand in pain after some of the hot liquid splashed on his skin— Yet he still made sure to take notice of your words.

“No, no— It’s no bother, really,” he rushes, wiping the evidence of his bubbling dish off the stove and counter. “Everyone’s out for the night so it’s just me… so I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here either.” 

A crooked smile pulls briefly at the corner of his lips, sincerity flashing in his eyes when he turns to meet you. It melted you a bit, how much he longed for the company, but you didn’t want it to— You didn’t want to stay, not with him. Not when you still felt the way you did around him.

Not like this. 

“What’s in the folder?” He tilts his chin at the stack of documents you brought over, cluttering the otherwise clean counter— That is, aside from the mess of Bob’s cooking: the spices—virtually all of them—the utensils, dishes, and ingredients all sprawled across his work space. It looked like he was deep into crafting something way too complicated for you to understand. 

“Boring stuff.”

That wasn’t entirely true; the folder actually contained some pretty important legal documents sent over by Sam Wilson. A few brand deals that needed some signatures, some mission reports you sorted through and needed to be filed, a cease and desist… You didn’t want to worry him with any of that. 

“What’s in the dish?” you ask back, changing the subject again so he wouldn’t ask any more questions he wouldn’t necessarily want the answers to. “I didn’t know you cooked.” 

He fiddles with the hem of his sweater— Big and baggy and olive green, just like he always wore.  

“Oh, I-I don’t. Need to find ways to be part of the team, right?”

You shift your weight, trying to meet his eyes, but he keeps them busy elsewhere— Tidying the kitchen and finding aimless work. 

There was a tinge in your heart from his words, dripping with a layer of self-deprecation he tried so hard to hide— His tone chipper, all like he wasn’t finding new ways to put himself down at every turn. 

“You are part of the team. You do plenty, Bob.” His head snaps up at that, finding your eyes, a shyness behind them, waiting for you to continue, for you to say it’s a lie, for you to take it back. You didn’t. “You’re the strongest person on this team. Truly.”

He was quiet for a moment, not sure what to say, his mind racing incessantly as he waded in your words, drowning in what to do with everything you’d said. You didn’t mean to overwhelm him, but you hated when he dismissed himself, when he diminished his impact. 

“That’s the other guy,” he offers gently, a sense of melancholy lacing his tone. He says it with a half-smile—reassuring—all like it wasn’t breaking him to say. “That’s the Sentry.”

“Bob…” Your voice trails off unintentionally— A losing battle on what to say back, on how to tell him that it’s not true.

That he’s more than his other facets he despised. 

“Can you, uh, do you— I mean, do you want to, uh, to try?” He gestures to the meal, fidgeting with his hands, nervously tumbling over his words. “Since everyone’s still not back, you know? I could use the feedback.” 

In another world, you’d want to, your heart skipping a beat at his timid offering, so sweet and gentle, so honest. But you couldn’t shake your hesitation that still pulled you back, reminding you against your will of what you’ve done to him. 

You couldn’t open that door.

“I wouldn’t want to impose…” 

“No, really, you’re not.” He hurries back to his dish, assembling everything on a clean plate before you could say another word— A pair of them, one for each of you. 

“Ava, Yelena, and Alexei are training.”

They were on recon… for something Bob didn’t know about.

“Bucky’s doing congress stuff.”

Bucky was with Sam.

“And Walker… I’m not sure where he is, actually.”  

Similarly, neither did you.

“So no one will be back for a bit.” 

It would be longer than a bit, you already knew that. But he didn’t. 

“I thought you weren’t supposed to be left alone,” you point out, tone balancing on the edge of teasing and seriousness. You hated how it made you sound like a lecturing-parent—wandering mind trying to pinpoint how it made him feel too—but you know how the team was with him since everything happened so recently. You know they worried about him, even if they wore it close to the vest— Know they avoided all being gone at the same time because they don’t like for him to dwell in silence for too long alone.

You didn’t like it either, which is why it was even harder for you to fight yourself into leaving. 

Then he says, 

“Just another reason you should stay.” 

Well, you walked right into that one. 

He was quick with his answer, completing the plates and setting them down, looking at you delicately, like he said too much. “Uh, u-unless you don’t want to. Sorry, I don’t wanna be annoying, I, uh—”

“No, it’s okay.” You give in, your heart breaking at his sudden embarrassment— Like he pushed you too far when in reality, all he was doing was being kind, just like always. “I’d love to. I haven’t eaten yet, anyways… so, thank you.” 

You allow yourself to relax a bit, still nervous at being in his presence with all you held onto, letting yourself find one of the barstools and wait patiently for his masterpiece that he placed in front of you, accompanied by a glass of red wine, which you would never turn down. 

“So, what’s for dinner, Chef?”

It warmed you to watch him smile for a split second, that same pink flush you recognized from earlier creep across his cheeks, scratching the back of his head as he sheepishly averts his eyes and takes a seat adjacent to you, waiting intently now. 

“Penne,” he says nonchalantly, and you tried to fight the up turn that begged to come through at the corner of your mouth. “With tomato sauce.”

“Did you make the sauce from scratch or something…?” you ask gently, scanning around the room at the kitchen, covered in evidence of what seemed like hours of hard work and love— The same delicious smell that knocked you back when you walked in still wafting through the air, dancing with the faint glow of warm kitchen lights and delicate beginnings. 

“No, it’s just a canned one,” he answers sheepishly, somehow wrapped in even more shy, timid manners, his baggy sleeve coming up to his lips that started to curl, hiding the pink that warmed to a red. “I put other stuff in it, though… to make it better.” 

It was cute, the way he folded in on himself at your gaze, smiling and teasing towards his simple nature. You loved it. You wished you didn’t. 

With a stab or two at the pasta, you hold out your fork to him, a quirked brow and a smile to match. “Cheers.”

He brushed a lock of his hair out of his eyes and awkwardly clinked his fork with yours, the two of you taking your first bites and marinating in the flavors in silence.

Your chewing slowed as you thought, face slowly turning to meet his. You didn’t want to be the one to speak first, wanted anything other than to tell him what you really thought of his hard work.

“Do you think it’s kinda…” your voice trails, hoping that he’d take the bait and finish your sentence. 

“Spicy— But not good spicy, like-”

“Pumpkin… spice-y.” 

“And burned. Exactly,” he agrees before letting a light groan escape with the crane of his neck, throwing his head to the ceiling in defeat that made you giggle against your own will.

You rummage your hand through the spices that still littered the counter, sifting through the mess for the culprit— Some sort of explanation to solve the mystery of the utterly odd taste that graced your taste buds. 

“Maybe next time make sure this one stays in the cabinet,” you tease, flipping the label of a bottle of pumpkin spice mix towards Bob for him to see. 

“I should’ve just stuck to doing dishes and laundry,” he grovels in defeat, swiftly taking the evidence with him to clear, tossing the plates into the sink. 

“Hey, at least you made a good salad,” you point out, examining a small bowl on the counter with some fresh vegetables. “It’s a little small, but, y’know.”

“Oh, that’s for the guinea pig. Yelena’s.”

“Well, you’re good at taking care of small animals, then.” You give him a sincere smile, hoping he could sense it in your voice as he focused on plating something else, setting a new set of dishes down for the two of you.

“Here,” he says, a glimmer of pride in his voice, just for a second. “The official Bob Special.” In front of you now was a fresh plate of plain penne pasta dressed in light butter; Simple, universally-loved, a classic. “Oh, and if you want to get really fancy,” he jokes quietly, showing off a bottle of pre-packaged parmesan cheese. 

You didn’t try to hide the smile you wore this time around, happily inviting him to exchange eye contact with you, a little sweet, a little shy, all something you didn’t want with him. 

Something you know he wouldn’t want with you if he knew.

Silence swept through the room, the only sound a swelling swoon of an old orchestra thanks to what was left behind. A tinge of intimacy dances through the air—peace in common ground—something you tried to think else of for your own good. It was hard, he didn’t make it easy— Sitting slouched over his dinner, eyes drifting over to you when you weren’t looking, looking anywhere else when you returned the favor. You can’t even recall the last time you’ve had the privilege of dining with someone, the luxurious feeling of normalcy echoing in each accidental scrape of your fork against the dishware. 

You’re sure he senses that, too, all things considered. 

“It’s been a while,” he cuts through the silence first, earning your attention, like he was reading your mind. “Since, uh, since you’ve been here.”

Because of you. How do you sit here and tell him, it’s because of him?

“Yeah… you know how Valentina is.” It’s all you could think of saying, immediately regretting the mention of her as soon as the words ghosted over your lips, hitting him hard, his body twitching slightly at the name. You hated yourself for reminding him.

His face fell a bit sullen, eyes darkening and darting away from yours, sucking in a low breath, internally trying to walk himself through the mention of someone who has had such a heavy hand in his life so far. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, a quick glance at you then immediately back down at his plate, pushing a few leftover noodles aimlessly. 

Think of literally anything else, you scold yourself internally, words tripping over each other as you racked your brain for a way to subtly ease your guilty conscience through him— To let him know what you really thought of your boss, to let him know what side you were really on. 

“She, um… she,” you sputter, his eyes taking you in now, watching you take your turn at rambling through the fragments of a sentence. You lost the words, what little of them you had, trailing off. You had to be careful what you told him— Knowing her, this place was most definitely bugged and listening to your every word. 

“She hates yellow,” you sigh eventually, gingerly holding your hand up for him to see, nails all uniformly refined and polished a pale, muted lemon. Of all the things, you think. Of all the things you could’ve said. “So… I get them done yellow.”

His eyes dart between yours, trying to decipher what you were saying. You wanted to fold in on yourself—disappear—embarrassed at how pitiful and utterly ridiculous you sounded. Tense bottom lip found its way between your teeth, tenderly biting in purgatory while you prepared yourself for his response— To call you out for your indiscretion, all like he should.

Slowly, the corner of his mouth twitches into just barely a smile. 

“We match,” he carefully says, holding a lock of his golden hair, his grin growing a bit. “Two things Valentina hates.” Only you knew he wasn’t talking about his hair. Or about you.

The mention of his new look made your stomach twist, the one very subject you feared. The one thing you were doing everything in your power to avoid.

You took a sip of your wine, now being the one to look away, taking in the twinkling cityscape just past the large windows that adorned every facet of the room. “I’m surprised you still have it— The blonde, I mean.”

Through the reflection you watch him shrug, fingers scrubbing away at something on the counter that didn’t even seem to be there. 

“Everyone says they like it,” he points out, but you weren’t convinced. “Do you… What do, uh, what—what do you think?” He asks so gently, like his word was sacred, something lingering he’s too afraid to act on, your opinion, too weighted.

“It just doesn’t seem like you.” 

Silence. 

You feared his reaction again, but realized if you owed him anything, after all was said and done, the least you could do was give him your honest opinion. 

“I think that’s the whole point,” he says quietly, you still too afraid to look up at him again. “The Sentry needs to look powerful, important.” It broke your heart how he spoke of himself, the slight waver as he said it, like every syllable was a losing battle within himself, waging war with every word.

“I liked it brown,” you mumble, scared of your own honesty. “It was just… you. Just Bob. That’s important, too.” You hoped he could hear how you meant it, how you truly admired him untouched.

He gets up in silence and clears your second round of plates, stirring in thought. Your stomach lurched, fearing you might’ve scared him off, had thrown too much at him, offended him, even. 

Then,

“I did too.” 

He turns around from the sink and gives you a sad smile, a whisper of regret on his lips. You bit at yours again, reeling in his words.

Before you could think of what to say, he kept going. “You’re the only person who’s answered me without worrying I’ll fall apart at the truth or something… so thank you.” It’s shy, it’s raw. He picks at his fingers, lost in the mangle of them now. “Thanks for being honest with me.”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks, the life and wind sucked out of your soul, plummeting to the pit of your stomach, grasping desperately for air. You couldn’t do this, couldn’t let him look at you like you were some sort of savior to his sanity— Like you hadn’t already played your part in maiming the shell of who he used to be. 

So you stood, finding your feet leading you to him at the sink, soaking in the warm glow from the hood of the stove, finding each curve of your face and painting you in it— A new light, in more ways than one.

Without thinking, you grab his hand and look at him. 

“Look at him. He’s painfully pale and has a head like a bag full of cats, but he’ll have to do.”

Valentina exhaled sharply, exiting the room she had just occupied with Bob, acting as if another person’s autonomy was somehow a personal vendetta against her. You watched as she maneuvered past a version of you— One you were trying to forget. 

The old you dodged like your existence was in her way when, really, she was just bulldozing her way through yours. 

“What did he say?” old you asked, watching her slowly, almost afraid to know the answer. You remembered that you were.

“Not important. What is important, however,” she said over a sip of water, “is that we get a team working on him immediately. It’s gonna take a while to fix… that.”

You watched as your old self closed her eyes tightly, remembering how you’d tried to calm yourself at her words before painfully obliging. 

“What do you need?”

“I want him tanner— The pale is sad to look at. He won’t look good overexposed from camera lights. The clothes need to go; he looks like a Boy Scout, not a superhero. Maybe gold for the suit,” she said, thinking out loud and bustling around the room, weaving through workers promptly trying to get the building usable again. “Americans like gold. It’s classic. Looks expensive even if it’s not. Get those old mock-ups for it.”

“They were burned,” you pointed out bluntly.

“Then make them again.”

Your brows knit with worry before you said, carefully, “This seems like a lot, Val. Do you really think a makeover is necessary?”

“I signed up for the hero of superheroes,” she deadpanned, unamused by your interruption. “Not a damn charity case.” 

Once she turns around, you roll your eyes fiercely, fighting the urge to yank that silver strip of hair clean out of her head. 

She keeps going, hitting a million other nonexistent flaws he apparently has—you hurriedly writing them all down as if your life depended on it—until she finally says,

“Enhancements would be nice. They’ll delay the launch, but it’s worth it. I mean— Look at him.”

You stopped her there, your heels skidding against the concrete. “Enhancements?”

“Yes,” she said your name with a condescending bite and groaned like it was the most obvious thing ever. “Enhancements. Trim down his nose, put him on steroids so he isn’t so lanky— Oh, that new, trendy thing that makes your cheekbones look sharp,” she said, sucking her lips in to show off the shadow in her face. “Buccal fat!” She snapped her fingers at the remembrance of it. “Look it up and book a surgeon— Someone who can get this done fast so I have something presentable to show the press.”

You remembered you couldn’t believe what you were hearing— The way she spoke about him like he was nothing, like he wasn’t even a person. 

You looked back at him, sitting in a sheen of sweat, doubled over on himself at the edge of the bed Valentina once waded in with him, clearly unstable and vulnerable.

The sight of him left alone in there made you sick.

Letting her sink unforgiving claws into him and mutilate him, stuff him like he’s the puppet she wants him to be, would destroy him. You couldn’t let her, not in his state, not when he was so clearly aching to have meaning that he would say yes to just about anything she suggested. 

And she knew that.

“Or,” you began, flinching at yourself for attempting to correct her in the first place. “We could start smaller. It’ll move things along faster, y’know, pacify the investigation.”

She looked visibly irritated but stopped her busy work, granting you most of her attention now. 

“They’re really getting restless, Val,” you added, fibbing a tad to help convince her. “They’re pushing back. Hard.”

“And what do you propose then?”

“All I’m saying is you can always… tweak things later,” you offered, breath catching on the word ‘tweak.’ You wanted to sink into yourself and disappear at even acknowledging her sick and twisted ideas to form him into her mold.“You could bleach his hair, maybe. Hair can change the whole appearance, make him look more refined. Maybe a nice blonde, straight and slicked back… Really complete the whole look and compliment the gold.”

You hated your own suggestion, but prayed she took the bait, giving some time to wait on permanently altering him and his body, inflicting irreparable damage he had no control over when he was as fragile as he was. 

She huffed, waving her hand at you— Something you got a lot. “I don’t care, just fix him. I can’t be bothered, okay?” And she walked away, leaving you reeling in worry over how to please your unpleasable boss and keep your hands clean of him, all at the same time. 

You snapped back to reality abruptly, sharing in the panic in his eyes, his hands still woven in between yours. Your breath hitched as you realized what you had just done, almost forgetting just how abrasive that memory was. In your desperate attempt to atone for your sins—show him why you avoid him so incessantly and feel so complacent in a version of himself you know he hates—you hung him out to dry. You let him relive the woman who has already caused him so much harm.

You let her cause more.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, a pathetic presence of self-pity laced through the letters you strung together, tears clinging to the corners of your eyes despite your best attempts to stop them. Skin untangled from his, wiggling your hand free of his grasp, running through your hair, searching for how to explain what just happened to him— Why you did what you did. “I haven’t been honest… not like you think. I needed you to know that.”

He took you in carefully, his eyebrows and forehead wrinkles woven with worry and pain, a similar sheen of sweat dancing across his skin— One you knew all too well. Golden hair came to light again, the messy brown you once loved lost in the darkness left behind once your hand left his, now only an aching memory.

“You were just doing your job,” his voice cracks, raw from the silence it had been swallowed in just moments before, and you wanted to laugh— How could he seriously be standing here right now making excuses for you, comforting you, justifying you?

“You want to know why I avoid you, Bob?” Your voice raises a bit in volume, more courage coursing through your veins as you listen to him excuse your actions. “I avoid you—this place—because every time I look at you, I’m reminded of how I stripped your sense of identity… of how I helped erase you. And it kills me.”

You were so caught up in your own rambling confession, your voice wavering slightly, a sting clawing at the back of your throat, that you didn’t realize he had stepped closer, his large frame towering over you now, casting a shadow over the dips and curves of your skin. 

“You helped save me from much worse,” he whispers, a little unsure of himself— Maybe of the moment, maybe of the breached space… Maybe of you. Was it you? Breath dances with his as you blink up at him now, eyes impatiently searching for the answer like it lay there, honest and open and true when he adds, “Besides, it’s just hair.”

Still unsure, you say back, “I erased a part of you, Bob.”

He shrugs and looks away, taking the smallest step back, a sudden rush of cool flooding you from the loss of body heat he radiated onto you. How could you miss something you barely had? 

“Not much there to erase.”

The way he says it cuts through you like a knife, a feeling of dread worse than you could’ve imagined. How could someone so great, so pure and full of potential, see so little in himself? 

It’s like he was searching for new ways to keep you up at night— The guilt you bear, the senseless burn in the deepest corners of your soul that demanded something more with him, were not yet enough. Your Achilles’ heel. The way he consumed you.

“I’m going to do this thing where I’m only honest with you now,” you start, voice cracking a little over the words, eyes begging to connect with his— To help him see, to understand; you meant it. “That’s not true, Bob. Not at all. Not even a bit.”

A heat burns through the high points of his cheeks, undeniable proof of the way he’s fighting the urge to let himself believe what you so desperately wanted him to see. You knew Bob well enough to know he’d take a lot more convincing than that. His voice crawls with a doubtful chuckle as he says, so quietly you could barely hear, “I don’t know about that.”

His hands find a home at the base of his neck, wobbly fingers pawing at flushed skin, eyes unable to meet yours. It didn’t matter, you still watched him— Eying him intently, learning what he was trying to say through his body instead. Silence was something you were used to when you were around him, the leading party admittedly coming from both ends, but this was a new kind of silence. 

You hated it.

There were a lot of things you wanted to do— Shake him free of the prison in his mind, tell him that he’s something extraordinary, remarkable, tell him you’re scared of what twists inside you for him. You wanted to tell him that your guilt has made it a lot easier to cover up the feeling that scares you most in the likes of him— An unknown ache, yearning to be set free. You wanted to pull his hand out of his hair and to your chest, let him learn by feeling how hard your heart was beating for him, a spark you’d buried, fighting to burn again. You wanted to grab his face in your hands and stop his ragged breathing, suffocate his fears and worries with the certainty of your lips, skin on skin, hearts on sleeves, trust in devotion. 

But you couldn’t do any of that, so you did something you’ve wanted to do for a long time.

“Come on.” He twitches as you latch your hand onto his forearm and pull him toward the door, scared the contact might not take you where you intended, yet you stay grounded in this universe—this moment—his mind racing at your forwardness as he stumbles along behind you. 

“Where are we— W-what are we—”

You stopped abruptly at the side door near a little shoe rack, turning to look at him now— Stability found in the pools of his eyes that made their way to yours again, eyes you’d somehow missed already, shy and tentative. 

“Do you trust me enough to follow me?”

He swallowed hard, wringing his fidgeting hands together, eyes darting around the secluded area of the residential floor you’d taken him to— Like he was surprised you knew it existed, this quiet part of his home. His hesitation made your burst of courage start to fizzle, choked away in the silence, until—

“I… I think I’d follow you anywhere.” 

Your heart leapt like your soul had been ripped through your chest and crashed back into your body when those words left his lips. 

“Good,” you manage to get out, gently instructing him to put on his shoes— Which he obliged, tripping and falling over himself to slip his sneakers on as fast as he could, you watching endearingly, unable to look anywhere else. 

You grab his arm when he recoils from the floor, standing tall over you again, familiar frame and body heat filling the air, and headed for the door. 

“We’re getting your hair back.”

For the first time in your life when you walk toward the building, you feel renewed hope. It was giddy— The energy and lightness that hung in the air around the two of you, walking lazily back to the Watchtower, no longer a fear or worry in the world. Who would’ve ever thought the reason you dreaded that building would be the same one that saved you? 

Everything was starting to feel right— The crosswalks you scurried through, grabbing ahold of his arm like he were a lifeline, no longer uneasy now that he was next to you. You could relax against him, the shield of his body a buffer between you and the busy streets, giggling your way through the flashing traffic lights and honking horns of impatient drivers. 

You used to envy them, their pointed purpose around you, but now you only pitied the restless nature of their souls— The way none of them had a reason to enjoy the moment they were in. 

Unlike you.

It was funny how quickly you realized what you’d so deeply repressed in regards to him. He brought peace to your world, relishing in the time you got to spend with him now— Unburdened, hopeful, reborn. 

It was like your soul had known his forever— A familiar flame, kindling, against all odds, with his.

It was like he was learning to breathe again when he wandered through the hazy city streets with you, his eyes sparkling with wistful wonder as he absorbed the movement around him. He waded in the flickering life of the city all like he wasn’t living in it, day in and day out, like he'd never seen anything like it before. 

You knew that wasn’t true— He made himself busy outside the Watchtower, growing bolder in exploring every day, discovering what the world had to offer just like everyone else. Looking—a whisper of loss behind his eyes—for the thing in this city that could make him tick. Searching for a home in a city of nomads, in a city that was lost like him. Like you.

He hasn’t found it yet. 

A smile pulled at your lips bitten by the cool evening air, absentmindedly, as you watched him take it all in, his hesitancy washing away with every step now. 

Your cheeks warmed again at it— Just like they did when you left, the memory of him stumbling over himself in every sense of the word flooding back like it’s lived in your mind forever now. 

“Are you sure we should be doing this so late?” He had mumbled to you, tone unsure yet hopeful— Hopeful you’d ease his doubt and insist he’s exactly where he needs to be. 

You did.

“Yes, Bob, it’s fine,” you’d said back. “You’re with me.”

“A-and the store— They’ll be open still?”

“It’s only 9 pm, Bob. We’re in New York City.”

“Oh, right.”

You knew it wasn’t about being out late or about a store’s hours— Of course not. He’s lived a life far more complicated than a 7-11 run in the middle of the night, to say the least. 

It was that he was still finding his footing, trying desperately to ground himself in something that would do it back. That would assure he was allowed ownership over himself again. No abuse, no drugs, no demons. 

Just something real. 

He was overly cautious of himself, like he was hyper-aware of the fact that his brain convinced him he was out of place somehow. You knew the feeling.

The rest of the trip went that way— Him clinging to you and your every word, watching with calculated thought churning in his brain while you did your thing: picking out the best shade of brown to match his roots that poked through just enough, weaving through the store with ease— Just two lost souls finding themselves together in the artificial glow of a late-night corner pharmacy.

You refrained from touching him again, fighting off the intimacy you felt creeping up on you. If your fingers wrapped around him you’d only be reminded of the swoop in your stomach when things crossed into a realm you teased— Cautiously, carefully. 

When you grabbed his arm to drag him out the door or keep him with you as you ran through the streets, it felt familiar—felt okay—allowable, even. But there were other ways of touching him that you knew would stop your breathing, swirl your head, shred your better judgment— Hungry claw at your heart. A heart that screamed for him, for more.

You couldn’t touch his hand again. You couldn’t snake your hand across his lower back as you shuffled in front of him in the aisle. You couldn’t thread your fingers through his hair to find the perfect shade—You just couldn’t.  

So you gingerly held the box up and took your best guess, his questions still coming all the same. 

“Is it going to sting?”

“No, Bob. It’s a demi-permanent dye, not bleach. Your hair’s already bleached.”

“This is a bad idea, what if everyone hates it? Valentina is gonna get so pissed—”

“So let her,” you dismissed softly. “She’ll have to go through me first.”

A pink settled on his skin— That same pink from when you startled him in the tower, the color from when he served you dinner, shy and hopeful. The one that blistered his skin when you teased him— One that festered from the way you talked him down, not letting him consume himself in doubt, all like it was already a natural place for you to be. It appeared again when you worked your way around the night shift cashier who didn’t want to honor a coupon Bob mentioned in passing he tried to use last week on snack foods for Yelena. It was still crinkled in his pocket, a reminder of his failure on his grocery run, in his small but monumental tasks— You simply couldn’t have that. 

And now, you walk back, a plastic bag of his newfound authority swaying alongside you as he held the jelly-red candies he munched on up to the streetlights, watching them glow from within— His prize in more ways than one. 

“Do you ever think about why they’re called Swedish Fish?” he muses, voice cutting through the sugar on his teeth. “Like, what makes the fish… Swedish?”

You couldn’t do anything but smile— A smile that stretched so far it pulled his attention with it, rambling questions coming to a pause and looking at you. Cool, flickering lights under the Watchtower’s entrance cradle your skin, making you shine— A physical embodiment of the way he made you glow inside, just like his candies in the streetlights.

“What?” he asks tentatively, thin lips pursed together, stopping mid-chew with wide eyes darting gently back and forth, like he’d done something wrong. 

Eyes connected like constellations decorating the clear, crisp air above you, the soft lull of city life blurring into the background— Somehow completely insignificant in this moment.

You wanted to say, 

It’s just that I like spending time with you. You look so perfect right now I can barely breathe.

Or,

I missed having you in my life. Even if it was small, I still missed you. It meant something to me.

You fought the urge to confess,

I feel something I shouldn’t— Something hungry and restless from the way I let it starve.

I feel something for you. 

You dared to whisper,

I think I’m falling in love with you.

But instead— 

“Nothing,” you breathe back softly, a cautious reluctance haunting your phrase despite your desperate attempt to hide it. The words taste wrong as soon as they leave your lips, a new sin brought to fruition, betraying what you promised him before— Doing the one thing you vowed never to do to him again.

You lied.

You don’t say any of what you want to, just reiterate with a breathless smile, “It’s nothing.”

He pushed further, gently— An offering so delicate, a chance for you to take it all back and give him what burned inside your throat to say. He asks it carefully, like he was dancing on a line he was afraid to cross. 

“Are you sure?”

The key card buzzes you back in, breaking the moment that threatened to swallow you whole. 

“I’m just glad you got your candy, is all.”

When you step inside, you move through the tower silently, a state of mourning, like you both knew what was about to come— A next step, only yours to take. 

You didn’t want to go. You wanted to live in this night forever. It was a night you could only dream of having— So raw, so utterly real that it threatened to shatter what you thought you knew of reality. It felt like if you let it end now, you might never get this feeling back again. 

You wondered if he felt the same.

When you reach the residential floor, you enter, this time, as someone completely new— Or yet, maybe someone you’ve always been, a person who just got lost. You were getting to be the different, better you. The one you fantasized about being when you were alone at your apartment, only now with the only person in the world you’d want it to ever be with. 

Everything was just how you left it: messy kitchen, littered with evidence of a lived-in night, half-had glasses of wine, deep red liquid staining the bottom of the vessel like a scar. Warm light, a pulse radiating throughout the dark floor all from that one space— The space where everything changed for both of you. 

The only thing new was the silence from a finished record, drawing the night to a close. Your cue to go.

Bob was the first to speak, confirming current residents with the comm system, only to reaffirm your impatient suspicion.

You were still alone.

“Wow, everyone’s still gone,” he reiterates after the mechanical voice goes mute, a nervous and low, breathy laugh engulfing the sincerity seeping through his tone— One that threatened to betray his facade and bare the truth of what lies behind intent. 

“Guess so,” is all you say back. 

Beat. 

Say something else, you scold internally. It’s getting too quiet. 

Eventually, you cave and bite first—begrudgingly—but not wanting to crowd him any longer. “Thanks for tonight. It was nice.”

You give him a half smile and move past him, his lanky frame awkwardly shuffling aside with a mumbled ‘sorry’ so you could grab for your bag— But you don’t take it yet. You just encroach on his space, hovering gently, waiting for his next words, fingers practicing wrapping and releasing around the handle haphazardly in wait. 

Holding out the plastic bag from your impromptu errand, you look at him— His timid eyes already watching you, absorbing your every move, thinking intently. You hold out the offer of it—a weighted symbol—waiting in the silence, a moment too delicate to speak. He takes it gently, but neither of you move— Both your hands still clutched onto the bag, not wanting to let go. In more ways than one. 

“I, uh, I don’t really, um,” he stutters. “I mean, what I mean is, I— uh, sorry— It’s just that…” He pauses, taking you in, mind reeling behind his eyes on what to say to you next, suspended in the time you let pass.

Wrap, release.

“Maybe you can come back, y’know,” he says—so shy, so quiet—gesturing down to the bag, your fingers finally slipping free of it once the position is acknowledged, relinquishing sole custody to him. “I don’t really know what I’m doing with all this… so if you don’t mind, or uh, have the time in your schedule…” He laughs timidly, restless fingers around the plastic gripping on for dear life— And oh, there’s that flush again. “Sorry— I know you’re busy, this is stupid,” he rambles but you stop him, touching your free hand to his around the bag. His mind and mouth and meddling fingers come to a screaming stop at the contact, eyes flickering down like you might have unleashed the unwanted.

It didn’t come.

“Of course I’ll help, Bob.” His features immediately relax, a bit of reassurance washing over him as you smile softly, your fingers still stuck to his. 

“Okay,” he croaks. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Your heart thudded hard— So hard you wondered if he could hear it ringing in his ears like it was in yours. 

Wrap, release.

He runs his tongue over his teeth, mulling in thought, weighing the voices, then says,

“Do you think it’ll take long?” he whispers, almost scared. “The dye?”

“No.” Your tone slips lower, matching his, trembling almost. “It’s pretty easy…”

Eventually, he says, “I won’t keep you.” He looks down hesitantly at your hand— One on your handbag, tethering you to an exit you didn’t want to take, the other still meeting his— His eyes not wanting to remind you they were still overlapping, the contact becoming more charged as each second passed. “You’re probably busy, y’know… with work ‘n stuff.”

Did you dare? 

“It’s quarter to 10 on a Friday, Bob.”

You did. 

So you continued. “I have nowhere to be. It’s the weekend, so…”

Wrap, release.

“Do superheroes even get days off?” he asks, but not seriously. He says it like it’s a strained joke, a short laugh covering up the root of something much more complex— Something much more timid and intimate that he wanted to know. 

Your hand twitched free from his, cold rushing to the pads of your fingers from the loss of heat. 

“Lucky for you,” you tease, “I’m not a superhero. That’s your job.” 

When he looks down at his hands, likely mulling over the loss of contact just like you, he follows your lead. “Care to work some overtime, then?” He looks back up, eyes dancing along yours, searching to connect like a puzzle begging to be finished. They echo with hope, glistening from the reflection of the light captured in the dim and dark center of his doubts— The part of him that said, she wants nothing to do with you. Stop bothering her, you’re wasting her time.

But you’d like nothing more. “I think I can swing that.”

Release.

The releasing won— You retreating your grip from your handbag, stranding it on the counter along with your other things, leaving behind the people you were before tonight, leaving behind an old fate, stepping into something new and unfamiliar. A new beginning, together. No longer alone. 

So you let him lead you upstairs into the uncertain.

His hands were buried deep in his pockets, hair shifting against the cool blue hue of the roaring city in restless waves as he walked. Each step echoed into the empty, taking you somewhere you never thought you’d have the privilege of going.

The corridor stretches on— Long, dim, empty of the usual chaos. A steady haze clung to the walls, the flickering heartbeat of twinkling city lights bleeding through tall windows, washing the world in a soft, electric kind of quiet. He stops once he reaches the end.

The hallway wound further, but he didn’t.

He opens the door, dipping his head and shuffling aside, the smallest, sweetest smile breaking across his lips for a split second. It was the kind of smile that made your chest ache and your heart soar. 

He lets you enter first, a wave of goosebumps pecking your skin as his forearm brushes the air behind you, reaching out for the touchpad. The lights come on, his private world unfolding before you, one shadow shattered at a time— Like a secret you weren’t sure you deserved to be told yet. 

His room was more well-kept than you were expecting, considering his battle with inner demons and his tendency to be a bit scattered. Part of you wondered if it was just because he didn’t have many belongings anymore.

Some similarly muted and oversized garments tenaciously cluttered a lounge chair, a few scattered across the floor, the rest held in a closet bigger than your apartment— Though it was mostly empty, lining lights illuminating barren drawers and shelves. 

The outer wall across from his bed was covered in large windows overlooking the city, beneath it a slightly raised landing that stretched along the back edge of the room. Atop it sat a sofa that looked completely untouched and a dark wooden desk, adorned with small remnants of him— A notepad with some scribbles and doodles too faint for you to make out, a pile of crumpled, discarded fragments of papers cluttered around it. A computer and phone, plugged in and seemingly forgotten about, a small succulent on top of some better-known self-help books alongside an empty cup with a thick straw— Seemingly for a milkshake or smoothie. 

His soul touched every corner, a faint whisper of himself embedded in the fabric of his own reality.

Lining one wall adjacent to the windows were several bookshelves, mostly empty yet, but still more crowded and lived-in than the other things in his room. Some shelves held picture frames still encasing the stock photos inside— Naturescapes and famous landmarks, things of that sort. You had to fight the smile that crept to your lips at the invasive thought that maybe, one day, you could be the one to change that. 

And there he stood, raking his hands through his hair and wringing them together as he watched you silently take in the space. 

You take the first steps, freeing yourself from the tight suit jacket you’d been bound to all day, the fabric whispering against your skin— A physical and emotional release. He watched your frame closely—carefully—like he was witnessing something he wasn’t supposed to.

Why did it feel dramatic? Why did it feel weighted? 

Maybe because it was.

Because around him, everything felt heavier— Closer, like stepping too near the edge of something you couldn’t quite name.

You drape it gently on the curve of his bed, leaving with it the urge to hold back, trying your best to stay grounded when stepping into something new. 

Something with him.

“Those look uncomfortable,” he murmurs softly, like he was tapping the ice instead of breaking it. Like he was talking more to the room than to you. 

You study him, trying to connect what he was saying with his eyes to what he was saying with his words. 

“The shoes,” he adds shyly, an almost boyish innocence in his glance at your sharp heels— His form of an invitation for you to settle in, reminding you it’s okay to relax in his space. 

“Oh,” you laugh gently, taking his delicate offer to slip them off, warm pads of your feet finally unwinding against the cool of his floor— An exhale. “They are.” 

He repays you with a mannerism close to a smile, the outer edge of his mouth flashing into a curve for a second, making your stomach swoop with a flutter you can’t contain.

“You might want to, uh,” you continue, gesturing to the sweater hanging loosely over his lean frame, soft and worn. It was the kind of thing you knew he probably slept in. Something that probably still smelled like old memories and half-healed wounds.

“You don’t want to get dye on that,” you add. “It probably won’t come out…” 

Beat.

He glances down, all like he just remembered it’s still on his body.

The favor was returned. Saying it without saying it.

For a moment, he hesitates, then you feel it— That shift, that ache when it happens. It’s not out of debate of your offer, but because his stare is lingering longer than he’s ever let it before, watching you closely—intimately—reveling in the delicacy of your words. 

His eyes trace the curves of your skin, arms now exposed, standing in your blouse. It’s a business-casual tank top. Appropriate for work, but still fun enough to leave a button or two undone.

He quickly tears his gaze away, soft blue irises gently washed in awkward panic— The silent kind that only shows as they dart around the room, his limbs gesturing in small movements toward his expansive closet.

“I—I have things,” he rushes, hand tearing into the nape of his neck, rummaging through his restless hair. “Like, uh, like a t-shirt or something, I mean… if you don’t want to ruin your clothes too.” 

You smile and accept the offer, following him into his closet. 

The enchanting scent of cedarwood drawers mingled with the warm, earthy smell he always wore— So subtle, so effective, just enough to make you forget anything else mattered in the moments when it hung in the air around you, dizzying and distracting.

He rummages through a drawer—half-open, garments half-folded—and pulls out a slightly wrinkled steel-blue t-shirt and a pair of lounge shorts, fabric clutched in his fists, fidgeting nervously. 

“They’re clean, I promise. I just… I hate folding.”

Slipping into the bathroom, connected to both his room and the closet, he hovers, his hand ghosting over the handle. “I’ll, uh, I’ll give you—” he stumbles. “I’ll let you… yeah…” he trails off, a nervous laugh swallowing the rest of the words he failed to find. A blush crept to your cheeks at his timid nature— It was sweet, sincere. It ruins you. 

The door creaks as he pulls it shut for you to change, unknowingly leaving you alone with a heart that pounded for him, a heart that could no longer lie dormant in his empty space. The undeniably intimate feeling of wrapping yourself in his clothes—an extension of him—creates a flustered pull at your lips. A burning. The silent buzz of his closet carrying it all.

When you slip the soft, threadbare fabric over your head, you linger for a second, a persistent thought of proximity curling around you like smoke. The thought clings to you like the fabric, just like how it’s clung to him before. For a fleeting second, you almost drown in the thought that maybe this will be the closest you’ll ever get to be to him— Only some fabric shared.

Once.

It’s large, draped over your body like a blanket, and even then, it still hangs just right— Enveloping you in comfort, all like it was made to be worn by you too. Like it’s been waiting all this time.

The shorts, on the other hand, make a habit of slipping past your waist, hanging there for no longer than a second before falling, the garment gathering down at your feet. You try rolling the waistband a few times, but it’s a useless feat, leaving you to hope your company was okay with a makeshift dress instead. You, in his shirt, bare legs disappearing into the too-long hem. 

Its length stretches just past your fingertips. Sure, you’ve worn shorter dresses to work, around the team, around him… but this felt like something you had to rationalize a lot more.

Just as you swallow your pride and replace it with something more earnest and raw for him—your heart on your sleeve, vulnerable in more ways than one—you freeze. 

In the reflection of the mirror, looming large at the opposite end of the closet, you catch a glimpse of him through the sliver of the bathroom door that’s slipped ajar. 

He pulls the olive sweater up over his head, back facing you, ruffling the locks of golden, wavy hair he tries to pat down to no avail— Something you could still love in the scattered fragments of him, because it was, after all, still him. The movement tugs the white t-shirt he wears underneath up, a patch of smooth, sculpted skin resting at the waistband sneaking through, your breath catching at the mere sight of it— Of him, like this. 

From the freedom of his baggy sweater you could see him better— A fresh glimpse at the way his chest rises and falls with deep and heavy breaths, struggling to tether himself to something that was never really there. His muscle was indescribable, molded into the stretched cotton, something unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. The closest you’d come was seeing it on TV. One of the Avengers— One who didn’t come from this world. 

Yet, there he is. Innately human. 

Those were the most captivating parts of him. Through taught muscle lay a subtle softness at the curves and dips of his skin, his hands like they were large enough to hold the whole world yet were still found fiddling with the simple box dye, restless energy shuffling around the expansive tile until he slipped out of view, taking your pitiful daydream along with him. 

You wish he knew just how alluring he really was. 

Unsure fingers gather the fallen shorts and clothes still warm from your body off the floor, folding them loosely over your arm, draped in front of your body as if that somehow makes the moment any less vulnerable, less revealing. 

When you step into the bathroom, he’s sat on the edge of his tub, cool porcelain cradling his long and lanky frame, fingers still buried in the box— Toying with the cap, absentmindedly picking at the corner of the paper, brows furrowed as he raked through the expansive instructions on the back, all too caught up in anchoring himself to something—anything—to notice you were there standing in front of him. 

A hush and milky white bathes the tile, a low lunar light lingering over every surface like silk. An echo of penance trapped between four walls and two bodies.

The sweater’s gone; he’s in that cotton white t-shirt you already caught a glimpse of— Simple, classic, saying so much without saying anything at all, much like everything about him. It’s somehow the same size as the one you wore, just fitting much more right— Tightly stretched over his broad chest and shoulders like a second skin, fabric smoothing perfectly over the rest of him. His hair is still messy, riddled with movement and life. His feet bare, legs long and in light grey sweatpants, arms exposed and glowing in the dim pooling light of his bathroom.

Was it too much to ask to live in this moment forever?

“The shorts were too big,” you confess, reluctant to disturb him— To steal back the time where observing him feels like the most important thing you’ll ever do, like a gift too good to keep. You look down at what you were left in, the sensual nature of just his t-shirt somehow showing off every curve of your body despite its size like it’s taunting you. “I hope you don’t mind…”

When he looks up at you, the world narrows to a pinhole. Just for a second. It’s like you were in a vacuum, the rest of the world slipping away until it’s just you. Just him.

The box falls free from his hands and clatters to the floor, fingers freezing and pressing against his legs now, a gentle back and forth like he was trying to soothe himself. Thin lips part slightly, so subtle you wouldn’t even notice if you weren’t so drawn into his every move like it was a lifeline— Your resuscitation, suspended in aching time. 

He sucks in a slow and steady breath, the only thing present. Just you. Just him.

You lived a lifetime in the flicker of an unspoken spark, a jolt you weren’t supposed to feel, but did. In truth, it was only mere seconds you stood there—a silent offering—before he spoke.

“You, uh…” he starts, a breath catching in his throat, words clinging there, stickier and sweeter than his candy. He gestures vaguely at the shirt. “Looks better on you.”

It’s shy, reserved, like he just said the most obscene thing his mind could conjure— Like it was unholy to say anything at all in this state, in this moment. His voice is low, heavy as gravel, the undeniable weight of his words landing like a stone on your chest.

Nervous eyes glance around the new space, taking in your surroundings to distract from the aching pull on your heartstrings, wound tightly like coiled wire, tension thrumming beneath your skin with no release from his earnest compliment. 

You hated how he did this to you— How he was so unaware and devastatingly oblivious to the way the small things he did made you fight off something ravenous within your soul. 

Every time he looked at you like you mattered, you had to fight the urge to grab his restless hand in yours to calm it. Every time he blushed, you had to remind yourself you couldn’t just walk over and kiss it off his face. Every single damn time he said a sheepish compliment like it was sacred, you had to wrestle your mind into remembering he isn’t yours. He’s not yours.

Every. Single. Time. 

This time wasn’t any different, somehow willing yourself into swallowing the lump in your throat, pushing down the words that were threatening to boil over in a confession and instead do something stupid— Change the subject rather than telling him something absurd, like how you want to wear his clothes forever. You wanted to live within a piece of him, always.

“Do you have a hairbrush?” 

He blinks a few times— Blank, rapid, staccato movements trying to process what you said, like he was surprised by your response. 

“Oh, uh, yeah— Yeah, I have one.” 

His fingers drum against his thigh, then stop. His jaw tightens, like he’s trying to catch a thought before it slips away, and crosses over to open a drawer in the vanity like he wasn’t buried deep in his mind. A small plastic comb turns aimlessly in his fingers before he hands it to you and immediately looks down, avoiding your eyes, murmuring, “I-I think your hair already looks nice, though.”

God, he was killing you. Did he know he was killing you?

“It’s for you,” you breathe, quiet and sure. “If you don’t brush your hair before coloring, it’ll get spots, is all.”

“Oh,” he whispers, a gentle smile in relief breaking across his lips for a fleeting second, like he was happy you weren’t displeased with his appearance. “That—that makes sense.”

“May I?”

You hold the comb up and ask— In a way asking yourself if you were really ready to touch him in that way. Asking the room like the echoes would answer back and reveal what you weren’t quite ready to face.

It was nothing—sure, maybe on the surface—but you’d been avoiding touching him for so long, the restraint was suddenly the thing making it harder for you to hold back. Your heart, light-years ahead of your mind, knew if you touched him in a way that mattered again, you’d only be reminded of how much you didn’t want to let go. Of him. Of yourself.

But he nods, a shy and timid pink flushing his features ever so slightly— All like it wasn’t as weighted as your dragging thoughts were making it feel. You reach up for him on your tiptoes, stepping a little closer, trying your hardest to reach his head that towered above yours until he took the lead and sat on the edge of the tub again. His fingers hovered loosely over the curve of your waist to guide you, accompanied by a soft, “There.”

Sitting down, his head rests just in front of your chest, hanging slightly in silence— A semblance of reckoning as he gives himself to you. 

Shallow and steady breath was hot against your sternum, sending shivers down your spine. He exhaled all like it was something he was trying to control—to contain—a pledge to bury how he was feeling inside. The truth remained exiled in the flutter of his breath like a secret— Or maybe, really, it’s just the vivid inner workings of your imagination meshed with hopeless desire.

When you’re done brushing, he hands you the tube of color with a soft smile, cap already loose from his mindless twisting, the rest of the box still abandoned on the floor. It was like it was the most insignificant thing in the world since you stepped through his door, all despite it being the reason you were still with him in the first place.

Or at least, that’s what you both kept telling yourselves.

You both duck down to pick it up at the same time, his wild waves tangling with yours like a whisper on new skin, the air around him seeping into yours, molding into one the way you so desperately wanted to believe it belonged.

Wobbling lips wear a tentative laugh and exchange breathless ‘sorrys’ when you both retract. You keep your glance down and buried into the box so maybe—just maybe—he couldn’t catch a glimpse of how fearlessly you were blushing— A shamefully senseless smile sneaking across your lips like an utter fool.

You place the mixing bowl—now full of the color—on his lap, whispering a steady, “Hold this,” and work on getting the gloves on, the black plastic melting into your skin, tight and precise. Then he reaches for the developer.

“No, wait,” you instruct lightly, and he freezes like he’s created a catastrophic problem. 

You go to the vanity and grab a different bottle of developer left behind in the plastic bag. When you pour it into the bowl, he clings to it with extra care, all like it was going to shatter under the weight of his grasp. 

“Never use the developer they give in the box, especially if you’re only depositing color like we are,” you explain, eyes flickering from the bowl to his gaze, trying to ease his mind through the aching adoration you couldn’t help but wear for him. “It’s usually a 20 volume,” you continue, “which we definitely don’t want.”

He looked at you like you were speaking a different language, tongue graced by a wisdom and knowledge too foreign for him to know. Eyes darted back and forth between yours cautiously, like you’d given him the answer to quantum entanglement instead of basic hair care, lost in the wavelength of your words. 

“That… that sounds complicated,” he stumbles, a little at a loss for words, trying to find where to even start. Did he know how adorable he was? Stupidly precious confusion weaving through his features, eyes fluttering as he faltered, a twitch in his lip quirking just so, nervous bubbles of laughter dancing intimately over every syllable said. Did he know all that made your knees want to give out?

Did he know at all?

“It’s simple, really,” you soothe, a sickeningly sweet tone flooding your mouth— Something you couldn’t stop even if you tried. You mix the contents in the bowl with the back of the comb and explain, distracting from the way your chest swoops like a threatening storm. “Developer is something that can lift your hair. So the higher the volume, the more lift you’ll get.”

Before you could continue, Bob snatches the bowl away mid-mix and holds it over his head, a teasing grin coming to life.

He maneuvers the bowl further out of your grasp as you reach for it, grinning at how much fun he was having teasing you— Like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Lift? You mean like this?”

His eyes didn’t leave yours once— Pure wonder glistening from getting you flustered and watching you fight it. “No and you know it,” you playfully scold, eventually grabbing it back and continuing your work all like you weren’t smiling fervently. 

“I don’t know, that seems like lift to me,” he levels with a joking tone, hanging on your reaction like it was holy.

When he stared at you with that undeniable grin you wanted to say something disgustingly stupid— Something forward and blunt and rash like how he should lift you instead; Carry you anywhere he wanted to go as long as it was within his arms. God. It made you sick just how badly you wanted him, the ache you tried to suffocate not going down easy, not staying silent, begging to be set free.

You have to choke all that down to say, 

“Lift as in opening the hair follicle so it can lighten and absorb the color.”

He bites the edge of his lip, watching you like it was the only thing that mattered, jaw twitching once as he tried to suppress his smile from growing into something bigger.

“That’s basically the same thing.”

“Mmm,” you hum, wiping the edge of the comb into the bowl and setting it down. “Basically.”

After a moment you hold it up—hesitant for some reason—before you eventually ask, “Ready?”

He nods, quiet and firm, like it was the easiest decision he’s ever made. “Yeah. Yeah,” he says, the repeated agreement said more to himself than to you. “My blonde days are over.” 

“What?” you tease, feeling a little bold now too. “You don’t wanna be a blonde bombshell forever?”

Fiery red scorches his cheeks at that, a blush that reaches the tips of his ears against the pale of his hair. His eyes flash wide before he ducks his head nervously and chuckles under his breath, like he couldn’t bear to hear a compliment, even if you were joking. Even if it were half true.

“Nope,” he mumbles sheepishly before looking up at you again, a gaze suddenly raw and honest— Something stoic humming beneath it all. “I’m good with just Bob now.”

You smile, mind bringing you back to earlier, how you reassured him he was worthy but he couldn’t fathom believing it himself. It was driving you crazy—that subtle confidence he was wearing now—self-assured in what you told him, holding your gaze like he was trying to spell it out for you; Make you realize he wanted to be himself for you.

Was it all in your head? 

“Good,” you whisper back, your intention settling more in your movements than your words. You stepped towards him now, handing back the bowl for him to hang onto, dye covering your gloves. 

His legs shift open—the slightest movement, timid reassurance—welcoming you in like you’ve always belonged somewhere slotted in between him. Arm in arm, fingers in fingers, legs between legs…

Knees brushed together as you hover over him, a breath catching at the back of your throat from the feeling. 

It was new, how close you were— The way his inner thigh tickles your smooth skin even through the plush of his sweatpants and makes you burn like you were scorched by a searing sun. 

You unnecessarily mix the dye around more, numb movements distracting from charged thoughts, averting his eyes like if he saw you for even a second he’d be able to hear the senseless desires bouncing around in your head— The ones saying all you wanted was to touch more of what you haven’t before. The ones saying hands weren’t enough, standing over him wasn’t enough, none of it was enough. You needed more, a carnal instinct you didn’t dare deny. 

How much did you have to drink?

No, it wasn’t that, it couldn’t be that— Not when you’ve only had half a glass. Not when you were already drunk over the illicit game you played, quietly pushing the boundaries of what was, what remained. What could be, maybe one day, maybe never.

You wanted him. He wanted you— Did he want you? How could he after everything… Could you get fired for this?

No, you haven’t done anything. Not like you want to…

Did he know? How long have you been quiet for? What was he thinking about—

“This might be a little cold,” you murmur, your quiet warning heavy with fog like you’d completely forgotten how to speak in the seconds you stirred around in thought— The time that felt like an eternity. 

You seriously needed to turn your thoughts off.

So you did, focusing on the way your hands laced around his golden hair, light from your previous misfortunes dulling upon contact. Dark seeps through every strand like desperate poison, like the life he missed having was being restored one tender touch at a time.

His chest rose and fell—soft and steady—deep pull of air every time you made contact. His eyes flutter shut a tad as you pull the dye through each strand, root to tip, covering him completely, your touch taking over in more ways than one. 

“That feels good,” he mumbles through an exhale, like he’s been holding in praise for devout touch his whole life. Like it was finally meaningful now, the feeling of being cared for.

For caring back. 

Your attention snaps back to reality when he says it, mind forced to finally be grounded again, reminding you where you really were, not just trapped inside the screaming fantasy in your head. The one that only grew the second you found him tonight, the second he let you in, the moment he asked you to stay— Carrying your baggage and all. 

“Good,” you breathe, trying to mask the waver in your voice. “It looks good.”

He smiles at that, faint and pure and utterly devastating, just the smallest of movements wrecking you completely. Lids are still drawn shut—light and relaxed—a gentle push into each movement of your hands, so small you wondered if you were making it up in your head.

Was it all in your head?

When he opens his eyes and takes himself in through the vanity mirror over your shoulder, he bites at his lip and hesitates, soft blue eyes glimmering with a trace of worry and nose crinkled a tad. 

“It’s, uh, does it—does it look kinda orange…?” He says it gently, like he shouldn’t be questioning a thing, like the wrong set of words strung together will make him lose you, make you run. 

“Don’t worry it’ll tone down,” you reassure, working your way to the back, leaning over him to make sure you cover it completely. “I purposely picked a shade with a warm undertone so we don’t run the risk of your hair going green.”

His jaw falls slack and he snaps his eyes off his profile and up to you, chin tilting to fully take you in, your lips being all but a breath away.

“Green? What—What do you mean— Th-that can happen?” 

Despite your best efforts to suppress it, an airy laugh escapes your lips and fans across his face, you ducking your head down into the crook of his neck at his panic only to be met with the intoxicating scent of chemicals and fresh laundry and him flooding your senses. 

“Don’t worry,” you manage to say, laughing a bit harder now as his fingers find your forearm for no longer than a second, cutting you off with a worried huff and trace of a smile spreading across his lips at your giggles— The ones that were almost too close to his skin. 

“I’m serious,” he levels with a clipped laugh, saying your name and trying to sound convincing but it was flushing out of his voice with each sound of yours. A medicine only you could prescribe. “I-I can’t go green, everyone will definitely hate that.”

You compose yourself and pull back to look at him now— Worry worn on his face, yet something reminiscent of ease flickering through when he sees your grounding stare. It was hard to not take his concern seriously— Not when he looked so effortlessly adorable, melting into a pool of a helpless mess at your fingertips. Who could blame you?  

I’d like you no matter how you’d look, you think, pausing cautiously to enjoy one last moment of the crooked smile on his lips. One that said all he needed to. 

Instead, you say, “It won't, I promise.”

“Pinky?” He raises an eyebrow and holds his pinky out to yours, a silent offering, only yours to take. 

“Pinky,” you affirm, holding yours out to his without a second thought.

Then,

“Bob, no, wait—”

Before you could snatch your hand away he meets his skin to yours— Hot, firm grip wrapping around your finger, sure and steady against the cold, dye-covered black plastic of yours.  

“This stuff stains,” you mumble, searching his expression for a reason as to why he did it. 

He doesn’t answer at first, just pulls at the hem of your shirt—his shirt—billowing loosely at your side, suddenly bashful as he wipes the color clean off his skin to bleed into the fabric covering you. 

“There,” he hums, the corner of his lip pulling into a proud smile at his good work for a fleeting second, then wiping it off like it said too much. “All better.”  

You shake your head with a laugh under your breath at his dreamy stare, like he was screaming out something you just couldn’t quite hear yet. 

“You ruined a perfectly good shirt for no reason.”

“I’d, uh… I’d say it was a pretty good reason.”

He says it like he just said something absurd— Like it was incomprehensible, the thread that stitched each word together and delivered them to you like an oath disguised as a letter. Like it was something ordinary, and yet, not at all. 

If you didn’t take a second to walk yourself back in your mind, you might’ve done something stupid— Something like beg him to say what he really means. Something like just answering him by kissing him. Something like telling him you can’t hold back any longer, this feeling you were drowning in, unbearable. 

But you keep it together, biting at the inside of your mouth and playfully rolling your eyes like it could mask the tension of that unsaid, responding with something reminiscent of a laugh as you pull his hair back into your hands where it belonged. 

“C’mere, Reynolds,” you say with a smile, tenderly tracing alongside the edge of his hairline at his temple— A quiet promise in your touch. “We’re almost done.”

He mulls in the silence for a while, letting you feel him in your fingers like it was telling him more.

You rub your hands through him and he asks,

“How d’you know so much about all this?”

You smooth your hands from front to back.

“I don’t know. The printed instructions and a YouTube video or two… A lot of practice.”

You curl your fingertips at the nape of his neck.

“Practice?”

You run them through again.

“How do you think Valentina keeps that stupid stripe so perfectly silver?”

And again…

“Really? Wow.”

And again…

“Yup. Sometimes I don’t even think she could tie her shoes if I didn’t hold the laces for her.”

And again…

“I know it was you, by the way.”

You freeze. 

Fingers release from his hair and you step back slightly, shifting under his gaze and studying him carefully— Trying to read between the lines woven on his face and focus on anything other than the spike in your heart rate or the tightness in your chest.

He said it calmly—smoothly, just like how you touched him—without a trace of malice or blame, only quiet intention. 

You go to turn back to the sink but he stops you in your tracks, solid and warm hand grasped around you. It was insane how he held you so gently yet with so much power, so much purpose. Your eyes glance down, noting his fingers were wrapped around your wrist and not your hand, all like he avoided it— Like he was still so afraid to touch you, to go beyond with you again, but he needed contact.

He needed you to stay. 

So you stopped, running your tongue over your teeth in thought before asking, 

“What do you mean?”

It was said evenly, like all your confidence didn’t just crumble under the weight of your curious words. Like it didn’t just throw you for a loop and leave you a sputtering mess in your head.

But he read right through it. His gaze steadies you��grounds you—somehow walking you back from an invisible edge just by looking at you, all without saying a word yet. 

“Who called— I… I know it was you who called Bucky.”

It was said with such certainty, a phrase harbouring something more honest than truth, a love letter delivered through pure intentions. 

He let go of your wrist, a timid hint of fingertips against the racing of your pulse before he let it drop to your side. Wandering eyes try to meet your gaze, a whisper of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You immediately retreat, suddenly razor-focused on peeling the gloves off and discarding them into the sink, setting a timer on your phone and mulling in thought. Eventually, you turn to him, your back flush against his vanity, his stare still fixed to you and chilling your skin more than the cool granite.

Patience is what he granted you, biting gently at his lips that were drawn into a tight line now. Eyebrows wobbled ever so slightly into soft crescents as he watched you stir, like he was worried about the weight of the world on your shoulders. Like it was hurting him to see you taken aback.

And yet, still, patience.

“Bob, I…” You trail off, struggling to form a coherent sentence, a huff breaking through instead of more words lost in the shake of your voice. “That-that’s—”

“I know, it’s okay.” He cuts you off and before you could blink he was already moving across the tile and standing in front of you, wading in the wake of your shadow. Your body, an eclipse. His hands find refuge in his pockets, tucked away like that somehow makes him take up less space. Like it somehow makes his earnest confrontation less invasive, less emotionally charged. 

It doesn’t.

“You were in there,” you whisper, voice cracking at the end as you try to blink back tears stinging the corners of your eyes, looking anywhere but at him, fingers picking at hangnails you created. “You were in that vault and I—and I—”

“And you called,” he reassures, steady voice countering your wavering one. Something new. With a touch as gentle as his breath fanning across your face, he tilts your chin up to him, finger lingering a whisper too long. “It doesn’t matter when it was. You called and I got out.”

His features were soft, taking you in like you were the only thing that mattered, like if he didn't study the shapes and swirls in your irises he no longer knew the purpose of living. 

“Bob, you died.” 

The hard truth hits the floor with a thud, yet the words were spoken so faintly you thought for a second maybe he didn’t hear them, maybe you spared him from acknowledging that gut-wrenching truth.

You were anticipating the worst— Ready for him to hate you, to yell at you, to force you to leave and to never want to speak to you again. 

What you didn’t anticipate, however, was for him to break eye contact.

His stare flickers down to his hand instead, slowly reaching out to yours at your side until your palms are pressed together— A fragile anchor between people who don’t know how to say what they need to.

It was cautious, desperate yet restrained— No fingers intertwined, no firm grip, just the raw press of skin to skin, something certain for you to hold onto, just like the words he spoke. 

And it felt like maybe you were the one who died and came back to life when his thumb brushed over yours—a tender, hesitant sweep—so gentle, so honest, his fingers a rope pulling you back from the depths you’ve fallen to. 

It was like time stopped when he looked up again, shy and raw, a sneaking suspicion of unbearable intimacy daring to drag you under, rip you from your guilt-wracked reality and trap you in a dream beneath his grasp. 

It was the kind of look that would leave you only to wander in your dreams after seeing it— One that would leave you wondering how to crave the unimaginable after getting a taste of his eyes.

“And now I’m alive,” he whispers, lips twitching upwards at the word ‘alive.’ “Now I have a reason to be.”

Your fingers flinch in his grasp, small and unsteady against him— Suddenly aware after the initial shock that he was holding your hand in a moment still tethered to this reality. You feel it for a split second, the flex in his fingers, like he’s weighing running again— Like he wasn’t yet believing he deserved to be holding onto someone. Like it wasn’t the feeling of you beneath him that made it dizzying, but the fact that you were letting him.

That you don’t pull away.

Glassy eyes dart back and forth between his, trying to decipher if you really just heard him flip your world upside down with a few simple words— If you really were holding him in a way you never thought possible, like maybe—for a split second—he needed it too.

Were you dreaming?

For a fleeting moment, his gaze slips down to uncharted waters, tracing the curve of your lips with a hesitant hunger. You barely dared to believe it’s real—convinced it was your imagination caving to your desires—before he abruptly clears his throat, the spell now broken.

“I-I have this new family,” he clarifies, but he doesn't stop looking at you like you weren’t completely insane for reading beyond what he was saying, for thinking that maybe—just maybe—he meant something else entirely. “I have this job… I have purpose— Or will eventually, at least. If you didn’t call when you did I maybe never would’ve gotten that chance. Maybe I never would’ve gotten out of… there.”

His voice cuts off, a short and sharp breath pulled into his lungs at the mention of it. You knew what he was alluding to, that sinister darkness that swallowed him whole and trapped him with no sign of release— A vault maybe worse than the physical one he escaped before. 

You squeeze your eyes tightly at the reminder of what he went through. 

“Why are you doing this?” you manage to ask, finding him studying you when you come back to your senses, your fingers stiffening against his for a beat before granting a subtle squeeze at his loose fingers, reminding him you were still tethered to him— Reminding him he’s still human and is allowed to crave the warmth of another. 

A tinge of melancholy stains his wobbly smile, and he says, “Because I know what it’s like to only judge yourself on your worst mistakes.”

He hesitates for a second, soaking in your eyes that softened at his words, biting gingerly at his bottom lip, hanging on the moment like he wanted to say more— Like he had another reason he was trying to will himself to set free. 

But he doesn’t.

Instead, his thumb brushes over yours again—slow, methodical—like he was learning every crease and every line.

It was intoxicating.

You never wanted him to stop.

“I just thought that maybe if I kept this job I could try to change her,” you admit, feeling exposed at your honesty— But you wanted him to know. You wanted to unravel yourself and lay every fractured piece at his feet. You wanted to give yourself away, like you were never really yours to begin with, only his.

“I thought maybe I could help become a real part of this team if I—”

He stops you, gaze heavy and dripping with something you couldn’t quite place. “You are a part of the team.”

You stared back at him, reveling in the electric energy coursing through your veins, flowing from his hand to yours, presence finding a missing piece in each other, like you both were a source of oxygen through the tender weight in the air. An addictive and alluring heaviness you couldn’t quite shake.

“I thought maybe I could work from the inside,” you continue, narrowing your eyes, teasing now— Desperate to escape the weight of your own soul. “Y’know, like black-ops or something…” 

Only he didn’t laugh.

He didn’t even crack a smile or let a pulse of air drift from his lips. He just stared at you like he couldn’t turn away from something sacred, like he couldn’t let you do it either— Like you were wrapped in something more meaningful than life itself.

He waded in the pools of your eyes and flush of your skin like you were the only thing tethering him to linear time, like not even God himself could rip him from your grasp—from this moment—from the high he chased by clutching onto your skin— Something more addicting than any drug he’d ever been on. 

It made your heart pound harder against your rib cage, a pull stirring deep at the pit of your stomach— A yearning awakening from restless sleep. 

The only thing that mattered was your breathing— In time, parallel, humming in seductive silence together. 

It’s a fever, bulletproof, impossible to break. 

And then it happens again— That hesitant glance down at your lips like he was doing something unfathomable, like the way he chased the rosey flush of your pout was obscene. 

For a second, you started to believe that maybe he could want this. Maybe he wanted this just as much as you. Maybe, somehow, he wanted it more…

Thin lips part open, but nothing comes out. So he tries again, voice thick and low with rasp. “I—”

Suddenly, the phone’s timer blares, sharply shattering the fragile silence with no remorse. The unwanted sound echoed off the tile, vibrating through every inch of skin and ripping you clean out of the moment— A feat you once thought impossible, now accomplished with ease. 

His hand jerks back as if he was caught in the act of something forbidden, retreating with a sudden, awkward haste. You let out a sharp exhale, remembering how to breathe without him again and make quick work of silencing the deafening noise, wanting to scream at what it had ruined. 

You had him.

For a second it felt like you honestly and truly had him. 

And now he was gone. 

“Guess you’re all done,” you say, not even recognizing your own voice anymore. Not when he was taking over your body, your mind. Your soul.

“Yeah,” he mumbles back, looking down at the tile— Far away now, in more ways than one.

The distance between you stretches, leaving you to freeze in the loss of his body heat hovering over yours— And yet still, the chill of his retreat is warmer than the company of anyone else in this world. 

Something you never wanted to live without now.

You suddenly lost all your confidence—what little of it you had—struggling to do what comes next.

“Do you, uh, do you want to,” you stumble, gently gesturing to his shower, “or do you want me to—”

“No, I trust you,” he interrupts, silencing your words and worries with a shy smile, still looking down at the floor until he flicks his gaze up for a second— Something shy and innocent. “I-I want you to do it.”

And for a moment, it feels like even though he let you go, he was still holding onto you.

You feel it when you lead him back to the tub, having him sit down against the cool tile and lean his head back, waiting until the water runs warm out of the faucet in the tub.

You feel it when you take a second to watch him— The way his long neck stretches over the tub, the bump in his throat catching the dim glow of moody bathroom lights. His jaw is relaxed now—soft—a way you rarely see it, lips parted in a hazy, unguarded half-smile like it’s a reflex when you’re this close to him. Deeply dark, glossy hair hangs off the edge, a few thin strands clinging to his forehead. The same strands that slipped free when he waded over you against the sink— A piece of that moment, still pulsing. They hang on like they belong there, like they couldn’t resist their natural state.

You feel it when your fingers hover over his hair—a blink away—a breath until you meet him again. This certainly wasn’t your first time touching him… So why did this feel so different now?

And like he knew you were hesitant, knew you were wrestling yourself deep in the corner of your mind, fighting back against yourself— He touches you first.

It was slow, careful. Like he understood breaking that gap between you and him would break something else too. Something unspoken, something unaccounted for. Like every delicate touch was a vow exchanged, a promise to never stop, to allow yourselves the grace to give in. 

You wanted to surrender.

Did he?

You don’t say a word, just let him gently guide your wrist down the rest of the way so your fingers could wade in his hair, the calloused heat and strength of his presence lingering for a second like he was fighting his brain's command to retreat. Like his fingers wanted to belong on top of your skin evermore. 

When you reached over to test the heat of the water with your other hand, you could swear his face tilted up a fraction toward yours— Like gravity, a new and sudden pull always drawing him to center around you. 

He watches you move. 

Silent. Still. 

Heavy-lidded eyes follow your body as you pull away, gaze thick with a look that reads as tangible desperation. Like he isn’t sure whether to be relaxed or wrecked by the moment. You can feel it humming under his skin, the pulse of something neither of you have had the courage to name. Something unmissable in the air, tension strung heavy like the room was holding its breath for you. 

He exhales when you finally pull your fingers through him again, a jolt pulsing through the air— So quiet, so unsure, yet aching.

Haunted ocean eyes lull shut under the delicacy of your touch, your fingers beckoning him one motion at a time. Deep brown runs from his head like ink spilling over a perfect white page, all sense of direction lost in the bleeding of his former self.

You wash him back to life, tenderly, with deliberate pace, keeping yourself present by focusing on everything utterly and innately him. Long, intoxicating eyelashes flutter under your touch, trembling with a fragile, exchanged energy he didn’t dare to let falter. Soft pink lips drift open, imperceptibly— The gentle gap between them like nothing more than a faint and distant shadow. Stained beads of water cling to the edge of his forehead, down his brow bone, around his jaw, down his neck…

The water collects in your hands and flushes over strands of his hair, cascading over him like a veil. Fingers work through the thick, damp strands, massaging through his scalp with a tenderness that feels more like an admission than an action.

His head pushes into your touch again—honest and true—no longer testing the integrity of your mind that wondered if he craved you as much as you craved him. This time it was done undoubtedly. 

The smell of cheap dye rises between you like a confession neither of you will say out loud. Not yet. 

Like gravity draws you there, your fingers trace along his temple, rubbing free a messy drop of tinged water off his features, like you were wiping away the empty version of him you no longer knew. 

He lets out a breath at the contact, soft and shaky, barely there. The corners of his mouth twitch like he was trying to conceal something that yearned to be set free. 

His careful exhale hung off the edge of his lips and you were jealous of it— Jealous of the way something gets to live so impossibly close to the vulnerable and intimate parts of him. The gentle in and out, all like the complications you wrestled down deep inside.

The ones that questioned if you were worthy of indulging in him. 

“This okay?” you murmur, voice small and cautious, a gentle hum craving to be reassured. 

Cool and grounding blue of his eyes flutter to life at your voice, finding your gaze through the misted air, charged and heavy with sincerity. 

“Yeah,” he says, his voice low and hoarse in a way that turns your stomach over— A reminder that he was real under your touch. “It’s… it’s better than okay,” he whispers, warming the air that’s run cold between you.

He says it delicately, a formidable prose, all like he was revealing something that was meant to be hidden, to be buried behind a calm tone rather than the intoxicating cadence of something worshipful. 

You don’t say a word, taking your time to learn each strand like a lost language, sacred scripture, senseless desire. 

Slowly, he’s painted back to himself.

Back to you. 

Tainted conscience comes clean by your hands buried in him, molding him to your touch, inch by inch, second by second, until the stained trail circling the drain lightens to something clear and pure.

Renewed light whispers through the air, a steady rhythm of the running water, beading drips from loose tendrils— The sound, a severance of a soul from purgatory. 

You lather his shampoo through the strands, something earnestly clean and simple filling the air, blending with the smell of chemicals and weighted intentions still chasing the drain.

You don’t mean to drag your fingertips a little slower, trying desperately to memorize the feeling of him tangled through you.

You don’t mean to press your palm against the curve of his neck when you chase away the suds left at the edge of his curls, his pulse a steady drum rattling through your hand.

You don’t mean to let your stare linger, the wet mess of himself suddenly the furthest thing from your mind now that you realized he was looking at you too.

But you do.

And neither of you dare to look away.

Electric tension evaporates any trace of air in your lungs. Neither of you breathe— A moment so delicate, you fear even a gentle exhale would break it.

He’s left to look up at you through familiar brown trusses framing his flushed face.

For a moment, divine intervention takes over— Your lips moving like flesh possessed by something ethereal, something by the grace of God, too earnest to name. 

“You’re back,” you whisper, honey-sweet tone drenching your words.

Beat.

“You came back to me.”

You say it like a vow, like a prayer— And perhaps, this is how religions are made. The cheap dye that ran through your fingers and mingled with the water, the soap that rinsed it free, the whispered words and a devout touch— A confessional, an act of reconciliation. Atonement for your sins done onto him.

His voice cuts through like rolling thunder, like rain on your skin— Clinging and desperate and impossible to ignore. The words come out broken and exhausted, all like they had to crawl their way up his throat to fall from his lips.

“Maybe I never really left you.”

The faucet runs dry after you turn it off, silence stretching unfathomably far. The air between you thickens, heavy and muffled with the weight of almosts.

Impossibly, the city that never sleeps seems to have fallen into slumber the second your world caved to just him. 

You should say something. Say anything. You should pull back, laugh it off, grab a towel and pretend this doesn’t mean what you both know it does. You should stop before you can’t turn back.

But you don’t.

Instead, you lean a little closer, your fingers trailing down the side of his neck, your thumb brushing over his pulse point as your hand cups his jaw, rubbing water into his skin like you can dry it beneath the heat of your touch— Through the heat of your skin, fused to his like it belongs. 

His chest is fluttering faster, pulse a steady beat under the pad of your finger, reminding you this was real. You were really here with him— This is happening. Then his eyes fall down to your lips, and you start to feel dizzy again.

He pulls you back to reality when his lips rasp your name—something sure, something even—a pleading cadence trying to attach itself to you. 

His hand comes up and catches the bend of your wrist gently, heavy fingers finding yours pressed against his neck, and you wonder, for a split second, if he was going to pull you away— If the call of your name was a warning and not a plea. Yet he holds you there, keeps you tethered to him, wiping away any doubts and insecurities you have with something more sure than words.

“I’m not going to stop you,” he murmurs, voice unhurried, lingering in the swelling silence, dancing with the steady beams of light flowing through the veins of the city beneath you.

It’s a promise, it’s a challenge… Maybe it’s both— A reverent ache granting you permission, begging you to take him up on an offer too holy to extend through anything other than an honest whisper. 

The words get stuck between your teeth, careless fibers woven between the cavities and creating pressure against your tongue. 

Warm water snakes from his neck down your wrist, staining your forearm, his wet form clinging to you, reminding you of what was just within your grasp. If you dared.

Instead, you mumble, 

“I’ll get you a towel.”

It’s like you blacked out the second you say those words— The second you leave his body, hot and weighted and impatient against cool tile. It’s like your mind moves to autopilot, rummaging through a cabinet for a towel when he’s already right behind you, always a half a step ahead, grabbing what you seek from a towel rack right in front of you.

And it’s like you're brought back to life the second he holds the plush fabric out to you, heavy breath warming the back of your neck, a steady drip of water beading off the ends of his hanging hair and onto your shoulder, rejuvenating what was lost within you.

So you soak the towel in his hair, slowly, gently, all until it’s merely damp in your hands. 

He watches you, silent worship, eyes roaming you like it was something sacred, completely unaware that you could sense the storm brewing beneath his gaze— The intention that boomed through his thoughts, carefully.

Quietly. 

Fingers linger at the nape of his neck, the towel clutched between your grasp like it’s a lifeline— Something you could hold him through, but still a thin barrier between what you want and what you have. 

It’s only then that you realize how long you’ve just been holding him.

Legs clung so closely they were basically between each other. Chests, heaving heavy with the weight of all that was quietly exchanged and pulsing between you. His eyes— Melted and wrecked and never leaving yours, so completely and utterly new.

Like if he blinked, he’d miss it. 

You tear your lingering gaze from the nape of his neck—his messy, tangled curls—and notice instead the way his hands ghost over the curve of your waist, caving and bending in the wake of your skin. Close, but not close enough. Like if he touched you, you’d vanish.

He notices too, eyes dipping down to his own cautious limbs, breath catching just enough that you could hear it and all it held. 

“Bob…” you whisper, an aching plea—something between a question and a statement—almost too dazed and lost to know if you were really speaking or just beckoning him only in your mind. 

He swallows, thick and heavy, throat bobbing just at your eyeline, body wrestling with his mind— His familiar state. 

Slowly, he retracts his fingers from your space, gone in a heartbeat, cruelly, like they were never even there.

They drum at his side, restless movement like he’s trying to break free of an invisible weight. 

“I keep…” he exhales sharply, like the words hurt to admit, and rubs trembling fingers hard across his face. “I keep thinking if I touch you now, I’m gonna screw it up…”

His confession comes weakly, weighted words faltering— Too afraid to hold all of their worth. An admittance, in some way, of what you both wanted, but have spent so long avoiding.

A religious routine you didn’t dare disturb.

The end of his words trail off and get lost in the space around you, eyes that were so suddenly sure of holding yours, lost again and looking anywhere else. 

He said it so cautiously, like they were damned letters too broken to string together, too haunted to bring to fruition. 

Little did he know, you felt the same exact way— But he doesn’t need that from you.

Neither of you do.

So instead, you let your hand reach out, achingly slow, like there was lead in your fingertips instead of flesh and blood that were all beating for him. Chills shoot through your body as you graze them along his forearm, a gentle up and down, barely moving yet purposeful— A steady movement mimicking his breath that quickened at the contact.

Up.

You trace the curve of his body with your eyes, free hand carefully tilting his chin off of the floor and up to look at you.

Down.

You linger there a second too long, shifting your gaze down at his lips and away in the blink of an eye. 

You stop.

Your voice cuts through, a gravel thick with honesty as you say just above a whisper, “I don’t think that’s possible.”

And there it was, suspended in electric air between you, hanging in the open. Waiting. Watching. 

A devout invitation to stop pretending you didn’t feel what you did.

And that was all it took. 

The hesitation that was rooted in rotten, wild insecurity burns off like fog in pure sunlight. The world narrows down to this, to him. To the way you’re both still terrified, but no longer running.

You don’t know who moved first. 

Maybe it’s been happening for hours, days, months— All in fractions of time since the moment you met him, a subtle shift, your orbit changing direction, slowly, yet all at once. 

Hesitant fingers brush the fabric of the shirt clinging to your upper thigh, pausing for a split second before finding their home against your skin, a sacred pull of his hands up your body. He pauses at the dip of your shoulder then caresses your collarbone that pokes through the slope of the fabric. 

It wasn’t fast, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t hard or demanding, but an aching yearn bleeding through every cell of his body. A desperation that grew the longer that he lived in a world where his flesh wasn't connected to yours. 

Your eyes flutter shut for a breath and you can’t help but wonder if he’s actually set your body on fire with his patient touch, a miracle granted from a god himself— Somehow, worshiping you. 

A simple touch of a body that burned for him.

His other hand found its way to your lips, controlled strength of his thumb tracing the top of your lip and down your cupid's bow like he was saying a prayer to something otherworldly. To something devout. 

You’re so caught up in it you don’t even realize how close he is now, finally leaning into the confidence you offered him. 

The crisp blue of his eyes melt to a deep and desperate cerulean when he looks at you— Every ache and desire flickering behind his gaze. They find the flush of your lips and settle there, unmistakably this time, wading in the wake of their shadow as his thumb stills against you.

Slowly, he slips his other hand up to cup your cheek, featherlight touch cradling the curve of your jaw and skin that’s gone remarkably red. He holds you in the same way his words do— Like you were the only thing tethering him to this reality. Like if he gripped you too hard you’d vanish beneath his grasp and he’d lose himself with you. 

Like you were suddenly the only thing keeping him alive. 

And like he’s already wasted all the time in the world, he closes the gap, breath whispering across your lips as he takes them into his— Delicate, questioning. Like his only mission in the world was to make you melt into him and question the matter you were made of. 

The kiss was gentle, tentative— An exhale of all you held onto as his lips meet yours, a pleading cry to let yourselves get lost in each other, at last, once and for all. Finally achieving salvation through the trembling of your skin introduced to the newfound certainty of his. 

He was soft, careful, but totally and undoubtedly yours.

Your lips stay pressed together for a fraction of a second that felt like a lifetime, pure and aching touch— A thirst you never quite realized would ever be quenched until he starts to move his mouth around yours, cautiously exploring the plush skin of your lips sealed to his. 

Your hand clutches the cuff of his t-shirt sleeve, like gripping onto him would somehow make this moment more real— Your mind in overdrive as you begin to kiss him back. 

It was racing almost feverishly, pounding with a million conflicting thoughts and screaming sensations. He made it all go quiet—just for a minute—but it was starting to flood back again: doubts and insecurities and a nagging, incessant voice that still taunted, 

This is just a moment. 

This is just because you’re here. 

Even the taste of you doesn’t wash away what you’re trying to rid yourself of.

You try to wrestle it down, focusing on the way he gently parted your mouth open and slipped your bottom lip between his, a reverent and sensual pull at your flesh— Pulling you back to him, back from what tried to dull the dizzy stars in your eyes from the way he kissed you like you were the oxygen that filled his lungs and kept his heart beating.

His hands that cupped your face roamed shamelessly, one still anchored and tracing your jaw, the other sliding across your cheekbone before brushing hair out of your face and down to cradle the back of your head. 

Now it was him who made a living in your hair— Rough knuckles tangled in the nape of your neck, raking through the strands and discovering more of what he’s never felt before.

His hands against your skin weren’t greedy, weren’t possessive— They were catharsis incarnate. A living, breathing exorcism of somber restraint, as if the whole city might collapse if he didn’t hold you.

It was a quiet surrender to the hollow kind of ache neither of you could bear to carry alone anymore.

When you let both your hands slide up his arms, fingers wrapping around the curves of his muscle until they settle on his shoulders, he’s drawn to the small of your back like a magnet. Like you touching him back even in the smallest of ways was monumental. Like it was dusting off what he knew of intimate actions. Like it was permission for him to allow himself to have this— To have you.

He brings you in closer, the press of his palm flush against the small of your back like a weight. Your bodies fused together, chests thumping in time, a screaming heartbeat in your ear so loud you were deprived of the sweet sounds he made.

Like the frantic prose of his breath against you.

Like the shudder he let slip when both your hands wandered further up to explore his neck and jawline, fingers tracing every inch.

Or the just barely audible whine that curled in the air around you before he finally speaks again— Noses brushing, bodies heaving and fingers lost in discovering one another. The gift of something new. 

“You’re thinking,” he whispers, lips pulling apart from yours with hesitancy, body reeling you in somehow closer to make up from the sliver of space that lives between you now, all like he was afraid you’ll disappear there. His voice was heavy, deep— The sound of a shameless crave wrapping around each letter he let slip. 

It was making you dizzy— The way he somehow managed to read between what your body is doing and your mind is raking through underneath the surface.

The subtle disconnect you’d never want him to feel, yet he did. 

“So are you,” you murmur, not strong enough to resist flipping his question back on him instead of answering it yourself. “What’re you thinking about?”

For once, he answers with no hesitancy—for a fleeting moment—no longer fearing the insecurity of his own mind and its integrity. 

“Just how much I want this,” he breathes, honest and true, weighted words dancing across your skin and making it shiver with chills. He lets the hand in your hair fall so he can clutch the bottom hem of your t-shirt, his t-shirt, hugging your body. “About how much I want you.”

He takes you in— A deep, desperate gaze, all like he needed you to believe it in order to survive. And when he does, something shifts. It doesn’t break open inside you, it doesn’t crash, or crack, or splinter. 

It’s an unexpected bend, your soul finding his and staying.

Your self-sabotage is suffocated— The one that whispers this is being done out of haste, out of palpable lust and loaded feelings you projected onto him. No, you scold yourself. This is the realest thing you’ve ever had.

So you connect again with urgency, letting yourself fall into him and return your lips to his— The place you wanted to belong forever after getting a taste. Your hands run up his neck with a tender pressure until they reach his hair, instinctively closing around the damp curls at the nape of his neck, helping press him into you again. 

A sharp exhale gets caught in the back of your throat at the feeling, his lips rapidly picking up the pace against yours— Kissing you back. It still wasn’t rushed, or messy or careless, but the kind of frantic burn that scorns through sensual and desperate touch. 

Like you’d never get enough of each other.

His thumb grazes at the hem of your shirt before snaking its way up at the side of your rib cage, helping pull you into him the same way his lips are. The other is still splayed on the small of your back, rubbing tentatively— A gentle vow, each movement making your head spin and your knees uneasy as they begin to tangle with his from the breached space.

His movements become more sure, the power behind his touch no longer grounding but pleading— Soft sounds and labored breathing daring to drag you into a reality where only this mattered.

The weight of him pressed to you felt right, like a prophecy you let haunt you was finally being fulfilled.

You, merely an extension of him, and him of you.  

Damp curls thread through your fingers like an anchor as he holds you tighter, intensity building behind his body— Crashing and hungry and worshipful all at once. It was hardly your first time raking your fingers through his hair but now they moved like they believed they belonged there, no longer like they were asking. 

He pushes it further— His mouth angling to take you in more, noses carrying frantic and heavy breaths as they bump together, your tongue eventually finding its way to his like it's something you’ve done a million times. 

His breath shuddered against you— Vibration sending shockwaves through your body.

Legs tangled, bodies twisted, trying to invent new ways to be closer together right where you belonged.

Then you’re moving— Grabbing harder on his neck to pull him with you, messily stumbling back toward the doorway until your back rests flush and heaving against the cool paneling of the wall. 

You leaned into it, pressure of his hands finding that sweet spot right above your waist, gentle and honest pull until your hips were flush against his, thumb circling slow and steady at the dip of your skin and bone. 

You feel it for a fleeting second— His fingers twitching against you before one hand slips further down, cupping the crest of your waist, your hip, your thigh…

His body betrays him, the questioning flicker of doubt pulsing through the flex of his fingers as they finally rest around the curve of your ass. It was like he was journaling every reaction you had, every careful movement that was flushed out with delicate intentions to know more of you. 

His lips pull apart just barely, forehead resting against yours, and asks,

“This okay?” It comes out with a pant, his ehale warming the inside of your mouth that hangs slightly open trying to catch your breath, lips still clinging against yours as he speaks. The question broke apart as it’s asked— Frayed at the edges, all like he was scared to think he might’ve pushed a non-existent line too far and too fast. 

You nod, peppering the gentlest of kisses at the corner of his mouth and around his jaw, selfishly hungry and not wanting to stop like you were now addicted. 

He’s wrecking you— You shamelessly basking in the broken gasp that breaks across your skin when you push into his hold with something more weighted than that of your body. 

“More than okay,” you mumble into his skin, smiling on his mouth as you get to return the words he assured you with in the tub. 

Then something stoic washes over him, glowing like his skin in the haze of steam and city ambience that cuts through the deep of the night. He bites at the edge of his lip, his mouth twitching like he was cursing himself— Like he was afraid, like he was about to be vulnerable for the first time with you. Like his hand wasn’t currently pressed deep into the curve of your ass and cradling you through sensual, electric tension.

“Is this real?”

The vulnerable cadence of his words gets swallowed into the silence, only the twin beat of your hearts and ravenous breath hanging in the air with the question. It’s asked with disbelief and careful wonder and something reminiscent of awe basking in your presence. 

And you knew what he meant immediately, like you’ve lived inside his head forever. Like he was the better side of a coin you shared. 

You know he asks it because he knows the feeling of living in something of an illusion all too well. The feeling of questioning the integrity of every breath he took— Of everything he touched, or more so, didn’t.

So you do something that shatters the hesitancy in him, shaky breath, an exhale— Your promise to him. 

You pull one of his anchoring hands off your waist and into yours, softly, delicately—no trembling, no hesitation this time—the most honest thing you’ve ever done. 

His brows knit and he pulls back just enough to watch you do it like it was grounding him from losing control. Like you were creating gravity for him. 

His breath hitches in disbelief as your fingers thread together—in the easy, certain way you give him what he was too terrified to ask for—hollow hands whole again once wound in each other.

And for the first time, there’s no flinch. No retreat.

The city’s heartbeat beneath you softens, booms lower, quieter— A romantic rhythm in tandem with yours, like it was alive for you. 

Alive with you.

Fingers squeeze around his— Tight, knowing, sure. You don’t want him to be mistaken as you touch him there, in a place you both avoided, knowing it holds a weight heavier than the breaking of all unsaid.

Eventually, his grip matches yours; slow, reverent. His thumb brushes over yours, unwavering this time. There’s no flex like he’s weighing running, no hesitation like he can’t believe he’s allowed— Only certainty. 

You let him be present in this universe with you. Nowhere else. No other time or memory or false feeling.

Just here. 

Your confessions to him lay naked and bare in the wake of his grasp, no presence feeding off the stained parts of your soul and dragging him away into a place where time lost all meaning. But instead, it loses all meaning here.

Because for once when his hand touches another, time doesn’t shrink or fall still or cower— It expands.

It evolves. 

It grows and moves forward. It feels right— An exchanged commitment to one another in the shape of skin that caves to each other.

A vow that bends linear time. 

You didn’t have to answer his question with words, just your reverent touch he clung onto like you were the answer to all he lost in the fabric of this reality— Like if he let you go his soul will lose its center of gravity.

He lets out a huff in utter disbelief, pure wonder, the mesmerising and magical cadence of something real.

And he moves like fire when you whisper against the shell of his ear, 

“Keep showing me how real it really is.”

Your delicate command gets lost in the sounds of him moving back to how he held you before—pushing you into the wall harder—his mouth crashing into yours with passion and desperation. It swallows the sweet gasp you make as he leaves whatever soft and tentative actions he wore on the forefront behind him, abandoned on the floor of that bathroom that glowed from the fever of your aching touch.

Fingers fly free of your hand and rope through your hair, guiding your face to kiss him deeper. And you do.

His other hand squeezes into the curve of your ass he grips onto, mimicking the way his lips shape around yours— Gentle pull dancing with dizzying pressure with every press at your skin. Then you hook your leg around his thigh, helping him push into you more. 

Even then, his fingers danced like your flesh was burning him, roaming with feverish intent, never lingering too long in one spot. They’re everywhere and anywhere he could reach.

They press flush to your waist, trail up your tummy and follow the gentle curve of your ribs. They live in the marrow of bones that carved your shoulders and neck in sacred city lights, tracing your jaw until he replaces his touch with his mouth, fingers tracing your hair out of his way like it was an act of penance.

You hold his middle, a breathless run of your fingertips on his chest— The same kind of breathless like the sigh that leaves your lips when he bites gently on your neck, like he’s electrocuting every nerve ending in your body with reverent praise. 

Every contraction and flex of otherworldly muscle pulses under your touch, your hands skimming the surface until you slip them under and melt your curious touch into the vast expanse of his body— Skin on skin.

He groans at the sensation of you touching him now without a thin cotton barrier— Soft and pleading and thanking you with the religious pull of his lips on your neck. The mark is dusted with an honest kiss before he finds your mouth again, the sweet taste of cherry candies and deep red wine and something unmistakably him flooding all your senses utill you couldn’t bear to imagine anything else. 

For a split second, your legs wobble from the sensation—like you were becoming drunk off the taste of his mouth on you—but he steadies you, gripping the hand that held you up more firmly against your skin, forearm anchoring the underside of your upper leg that wrapped around him. 

“I got you,” he murmurs, so faint in between deep and lustful kisses you couldn’t tell if it was real or not. 

He holds you like you were nothing more than the air he breathes— Like it was the easiest and most natural state for him to dwell in. It’s done delicately, fingers careful against your skin like you would break from one wrong touch. He holds you with devotion, something sure and unmistakable in the pressure of his body against yours. 

Once he feels you stable yourself, the fingers holding your thigh travel up along your spine and under your shirt. They find the center of your back and rest along your bra, careful, alert, meticulous. They snake around the strap, a gentle pull and play around the stretch of the elastic. It wasn’t rushed or possessive, but grounding— Honest and pure intention breaking free to only leave his questioning fingers tracing another part of you locked away from him.

Your mind is screaming for him to take the leap, so loud and hungry you almost wondered if he could hear what's trapped inside your skull when his fingers find the clasp and fiddle with the latch— Something of a questioning hum or mumble of  “can I” lost in the careful mangle of his fingers.

He focuses harder, his lips stilling against yours slightly until you reach a hand off his chest and over his frustrated fingers behind you, guiding him with ease to pop the clasp open and give more of yourself to him. 

He steers the garment free and it falls to the floor, tangling with your feet.

They move around it, suddenly walking backwards like second nature as he guides you off the door frame and into his room.

His mouth and tongue still meet yours without skipping a beat. His hands, large and wild and lazy, leading you into something new with him. 

The hand tangled in your hair clings to the base of your neck—gently—listening to the cadence of your pulse and ghosting over the sensitive mark he left blooming against the plush of your skin. 

The fingers that splayed around your jaw rub and trace along the shadow of your cheekbone in the moody glow of his abandoned room coming back to life once you were in it. 

The other guides you back, slipping out from under your shirt and finally exploring the side of your ribcage now free of everything other than the clothes of his you wore.

You moan into the haze of his personal space as you press into his mouth deeper, hands trailing up and pushing gently on his neck and head to help him give you what you needed. 

It’s a successful endeavor until you imperceptibly tug on his hair, causing him to lean his head back for a breath and match the sounds you made— Something shameless and broken and desperate cracking between each messy motion toward his bed together.

He’s all over you— Like watercolors on stale paper, like fog clinging to shadows. Like doubt disguised as deliverance. 

His confidence grows steadily with every leading step— His teeth clinging gently at the bottom of your lip making you sigh into every touch, all while simultaneously and haphazardly kicking random things out of your path— Like the damp towel that got tangled at his feet and dragged a few steps or your discarded shoes you stumble over.

You let out a tiny sound of pain as you stepped on the sharp, pointed heel, and though you didn’t really notice or care—considering you were currently under a spell from his mouth—Bob did.

He lets out a taut puff of air through his nose against your upper lip as he continues to kiss you and waves his hand casually, a sudden bang of the hazard in question crashing with undeniable force into his desk and knocking over the chair, your ragged movements coming to a screeching stop at the realization. 

He looked over his shoulder, chest rising and falling quickly, your gaze settling right past him and at the shoes— Now scuffed and torn apart. One of the stiletto heels is broken in half from the impact, making your mouth fall slack in shock at his casual power. 

A red flush sweeps over his skin—even more so now—and paints the soft porcelain of his skin from ears down past his neck and under his t-shirt. He blinks steadily, looking back and forth between you and the mess behind him, mouth desperately trying to spit out words. 

“I-I, shit, I’m so sorry,” he says, voice still raspy and heavy from the taste of you on his tongue. “I didn’t mean to do that, I’ll— I’ll buy you new ones, I—”

You cut him off with another kiss, helplessly giggling at the way you could feel his brain short-circuiting underneath you, instantly moving to hold you again and kiss you back— But with hesitancy as his mind tried to catch up with the instinct now settled in his bones.

“I don’t care. It’ll go on my work card,” you mumbled in between kisses and continuing to pull him backwards again— Into you and back on track to your destination. “Comes with the job,” you continue, caressing his tangled hair out of his face and behind his ears. “Common business expense.” 

He snorts at that— Real, genuine laugh under his breath that vibrates through every cell in your body as it breaks through his starving movements against your skin. 

“Field work,” he adds, smiling against your lips until he finds your ear and kisses gently below it— Nose nudging your hair, breath tickling your skin, all of it making you melt. “Some crazy enhanced got too handsy with you.”

“The only thing crazy about it is saying he’s too handsy,” you tease coyly, head tilting back, breath quickening. He’s kissing your ear, your jaw, your neck… 

You sigh earnestly at his touch, halting once the back of your knees finally meet the side of his bed.

When he pulls away, your eyes flutter open to take him in and he’s breathtaking.

Soft, supple waves blur at the edges, lined lightly in soft, golden light from the bathroom still pulsing behind him. The harsh contrast of the nightswept city flickers with life like the heartbeat you could see in his eyes when he looked at you— Wide and blissful and utterly dazed in your presence. They soaked in the cool blue hue of skyscraper haze and melted into something sacred. His thin lips are fuller now, softly parted and swollen, slicked over with evidence of you all over them— Bright pink flush matching the familiar warmth settling over his skin, his cheeks only reddening as you study him religiously. 

Out of all the ways you watched him blush tonight, this was your favorite. Easily.

You could hear it thrumming in every corner of the room now— His soul, his heartbeat, all an extension of him you now waded in. 

It was pressed between the pages of the books that littered his shelves. It was bouncing off the walls in his room that darkness clung to. It was living, breathing in the floorboards that cushioned your feet and held you afloat— The pure and perfect vulnerability of him, his molten honesty, echoing through everything he touched.

Echoing through you.

Your next moves are slow— More careful and intentional now than the frenzy you let yourself get lost in before has eased. Fingers slip down to the hem of his shirt, electric and alive like sparks when you gently hold it and feel his skin underneath. Like you weren’t just all over him before. 

They toy with the hem gently in waiting question— The smooth cotton flowing against your touch, your eyes on his, burning with something stronger. Hungrier. 

Lips part slightly to do it—to ask—but he beats you to it. His hand finds yours, a gentle rub at your thumb, before he helps you guide his shirt off. It's a slow, aching travel up his body, neckline catching and somehow further messing his tangled waves once it pulls over his head and falls to the floor.

You try not to stare— You really try not to, but god, you can’t help it. How could you?

He was somehow more defined than you ever could’ve imagined, muscle carved through every fiber of his being like he could break you in half with a pinch. He was so gentle, so cautious— So over-calculated and constantly over-thinking, like he was always one step away from curling in on himself and inventing a new way to manipulate matter into sucking his body into a black hole. 

You could feel it brimming behind him still, that unshakable urge to try and hide himself somehow, like his body—this remarkable temple for his soul—was somehow unworthy of existing. Like he didn’t deserve to be observed or watched. Like he was meant to be lost and forgotten about with other unloved things that stilled under the haunted dust of this building. 

But when he stood in front of you like this—like he had a reason for simply being—it was the complete opposite. 

It was evident in the way he looked at you now— Stable, sure, an aching crave of you smothering any small flicker behind his eyes that tried to catch into a flame of doubt.

You wouldn’t let it.

He swallows hard, like he’s pushing down the urge to run again, then moves. 

Slowly, rough and secure hands guide your fingers back to his skin, curves of his muscle heavy under you like stone, expanse of his chest and arms and abs dusted with freckles and marks— Millions of them, all waiting to be brought to life by your hands. 

You drift them along, taking him in, all until your palm rests over his heart, the frantic rhythm of something reverent under your fingertips. 

Something you know beats for you.

Eventually, you break the silence, voice low and honest as you say, “You’re incredible.” You say it like you were in disbelief— And that’s because you were.

He smiles—crooked, wobbly joy etched into his lips—and shifts under your gaze, like he wasn’t used to the praise. Especially when you meant it, truly. Wholeheartedly. 

He comes closer, heaving chest rising and falling against yours now and ghosts the edge of his face against yours. 

A hand brushes wisps of your hair from your eyes, forehead resting gently along yours until your noses are touching. Until you could feel his eyelashes fluttering against your brow bone and the swell of his lips— Holy, like they were swollen from the mere thought of you until they touch yours again.

He slots his lips into yours with a gentle and breathless sigh, free hand cradling the bend of your elbow in his palm.

“So are you,” he murmurs into your mouth, the low and sultry tone vibrating every nerve ending like a tuning fork striking through your body, your cells and soul all singing the ethereal tune of his praise for you. “So perfect.”

Carefully, he guides you back— Slowly, sensually sitting you on the bed beneath him, his body caging you in and hovering just a heartbeat away. His lips whisper against yours as he leans down, melting right back into a deep and methodical kiss like he never left, the weight of his body helping ease you back onto the mattress.

He’s slotted between you like a lost key now returned. One arm presses into the bed parallel to your shoulder, propping himself up to ghost the slope of your body. The other loosely trails up the rest of your arm until he’s cupping your cheek, rubbing aimless circles into the flush of your skin and holding you like he was holding the world. 

The undeniable weight of his built frame clings just above you, enough contact to wrinkle your shirt and send a set of shivers up your spine as you imagine having him fully against you. 

So you do just that, grabbing the back of his shoulders and easing him onto you— Back where he belongs. 

He was reluctant, still holding back like he was afraid of crushing you beneath him, but he relaxes as soon as you work your hands up his shoulder blades and into his hair, pulling him into you with a low and sultry moan— Reminding him how desperately you craved to be kissed as deeply as he could bear.

Lips part your mouth open for him, his tongue gently tickling the tip of yours before he pushes it further, sliding it flush against yours and making a living in the heat of your mouth. The groan he makes when you let him gets caught low in the back of his throat that is already bitten radiant red from your kisses.

You smooth your hands over every inch of his neck, his shoulders— Anywhere you could reach, really. Restless fingers tentatively wrap around the sculpt and flex of his arms, applying more pressure to match the weight he was kissing your mouth with. The way you were kissing him back.

His lips are soft—thin like the boundaries between you now—plush and aching and reverent search against yours like he’d find his will to live there.

He was rewriting everything broken in you— Every trace of guilt replaced with the honorable trace of his fingers along your skin, every mumble no longer shy or cautious but words overwhelmed with hunger or a vibration against your body. 

Every memory of him in a sheen of sweat in a bed that once haunted you, rewritten in real time as it adorns his skin from being pressed against you— Moving, exploring, changing what it means to remember him on a mattress once he’s with you.

No one else.

Like it’s second nature, he rubs at a spot on the side of your upper neck that makes your toes curl and your core coil with striking heat. It’s a sensitive curve just on the underside of your jaw littered in shadows, aching to give itself to him. He kisses at it with an urgency that makes you gasp louder beneath him— A proud smile flickering on his lips and across your skin for a split second, clearly amused at how he was already learning your body so incredibly well. 

Your hand flies up to his hair, pulling him in with a gentle tug to apply more pressure, both of you reveling in a weighted and shaky moan from the way you wanted each other more.

Rough and sturdy palm on his hand finds refuge in the dip of your side, free to roam now that his mouth did that for him on your jaw. It snakes down until it hits your hip bone under your shirt, a careful yet intentful press of his fingers just below your ribs. 

When you hum in approval—too busy turning your neck from the pressure of his mouth and meeting your impatient lips to pepper kisses along the pulse point on his wrist that steadied him above you— he slips his hand up the fabric.

His fingers trail achingly slowly against your skin, rewarded by the anticipating squirm and roll of your body into his touch until they find the beginning swell of your breast. The sensation makes you dizzy, your eyes fluttering to life at the contact and you could swear the room was being lit up with fireworks from the flickering lights that danced above you. 

You should probably be acknowledging the abnormal sight of it, but, selfishly, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. 

Not when each suction of his lips was rewriting your brain chemistry or when he was absentmindedly pressing his wrist firmer against your kiss. Not when was working your breast with more confidence now that made you shudder like you were saying a prayer. Not when the undeniable pull of his presence was making your body shamelessly lift from the mattress for a fleeting second to push deeper into his. 

Definitely not when he did it too. 

Impatient flush of your lips craves his, so both your hands find his face, still buried and busy in your neck, and pull him up to you— Both your thumbs rubbing gently just under the restless flutter of his closed lashes as you guide his mouth back to yours—back where it belongs—and he kisses you like he’s never going to let you go.

The movement, the pressure— The combination of his mouth deepening against yours, his tongue warm and tangling around yours. The scrape of calloused and heavy hands against the sensitive skin of your breasts, the smooth of his hair tracing along your forehead and your cheeks make you melt into something for him to piece back together and bring back to life. 

Every heavier touch was balanced with something softer—more delicate—like a light pepper of a kiss pressed to the place his face would hover when one of you needed to catch your breath. Or the whisper of his fingertips tracing the slope of your breast after you’d feel sensitive peaks forming under his feverish touch. 

Each moment was like a love letter, a language— Checking in with you, asking you, talking to you without words. It was thanking you and reminding you through it all, the type of man you were really here with under the heavy tension of a Watchtower bedroom.

A suspended moment trapped in a city that never sleeps that has fallen into slumber when compared to the energy of your body meeting his.

You do it back, slipping a hand free from the slight stubble poking through his face and back to dance along his fist that propped him up above you. It’s needy now, the way your fingers whisper against his skin, pleading to let you in again. 

They do— Finding yours immediately and threading together like they were once forged to be one. 

His other hand works like honey over your chest, fingers rubbing and palming deeper against your sensitive skin until you’re moaning just a hair louder under his reverent mouth— Growing restless as you drown in all the ways you want more of him.

He reads you, one of his legs slipping free from between yours, and he braces the outside of your thigh until you feel every inch of him— Every pulsing, screaming piece of him flush against you.

The pounding of your hearts are loud, heavy— Completely in sync all like the rest of you, labored breath shallowing at how hard you were both working to find new ways to be closer like this was the only chance you’d ever get. 

A sharp, sudden puff of air fanned against your mouth—his exhale cutting—when your hips gently rock up against him. 

Just once. 

It’s quick, it’s fast—it’s barely even a movement at all—but the way he reacts is like you’ve electrocuted all his nerve endings until they were scorched— On fire, burning like the desire washing over his body and flooding your veins.   

He uses the leg that’s still between you to slip up until the weight of his thigh is resting against the fabric of your underwear, covering the part where you needed him most. A breathless and raspy ‘god’ floods his mouth when he does and falls across your skin.

Every sound, every touch, every increase in palpable pressure all fans the flames you swore you’d never feed. A spreading burn you didn’t dare deny any longer.

Now it’s you who’s gasping— Biting down gently on his lip for a moment at the shift in pressure. The hand that wasn't tangled between yours flies from your chest down to the curve of your thigh, pressing with a new buzz of force and desperately anchoring you to him with a steady and sure palm— A signal for you to continue.

It’s a bit harder this time, your move against him. A sleek and steady leg hooks around the back of his, pulling him in as you do it, your body shamelessly arching off the dip of his mattress beneath you.

His hand that grips onto yours flexes tighter at the movement, pressure leaving every line of his fingertips pressed into you— Like all his molecules and matter were being fed into this one moment. 

Like it was inevitable—incontestable—the way your body was carved to be connected to his.

Lips break apart from yours imperceptibly, his gaze holding yours— Something desperate drenched in desire and worship, something unfathomable. Something more intimate than any caress of your body, a fever flickering in a faint trace of pale gold lining the edge of his iris, staining the holy blue.

Then he moves too, undeniably craving you and rolling down into your leg he’s braced over, both of you gasping like the air has thinned from the tension pulsing through the room— The tension of your bodies and their desire for more friction, lips moving around yours again like they knew nothing else. 

And when it happens again, you both do it at the same time. 

Then your name falls from his lips through a breathless and aching plea— A reverent and holy prayer that makes you both freeze, suddenly bringing you back to Earth and realizing just how far you were about to take this. 

Just how far you were both willing—wanting—to go. 

His fingers twitch against yours from the reluctance to pull apart, so you squeeze them and carefully drag your lips across his in an achingly slow comedown. You rest against his lips until he frees them— Heavy breath cooling the flesh he made hot for him. 

Your mind is whirling, reluctantly coming back to life and processing all that’s happening— Trying desperately to will yourself into opening your eyes and saying what you have to. 

When you do, he’s not looking at you anymore, just clinging like a shadow. His head hangs heavy in the wake of your neck, heat washing over you from his presence that was still slotted against you like it was made for only that purpose. 

You move first, free hand coaxing through his curls and tucking stray away locks that cascaded down his forehead so you could see more of him. His hair is still damp, only no longer from the water you bathed him in, but rather in the evidence of your intimacy collecting on him like dew on a morning field. 

His breathing against your chest slows to a more natural pace, but the cadence of his exhale is still frantic— A sharp and staccato dance across your collarbone, calling out to you. 

You’re about to say it— Break the silence and face the reality of what you both waded in. But he does it again, remarkably, reading you in places you didn’t even know you were speaking from. 

You’d start to believe mind reading was a part of his powers, but if that were true, this wouldn’t be the first time his body claimed yours. 

You wouldn’t be stopping.

When he speaks it’s broken, breathless— Barely above a whisper, voice wrecked with the ruin of what he was letting slip through his fingers. 

“We shouldn’t.” 

You know he’s right—you were thinking the same thing—but hurt still flashes through your chest like a pinched nerve— Something heavy, the pressure of what you wanted and what you couldn’t have swelling to life under the reality of his words. 

The sentence pricks across your ears like glass on sensitive skin, but you still say, “I know.” And you say it honestly.

You mean it.

It’s like he doesn’t hear you, slowly lifting his gaze to look at you. When he does, something breaks. 

It’s raw and vulnerable— It’s a look that carries an undeniable weight like lead in the depths of his eyes, wide and calling out to yours. They’re glossed over, all like the rest of him, shimmering in the afterglow of something too holy to name— To shake free of, even if you tried. 

All the confidence he once wore breaks free of him in an instant as he tries to let you down easy, all like you didn’t just agree with him. Like you weren’t on the same page already. 

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” he croaks, the pressure of his hand against your thigh easing slightly. “I do, I really do just… not like this.” 

You’re about to agree but he keeps going, shifting under your gaze and about to recoil his body off of yours like it was unwanted now— Like you weren’t still intertwined in his fingers, like you didn’t still have your leg wrapped around him, tethering him to you without a doubt. 

“N-not that there’s anything wrong with this, I-I loved this,” he stutters, face flashing somehow even hotter and making you smile softly. “I just mean, uh, I—”

“Bob,” you soothe, running your fingers through his hair still. “I know.”

He starts to pull off of you when you grab his arm. It isn’t possessive, it isn’t forceful— Just a simple, grounding touch to extend the offer for him to stay. 

If he wanted. 

And he does, relaxing slightly when he realizes the pin in your intimate dance hasn’t shattered what he held so dearly. 

That it hadn’t shattered you.

“I just don’t want my feelings to get confused.” His fingers lift from your thigh and find your face, hesitant for all of a millisecond before sweeping gently at the height of your cheekbone like his touch could explain better than his words. “I just mean that I don’t want you to think I only want you like this,” he continues, the edge of his voice cracking and showing something more vulnerable he tried to hide. “I don’t want to ruin anything by moving too fast.”

You smile, moving the grip from his arm to meet his hand on your cheek— Running your thumb over his lazily and holding him there firmly, reminding him it was where he belonged. 

“I thought I already told you that wasn’t possible?”

It’s only then that he smiles too—something soft and pure—a wobble in his brows, all tension melting to show what he wore underneath for you. The most honest parts of him that flickered with life because of you. 

And this time when he finally lifts from you, it’s not like he’s running.

It’s like he’s rising— Rising to the occasion of something more meaningful. Like he’s changing with you, holding on and never letting go, even with the fraction of space that lives between you now. 

His leg slowly slides down and out from your center— You trying to hide a hiss that slips between your teeth from a cold rush hitting you from the loss of contact.

It was just then that you realized you were only in your underwear and a thin t-shirt beneath him. All rational thought and awareness slipped from your mind the second his lips touched yours. 

But now you lay pressed into his mattress—still recovering from new parts of you just being pressed into him in more ways than one—and it makes you shiver. 

He breaks through it, slowly freeing his hand from yours to splay it against your shoulder. He helps you rise with him until your intimate positions have unraveled and you’re sitting on the edge of his bed, sitting on the edge of something more earnest— Something new, yet again.

Your ankles are still dangling around each other, thighs pressed gently like the thoughts brimming in your brain.

It’s then that he turns your chin to look at him, this time, holding you there and not retreating.

“I… I don’t regret it.” He says it like a confession, sweet and honest and something more rare than life itself. “Any of it.”

You find your way to him again, no longer scared to allow yourself to have him, your lips pressing gently across his. It’s a closed kiss, yet more open than ever before. 

When you break apart you run your fingers against his temple, damp curls dancing with your touch.

“Me too,” you say. “This was perfect.” And you mean it.

You know he means you too.

You continue, voice finally coming back to life after being suffocated into sensual silence for so long. “Do you know how hard it was to stop though?” 

He laughs in disbelief, like you just said the most absurd thing— Like you just said the unfathomable. 

“Yeah,” he huffs more to the universe than to you, “I do.” The soft laugh lacing his voice falters, his fingers still clinging to you. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to touch your body?”

You pause, a teasing smile crawling across your lips and his face flushes a feverish red once he realizes what he’s implied— Suddenly stuttering and awkward all like he wasn’t just driving you insane with the savory of his intimacy two seconds ago. 

“I-I— Fuck,” he mumbles. “I didn’t mean it like that, I mean, I, uh—I just meant—”

“You’re cute,” is all you say, voice light and sure, all worry lifting free and left abandoned to wither. 

He pauses for a moment, marinating in the compliment, eyes flickering back to life as they settle in the light glistening from yours. He ponders, sweet smile growing as he recalls delicately, 

“Just another reason you should stay.” 

You remember immediately— How could you ever forget when he said that to you? When he broke something open inside you, the starting crack that chipped down the guilt you wore like a shield. 

How could you ever forget the moment you started to realize you might really allow yourself to want him? Realize that maybe—just maybe—he could want you too?

All in that kitchen, still a heartbeat— A pulse tethered to the tangle of your souls.

You couldn’t think of anything else— Any invasive thought as to why you shouldn’t. Any nagging and unwanted reminder that you were somewhere you shouldn’t be, because that couldn’t be more wrong. 

You couldn’t think of anything else when he finally lifted from the mattress, leaving a gentle and sweeping kiss on your forehead to go turn off the bathroom light. 

You couldn’t think of anything else when he left the room and came back sheepishly with a pair of sleep shorts to fit you— The smallest gesture that threatened to drown you in its sincerity.

You couldn’t think of anything else when he let you crawl into his bed again, his body settling into place behind you and pressing a whispering kiss to the crook of your neck like a vow to never stop. 

And now, a sense of knowing blooms in the caverns of the unsaid— The quiet reckoning of something stronger than patience and care and honest truth revealing itself in the places it’s been watching all along.

You feel it pressed against his sheets with you— Desire exchanged for devotion.

When you fall asleep that night, you do it for the first time in a long time with a smile— An unmovable force pinned against your lips you didn’t dare disturb. 

You didn’t know it, but he did the same. 

And remarkably, 

The crest of his body curls around yours like a fallen star, a new sense of belonging, splitting matter and mere fragments finding a new orbit once wrapped around you. 

It’s daybreak when John Walker arrives at the tower. 

His limbs are heavy, tired, exhausted and quite honestly too worn to care about how pissed Yelena is at him. The evidence of his indifference is worn on his face— Gruff brows knit together, their natural state, his eyes hard and narrow, lids heavy with something other than the crave of sleep. His mouth, chapped and drawn into a tight line, shoulders straight and stiff, patiently waiting for the elevator to work even a little bit faster so he could get the hell out of this dirty, disgusting suit as soon as possible. 

In all honesty, he wasn’t mad at Bob. How could he be? Sometimes the rest of the team were too delicate with him— Treating him like a child when he was more than capable of spending a full 36 hours alone. Like he wasn’t a grown man. It was ridiculous— Laughable, even. 

He didn’t need the supervision, and John didn’t need to be bothered with it. 

Actually, he’d be lying if he didn’t admit he was the teeniest bit proud of Bob for sticking up for what he wants— Even if John had to swallow his pride over how he worked him like a sucker to get it.

Even if now that meant Yelena had a bug up her ass and it was directed at John who—somehow—always managed to be responsible for everything. 

A taut grumble leaves his mouth as the elevator doors whirled open and he watched his call to Bob get banished to voicemail for a third time. 

Whatever. Not his problem. He couldn’t be bothered to think about it. He couldn’t be bothered to think about anything besides a hot shower and some antiseptic, actually. 

Except, he was forced to when he walked into the residential floor, expecting to see Bob sucked into some new useless book—completely oblivious to all the chaos he was causing in the world that existed outside of him—but rather, was greeted by complete silence. 

John’s steps slowed, taking in the eerie lull of quiet washed over the Watchtower, untouched and dead to the world, bathing in stillness and the steel-colored glow of the city waking up along with it just beyond the windows. 

His eyes narrow and sweep across the floor, falling on the kitchen that looked like it was a victim of a bomb drill gone wrong. 

Dirty dishes were piled up in the sink—which was completely clean and empty before he left—and virtually every single culinary-related thing the team even owned was scattered across the counter. 

Spices, utensils, ingredients, dishes— You name it, it was there.

“Jesus, Bobby,” he mutters to himself, tone flat and unamused at the mess left behind to greet him. “Least you could’ve done was cork the damn wine.”

It’d be a lie to say a bottle of wine paired with Bob left alone didn’t make his blood rush a bit harder to his head, indifference mulling into real and genuine confusion… and begrudgingly, concern. He rolled his eyes loosely as he shoved the cork back in and stuck it in the fridge before Yelena saw it and really gave him something to chew on.

Damn, it’s like Bob was trying to screw him over.

He’s about two steps out of the kitchen—stalking off to find Bob to, one, make sure he’s okay, and two, rip him a new asshole—when he stops hard in his tracks, the grip of his combat boots squeaking against the too-shiny, obnoxiously-polished floor. 

One. Two. 

His eyes count them. Wine glasses. 

Two of them. 

They almost got lost in the mess, camouflaged so well that the stain of just nearly crimson left at the bottom of them nearly went unnoticed— Just a mouthful of evidence ratting him out. 

And right next to them, abandoned at the corner seat at the island, was your stuff. 

John knew that bag anywhere. It always brought some kind of new bullshit for the team to mull over, something to ruin their day— New paperwork, new briefings, new completely ridiculous ways Valentina had found to treat them like a multi-level marketing scam in capes and tactical gear. 

But more importantly, it always brought a stupidly bashful grin to Bob’s face whenever he’d see it. 

Because it came attached to you.

“Son of a bitch,” he mumbles in disbelief, more to the room than to himself. He stands like a fool, realization washing over him as he nosily fiddles with a folder abandoned under your bag. He shakes his head and lets a puff of air pass through his nose, a cheeky laugh bubbling at the back of his throat as he glides over to the intercom— A sly pep in his step. 

He pauses and laughs under his breath, remarkably, at just how good Bob got him. 

Then, with a teasing tone, and the tiniest lace of respect he could muster to thread through, he pushes it and says, 

“Well played, Bobby.”

The crack of John Walker’s voice through the intercom of Bob’s room rips you free and reminds you that this world wasn’t just you and him after all. 

Even if it felt like it. 

Even if it still did when he looked at you like this—like he is right now—holding you closely, eyes lusted over with something unspoken. Clear and shallow blue whispering more than his lips ever could.

You and him, still tangled together, unmoved forces drawn to each other like gravity, knowing nothing else than the peace found in the arms of each other now. 

Even if you tried, you couldn’t deny the way you always found your way to him now— Legs woven, slotted loosely together, your knee resting just above his. Your chest, now facing him as one large hand rests casually along the crest of your waist like he’s done it all his life. His elbow bent gently under the pillow to prop his head up, his hand just in your reach, haphazardly toying at the collar of your shirt and your hair. Yours lies flush against his chest, steady rhythm of his breathing making it rise and fall like the dust that danced in the air under warm morning haze. 

Together, no longer scared of what closeness might cost in the daylight. 

It woke you gently, the crest of morning sun slipping between the endless height of skyscrapers just beyond the foot of the bed, collecting the pale pink of budding morning. 

Light suspends in the air— Clear. Warming. Patient. It has filled the void of words unspoken that now lives in a realm where hope is watered with opportunity. It dances on his honeysuckle skin as he sleeps, no crinkle of worry or bite of stress carved through the lines in his forehead. It’s sweet, it’s soft— The crescendo of June spilling over his body.

He looks different like this, warm and familiar, pressed against you like a memory you haven’t quite made yet. He looks younger, softer, lips slightly parted— Maybe the most himself you’ve ever seen, and yet, all like you’ve never met him before. Like you didn’t know this version of him.

It pings in your chest—a crawl of yearning—and you realize, 

You really want to. 

You would think it was a dream if you weren’t surrounded by the reminders of you living in his space— Your suit jacket tangled with the comforter half kicked off the bed, your body wrapped in his clothes, your broken shoes, blending into the background of his room like they belonged there. 

You would think it was a dream if you didn’t watch him stir under curious fingers that traced the slope of his nose and curve of his jaw with delicate presence, coming back to life with fluttering eyelashes and soft smile lines at the privilege of being awoken by your touch— Wading in a bed with you, a serene scene rewriting one of your worst memories, knowing now when you see him like this, he’s safe. It’s the good kind of vulnerable. No longer alone. 

You would think it was a dream if you didn’t feel a shock of reality take over you when Walker’s voice cuts through the static of the intercom, the lazy lull of Bob’s heavy eyelids when he looked at you now snapping open into wide panic at the sound— Flinching at the tone, thick and sarcastic like he somehow knew more about your new relationship than you did.

Smug. Just like always.

When the room falls silent again it’s you who speaks, reaching out to gently trace an aimless pattern in Bob’s open palm that stiffened against your hair at the interruption.

“What’s he talking about?”

You ask it evenly, calmly— No accusation or annoyance, no rise in your tone or inflection in your voice. Just patient wanting, voice still glazed over with the best sleep you’ve had in months. 

Bob inhales slowly, his eyes blinking as they settle from the shock. His lips begin to tell you but it’s hard to focus on the words when they’re still swollen and flush with the memory of you wiped all over them. 

Then, they pull into a smile. It’s something knowing and bashful and maybe even a little proud, all accompanied with a hush, breathless laugh caught in the back of his throat like it was a secret cracking through the thin parting of his lips. 

“I lied,” he says, extracting a hand from your waist to rub the dawning of sleep from his face before it finds you again like an instinct. 

Your brows knit together subtly at his response, not really expecting to hear that from him at all. Not when that was your role in your dynamic, even if it were now abandoned once and for all when you vowed to give your heart to him in your sacred touch last night. 

He senses your confusion and continues before your mind can finish raking through the pre-mature, half-formed thoughts it wanted to make. 

“To Walker, I mean. To Walker,” he clarifies, eyes dipping down to watch himself brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear like it was a holy act. “I kinda maybe told him Yelena wasn’t on a mission yesterday when he was supposed to be off even though she was that way I could get him out of the tower since he thought she’d be around.” 

A smile crawls to your lips as you watch him explain, voice lazy and low and scratchy from sleep that made your skin tingle, reminding you of the way the dawning of his stubble would scratch just right whenever his face would find yours.

It was going to be really hard to focus around him now— God, you could barely keep a straight face.

“Why’d you do that,” you hum, leaning closer until your nose was almost touching his, like you couldn’t bear to be any further away from him. Like you needed to feel the words dance across your skin in order to hear them fully. 

“I, uh, I-I don’t know,” he sighs, searching for the right words, eyes gazing into yours like he’d find the answer there instead. “It’s hard to explain, it’s just... sometimes I just want a chance to, like, breathe, you know?” You nod gently, nose bumping into his at the motion which makes him grin just a fraction wider, something for only you to see. “I like having people around, sure. I don’t get lost in my own head as easily when they are. I know they mean well… but I also just want time to myself without feeling watched… or bothered.”

“I get it,” you soothe, wrapping an arm around him to pull him closer, wide and wonderful blue of his eyes becoming your only view. He looked at you like he still couldn’t believe you were beside him, like he was dreaming, just like you.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. You hesitate for a moment before hooking your leg around his with more pressure now to pull him closer, eyes dancing with a flicker of tease, your fingers tracing along his arms and saying, “You still wound up being bothered, though.”

Bashful pink floods the smooth of his skin, eyes widening and wobbly lips pulling into a gentle smile like he couldn’t help it— Like he never wanted to stop.

“No,” he whispers, steady and sure, something reminiscent of a loving-tone wrapped around every letter that curls in the air and makes your skin dance with chills. “It was the best lie I’ve ever told.”

Your heart pounds and your head spins and it feels like the grip of his hand on your waist is the only thing keeping you in this new orbit. The light flickers around his face, gentle, natural, but alive— All like it was envious of how he could burn through your shadows in ways it never could.

When he says things like that, it was like he was the one carving you, the one making you, shaping you, holding you— You, merely a vessel, made whole from every swell of him through the pulsing chambers of your soul. 

He carries the softness—the truth, the intent—of his words in every inch of his body. He holds it in his eyes, he holds it in his hands. He holds it down in his blood and bones, every word threaded together with something holy, something that runs all the way down to his marrow. 

When he says things like that, he makes you believe it’s okay to let go. 

To simply be— For him. 

So you do and confess, “I lied, too.”

His expression never falters, just scans your face like he was looking for clues in every line, every glance, every glisten of your eyes. 

“We need to start having different conversations than this,” he teases, nose just barely nudging yours just so he could hear a breathless laugh rise in the air like your heart was singing for him. 

“No, no, it’s not like that again,” you breathe. “I promise.” 

He waits for you to continue, fingers whispering along your skin like he could trace it out of you that way— Each touch, a turning page, your story, meeting the echo of epilogue. 

So you swallow whatever bubble of fear burns at the back of your throat and say, 

“Before. Last night. Outside the Watchtower.”

His brows crinkle more. Now he’s really confused. 

“When you asked me why I was looking at you...” 

The wave of words wash over him like a pulling tide, lips parting gently at its command. Then comes a breath of air that still manages to whisper, “Oh.”

“It wasn't nothing.” 

Your heart races, maybe from the new sense of honesty and beginnings that pulsed through his room, no longer bathed in soothing shadows that made it comfortable for you to bare your soul, but rather, like the light and the time that stretched forward made everything more weighted. 

More meaningful. 

“I was thinking about how perfect you are,” you confess, a silent murmur suspended in the shared sliver of space fighting for dear life to exist between your bodies. “I was thinking about how much I wanted you.” Beat. “About how easily I could… fall for you. If you’d let me.” 

You don’t say it.

You don’t want to scare him, to push him, to unravel too quickly. But you know he feels it too— A new thing unsaid, fostered by delicate touches and sweeping words, blooming gently between you in the hush of twin heartbeats. 

He doesn’t respond with words, just a delicate brush of his lips against yours, sighing into you like he remembers how to breathe only when you’re taking his breath away. When he pulls back, his eyes are still closed, face still resting on yours like you’re holding him together and he whispers against your cheek,

“I already am.”

And through steady breath, a simple exchange, through the soft riots of acquainted souls— Limerence becomes love. 

Or, perhaps,

Quiet truth revels in what has always been.

[goddamnitmahtin]

Flatline

After graduating high school, he tried college. He did. But the thing was, it felt like all those ghosts that found him in Amity Park seemed to follow him. And it turns out, they literally did. The rift that let them loose in the first place followed Danny around like an invisible puppy that caused havoc no matter where he ended up. Which meant there was no retiring when it came to being Phantom. He suspected it was because he was the new Ghost King but honestly? If they knew he would beat them anyways why did they try?

It wasn’t like Danny actually had to do any ruling yet, he wasn’t eligible to fully take his place in the throne until he died fully so for now he was just the crown prince who was essentially waiting for his coronation. But he was still super fucking powerful and had the abilities of the king so the ghosts coming after him really didn’t stand any sort of chance that was worth it. There were some that came to him seeking help with their obsessions that had gotten out of hand but most of them were just wanting to take his crown before he even got a chance to put it on.

So Danny dropped out. Ended up joining a traveling circus so that the ghosts following him wouldn’t terrorize the same place more than once. It was safer if he just kept on moving you know? He was hired as one of the “freak shows” because he was half dead obviously. He could make his heart flatline without dying and it was a huge spectacle for people. He’d hook himself up to a heart monitor and then stop his breathing and flatline his heart for everyone to see. Then they’de call up a volunteer to come check him for a pulse which he wouldn’t have until he restarted his heart again. People thought it was crazy that he could do something so dangerous without ever looking like he’d done anything at all. He did several shows a day but they couldn’t be very long since he tended to fall asleep if he went too long flatlining. It was the most relaxed state he could be in as a halfa since he had to actively remember to make his heart beat and to breathe.

While he wasn’t entertaining people, he fought the ghosts that followed him. Phantom became known as the circus ghost that protected the troupe. Nobody knew it was him. Or at least, if they did, no one said anything. But while Danny tried his best to make no one in his new family got hurt, he couldn’t always be there in time. He couldn’t always avoid someone getting hit with an ecto blast or rammed into a tent pole. He couldn’t be everywhere at once.

That fateful night…. ghosts were messing with the rigging. Danny tried to fix it after the fight, he tried to make sure everything was secure. But he missed one of the cables they started to try to chew through. It was his fault the Flying Graysons fell. If all happened so fast, Danny didn’t even have time to react. Danny just… froze. This was the first time anybody had truly died because he couldn’t save them. He didn’t really know how to process that.

He stood there frozen for several minutes, his breathing stopped and his heart flatlining. He didn’t have the mental bandwidth to remember to do those human things. He could only watch when he saw little Dick crying. He was crying. And someone was consoling him? Danny didn’t really know. He was just… frozen. He’d had panic attacks before but nothing like this. He’d never fucked up like this. Danny didn’t know how to fix it. Could he fix it? Could he undo it? Maybe Clockwork could… Danny felt his muscles start to relax and his body start to crumble as he started to lose consciousness.

Next thing he knew, he was in a lavish bed with a shadow looming over him, “Ducky?” He mumbled. It kind of looked like Dick’s hair. His mother always called the boy Robin but to Danny he always acted more like a duck.

“You’re alive again! Yay!” the boy smiled wide, the happiness on his lips not meeting his sad sunken eyes that were swollen from crying.

Danny sat up, trying to get a sense of his surroundings, “Ducky, where are we?” He asked the question in a soft tone, not sure if there were others around.

“We are at Bruce’s house,” he said, shrugging.

Bruce? They didn’t know a Bruce. Who the fuck is Bruce?

Danny tried to get out of bed but he was pulled back down by wires and needles connecting his body to the wall, “What the hell-”

Dick began to unplug him from the heart monitor, “I told Bruce you were gonna be okay. You die all the time.” He said it so nonchalantly.

“I don’t think you should be casually telling people that kiddo,” he said, pulling the iv out of his arm and willing his core to make the wound heal, “Who is Bruce and why did he take us Dick?” Danny did not like the luxurious environment they were in. It reminded him too much of fruitloops of the past.

“I’m not holding you captive if that’s what you’re worried about,” Danny turned to the door the voice was coming from. It was a young man around his own age with dark hair and blue eyes. He was built, his body very obviously trained to be as physically fit as it could get. He had the body of a fighter. That didn’t make Danny feel any better.

“I was hoping that I could give Dick a new life. Make him my ward,” the man said, casually walking from the door way to the foot of the bed.

Danny didn’t like that. Not at all. This man had Vlad vibes written all over him. Besides, Danny had promised Dick’s parents that he would take care of him if anything ever happened to them. Danny was the closest thing to a godparent he had. He wasn’t just going to hand the child over to some rich guy with a manic look on his eye. There was no way.

But there was also no way Danny could feasibly keep Dick either…. He had no home, no roots. And he couldn’t make any if he didn’t find out how to make the ghosts stop coming. He couldn’t subject Dick to the kind of life he himself had with caretakers that ran off whenever to fight ghosts, neglecting the needs of the child. He couldn’t do that. It was wrong. But that didn’t mean he wanted Bruce to have him either.

“I’m the closest thing Dick has to a guardian. So he should be staying with me. Why do you want him?” Okay so maybe Danny was a little bit defensive but he had played these games before and he was not gonna get burned again. Lat time he even slightly, remotely even interacted with a fruitloop, the fucker had violated Danny’s autonomy and created a clone without his consent.

“Well no offense but you don’t exactly have a stable life to offer him and I have money and power and can provide anything he needs. I don’t want him to go into the system. It’s notorious for mistreatment. And to be honest? I understand what he’s going through and I want to help,” Bruce said. He didn’t try to be suave or convincing. He just sat down on the foot of the bed, leveling with Danny, and was sincere in his words.

It was enough to ease Danny’s nerves the slightest bit. Only the slightest bit. Dick could stay here for a trail run. But the moment anything at all happened that Danny didn’t like, he was pulling him out and they were gonna get as far from the fruitloop as possible. Hell Danny might even flatline and frame him for murder if he needed to. Danny was not above that anymore. It wouldn’t be the first time he crawled out of a grave.

[bealittleimprobable]

And it's important to have specifically non-parent people to turn to even if you have a great life. Because even if you have a great relationship with your parents... sometimes that's either the nuclear option, or just embarrassing.

As extended families shrink, we are seriously losing out on the older cousin role (literal cousin, older kid next door, your mate's big sister). Someone you can go to and go "There's this guy at school, and..." who will listen and give advice from experience, and not immediately go "What do you mean you're talking to a boy???"

Maybe you need to go "I think this might be a red flag from my boyfriend, I don't know?" without taking it to someone who immediately wants to murder the guy for treating you wrong. You don't want him dead, you just want to know if you should put your foot down or break up.

(And the "older cousin" role avoids some of the rebelling-against-authority issue. Your parent comes down like a tonne of bricks about you seeing a boy, suddenly you're deeply in love, he's the best thing ever, Romeo and Juliet. Your big cousin you always looked up to goes "Eh, he sounds like a twat, what's a 6th former doing around year 9s anyway?" and you're much more likely to listen.)

as a CSA survivor I honestly think that the number one way to prevent child abuse is to surround kids with adults who treat them with respect. partially because it means there are people for kids to turn to in times of crisis. but also it makes kids way less vulnerable to the magnetism of “wow this adult is the first person to treat me as a human being. better do whatever I can to keep their respect”

[thetarotyapper]

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ what qualities should you be seeking in a romantic partner ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧

this pac is divided into two parts – the good qualities and the bad qualities. the good qualities will be talking about the characteristics you should be seeking in a romantic partner, and the bad qualities will be talking about the characteristics you should avoid/be aware of regarding a romantic interest.

paid services 18+ paid services tarot community ko-fi

(how to pick a card? observe the given options and choose the one which you feel the most drawn to. scroll down to read your message!! remember, this is a general reading, so take what resonates! (ps.- if you feel drawn to more than one card/image/pile, feel free to read the others too!! if the chosen pile doesn't relate to you, feel free to choose another. the choice is yours<3)

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ pile I ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧

my lovely pile 1, i feel like you’ve always been compromising yourself when it comes to love/relationships and i feel like the people you were interested in have always been intimidated by your success, one way or the other. i feel like people haven’t been honest with you and they’ve never really guided you - even as a friend. it’s like people want to see you lose your stance and fall down, you know? in this reading, i will talk about the good qualities and the bad qualities you should look out for. i hope you take care, and now let’s get to your reading<3

ᝰ.ᐟ good qualities

1. you should be seeking the qualities of someone who is gentle and patient with you. they shouldn’t be someone who gets angry at you for the silliest things. your person should be someone who values your emotions and understands where you’re coming from, instead of always making you guilty for being sensitive.

2. you should be seeking the qualities of someone who is honest and helps you see the truth. they shouldn’t be someone who blindly supports you, no. they should have your back and guide you mindfully. because i’m seeing here that you find it hard to accept things, so you should seek qualities of someone who helps you realise and accept things.

3. you should be seeking the qualities of someone who is faithful and transparent.

4. you should seek the qualities of someone who is as ambitious as you and who lets you be yourself. you shouldn’t compromise yourself for the sake of this relationship, and if your person truly loved you, they wouldn’t ask you to change.

5. you should be seeking the qualities of someone who matches your drive and your dedication.

6. you should be seeking the qualities of someone who helps you grow and helps you face challenges. they should be proud of your achievements and should not feel intimidated by your success.

ᝰ.ᐟ bad qualities

1. you should be aware if the person always tries to be “above” you. i’m seeing here that people might try to put you down just to look better and feel good about themselves- so please be aware if someone tries to do that. it can be revealed in the form of jokes, actions or whatever; but if you see this behaviour, please look out for yourself.

2. you should be aware if a person is being too bold or too “pushy”, as in like if they do not respect your boundaries. i am also getting a feeling here that you might be attracted to older partners, so this is something you should be mindful about because they might constantly try to dominate you and never let you have your say in a relationship.

3. you should be aware if the person is not ambitious. always make sure they have a plan, as some might just “go with the flow” but they do not have a set goal and sometimes the pressure to earn/carry the relationship might fall on you.

4. you should be aware if the person is too friendly with other people - because i’m seeing here that they might have commitment issues and they might have a lot of friends with benefits.

5. you should be aware if the person is not able to endure and forgive your mistakes. no one is perfect, so they should understand that and learn how to work with their feelings. they shouldn’t be someone who gets angry very easily, basically.

6. you should be aware if the person is not honest and transparent. they might be hiding something from you, or they are bad communicators.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ pile II ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧

my lovely pile 2, i’m seeing here that many of you might have an “i can fix them” mindset, and let me tell you this babe - it’s not good for you. i hope i don’t come off as rude, but like please know that being with someone who doesn’t value your feelings isn’t going to help you grow. protect your energy and your peace, and the right love will naturally flow to you. in this reading, i will talk about the good qualities and the bad qualities you should look out for. i hope you take care, and now let’s get to your reading<3

ᝰ.ᐟ good qualities

1. you should be seeking the qualities of someone who is willing to try out new things and is not afraid of change.

2. they should be able to navigate through their feelings and they should know how to breathe through any tension. they should handle difficult situations with ease and they shouldn’t blame you for everything - especially if something goes south.

3. you should be seeking the qualities of someone who knows how to balance things out in their life and someone who has an optimistic mindset. this person should be an inspiration to you and they should bring you out of dark times. you should seek the qualities of someone who will heal you, basically.

4. you should seek the qualities of someone who pays attention to your needs and someone who gets along with your family.

5. you should seek the qualities of someone who is very loyal to you and who does not doubt your relationship. there should be trust and certainty within the relationship, and this person should be confident about their feelings for you.

6. you should seek the qualities of someone who will nurture you and isn’t afraid to show you off.

ᝰ.ᐟ bad qualities

1. you should be aware if the person is not able to control the emotions. please avoid individuals who do not have good self control.

2. you should be aware if the person is too show-offy. like if the person only flexes their wealth and their succes, please avoid them. it shows that they are too full of themselves and that they only care about their stature.

3. you should be aware if a person is not able to make sacrifices. if they are not willing to give up something (that is especially unhealthy) for you, then please be mindful.

4. you should be aware if a person is being too defensive and doesn’t open up easily. i mean i get it, it’s not easy to open up to people - especially if you’re meeting them for the first time. but if their attitude doesn’t change, please do not strain yourself and work on the relationship if they aren’t valuing your efforts.

5. you should be aware if the person is not honest about their feelings and always keeps you hanging.

6. you should be aware if there are a lot of misunderstandings in the beginning of your relationship as this could lead to stress and conflict. your person should know how to balance their emotions, and if they’re having a hard time doing so, please be aware.

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ pile III ⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧

my lovely pile 3, i have a feeling that you’ve been with individuals who are very self-centred and egoistic. these individual might have only cared about their feelings and they have never had your back in situations where you needed them the most. i’m seeing here that you might have felt demotivated and felt like you were not seen in your relationships. in this reading, i will talk about the good qualities and the bad qualities you should look out for. i hope you take care, and now let’s get to your reading<3

ᝰ.ᐟ good qualities

1. you should be seeking the qualities of someone who remembers the smallest details about you. the person should look at something you like and go, “omg they (you) would have loved this!”

2. you should be seeking the qualities of someone who has your back and someone who will stand up for you, no matter what. they should be like a role model to you, and they should help you be realistic.

3. you should seek the qualities of someone who is going to inspire you and someone who is going to motivate you.

4. you should seek the qualities of someone who will let go of things you don’t like, and i’m seeing here that you’ll not ask them to let go of something that means a lot to them. maybe you’d ask them to let go of bad habits, and they should be able to do that. of course we can’t expect them to leave something entirely, but every small step counts.

5. you should seek the qualities of someone who is willing to take risks and is not afraid of change and is willing to let go of undesirable things.

6. you should seek the qualities of someone who is courageous and adventurous. another thing i’m seeing here is that you should seek the qualities of someone who is good at problem solving.

ᝰ.ᐟ bad qualities

1. you should be aware if a person is too prideful - especially if they try to make you look smaller than them. honestly, i’m seeing here that your person might be someone who is very talented and they are gaining reasonable recognition for their work, but if they are too full of themselves, and if they feel like they are better than everyone, then please be aware of this.

2. you should be aware if a person is taking on too many responsibilities and does not prioritise your feelings and your time, as well as your energy.

3. you should be aware if a person is too confident in themselves, especially if they come off as egoistic.

4. you should be aware if the person is being too kind, because there might be a malicious intention behind that kindness.

5. you should be aware if a person is going through a lot of mood swings. i’m also seen here that if the person is constantly looking happy and optimistic, it is fake. because i’m seeing here that since they know people will behave according to their emotions (especially since they have a lot of people admiring their work), they will take advantage of this - if that even makes sense. for example, if you are trying to pursue something with a member or a pretty well known band, that person might pretend to be all nice and happy because they know that they have an influence on people (their fans) and they might use this “happy facade” to gain something from the fans - maybe more recognition. but here’s the truth, their feelings and their emotions are completely different from what they portray. of course not everyone can be happy all the time and sometimes we need to pretend - but the feelings aren’t genuine from their side. ugh this was such a bad example, but i hope i made sense here!!

6. you should be aware if the person does not take care of their physical and their emotional health. you should be aware if they are neglecting self-care.

hiii loves, i hope this reading finds you in good health, and i hope you are doing well. i am not really satisfied with this reading as i feel like i could’ve done more, but i’m struggling to find time and i’m finding it so hard to manage my personal life as well as my professional life. i’m trying my best but i feel like it’s not enough. but i’m still pushing through, so that’s something 😅. i would be so glad if you could like my post and re-blog it, and please let me know which pile you picked - i would love to hear your thoughts and know if this reading resonated with you!! take care of yourself, and i will see you in my next reading. thank you for being here<3

ps - thank you so much to the lovely person who gave me the idea of doing this reading!! i truly appreciate you taking the time out of your day and letting me know which reading you preferred🥰❤️

(note - tarot & oracle cards provide guidance and possible insights into what could happen based on current energies, thoughts, feelings and actions. the cards can highlight potential paths or outcomes, but they do not predict the future in a fixed way. this is a general reading so take what resonates!)

જ⁀➴ all credit for the pictures/dividers goes to their rightful owners and creators

[if-you-give-a-dilf-a-danish]

Purpled Punching Bags P1 (Poly!141 x M!Reader)

A/N: Special thanks to @midoriiakina for coming up with this juicy angsty prompt, you can see their post here for more info about the Soulmate AU. This should be a two-parter. Contents: Skin writing and Pain-Sharing Soulmate AU, Poly!141, Hurt/Comfort, Reader uses he/him pronouns. “M/N” and “M/N L/N” are used a couple times only because it would sound clunky otherwise. POV is John Price-heavy, whoopsies TW: Major Injury to Reader W/C: ~1200 words. ═════════════════════════ It felt like a body slam to all of them. 

John was washing dishes, a ceramic bowl being scrubbed out when he felt himself keel over, the bowl dropping and shattering on the floor. His first fear was Johnny. He heard him yell the loudest in the shower when the pain started, John assumed he slipped and fell. The pain radiates across the left half of his ribcage, and then a splitting headache came afterward. The right side of his back burns now on top of it. Struggling to his feet, he groans out.

“H-Hey! Someone check on Johnny, I think he fell in the shower!” Price calls, getting back on his feet. “I’m on it!” Kyle yells, getting up off the couch (a much better place to be than standing for this) and running to the bathroom to check on him.

John hurries to the bedroom to check on Simon, who was asleep when the pain started. Now woken up, his eyes meet John’s when he enters. “Hey… Love, you alright?” John leans against the door frame, the pain had gone dull but still embedded deep inside.

“Fuck, what ‘appened?” Simon slowly crawled out of their shared bed, holding his side.

“Think Johnny slipped in the shower.” “N-No, I-I’m fine. Did not slip.” Kyle and Johnny appeared next to Price, the Scot dripping wet and only wearing a towel. They could all see the bright red patch on his side, from the pectoral muscle down to his waist. John didn’t have to raise his own shirt to see that they match.

“You didn’t?” Simon asked, confused. “No, no, I thought you fell outta bed or somethin’, was tryin’ to hurry up in there so i could check.” Johnny explained, confused. “Got a nasty scrape too, but I don't know...” He trails off, until it all hits them together. Kyle was the first one to speak it into existence. “Y-You don’t think--” John shoved them all aside, barking a loud “MOVE!” when he ran to the kitchen. Grabbing a toothpick, he immediately starts scratching into his forearm, hoping that it gets picked up by someone. When the other three feel it is when they catch on, they scramble to get their own utensils. 

Kyle follows soon after, grabbing a small paring knife to write into the other forearm. He drags the knife carefully to avoid nicking himself. But even in his panic, strokes still poke deeper than intended. Johnny uses a mechanical pencil, the lead retracted as he gets to work on his shin, leg hair making it hard to see his writing. Simon opts for a Phillips-head screwdriver, shirt raised and hunched over himself as he scrawls over his solar plexus, the fear that if chest compressions were performed, it would be the most noticeable. It was a perfect game of telephone, copying John’s text and writing it on their own parts, hoping to be seen. It took an hour of writing his name and home phone number, John yelling twice to rotate limbs so no one aches from it. “The pain’s gone!” Simon yelled out, and the others felt it too. That fifth connection went dead. “What do we do??” Kyle called back, his scratching on the shin paused. “Don’t fucking stop!!” John spat, his heart cracking when the throb in his head, back, and side stopped. “That’s an order!! We keep going until they call us!!!” He refuses to believe it. “Yes sir!” They respond, the whole house loud with it. The call did come not long after that. John called for everyone to come when his phone rang. “Hello?” The brave front he puts on is a thin one. “Hi, this is Cindy from the Mercy Medical Arts Complex, I’m calling to reach John Price?” The voice on speaker was way too sweet and soft to come from a hospital. She’s probably made these calls before. “Y-Yes. How can I help you?” His nervousness is through the roof. Johnny, Simon, and Kyle huddle around him, sticking close in a gesture of comfort. “I’m calling because your name and number were found on multiple locations of one M/N L/N’s body, indicative of a tethered partner. I assume you are his, right?” Your name soothes something in all of them despite only being just that. Another lad in their fold, another link in their little network. “Yeah… That’s right. I’m his. Is he okay? What happened to him??” That giddiness starts to wash away against the desperation. “Mr. L/N was the victim of a pedestrian collision with a vehicle. He is currently in surgery being stabilized, and I apologize for any panic when the link has faded, it’s a side effect of the anesthesia he was administered. Are you able to stop by?” She asks, never once faltering in her voice.

The four were relieved when she said it was only anesthesia. But you weren’t out of the woods yet. Looking at his boyfriends, John gets the soft looks returned to him. You weren’t dead. But you were still alone. And you don’t have to be, anymore.

“Hello?” Cindy asks. “Oh-- Uh, yeah. I’ll be there as soon as I can. May I have the address?” John stutters, facing the phone again. The other three take that as their cue to get ready. Johnny dries off and throws on clothes, Simon gets a face covering and his jacket, and Kyle starts the car. After Cindy gives the information and the call ends, John is lost in a mix of emotions. How long had the bond been established? How long had you known, and yet you never came? If today hadn’t happened, would you have even notified them somehow anyway? When Johnny comes in, he pulls the drain plug in the sink. Seeing John, he frowns, knowing that man is lost in himself. Coming up to his side, he hugs him. “C’mon now. He needs us.” The Scot rumbles in his ear, a quick peck on the lips.  “Did he?” John whispers back. “How long did we… have his bond…?”

Johnny shrugs. “Don’t know. Things change. Maybe his old one decayed. Died. But it shouldn’t matter to us.”

“This late in life, it’s a second chance.” Kyle walks into the kitchen behind the pair. Moving in front of them, he takes John’s head in his warm hands. “And he deserves that, even if he was a stranger to us before today. Before… whenever that connection had been made.” Running his fingers in John’s hair, it helps relax the both of them.

“We owe him one anyway.” Simon rumbles, the last one to enter. Pulling off Kyle’s fingers, (to both of their disappointments), he stretches the beanie over his hair, putting it on him. “Imagine how long he’d have to sustain every injury we’ve had on the field.”

The room grew tense after he said that, guilt and shock coloring everyone’s faces.

“Great job, Si.” Johnny grumbles, flicking his ear.

“Ow-- hey, i didn’t mean it like that!” Simon tries to defend, face pinkening when he realizes his mistake.

“Then how did you mean to say it?” Kyle retorted, “Obviously--”

“Okay…” John sighs, nipping their little quarrel in the bud. “We have to go. M/N’s waiting for us.”

[redrage71890]

Backing Voice (Yan! KPDH x Fem! MC) Part 3

Synopsis: A cancelled live performance and a wave of demonic energy, pushes our girl to her breaking point. All the while her new acquaintance wishes to hear that voice sing once again.

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Yandere

CW: Medicated Drug, Panic/Anxiety Attack

Prologue, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Word Count: 3.2k A/N: Quite literally thank you guys enough for your support for reading this fic. Also this is just my interpretation of the Saja Boys bc they're basically just their stereotypes in the movie. The interpretations are based off on how other fics write them.

————————————————————

A couple days have passed since (Y/N)‘s encounter with Jinu, she’s had plenty of work to fill her time. Too much in her opinion. The busy schedules and organising interviews and shows for the girls to appear in, not to mention preparing for the live performance coming. Golden featured more of her singing which is a problem for her at the moment.

Her hands won’t stop shaking. The bags under her eyes were deeper than before. Faint red pink lines were forming on her neck and arms from her constant scratching nails. Her eyes twitched whenever she’s met with a bright screen.

She’s at her breaking point.

Tonight is the first live performance and she’s been working nonstop. Bobby was nothing like her current state, though he’s been doing this longer than her. He’s much more relaxed and significantly less stressed than her. But he’s not the one who also does the live backing vocals.

Ever since meeting Jinu, she felt her nerves like usual when talking, but she was happy in the moment for an unknown reason. Maybe it’s because someone acknowledged her singing outside of her space. Perhaps it was a chance of meeting someone new who isn’t familiar as her being a manager for HUNTR/X.

Who knows.

(Y/N) just knows that she wants outside of her bubble.

Interrupting her thoughts was Bobby who came to her side, with a water bottle in hand. “You don’t seem to be going well (Y/N). Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” Bobby worriedly questions.

Time was moving way too fast. It was already rehearsing time for the show.

“Y-Yeah! I’m fine Bobby! Thanks for the water, I’ll tell the girls their on in five!” Quickly grabbing them water and speed walking away as fast as she can.

Pulling along her collared shirt trying to free up more air in her lungs. All the air she was breathing escaped way too quickly. Her chest was hurting like she was hit by a truck.

‘It’s fine it’s fine it’s fine! Just one performance.’

(Y/N) knows they’re eager to turn the honmoon gold, but the world isn't ending anytime soon. A break should be reasonable enough as it is! For gods sake they JUST finished a tour literally a couple DAYS ago.

Take. A. Break.

‘Please….for me I beg…’

Reaching their changing rooms she gently knocks on the door. Hearing a small noise coming and the rattles of the handle, she’s met with the wondering familiar eyes of Zoey and Mira.

“(Y/N)! What’s up!” Zoey greets her as she lunges herself at her body. Encasing her in a tight hug. Thrusted to wake up with her being crushed by the ever sweet hunter. “Zoey! You’re crushing her!” Mira thankfully ushers Zoey to let go. Taking deep breathes to regain her lost oxygen, she glared at the sweet girl, only to be unseen by her.

"*Huff* You're on in five *huff.* Can you relay that to Rumi? *huff* I need to prepare myself."

"Okay. But are you alright? You haven't spoken to us in a while. Since the tour ended. We've been thinking that we should go to dinner sometime, if you're up for it." Mira questions, picking up on the beads of sweat on her forehead.

"We're just worried about you. You kinda avoiding us. W-We just want you to be okay! We can watch some turtle videos if you'd like? Something for us to unwind to. You don't have to worry about singing for a while once this is over."

"Yeah sure sure. Yeah. I'm fine. Just, get ready for the show. Don't worry about me. My voice is fine."

Staggering out immediately after, their worried comments falling on deaf ears.

Hurriedly speed walking towards one of the sound guys and taking a microphone for herself. Digging into one of her pockets and pulling out a container with small individual capsules. Popping one open and picking out a pill inside before throwing it in her mouth. Snapping the water open and chugging half of the bottle to push down the medication.

Her breathing began to calm and her mind felt clearer. But her hands wouldn't stop shaking. A strange mix of calm and nerves waring in her mind and body. Pushing through those feelings and thoughts, her ears pick up the instrumental beginning to play, she puts the mic near her lips.

"I was a ghost, I was alone (Hah)"

"Eoduwojin (Hah) abgilsog-e (Ah)"

"Given the throne I didn't know (Hah) how to believe (Hah)"

"I was the queen that I'm meant to be (Ah)"

Rumi's voice unnerving and only building up to more for later. (Y/N) breathily adding to her words and adlibbing along.

"I lived two lives, tried to play both sides"

"But I couldn't find my own place"

"Called a problem child 'cause I got too wild"

"But now that's how I'm getting paid, kkeut-eobs-psi on stage"

Layering her voice to harmonise with the girls like usual. Holding back until later.

"I'm done hidin', now I'm shinin'"

"Like I'm born to be"

"We're dreamin' hard, we came so far"

"Now I believe"

Dragging her voice along for the build up, but it more vocal in volume than usual.

"We're goin' up, up, up"

"It's our moment"

"You know together we're glowing"

"Gonna be, gonna bе golden"

"Oh, up, up, up"

"With our voices"

"Yeong-wonhi kkaеjil su eobsneun"

"Gonna be, gonna be golden"

Echoing the words of Rumi and her voice. She continues to push.

"Oh, I'm done hidin' now I'm shinin'"

"Like I'm born to be~"

"Oh, our time, no fear, no lies"

"That's who we're born to be~!"

Raising her voice high to match Rumi but ends up subtly going higher than her. Quickly realising her mistake and at the same speed pushing down her loaded hurls of self-deprecation.

"Waited so long to break these walls down"

"To wake up and feel like me"

"Put these patterns all in the past now"

"And finally live like the girl they all see"

Her silence in the verse made her vulnerable to her deprecating voices in her head. Just enough for a burning sensation to tingle at the sides of her mouth and neck.

Whispering a stream of pleas to quiet her mind.

"No more hiding, I'll be shining"

"Like I'm born to be"

"'Cause we are hunters, voices strong"

"And I know I believe~"

Collecting herself again with continuously shaking hands.

"We're goin' up, up, up!"

"It's our moment"

"You know together we're glowing"

"Gonna be, gonna be golden"

"Oh, up, up, up"

"With our voices"

"Yeong-wonhi kkaejil su eobsneun"

"Gonna be, gonna be golden"

'When does this end....'

"Oh, I'm done hidin', now I'm shining"

"Like I'm born to be~!"

"Oh, our time, no fears, no lies"

"That's who we're born to b-"

'Huh?'

The music suddenly stops as she abruptly ends her note to avoid being heard. Collapsing to her knees and clawing at her neck as the burning turned into an itching sensation.

She can hear Bobby and Mira worrying about Rumi, while she dismisses and tells them to restart the part.

Scrambling up to her feet and halts her scratching with the mic at her lips again.

"I'm done hiding"

"Now I'm shining"

"Like I'm born to b- (cough)"

Stopping her voice and falling to her knees again. A whirling nauseating pain flows through her head. Gripping her temples and clawing down her face to the added pressure.

Just picking up that Rumi wanted to take five, her heart raced even faster.

She couldn't hear anything around her. A white ringing noise filling her ears. Clawing at her ears with her breathing hastening in speed.

"Stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop! Shut up be quiet. Shut up. Be quiet. Shut up. Be quiet. Go away. Go away... (hick)"

A waterfall of tears pour down her face as she quietly sobs, while hyperventilating through her tight chest. Her clawing actions stop at her neck, feeling the sweat sticking to her skin like slime.

The space was unnaturally empty for a busy stage trying to ready for a live performance.

Nobody to see the jagged patterns clawing at her neck. Reaching its way over her mouth.

Scratching and scratching at the patterns while her tears begin to extinguish the burning feeling every time it drips down her chin.

But she suddenly stops.

A silencing sensation abruptly halts her breakdown.

Something demonic was sent through the honmoon.

————————————————————

Her prays were finally met when she heard that Bobby cancelled the performance that night. Visualising her appearance was enough for her to text Bobby about leaving early. She felt horrible to leave everything for Bobby to handle.

But she was in absolutely no condition to help.

Making her own way back to the HUNTR/X tower, she sped her way towards her bathroom. Finally taking a look at herself in the mirror.

'Its still you. At least...'

Chuckling to herself and tracing her lips and along the lightning like patterns. Her usually shaggy short (f/c) hair being an absolute mess with baby hairs sticking to her face around her eyes and cheeks. Peaking through her bangs, staring back at her was a prominent gold and (f/c) tired gaze. The red veins on her sclera being bright and obvious to her crying fit earlier. The faint purple patterns reaching down to her neck, wrapping around the area were her vocal cords are.

Unbuttoning her top and disrobing her wrinkled clothes, discarding them in on the floor. Ruffling her hair and switching on her shower. Dowsing her body with cold water and washing away her tear stained cheeks.

Her first moment of silence since her time at the park.

'I wonder how Jinu is doing...'

(Y/N) has been thinking of the demon, why he was on the surface in the first place. If she considered demons nature, it wouldn't be anything good.

But she had a feeling that's not the only reason being here.

Granted she has no explanation for her reason. And additionally, she knows nothing about Jinu. He just awkwardly complimented her voice and she's the one who left early and brushed off his want for conversation.

'Damn it all! Stupid anxiety!'

Mentally cursing herself aside, she turns off her shower and steps out to wrap her body in a towel.

*Ping!*

She heard her phone alert go off. Drying off her body and stepping into her bedroom, she checked her messages and wasn't sure what to really do.

Zoey: Hey (Y/N)! We're going out for dinner since Rumi came back :D We'll save you a seat don't worry! Zoey: XXX-XXX-XXXX

(Y/N) felt no energy to go out with the girls. But she'll admit, she is worried for Rumi.

Her voice cracking pretty recently is probably making her even more stressed. Perhaps the honmoon turning gold is more important to her than she thought.

But she isn't sure if she's fit to go comfort Rumi.

Her body just feels drained.

"(sigh) What I do for these girls."

Rummaging through her cupboard and lazily throwing on a hoodie and pants. Roughly brushing her hair to to seem less messy and throwing on a pair of sneakers. Grabbing nothing else but her phone.

Entering the streets of Seoul and ignoring the slide comments of some about the cancelled show.

She felt reallllly bad for Bobby.

She's supposed to be one of the managers, but here she is wandering through the night streets and making her way to the girls. Not even bothering throwing her hoodie on because she was just tired.

Not able to pay attention to her surroundings.

*Bump!*

“Oof!” Staggering on her feet she turns around to meet the eyes of the other.

But a gentle smile meets her tiresome face, belonging to the familiar demon and his dreamy brown eyes.

”Jinu.”

”(Y/N)…”

Said demon felt relief to see her again. Her voice has been living in his mind rent free. It made him feel like a person again. Like he wasn’t a being that feeds of the souls and the shame he too feels from his previous actions.

He wants to hear her sing again.

“What are you doing here?” (Y/N) questions tiredly rubbing her temples. “I wanted to see you again.“ Jinu answers without a doubt. Though he can’t exactly be honest with her. He doesn’t even know if she’s a hunter, or whether once she knows his plan, if she’ll just slice him without hesitation.

But whether she’s a hunter or not, he still wants to see her.

”That’s a bit strange, don’t you think? W-We just met a couple days ago.” (Y/N) blankly states. Even though she wanted to see him again, it was still weird in her head. Jinu on the other hand sweat dropped at her statement.

”One can say that, but I don’t see it that way.” His response wasn’t what she imagined. But to be fair, she wasn’t sure what to think of him. “Ever since I heard you sing, I couldn’t get your voice out of my head. It’s made me…. want to see you again…” Jinu tried to describe how he felt, but even he couldn’t explain it using words.

He just felt comforted yet haunted by her tone and song.

It made him forget.

And it made him curiously want more.

”Hmm…if that’s how you feel.” (Y/N) shrugs her shoulders while muttering to herself. It feels weird to hear someone compliment her, or at least try to.

“But to be fair myself, I liked our little chat before. Even if it wasn’t much.” Her anxiety was subsiding unnaturally. She really did like being in Jinu’s presence.

That little statement was enough for Jinu to look at her like an excited puppy. "Perhaps.....maybe...we could talk more?" The words felt foreign from her mouth, her anxiety still present that just makes her second guess what to say. Nervously scratching the back of her neck.

Jinu gleams at her. "Then, why don't we go now?"

(Y/N) whips her head at him again with a widened expression.

Now? She can't. The girls are waiting for her, she has to know what happened. Something spread a demonic energy through the honmoon. And last she checked, demons don't do that. A tare feels different than what that was.

Whether she likes it or not...

She's considered a hunter.

"Sorry Jinu, I actually have som-"

"Jinu! Buddy, where have you been?"

Cutting her off was the sound of a deeper voice coming from behind Jinu.

Glancing up she catches four figures gathering behind the dreamboat. Two of them had pink hair but in different cuts and hairstyles, while the another had bright cyan underneath a yellow hat and the last having long silver grey with bangs that covered his eyes.

Their faces were alluring. Sculpted by the gods with unfair favouritism. Going all the way down to their bodies and from the sound of it, their voices too. Though even for (Y/N), they seemed way too perfect to be human.

'A group of demons? This can't be for a good reason...'

In the back of her mind, (Y/N) didn't want to fully trust Jinu. His random purpose on the surface is enough to justify her lingering doubts. But she pushed them aside just because she genuinely enjoyed the short time they had talking. Even if it was mainly him trying to talk to her.

The group of boys seemed to rag on Jinu about something like 'dancing' and 'practice.' Which only brought one answer to her mind.

"Are you guys dance training for something?"

Her voice bringing on five sets of eyes on herself. The one with the longer pink hair smirked upon meeting her questioning gaze, unnoting her own flinching back into herself.

"Why yes, are you curious?" He approached closer into her space, shivering at his invasion and taking a small step back to create distance. Jinu notices her uncomfortable expression, coming up to the pink headed demon to prevent going forward.

"Romance, you're making her uncomfortable." Halting his friends actions made the now named 'Romance' stare at him with a bit of surprise. Before Jinu turns his attention back on (Y/N) with a confident smile.

"We are actually practicing. We're debuting as a new boy group tomorrow." His answer brought more surprise to (Y/N)'s face.

"A boy band? I mean....you have the looks for it, can't say anything about everything else." She was just muttering to herself at this point. But Jinu heard what she was saying, taking it as a good sign for him.

"How about you come watch us perform tomorrow."

"Hmm? You sure?"

"Of course, we'll save a special spot just for you."

Well....considering that the girls are probably gonna have the day off tomorrow because of the cancelled show, it'll be good to keep an eye on these demon boys.

As long as they aren't hurting people, she has no reason to send them back.

But another reason popped into her head.

Sighing to herself she just hums and nods her head. "Sure. Why not?"

Jinu's eyes lighted up like fireworks at her response, internally pumping his fist in succession.

"Great! Here's a flyer for tomorrow." Handing her a pretty pastel flyer with the name 'Saja Boys' on the front with a logo of a lion plastered on the centre.

"Thanks. I'll see you tomorrow then." Gently smiling at them before waving a hand and continuing her walk.

Unbeknownst to her, the Saja Boys had differentiating reactions and thoughts.

They were quite intrigued by her. Jinu hasn't been fully present since his meeting with this girl, which got the others curious. He said he couldn't describe the feelings that ignited inside when he heard the girl sing.

Baby and Mystery mainly brushed it off and paid no mind to it. While Abby and Romance were slightly interested but never thought about it further.

That is until they did meet.

And my oh my...

They kinda understood?

(Y/N) from a first glance appeared quite pretty if Romance said so himself. Her baggy attire making her more relaxed and casual than the dolled up girls that he saw around before. But even that extenuated her natural beauty. But her speaking voice seemed to make Romance understand Jinu's fixation just a little bit more. Something melodic about her undertone drew his mind to a strange white noise. It wasn't anything mind numbing or dreadfully empty, it was calming.

Mystery isn't one for speaking but his heart skipped a beat hearing her casually talk. That haunting tone in her voice peaked his interest out of curiosity. But what caught him most was her eyes. A (f/c) gaze with a rim of gold around her iris. How come Jinu didn't mention that?

Abby was curious for sure about this (Y/N) chick. Wondering what the deal is with her said voice. But he was quite intrigued upon meeting the quietly shy girl. How can such a beautifully described voice come out of her?

Baby wasn't listening majority of the time Jinu was yapping about this girl. What was so important that it took that much brain space in that head of his, to the point that it looked like he was in a trance. But even meeting the girl herself, he'd rather see how things play out now that he himself has caught a glimpse of what is so intriguing.

Oh what will happen indeed...

————————————————————

Edit: Fun fact, the whole panic attack part is based of one that happened to me. My whole anxiety back when I was in school basically inspired this idea in the first place. Also I have no idea why I gave Romance more time than the others, it just happened |(￣3￣)|

Tags: @kitsune-05, @the-bookish-artist, @apelepikozume, @shoopershtar, @ravvilicous, @valeriele3, @vikc, @lasa27, @chipster-321, @greensunflowerjuna, @napbatata, @that-one-girl2020, @tagmepls, @thoughtfulbananaduckcroissant, @minepugs, @crescent-z, @colorfulgardenerduck, @poem-bee, @deityofprocastinating, @0-undead-0, @gremlinartstudio, @jessica-mcd, @strayharmony943, @fruityg0rl, @cherryblossomfox, @aominehaven, @kyxmlii, @ssaischilling, @sweaterkitty-fluff, @historygeekqueen, @satansdaughter123, @theall-seeingone, @nvmkyuu, @amenabii, @julianne1024, @doggyteam2028, @nisarelle, @theall-seeingone, @hi-itsmee28, @celesteelysia, @maritheillusion, @levifiance, @kangsae-byeokfan, @hornehlittleweeblet12, @scara-simp69, @fancyhawk45, @shqyou, @enerofairy, @futuristicdefendorfart, @scentwombatarcade, @eliengoddes, @irethepotato, @sra7riddle-malfoy, @jessica-mcd

[hey-itsdollie]

Hi hope ur having a good day

Can i request something like the reader and bllk boys ( Sae, oliver and kaiser in particular feel free if u want to do the other boys ) were in a secret relationship and she is a famous actress and once she was doing a live on insta and suddenly the bllk boys appears behind her shirtless didn't notice she was doing a live and just like that thay got caught

Put a Shirt On.ᐟ.ᐟ

‧₊˚ ┊ bllk guys walking in on their famous gf's live

୭˚. ᵎᵎ featuring » sae. oliver. kaiser. isagi. bunny.

⋮ ⌗ ┆cw ⪼ fluff/crackfic, fem reader, reader is a celebrity, established relationship

── .✦ Sae Itoshi

You and Sae were in a secret relationship, the two of you thought it would be a good idea since you both had your respective jobs. Not to mention your own fanbases.

To avoid unnecessary drama or attention the two of you decided to have a more private life–though that is how the two of you always lived from being celebrities.

One day you were bored and decided to do a short live stream for your fans–a little QnA like you had promised a week or two ago. You thought it would be a good idea since your boyfriend was in the bedroom sleeping soundly.

Your fans already knew you had a boyfriend, you just kept his identity a secret for his own privacy reasons. You wanted to avoid the random shipping that most fans enjoyed to do with other celebrities or the self-shipping.

“Hm? Oh, I started acting when I was around 6 years old I believe.” You hummed after thinking back to your childhood. You leaned back after answering the chat’s questions, stretching slightly but then your eyebrows furrowed at the sight of the chat blowing up more than usual.

“Woah, what’s going on?” You muttered and leaned forward squinting your eyes to look at the comments, reading one allowed in a confused manner.

“Look behind you…” “There’s someone behind you…”

Chills ran down your spine as you slowly turned around and practically jumped out of your skin when your eyes met another pair.

Shortly you recognized it as your boyfriend who just stared at you blankly, a water bottle in hand. Oh! Not only is his face in view of the camera but also his muscular chest. Your face burned, “Go put a shirt on Sae!”

With a roll of his eyes he left the room once more, you sighed and tried to calm your nerves. Your eyes widened seeing the chat still blowing up.

“Oh yeah… surprise guys!”

── .✦ Oliver Aiku

“And then I think this will look great with these pants. Look at the colors they match perfectly.” You grin showing the camera the outfit you currently had on.

Currently you are putting together a few outfits for your fans on a live. You twirled around but squealed once you felt hands go around your waist. You gasp and turn to the camera as the chat started going by fast with comments.

Oliver grinned, his upper body bare besides a necklace that hung loosely around his neck.

“Oh, hey guys! I’m Oliver Aiku, Y/n’s boyfriend.” He introduced with a cheeky smile as he placed a kiss to the side of your face.

“Aiku come on!” You whine as you smile slightly. Your boyfriend just continued to grin. Leaning over to read through the comments, smoothly answering some as you just sighed and leaned against him.

“Yeah, she picks out most of my outfits normally.” He answered with a grin, “Yeah, where’s the shirt I picked for you?” You questioned making his eyes gleam.

“Huh a shirt? But I’m so comfortable right now~” He laughed as you shook your head.

── .✦ Michael Kaiser

“Liebe have you seen- oh.”

You turn quickly, your eyes widened, “Micha, I’m live right now…”

“I can see that.” Kaiser smirked and immediately sat next to you on the bed. Waving at the camera as he read a few comments and chats.

“Are we dating? Yes.” Kaiser answered truthfully, slinking his arm around your waist as you looked at him shocked. The two of you had decided to keep the relationship a secret.

Saying you wouldn’t go public until things got serious between the two of you, so you wouldn’t be part of the group of celebrities that date and break up within a month or two of being together.

“Sorry for keeping it a secret guys.” You smile apologetically as you lean against the blonde. You were happy to see that the comments were actually taking it relatively well.

You blushed as some comments brought up how Kaiser was still quite literally bare on his upper half, you quickly grabbed a blanket and threw it at him.

“Awe but I’m so comfortable liebe.” Kaiser groaned as he pulled you back to sit next to him. You sighed and focused back on the live stream. Continuing to answer a few questions for a little bit longer before ending the live.

── .✦ Bunny Iglesias

“No, yeah. Am I single? Mmm no.” You laugh, shaking your head at the camera. You hadn’t told your fans about your relationship. Originally it was supposed to be a secret but you and your boyfriend had been talking it over for a while now.

You watched the chat build up, one message catching your attention. “You’re dating Bunny?!”

Your body freezed, how the hell would they know that. There wasn’t really any public media about the two of you, no pictures, no articles, no stories. Not even mentioned at parties.

“Bunny?” You question with a laugh but your act got cut short–rather immediately.

“Hm, yes?”

That was the voice of your boyfriend. But he wasn’t supposed to be home from his run yet. You slowly turned and saw him shirtless standing in the kitchen. “Babe!” You say shocked standing up, the male looked at you confused then he caught sight of the phone.

“What? Oh… uh hey guys…” He greeted the viewers awkwardly walking over to you as he took a seat on the couch, you slowly sat back down. Your head was in your hands as you let out a soft groan.

“Yall I was so confused…” You laugh as you look up at the chat. Feeling Bunny’s hand gently rub your back comfortingly.

Your boyfriend read a few questions and answered a few as you laid against him, playing with his hand absentmindedly.

“Uh, yeah we’ve been dating a bit–known each other for way longer though.” He shrugged. Unlike you, Bunny didn’t feel bad for keeping the relationship from fans. It was your private life, your comfort. But he also didn’t mind being able to tell the world that you were his and vice versa. He loved it in fact.

©hey-itsdollie please don't copy, change, or steal my work. Thank you!

[barleyo]

Wicked Away.

Scandalabra X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: i love this stupid candle more than words can explain. he's got that dandyish charm that makes me wanna pounce him. and he's a cuck? and a canon mommy kink? oh, yes, yes please! comments and reblogs are appreciated!

Tags: mommy kink, use of "mistress", f-dom/m-sub, cucking, jealousy, cunnilingus, fingering, praise

Wordcount: 1.9k

Your relationship with Scandalabra was odd to some and downright weird to other objects. He always seemed to goad others into looking at you with the same lust that his eyes held for you, urging them to admit how attractive they found you. They assumed it was just the scandal of it that he was after, but it wasn't just that. 

Everyone knew that he was a bit of a spy in his own right, watching others' relationships grow and blossom, getting off on knowing the happenings around the house. What they didn't know, was that the watching aspect carried over into his relationship with you. What he got off on more than anything was you retelling your sexual escapades with the others in the house, delving into all the details for him. Imagining you pinned under a strong, sexy man like Dunk or Abel made the gears in his head stutter. You with another girl in the house, a pretty dame? His pantaloons grew uncomfortably tight at that, as well.

You two had this arrangement going for some time. You never judged Scandalabra for what he liked, in fact, it excited you almost as much as it did him. Seeing your sweet dandy get worked up over picturing you with another? Lip bitten between his adorably gapped teeth as he struggled to fight off his blush? It was a sight for sore eyes. 

Deeper than just the cucking, though, Scandalabra adored that part, you took care of his need with equal vigor. You were tender and gentle, not too rough with a fragile flower like himself, not in the way you were with Kristoff or Volt and Eddie. 

No, you fucked others, and he didn't mind it because at the end of the day, you were his and only he got the gentle, sweet caress of your manicured hand over his thigh. Only he received loving eyes boring into his as you pulled his pants down, teeth taking purchase of his waistband as you tugged. Only he got you fully—you, his mommy. His mistress. His lover. 

At least, that's what he thought, until Stepford's name passed your lips during one of your "debriefing" nights.

Scandalabra had drawn you a luxurious bath, filled with bubbles and silky oils. This was how he preferred these nights. Watching you glow with content and comfort while he struggled not to fall apart at the seams.

He kneeled outside the tub, filing your fingernails for you as while you sunk deeper into the water, sighing in relief. 

"You treat me so well, sweet boy," you muttered tiredly, feeling the steam envelope you. "I suppose you want your story for the night, hm?"

He nodded in excitement. You had just come back from a special night, a new "date" with another object in the house. He had been reeling all day, his ears burning to hear all about it. 

"Yes, do tell, mistress." He shifted on his knees, leaning closer. His slender fingers reached for your other hand. 

"Well, as you know, I've been talking to someone new lately. Quite sexy, of course."

"Naturally." 

"He's a sweet thing, much like you. Not like the others we've been seeing," you said. 

Scandalabra's heart gushed at the way you said "we." It was true, technically both of you were experiencing the sexual encounters. It made him feel like a part of you. That was all he ever wanted. 

He continued to listen and grabbed a bottle of red nail polish. You shook your head and waved it away, requesting a different color. Anything for you. He put back the offending bottle and grabbed a soft pink shade.

"Who was it tonight?"

You ignored his question and began reliving the details. You knew how he loved to be tantalized, teased, and toyed with. 

You felt him slowly dab the lacquer onto your nails, taking great care to avoid your cuticles. "He was so sensitive. I felt so bad for the poor thing—came as soon as I tried to use my hands. He was apologetic, so sweet."

Normally, Scandalabra would be burning up by now, given the bits and pieces you were serving him, but not now. He found himself... jealous. His teeth bit the inside of his cheek rather than his lips. His eyebrows furrowed in envy rather than pleasure. 

"Other hand, please, mistress," he asked, uncharacteristically quiet. "Two coats, don't you think?"

You saw the sheerness of the polish already on your nails and agreed, but not before eyeing him curiously. What was wrong? By this point, you usually wouldn't be able to keep him off of you. He'd be begging for more details, more to picture. 

"Once we were done, Stepford said the sweetest thing," you continued, clearing your throat, "something about me being a wonderful mommy, oh, it was precious."

So that's how it was. Scandalabra felt angry tears prick his eyes, tilting his head down so you wouldn't notice.

His voice was drained of any excitement. "How scandalous," he said without any of his usual vivacity. 

You two finished the night in silence. What you thought was a serene, calmness was actually a raging storm brewing just under your nose. 

It was bigger than fantasy now. It was far too real.

When you fucked the admittedly more masculine, dominant guys around the house, Scandalabra was fine. One the rare occasion you would get with a woman, he was unbothered. He still had a side of you to himself. You were getting your fill of something he couldn't provide from others, that was okay. In fact, he encouraged it! He wanted it.

But Stepford?

Stepford, a submissive pretty boy? A dandy, much like Scandalabra himself, with a need for your tenderness, your soft, guiding touch? That killed him. He was meant to be your only, when it came to that. The only pathetic, needy wretch under your care.

It felt like you were replacing him. Looking for something you already had. It ate at him like a virus.

Did Stepford cling to you the way he did? Oh, he felt sick. Did Stepford call you his darling mistress? Did Stepford ask you to kiss down his chest and tummy? Scandalabra felt himself retch. Did you call Stepford pretty? Did you stroke his hair and press loving, open-mouth kisses against his lips?

This green-eyed monster inside of him started to grow and turn him into something different—something primal. A worm of sorts wriggled into his mind and told him that he needed to show you that he was still there, that he still mattered. That he could still be your only.

He found himself in his favorite place: between your thighs, grinding into the sheets under him like a bitch in heat. 

He was enthralled by your taste. Every time you let him do this, he was in heaven. Sure, he loved to be taken care of, but he was anything but a selfish lover. What sort of shameful boy would he be if he didn't return the favor, and then some? 

His tongue flattened against your core, trailing from your dripping hole to your clit, paving a sinful path from bottom to top. His eyes were just as unfocused as his mind. 

He was drowning in both his thoughts and your taste. If he could just get you to cum again, and maybe once more after that, then perhaps you'd see how good he could be for you. 

He pulled back from your cunt for a brief moment, spitting onto your bud. He watched his saliva trickle down from your clit to the sheets below you. He shuddered.

"Do you feel good, mommy?" he asked, his eyes glazed over and hopeful, searching over your face for pleasure. 

A soft moan formed in the back of your throat as you trailed your hands through his hair. You gripped a handful of it and stroked it with your thumb. "Mhm..."

He placed his hands on your thighs, pushing your legs open further. Scandalabra huffed brattishly.

"No," he whined with your slick still dripping down his chin, his mouth coated. The sight made you grow weak. He looked like he did after you would kiss him, with gloss and shine smearing over his lips. "Need you to say it. Need to hear it—tell me!"

"Baby—"

He cut you off with a harsh lick, choosing to abuse your sensitive clit. "No," he repeated between licks, "tell me. You have to. You—you must tell me, tell me that I'm your best boy," he hastily inserted his fingers into you, curling them with intention. "Please, mommy. Don't you want me?"

The eyes that met yours were wet and hopeless. 

If you weren't so blinded by pleasure, you would've started crying yourself at the sight of your precious Scandalabra. Your grip of his hair tightened. 

"I don't want you," you said softly, yanking him to look up at you, pausing his ministrations. "I need you. I need you more than anything, and you know that, sweet boy."

"Then w-why are you replacing me?" he asked with a choked sob, nails digging crescent marks into your plush thighs, still thrown over his shoulders. 

You stammered, mouth gaping slightly. "Replacing you? What do you mean?" You brought your other hand down to stroke his cheek, trying to coax the answer out of him. "Is it me being with others? I told you that if that ever started to bother you, to tell me. Muffin, I thought you liked it, no?"

He sighed and shook his head. 

"It's not that. I do love it, I love when you tell me everything and share. Sometimes it feels like I'm really there, watching you, and that excites me, but," he paused, suddenly feeling childish in his worries, "why Stepford? What's so special about him?" 

He bit his tongue when he felt the question "what does he have that I don't?" rise in his mouth. 

"What?"

"Stepford! Why would you choose him when you have me? He's just—just a worse version of me," he spat, nuzzling into your thigh for comfort. "You don't need him when you have me. I don't want you to have another... pretty boy. Am I not enough?"

Suddenly, you felt the tension between your brows soften. This was a much easier fix than you thought. 

"Oh, Scandy, you silly thing," you cooed, tracing one hand through his hair and one down his back. "I don't need anyone else. You are enough for all of my needs. I don't need to see any of the others in the house, including Stepford."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you take care of all my needs. I only sleep with others because you think it's fun. I think so too—but you are the only thing in this world that mommy needs."

His eyes looked up at you from between your legs, searching for truth. He found it.

"You are my only," you said. "You always will be."

Scandalabra thought about that for a moment. His finger slowly, gently ran over your clit. "Well, maybe there's room for one more. Maybe," he chewed him bottom lip, "you could bring Stepford over one day and I could, ah, finally get to watch? Watch in person, I mean?"

"Anything for you. Consider it done, Scandy." 

[intuitive-revelations]

I've been waiting to post this for ages, so here it is (even if it's technically no longer Pride Month as intended, shut up, I'm not waiting another year)!

An unexhaustive list of moments across every incarnation in which the Doctor is very straight, very cis, very allo, and very gender-conforming. /s

Or in other words:

[ID: The astronaut "always has been" meme - One astronaut looks at caps of the Fourteenth Doctor talking about finding Newton hot and Fifteen kissing Rogue, saying "Wait...the Doctor's queer now?". A second astronaut behind points a pistol at the first, replying "Always has been."]

In all seriousness, I tried my best to capture as much as I could. It was a more a matter of running up against the limits of what I can squeeze into a Tumblr post than anything else. Even as it is, a lot of the clips are more compressed than I'd like, and Tumblr's downscaled GIF versions are messing up some of my transparent borders.

A lot of stuff is more subtextual and gradual (particularly in stuff like the EDAs), but I tried my best to represent these with particular moments where possible, without clogging the entire thing up with subtle writing and acting choices. There's also a lot more I could have added in regard to cross-gender regenerations, of course, but I avoided too many of these since they don't necessarily imply genderqueerness on an individual incarnation / actor basis. It would also mean giffing every second Thirteen, Fugitive etc. are on-screen.

Obviously, some of these are much more stretches than others (jokes, friendly kisses etc.), before anyone feels like they need to dispute them, but fall nicely into the pattern with everything else, so were included too.

Finally, if you've got something obvious I missed, feel free to add below!

A very long GIF ID and list of sources under the read more:

[ID: A series of gifs showing moments in which the Doctor potentially comes off as queer, trans, asexual, or gender non-conforming, or at least is part of a subtext that can be read as such, distributed in an extended rainbow pattern roughly based on the Progress pride flag. In order, row by row:

1. New Who - The Vanquishers - Thirteen remarks to Dan and Yaz about her duplicate: "I've got such a crush on her."

2. BF - The Sword of the Chevalier transcript:

ROSE: But is he-... she- DOCTOR: She is what ever she says she is. Who cares about gender anyway? It's an archaic concept. Right now, she's a woman.

3. New Who - The Vanquishers - A trapped Thirteen says to her duplicate, "Hi! Wow... you're cute!" The other Thirteen replies, "Thanks. So are you!"

4. BF - Seasons of Fear transcript:

CHARLEY: Another wonderful opportunity to wear a nice dress. DOCTOR: Wouldn't that be a bit conspicuous? CHARLEY: An opportunity for me.

5. BF - Seasons of Fear transcript:

DOCTOR: Are you confusing me with someone else? I'm not the one who says ‘you must obey me’. I don't meddle. And I'm not a glamorous woman at the moment.

6. New Who - The Sound of Drums - Ten on the phone with the Master begs, "Don't you see, all we've got is each other." The Master snarks back, "Are you asking me on a date?!"

7. EDA - The Scarlet Empress:

'You've got the Doctor all wrong. He's not a sexist pig like Gila.' 'He can't help what he is. His gender is alien, but intransigent. The cosmos is guided by male and female impulses - quite separate…' "That's crap!' Sam shouted."The Doctor isn't your average man, at all. I don't think he even has a gender. How can you - whoever you are - pontificate on what he's like? He's private. He's untouchable.'

8. New Who - The Fires of Pompeii - Ten sneaks into the Temple of Sybil. Seer Spurrina says, "No man is allowed to enter the Temple of Sibyl." Ten shrugs and says, "Well, that's all right. Just us girls."

9. EDA - To the Slaughter:

'Yes, me!' The Doctor took Fitz's hand, kissed it delicately, then shoved him aside. 'Now, out of my way!'

10. New Who - Wishworld - Rogue on a TV screen, speaking from a hellish dimension, says "I miss you. Well... more than that. I love y-" before being interrupted by the signal breaking.

11. NSA - Engines of War:

Urgh,’ said Cinder, letting go of the Doctor’s hand and getting to her feet. ‘My leggings are soaked through.’ She helped the Doctor up. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’m sure there’ll be something similar in one of the TARDIS’s wardrobes.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Fond of women’s clothes, are we?’ ‘Yes,’ he said, indicating his muddy trousers. ‘Clearly, I have a penchant.’

12. New Who - Meanwhile in the TARDIS 2 - Amy, fresh off trying to seduce him, points at Eleven and says "You are a bloke." He replies, "I'm the Doctor."

13. New Who - Wishworld - John Smith sits and talks about Rogue to Belinda. "There was a man on the TV... and I really liked him."

14. EDA - The Turing Test:

He glanced up. ‘I don’t recommend it, by the way.’ ‘You’ve tried?’ I asked dryly. ‘We – I –’ He shrugged. ‘It’s not something that interests me.’ ‘Sex?’ ‘Yes. It’s a missing piece in my life.’

15. New Who - The Power of Three - Rory kisses the Doctor thank you on the cheek as Amy looks on. Eleven reacts bashfully.

16. EDA - The Year of Intelligent Tigers:

‘Is this it?’ The Doctor let go of Karl. His gaze swept around the cool river, the sweet meadow, the silent trees. In the east the ringed moon was rising, silvering the deep blue of the sky. His eyes came back to the composer. ‘Is this home?’ Karl hoped so. But he didn’t say anything

17. New Who - The Church on Ruby Road - Fifteen and Ruby are tied up on the Goblin ship. He says, "Oh, but it's Lulubelle's birthday." He then says as an aside, "That's such a brilliant name! I wish I was called Lulubelle."

18. New Who - Time Crash - Five replies to Ten, "Oh no, really? Does he [the Master] still have that rubbish beard?" Ten: "No, no beard this time. Well... a wife."

19. EDA - Legacy of the Daleks:

‘I know better than to trust the word of any man ever again,’ ‘Don’t, trust the word of a Time Lord.’

20. New Who - The Church on Ruby Road - Fifteen gets his hands free. Ruby asks "Wait, how did you do that?". He replies, "I spent a long hot summer with Harry Houdini." to her pleasant surprise.

21. New Who - Spyfall Part Two - Thirteen announces herself to a crowd as "The Marvellous Apparating Man", before correcting herself, "(Lady) Apparating Lady! (Every time...)".

22. New Who - Rogue - Rogue asks Fifteen, "I think you and I should go outside." then walks off. Fifteen mutters "Fast mover..."

23. New Who - The Impossible Astronaut - Eleven calls out "Jefferson isn't a girl's name, it's not her name either." He turns to River, "Jefferson, Adams, Hamilton - River?" She replies, "Surnames of three of America's founding fathers." He then says, "Lovely fellas. Two of them fancied me."

24. EDA - The Turing Test:

I learned that Turing was in love with the Doctor, an excited, hopeless, sexual yet nonsexual, adoring, stupid, profound love that had turned his whole life upside down. ‘Do you think he feels anything for me?’ asked Turing.

25. New Who - The Shakespeare Code - Ten tells Martha and Shakespeare, "Come on, we can all have a good flirt later!" The latter replies, "Is that a promise, Doctor?"

26. New Who - The Interstellar Song Contest - Fifteen mentions, with regards to Graham Norton, "I met him at Brighton Pride. What a weekend!"

27. New Who - Human Nature - As Tim Latimer listens to the Doctor's fobwatch, he hears voices of different genders in the Doctor's essense.

28. New Who - Rogue - Rogue proposes to the Doctor, holding up a ring which Fifteen gently takes.

29. New Who - The Reality War - Kate, still under the wish's control, remarks "Mr Smith, what on Earth do you think you're wearing." He walks up to her in his skirt/kilt, responding, "The future!"

30. New Who - Utopia - Yana sat down, bends over Ten crouched in front of him and says, "Still, no rest for the wicked." As he stands, Ten smirks.

31. New Who - Wishworld - Under the wish, Ibrahim says to Fifteen, as John Smith, "She's way out of my league.", referring to Kate. Fifteen brushes his concerns off, saying, "Oh, she's not, you're a beautiful man!"

32. New Who - Wishworld - Continuing from 31, Ibrahim corners Fifteen, "You're a man. How can you find another man beautiful?"

33. BF - Afterlife:

DOCTOR: Tell this to your gods. When they punish you. When they stretch you on the neutron rack. I’m still here. LILY: But you…? You’re one.. little… man. DOCTOR:I am not a man. Not a human being. I am a complex space-time event. I am Lord President of Gallifrey. The Traveller from Beyond Time. I am the Sandman. The Oncoming Storm. I am the Ka Faraq Gatri. Destroyer of Worlds. And sometimes. Only sometimes, I am your worst nightmare. I am the Doctor. And I take care of my friends.

34. New Who - The Magician's Apprentice - Missy tells Clara that she's cared for the Doctor, "Since the Cloister Wars. Since the night he stole the moon and the president's wife. Since he was a little girl. One of those was a lie, can you guess which one?"

35. Classic Who - Kinda - Panna says infront of Five, "No male can open the Box of Jhana without being driven out of his mind. It is well known. Unless. Is he an idiot?"

36. Titan - A Little Help from My Friends - Ryan says with regards to meeting Ten, "Still hard to believe that was you." Thirteen replies, "Biological sex is flexible among my people, and gender is merely a social construct." She smirks, "Quite simple, really."

37. Classic Who - Terror of the Autons - The Brigadier asks Three, with regards to the Master, "Think he'll turn up again, Doctor?" Three replies, "Hm, bound to." Jo notices, "You don't seem very worried about it." only for him to respond, smiling and raising his eyebrows, "I'm not. As a matter of fact, I'm rather looking forward to it."

38. Novelisation - Rose:

She’d listened to Clive’s stories. She’d read his files. She knew that every age had some sort of Doctor, whether young or old, male or female, in-between or neither, black or white or anything.

39. New Who - Let's Kill Hitler - Eleven tells Amy, Rory, and Mels, "I danced with everyone at the wedding. The women were all brilliant. The men were a bit shy."

40. Classic Who - The Time Monster - Jo listens to a telepathic message being broadcast by Three, under which can be heard whispers from voices of different genders, coming from the Doctor's subconscious.

41. New Who - The Eaters of Light - Twelve tells Bill, "I've lived in Roman Britain: governed, farmed, juggled. Speaking as a former vestal virgin, second-class, I can assure you-"

42. Torchwood - Fragments - Alice Guppy, interrogating Jack, quotes words overheard from him: "You wait until I see the Doctor. First I'm going to kiss him. Then I'm going to kill him."

43. New Who - Dot and Bubble - Ruby and Fifteen respectively reply to Lindy regarding running into Ricky September, "Oh, nice one!" and "He's hot." Then then snap at each other simultaneously, "Hands off!".

44. New Who - The Hungry Earth (deleted scene) - Eleven chats to Amy about Rory, "I like him." He then chuckles bashfully and adds, "A lot."

45. Classic Who - The Daemons - Three, tied up and about to be burnt alive is told, "If he's such a great magician, let's see him untie himself." Three responds, "You choose to mock the great Qui Quae Quod." Each of these words used in his 'wizard' name, is latin for "who", first masculine, then feminine, then gender-neutral.

46. New Who - Dot and Bubble - Continuing from 43, Fifteen compliments Ricky, "Clever as well..." Ricky shrugs, "Eh..." Ruby looks at Fifteen and says, "Okay, Heartstopper."

47. PDA - The Murder Game:

What are you playing at, dressed like that?' Ben wanted to know, to the Doctor's visible dismay. 'Don't you like it? I'm just helping out Mr Hornby with a slight gender imbalance. I got the wig from the TARDIS, but I think it works rather well with the outfit, don't you?' He brushed a stray hair from his face and grinned disarmingly. 'I had to improvise with the bustle though, using coat hangers.' He patted his wire-frame chest and looked comically startled as it dropped to his stomach. Polly laughed and assured him that he made a most convincing woman, as he struggled to adjust himself.

48. BF - The Wormery:

DOCTOR: Love. Huh. Wrote a treatise on the chromosomal origins of love once when | was a small boy. Proved categorically which gene began it, which enzymes carried it, which electrochemical receptors translated it. Took all the fun out of it. Got a rubbish grade too. My tutor told me I’d missed the point. It’s held no mystique for me since, so don’t talk to me about love.

49. Classic Who - The Daemons - Winstanley asks Three, "Are you one of these television chaps then?" Three replies "I am no sort of chap, sir." "Forgive me, but I thought. Well, the costume and the wig, you know?" Three, outraged, responds, "Wig?!"

50. New Who - Rogue - Fifteen flirtilly dances to "Can't Get You Out of My Head", mouthing the words at Rogue.

51. EDA - Interference: Book One:

‘Can I ask you something personal?’ he said. I.M. Foreman nodded. ‘I warn you, though. If it’s anything to do with how I got this body, the details are going to be messy. You’ve never been a woman, have you?’ ‘I’m not sure I’ve ever even been a man. That’s not what I was going to ask.

52. New Who - Rogue - Fifteen and Rogue kiss passionately.

53. BF - Archipelago:

DOCTOR: There was a lovely woman in Yorkshire, gave me chipsticks. And you should have seen the way that Lady MacBeth made eyes at me. But this me doesn't. Couldn't.

54. EDA - Dominion:

The Doctor stood up, a look of amazement on his face, and then to Fitz’s considerable surprise he bounded over, grabbed his head and planted a kiss squarely on his lips. ‘Oh, Fitz! Fitz, Fitz, Fitz! I’m so glad you’re alive!

55. New Who - The Eleventh Hour - Eleven asks Amy, "Your friend, what was his name? Not him [Rory], the good looking one?" Rory mutters, "Thanks", as Amy replies "Jeff." Rory responds "Oh... thanks!"

56, 57, 60, 61. New Who - Legend of the Sea Devils - Thrteen opens up to Yaz. "Dates are not something I really do, y'know. I mean I used to, have done, and if I was going to, believe me, it'd be with you. I think you're one of the greatest people I've ever known. Including my wife!" Yaz, surprised, responds, "Your what?" Thirteen continues, "Ah, wasn't going to mention that. I was a long time ago - I was a different man back then. But the point is, if it was going to be anyone... it'd be you."

58. EDA - Timeless:

‘They’re not Old Bill, Tommo,’ Jack said, sneering at her. ‘A potty-mouthed yank and a poof in a waistcoat.’ ‘Do you want to be on a charge of discrimination too?’ said the Doctor calmly, producing a notebook and pencil.

59. New Who - The Robot Revolution - Fifteen holds an x-ray blanket infront of himself, which registers his sex as "Unknown".

62. New Who - The Time of the Doctor - Clara tells Eleven on the phone, "I may have... accidentally invented a boyfriend." He replies, "Yeah, I did that once and there's no easy way to get rid of an android."

63. New Who - Dinosaurs on a Spaceship - Eleven runs up to Rory, shouting, "Good thinking, Rory!" before planting a big kiss on his lips.

64. New Who - Day of the Moon - As Amy and Rory wake up in their body bags, Eleven runs over to Rory and kisses him on the head, checking if he's ok.

65. New Who - The Star Beast - Fourteen holds up his psychic paper to Shaun, citing a title as "Grandmaster of the Knowledge". Shaun points out, "That says 'Grandmistress'..." Fourteen looks at it, then groans at it, "Oh, catch up!"

66. New Who - Legend of the Sea Devils - Yaz and Thirteen stand in the TARDIS doorway at the bottom of the sea. Thirteen says "Not a bad date, am I?" When she realises she struck a nerve, she turns away. Yaz turns to her and says, "No."

67. EDA - Beltempest:

Because I'm a man and you're a woman?' 'Yes, actually.' The Doctor raised his eyebrows. 'But I'm not a man.' Sam opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again. He continued, 'I'm not even human. Not even close. Not unless you count the ears.' He wiggled them to make his point.

68. New Who - The Reality War - Thirteen, upon hearing Fifteen tell her "I love you" says "I should say that to Yaz!" Fifteen replies, "You never do. But she knows."

69. New Who - Lucky Day - Conrad asks Ruby about the Doctor, "Was he your boyfriend?" She chuckles, "No. God, no! If he was here, he'd be flirting with you."

70. New Who - Daleks in Manhatten - Martha tells Ten, "I'm so glad to see you." He replies, "Yeah, well, you can kiss me later." He then adds to Frank behind him, "You too, Frank, if you want."

71. New Who - The Power of the Doctor - Yaz and Thirteen, shortly before her regeneration, lick their ice creams as they watch the Earth from orbit ontop of the TARDIS.

72. Short Trip - The Feast of Seven… Eight (and Nine):

The Eighth had brought some mistletoe, And aimed for Seven, to Seven's woe: Ah! No! Rrurevolting! Ace! D'you mind? Try Six, he's more that way inclined.' ... I knew Puccini once,' sighed Eight, `He had the softest lips.' That's great, But stay away from me, you sissy,' Four looked cautious, Eight looked kissy. Three o'clock, the Queen appeared, The Third, all patriotic, cheered, But Eight, lips puckered, mistletoe handy, Went for the clown and got the dandy.

73. The Curse of Fatal Death - The newly regenerated COFD!Thirteen says to Emma, "Your mother's going to get a bit of a surprise at the wedding isn't she? Do you think we'll both wear white?"

74, 75. New Who - Closing Time - Distracting Craig, Eleven pulls him close and says, "...because I love you." "You love me?" Craig replies. "Yes, Craig. It's you. It's always been you." "Me?"

Eleven then puts his arms around him, leading Craig to ask, "Doctor, are you going to kiss me?" He replies, "Yes, Craig. Yes I am. Would you like that? Bit out of practice, but I've had some wonderful feedback."

76. New Who - The Parting of the Ways - Jack plants a goodbye kiss on Nine's lips.

77, 78. New Who - Eve of the Daleks - Dan confronts Thirteen about Yaz. "No, I mean, she 'likes' you." "I don't understand what you're saying, Dan." He then responds, "I think you do. But for some reason, you pretend to me and to her that you don't."

79. New Who - The Unquiet Dead (deleted scene):

SNEED: "I thought you'd be a woman" DOCTOR: "No, not yet"

80. New Who - Time Heist - As Psi goes to leave the TARDIS, Twelve makes a 'call me' sign at him.

81. BF - Swipe Right:

RIVER: Doctor, for someone so smart, you can be so stupid. 'Someone with no romantic feelings?' It's you! Much as it pains me to say it. Apparently, it's you. DOCTOR: It's me! Ha! Of course, it's me!

82. EDA - Eater of Wasps:

‘Have you remembered what you were doing in 1933 yet?’ asked Fitz. ‘I mean, the last time you were here?’ ‘Oh, yes,’ said the Doctor. ‘But I was a long way from here – I spent some time sailing the South Seas roundabout now.’ Fitz gaped. ‘A sailor? I don’t believe it. Go on, give us a jig!’ The Doctor laughed. ‘Not likely – but I’ll show you my tattoo if you’re lucky.’

83. New Who - Eve of the Daleks - Thirteen gazes lovingly at Yaz, as they watch the warehouse's fireworks explode.

84. VNA - Human Nature:

'We let it be known that he was in a position to give a Time Lord whatever form or mind they wanted. That's a particular dream of Gallifreyans, as I knew from wandering through that young Interventionist's mind.

They regenerate and find themselves to be much the same, and every now and then they dream how wonderful it would be to be able to fly or be of the opposite sex or have a child. That last is a very common dream, for children on Gallifrey are very rare.'

85. EDA - Parallel 59:

[The Doctor] whistled as he walked, Fitz’s plaintive little melody still in his head. Thinking of loved ones, coming home.

86. BF - The Vanity Box:

DOCTOR: Nesta, will you help me? I’ve got to get into that salon, under cover, and get a closer look. MEL: Doctor, | could go in instead of you. DOCTOR: | don’t think anyone would believe you need a make-over, Mel. And besides, | think it’s going to be chillingly dangerous. NESTA: Actually, | can manage a bourbon if | dunk it in me tea. I’ll freshen the pot. Now, tell me how | can help you, Doctor. I’m not happy about this poodle parlour on our doorstep. DOCTOR: | want you to drag me up.

87. Classic Who - The Chase - One tells Ian, "My dear boy, I could kiss you!" Barbara replies, "Don't waste it on him. Kiss me instead!" He responds, "Oh, I'd be delighted."

89. Classic Who - The Highlanders - Two, dressed up as a washerwoman, tells Perkins at gunpoint, "I tell you what we're going to do. We ladies are going to leave first, but you are going to sit here, quietly, comfortably, for another ten minutes."

90. Scream of the Shalka - The TARDIS's answering machine goes off. The Shalka Doctor says, breathlessly and giggling, "You've reached the good ship TARDIS. We're rather busy at the moment. Leave a message after the beep and we'll try and get back to you before your call." He then laughs "Stop that!" before the beep. The Shalka Master then notes, "We really should change that message."

91. EDA - Earthworld:

He helped Anji to take her blazer off – somehow it didn’t matter that the Doctor was seeing her like that, he seemed to count in her head as another girl – and gave her his velvet coat to replace it

92. Classic Who - The Highlanders - Two tells Grey, with regards to Jamie, "Did you mark the young Highlander who was with me? The piper?" "Piper?" "With the soft hands and face?"

93. Classic Who - The Enemy of the World - Two comments on Salamander, "He seems to be a public benefactor. Quite a speaker too, and remarkably handsome, didn't you think so Jamie?" He turns to Jamie, who nudges him smiling in response.

94. BF - The Eye of the Storm:

DOCTOR: I never kiss strange people. No matter how beautiful, how fascinating, how intriguing they might be. And you might very well be any of those things.

95. New Who - The End of Time: Part Two - Ten, tied up, gazes at the Master and says, "I wonder what I'd be... without you." The Master tears up listening to this.

96. Classic Who - The City of Death - Four tells Countess Scarlioni, "Oh, well... you're a beautiful woman, probably..."

97. EDA - The Turing Test:

I will say now, however, that I do not think Greene was right: the Doctor is not an angel, though he may not be a man, exactly, either. I desired him as a man, loved him as one, but my love did not blind me, nor make me religious!

98, 99. New Who - World Enough and Time - Twelve tells Bill of Missy, "She was my man crush!" "Wh- I'm sorry?" "Yeah... I think she was a man back then. I'm fairly sure I was too, it was a long time ago though."

When Bill asks about Time Lord gender, Twelve replies: "We're the most civilised civilisation in the universe! We're billions of years beyond your petty human obsession with gender and its associated stereotypes."

100. New Who - First Night - River sees the dress hanging in the TARDIS for her, "The Dress is a little daring!" Eleven, in a white tuxedo, replies, "Yep, so I went for this instead."

101. New Who - Arachnids in the UK - Yaz's mum Najia asks Thirteen and Yaz, "Are you two seeing each other?" Yaz gives a confused look as Thirteen responds, "I don't think so... are we?"

102. New Who - Once Upon Time - Sonya tells Yaz she wants to get good at games so "[her crush's] gonna look me and think 'who's the sexy girl with the nimble fingers?'" Yaz retorts, "No human being is ever gonna look at you and think those words." As if on cue, Thirteen suddenly glitches into the scene in Sonya's place.

103. New Who - Rogue - Fifteen and Rogue dance together in the ballroom, in front of all the guests.

104. New Who - The Story and the Engine - Fifteen tells the Barber, "Anansi purposefully lost a bet to make me marry one of his daughters. I know the gods. You are not them." Meanwhile, Abena looks on.

105. New Who - The Story and the Engine - Jo Martin's Doctor tells Abena, "I was a fugitve back then. Anansi was wrong to offer that bet. And frankly, darling, I was busy in a different story."

106. Classic Who - The Green Death - Yates appraches Three, who is disguised as a cleaning woman and says, "...I like your handbag." Three, still in character, replies, "Do you? Well watch out I don't slosh you wish it." He pushes his bucket at Yates jokingly, then drops his voice, "Now where can we talk?"

107. NSA - Revenge of the Judoon:

"Lords, ladies and Doctors this way, please."

108. EDA - The Book of the Still:

'You go if you want. I must help him.' 'Fitz!' 'I've been engineered to love you, Carmodi. With the Doctor - it's the real thing.'

109. EDA - The Blue Angel:

Fitz swallowed hard. He was the one who was raving mad. He was in the midst of the most ridiculous danger, horse-riding down a mountainside, probably about to die and, in the final few minutes of his life, what was passing through his mind? Not the greatest, most fulfilling moments in this life - but a consideration of his chances of getting laid by Iris . . . and even of getting laid by the Doctor. What was it about Time Lords?

110. BF - 1963: The Assassination Games:

GILMORE: Uh, “man” is something of a misnomer. I think he’s best described as… an outsider.

111. New Who - The Star Beast - Donna and Fourteen, conclude, "Because the Doctor's male and female." Elsewhere, but connected through the metacrisis, Rose Noble finishes, "and neither, and more!"

112. New Who - Dinosaurs on a Spaceship - Eleven tells Solomon about the Schubert music he's playing, "Say hello to hands three and four! Schubert kept tickling me to try and put me off." He then smiles, "'Franz the Hands'. Oh, that takes me back."

113. New Who - Death in Heaven - Clara tells Twelve, "Go be a king or something." "Yeah... might do that." She then adds, "Or queen, y'know, whatever..." "Yeah, queen, that would be good too."

114. New Who - Rogue - Fifteen quietly puts on the ring Rogue proposed to him with.

115. IDW - Bodysnatched! - Eleven, swapped into Amy's body tells Rory while applying a bow tie, "I suppose it is more difficult for you - Time Lords don't really worry that much about what sex they are. Romana was a Time Lady and she was easily equal to me. Sometimes anyway, when she didn't use the dog. I'm a woman now. Women are cool."

116. New Who - Closing Time - Elven chats with a saleswoman, Val, who says, "I think you look ever so sweet: you and your partner [Craig] and the baby." He responds, "'Partner', yes I like it. Is it better than 'companion'?" She answers, "'Companion'... sounds old fashioned. There's no need to be coy these days."

117. New Who - Rogue - Seeing the TARDIS, Rogue opens his arms wide and says "I'm in love!" Fifteen reacts surprised, before Rogue adds, "With this machine." Fifteen then smirks.

118. IDW - Bodysnatched! - Rory, thinking Amy is still in Eleven's body, kisses him. Eleven steps back and says, "As passionate as that was, Rory, don't you think you should be kissing your wife, not me?" Amy says, "Oh no. Do it again. But do it... slower."

119. Classic Who - The Mutants - Sondergaard tells Three, "If you spend any time in there without [a radiation suit], Doctor, you will die. Any man would." Three retorts, "Any 'man', perhaps."

120. BF - An Eye for Murder:

DOCTOR: Oh don't think of me as a man. Just the Doctor.

121. BF - Deleted Scenes:

CELINE: [The Doctor] loves you [Jamie], dearly. As do I.

122. FASA Doctor Who RPG - A Sourcebook for Field Agents:

The Master

This entry contains information on one of Gallifrey's most dangerous enemies, the renegade Time Lord known as The Master. The Master has, in some fashion yet unknown, erased his Biodata entry from the APC Net. As a result, the only information about him that we now possess has been drawn from the memories of the Doctor. It is, therefore, highly subjective, and Time Lords consulting this section should be aware that The Doctor's perceptions do not always correspond with Reality.

Appearance: Height: Average Build: Average Looks: Sinfully attractive Apparent Age: Middle-aged Actual Age: 800+ Number Of Regenerations Used: 12 (now using stolen body) Recognition Handle: Satanic beard; piercing blue eyes; black dress; black gloves.

123. New Who - Smile - As Bill goes to eat her algae-based meal, Twelve wistfully tells her, "I met an emperor made of algae one. He fancied me..."

124. New Who - Wild Blue Yonder - Donna and Fourteen chat about bumping into Isaac Newton. She says, "Was it me... or was Isaac Newton hot?" He replies, "He was, wasn't he? He was SO hot." Fourteen then catches himself, "Oh? Is that who I am now?" Donna then replies, "Well it was never that far from the surface, mate. I always thought..."

125. BF - 1963: The Assassination Games:

DOCTOR: A man after my own heart. GILMORE: Except you’re not a man. DOCTOR: And I have two hearts.

126. TVC - Undercover - Three again disguises himself as a woman to obtain captured information for UNIT.

127. New Who - The Star Beast - Prompted by Rose, Fourteen asks Beep the Meep, "Are you he, or she, or they...?" The Meep responds, "My chosen pronoun is the definite article. I am always, 'the Meep'. He then replies, "Oh, I do that."

128. Titan - Ophiuchus - Nyssa says to Five, "I didn't know that Time Lords could change gender, Doctor." He returns, "Gender is a very fluid concept, Nyssa, for some people more than others. A Time Lord even more so."

129. New Who - The Doctor Dances - Rose tells Nine, "I thought Jack might like this dance." Nine dancing, replies, "I'm sure he would Rose. I'm absolutely certain. But who with?"

130. EDA - The Slow Empire:

Once, there was a man called the Doctor, although he was not precisely a man and that was not his real name.

131. Novelisation - The Day of the Doctor:

‘I’ve been around a bit, Clara, I’m probably married to lots of people, it happens,’ he said, and made a dismissive hand gesture, to suggest that the occasional marriage was really no more than a parking ticket, and a moment later heard a vase smash behind him. He really had to get his peripheral movements under control. ‘But to her, though?’ ‘Oh, to her, to him, to who-knows. Sometimes the conversation just gets out of control. I think I’m even married to Jack Harkness, but there were a lot of people in the room at the time, it was hard to keep track.

132. New Who - The Doctor Dances - Rose remarks about Jack, "And he's vanished into thin air. Why's it always the great-looking ones who do that?" Nine looks up, "I'm making an effort not to be insulted." She then specifies, "I mean... 'men'." He grins and nods, "Okay, thanks, that really helped."

133. NSA - The Good Doctor:

'Scan me again. I’m not loba or human. I’m not man or woman in the way you understand it.'

134. New Who - Boom Town: Jack and Nine flirt with eachother watching Mickey and Rose. Jack starts, "Aw, sweet, look at these two. How come I never get any of that?" Nine, fixing up the TARDIS replies, "Buy me a drink first." "Such hard work..." "But worth it."

[sapphicswph]

would you write abt shauna who’s only soft for readerrrr pleaseeee i know you might have a couple other requests so take your time as always! love u so bad babygirl -🎀

yes!!! ty for this because i’ve been meaning to write something similar and i’ve just been putting it off so now i have to because you requested… ^_^ loveyou mwah

also noo i don’t have any requests rn tbh.. 😭 so pls send guys :33 (yeah i’m begging it atp)

pairing: shauna x reader

warnings: mostly just fluff, one small mention of intimacy, jealous shauna, mention of wounds but nothing graphic

─ .✦ shauna is incredibly jealous when it comes to you. she hates seeing the other girls even talk to you, let alone what she took as flirting with you. if she catches anyone even looking at you for too long, she'll give them a dirty look. not that you weren’t allowed to talk to them, she just didn’t trust them all.

─ .✦ shauna is very dominant in the bedroom. she loves being in control and taking charge during intimate moments with you. but she's also incredibly gentle and caring, making sure you're always comfortable and satisfied.

─ .✦ despite her aggressive exterior, shauna is surprisingly insecure when it comes to relationships. she constantly seeks reassurance from you that you love her and only her. she fears losing you to someone else or being replaced.

─ .✦ shauna has a secret collection of your things - a hair tie, a lipstick, a t-shirt. she keeps them in her bedside drawer and sleeps in your t-shirt sometimes when she misses you.

─ .✦ in the woods, shauna becomes even more protective of you. she's always on high alert, making sure you're safe and warm. at night, she holds you close, using her body heat to keep you warm.

─ .✦ if you’re gone for too long or separated in the wilderness, shauna will freak out, blame everyone and search for you non-stop until she finds you. she has nightmares about losing you out there alone and cold. (cough cough)

─ .✦ shauna loves teaching you survival skills - starting fires, trying to teach you how to chop up meat, she’ll just smile when you say how disgusting it is. if it was anyone else complaining, she would be annoyed.

─ .✦ shauna is surprisingly gentle when cleaning your wounds or taking care of insect bites on your skin. she'll kiss them better and look at you with the softest eyes.

─ .✦ shauna who gives you more meat than the others, she keeps piling extra pieces of meat onto your plate, ignoring the jealous glares from the others. you blush and try to offer them some of your excess, but shauna quickly snatches your plate away with a growl. “no, she deserves it," she snaps at them before turning back to you with a softer tone, "eat up, baby." the others exchange dirty looks while you nervously try to eat faster to avoid their stares.

─ .✦ shauna calls you "baby" or "pretty girl" all the time in private. but around others, she calls you by your full name. she’s head over heels but wouldn’t show that around the others, she’s too proud for that.

─ .✦ whenever one of the other girls pisses her off, upsets her, or just plain annoys her, shauna has a unique way of dealing with it. instead of lashing out at them directly (which she could easily do), she comes crawling to you with those big puppy dog eyes that melt your heart. she'll nudge against you gently, tug at your sleeves, seeking comfort and reassurance from you alone. sometimes she'll pout or give a soft whine under her breath just to make sure you notice how bothered she is.

─ .✦ she loves it when you pet her hair or scratch her scalp gently. it calms her down immediately and makes her feel safe and loved. she’ll lean into your touch, close her eyes, and let out a soft sigh. she’ll nuzzle against your hand, seeking more of your gentle touch. she’ll sometimes pull your hand to her hair and guide your fingers to scratch her scalp.

hope this is what you had in mind <3

so sorry it’s short, i want to make a pt 2 or even a one shot !!

[trans-axolotl]

hi! definitely have a few thoughts. it's hard to give universal advice about this, because a lot of what works is really going to depend on what kind of wheelchair someone has (manual or power, self propelled or not), and also on what health variations people have, whether they're ambulatory, if they have other medical devices like a catheter, etc. so disclaimer that all of this stuff is not absolute advice + best practices is just to ask people what their needs are when it comes to dearresting them. ik that dearresting is always chaotic and fast paced, but listen to any instructions people are yelling at you and work together with your comrades to try to make it as functional as possible.

list of things to consider in no particular order:

in general, I think most wheelchair users do not want to get lifted out of our chairs by people that we don't know, and who don't have experience in safely lifting people. If possible, first option should always be to de-arrest someone while we stay in our mobility aid instead of separating people from our chairs.

when i've been arrested as a manual wheelchair user, there's usually been 2-3 cops arresting me. one or two cops in the front to zip-tie my hands and physically push me against my wheelchair, another cop in the back holding onto my handles to move me wherever they want.

in that kind of scenario, best way to de-arrest is to try to get in the way of the cop who's trying to use my push handles. if you're able to get a hold on the handles, you can have more options of where to move--backwards away from other cops, forward into the cops to shove them off the person and then backwards, etc. if you have multiple people you can push from multiple directions (ie someone pulling backwards on my wheelchair handles while someone else is pushing directly onto my legs/knees/wheelchair frame from the front.)

if you're putting your hands on someone's wheelchair, try to only grab on to places that are more stable like handles, wheelchair frame, maybe backrest. avoid things like wheels and spokes, footplates, headrests, anything removable, and anything that's bracketed on instead of solid.

ending up with a broken wheelchair is absolutely a worst case scenario--i actually worry more about my wheelchair breaking then about myself getting injured, because my wheelchair cannot be easily repaired, my insurance won't pay for it, and it can takes weeks or months to get repaired. it is very, very important not to break someone's chair.

For power chairs, it can be incredibly, incredibly dangerous if the power chair tips over and people get caught underneath it. This can cause severe injury or even death. So if you're trying to help dearrest someone in a power chair--number one priority needs to be making sure their chair doesn't tip.

many wheelchair users have unique seating and positioning needs. keep an eye out for things like headrests, neck support, cushioning, seat belts and harness, etc. this can be a sign that it would be a lot more dangerous for someone to be removed from our wheelchair because we might need supports in order to avoid neck injuries.

if the cops have already grabbed us out of our wheelchair, that's a different scenario. in that case, priority should be to get us out of the cops hands and back into our wheelchair as soon as possible. one person should always have direct hands on the wheelchair and make sure it doesn't get into the cops hands. if you're grabbing someone out of the cops hands and they're nonambulatory, keep in mind that you're going to need to keep lifting them back to wherever their wheelchair is without dropping them. you might want to do a two person lift, and ABSOLUTELY listen to the person you're lifting about whatever the safest way to hold them is. you can look up resources about safe lifting techniques designed for physical therapists and nurses to get some ideas about what that might look like.

if you don't have enough people with you to safely lift someone, carry them for long enough, and have someone else to grab the chair then it's probably not a good idea to try to de-arrest through that means. at that point you'd probably want to switch to something like trying to block the van from moving instead.

if cops arrest a wheelchair user and leave our wheelchair on the side of the road, it is SO important for someone to grab our wheelchair, keep it safe, and coordinate to bring it to jail support so we have it as soon as we get out.

that's all i can think about rn but generally just reiterating that this stuff is going to be so individual for every wheelchair user, so whenever possible, finding out this info beforehand and also just asking and listening to instructions in the moment is important.

if any other wheelchair users have thoughts about best practices for de-arresting please feel free to add on!

ID: A wheelchair symbol edited to have the anarchy A in the middle of the wheel. Text reads: Protesting as a Wheelchair User: Everything You've Always Wanted to Know about Accessibility and Direct Action.

new zine just dropped! this link has the version for print and the version to read online. should be screenreader accessible--let me know if the formatting is fucked up and you can't access the alt text.

feel free to share, print, and distro wherever <3

[kenzdolls]

THOUGHTFUL DOUBTS FULL OF WOE .

⌗ synopsis: you've been feeling insecure about your relationship with jax, wondering if he's just playing games with your heart. when doubts become too much to bear, a confrontation forces both of you to face truths you've been avoiding.

⌗ pairing: (tadc) jax x reader

⌗ anon request: “Hiya! I heard you are doing requests? Can one be where reader is being insecure where she thinks that Jax maybe is playing around with their relationship and think that he isn’t serious about it? Please and thank you!”

⌗ a/n: none! requests are open.

the digital sun cast its perpetual glow through the circus tent's fabric ceiling, painting everything in that same artificial warmth that never quite felt real. you sat on the edge of your bed in your room, staring at your hands—hands that looked like they belonged to someone else in this strange digital world, yet somehow still felt like yours when they trembled.

it had been three months since you'd arrived at the amazing digital circus. three months since caine had cheerfully announced your presence to the others, three months since you'd met him. jax, with his mischievous grin and that insufferable confidence that made your heart skip beats you didn't think were possible in a digital body.

what had started as harmless teasing and shared eye-rolls during caine's adventures had evolved into something more. stolen moments in empty hallways, conversations that stretched long into the digital night, touches that lingered just a second too long to be purely platonic. you'd found yourself falling for the purple rabbit's rare moments of genuine vulnerability, the way his sarcastic exterior would crack just enough to let you glimpse the person underneath.

but lately, doubt had been eating away at you like a virus in code.

you thought about yesterday's adventure, how jax had immediately reverted to his usual chaos-causing self the moment the others were around. how he'd barely looked at you during caine's briefing, how he'd partnered with gangle instead of you for the team portion, claiming it would be "more fun to mess with the crybaby." the way he'd laughed when you'd gotten caught in one of the adventure's traps, the same laugh he gave everyone else.

was this all just a game to him? another way to stave off the boredom and madness of this place?

the questions swirled in your mind, each one cutting deeper than the last. you remembered overhearing ragatha and pomni talking last week about someone called kaufmo, and how jax had gone quiet when they'd mentioned another name—ribbit. you'd tried to ask him about it later, but he'd deflected with a joke and changed the subject so smoothly you'd almost forgotten to be suspicious.

almost.

a knock at your door jolted you from your spiral of thoughts. you knew that rhythm—three quick raps followed by two slower ones. jax's signature knock.

"come in," you called, trying to keep your voice steady.

the door swung open to reveal jax leaning against the frame, his usual smirk in place. but his eyes—those yellow eyes that you'd learned to read like a favorite book—held something softer when they landed on you.

"well, well. look who's hiding away like some kind of hermit," he drawled, pushing himself off the doorframe and sauntering into your room. "what's got you looking like someone stole your favorite toy?"

you forced a smile, the same fake one you'd been perfecting for weeks now. "nothing's wrong. just tired from today's adventure."

jax's ears twitched slightly—a tell you'd noticed when he was picking up on something being off. he moved closer, and you caught that faint scent that somehow clung to him, something like cotton candy and mischief.

"uh-huh. and i'm actually a model citizen who follows all of caine's rules." he settled himself on your bed without invitation, those long legs of his stretching out as he leaned back on his hands. "try again, dollface."

the pet name that usually made your heart flutter now felt like salt in a wound. was it meaningless to him? just another tool in his arsenal of casual indifference?

"i said i'm fine, jax." your voice came out sharper than intended.

his eyebrows raised, and for a moment, his mask slipped. you saw genuine concern flicker across his features before the smirk returned, though it looked more forced now.

"okay, now i know something's wrong. you only use that tone when caine's being extra annoying or when zooble's hogging the good cereal." he shifted, moving closer to you on the bed. "come on, what's eating at you?"

the sincerity in his voice almost broke you. this was the jax you'd fallen for—the one who noticed when you were upset, who cared enough to ask. but it only made the doubt worse. which version was real? the caring one sitting next to you now, or the one who'd barely acknowledged your existence in front of the others?

"it's nothing you'd understand," you mumbled, pulling your knees up to your chest.

"try me." his voice was quieter now, that teasing edge completely gone. "i'm not as shallow as my devastatingly handsome exterior might suggest."

despite everything, you almost smiled at that. almost.

instead, the words came tumbling out before you could stop them. "do you even care about me, or is this all just some elaborate joke to you?"

the silence that followed was deafening. you watched jax's expression shift through several emotions—surprise, confusion, and something that might have been hurt.

"what kind of question is that?" he asked finally, his voice carefully neutral.

"an honest one." you turned to face him fully, months of pent-up insecurity spilling over. "you act like we're... like we're something when we're alone, but the second anyone else is around, i might as well be invisible. you barely look at me during adventures, you never sit with me at dinner unless there's nowhere else to sit, and when someone asks if we're together, you just laugh it off like it's the most ridiculous thing you've ever heard."

jax opened his mouth to respond, but you weren't done.

"i keep wondering if i'm just convenient for you. someone to pass the time with when you're bored, but not important enough to actually... to actually matter." your voice cracked on the last word, and you hated how vulnerable you sounded.

"that's not—" jax started, but you cut him off again.

"who's ribbit?"

the effect was immediate and devastating. all the color drained from jax's face, and his whole body went rigid. for a moment, he looked less like the confident troublemaker you knew and more like a scared child.

"where did you hear that name?" his voice was barely above a whisper.

"does it matter? you won't tell me anyway, right? just like you won't tell me anything real about yourself. just like you won't even admit we're... whatever we are... to anyone else." tears you didn't know you could still shed in this digital form began to blur your vision. "i'm tired of feeling like your dirty little secret. i'm tired of wondering if i'm just another game to you."

jax stared at you for a long moment, something breaking behind his eyes. when he spoke, his voice was raw in a way you'd never heard before.

"ribbit was... ribbit was my best friend. before you got here, before pomni, before most of the others. we'd been stuck in this hellhole together for what felt like years." he ran a hand through his fur, the gesture more nervous than you'd ever seen him. "we were... we were close. really close. closer than i'd ever been with anyone."

you felt your anger deflate slightly, replaced by a hollow ache in your chest.

"they started having bad days. really bad days. the kind where they'd just stare at walls for hours, or talk about how nothing felt real anymore. i tried to help, tried to keep them grounded with jokes and pranks and... and i thought i was helping." his voice broke. "one day i woke up, and their room was empty. not just empty—gone. like they'd never existed at all."

the weight of his words settled between you like a lead blanket. you'd heard whispers about people who'd been "abstracted," but you'd never heard the details, never understood what it meant for those left behind.

"the worst part," jax continued, his voice hollow, "was that caine acted like they'd never existed. none of the npcs remembered them. it was like our friendship, everything we'd shared, just... erased. like it never mattered at all."

you reached out tentatively, your fingers barely brushing his hand. he didn't pull away, but he didn't move closer either.

"jax, i'm sorry. i didn't know—"

"no, you didn't know because i didn't tell you." he finally looked at you, and the pain in his eyes was devastating. "because i'm a coward who learned that caring about people in this place just gives you more to lose."

the pieces began falling into place—his reluctance to show affection publicly, his tendency to deflect serious conversations, the walls he kept built so carefully around himself.

"so when you showed up, all bright-eyed and determined not to give up hope, i told myself i'd keep my distance. told myself i wouldn't make the same mistake twice." a bitter laugh escaped him. "fat lot of good that did me. you wormed your way past every defense i had without even trying."

"then why?" you asked, your voice small. "why do you act like i don't matter when other people are around?"

"because i'm terrified," he admitted, the words seeming to tear themselves from his throat. "i'm terrified that if i let myself care about you the way i want to, if i let everyone see how much you mean to me, then i'll lose you too. and i don't think i could survive watching someone else i love disappear into nothing."

the word 'love' hung in the air between you, unacknowledged but impossible to ignore.

"so instead you're pushing me away first," you said quietly. "making sure i leave before you can get too attached."

"i'm not—" he started to protest, then stopped, deflating. "maybe. maybe i am."

you studied his face, seeing him clearly for perhaps the first time. the vulnerability he was showing you now, the raw honesty—this was what you'd been craving. this was proof that you mattered to him.

"jax, look at me." you waited until his yellow eyes met yours. "i'm not going anywhere. and i'm not ribbit."

"you don't know that," he said desperately. "nobody knows how long they have here. nobody knows what might—"

"you're right. i don't know." you shifted closer to him on the bed, close enough that your knees touched. "none of us know what's going to happen tomorrow, or next week, or next year. but i know what's happening right now, in this moment. and right now, i'm here, and i care about you, and i want to be with you."

jax's hands were shaking slightly, and you covered them with your own.

"i understand why you're scared. and i understand why you've been keeping me at arm's length. but you're not protecting either of us by pretending we don't matter to each other. you're just making sure that whatever time we do have is wasted on doubt and fear instead of... instead of whatever this could be."

"what if i can't?" he whispered. "what if i can't stop being scared? what if i keep messing this up?"

"then we'll figure it out together." you squeezed his hands. "but i need you to try. i need you to let me in, really let me in. i need to know that i'm not just a convenient distraction."

for a long moment, jax just stared at your joined hands. when he looked up again, something had shifted in his expression. the walls weren't completely down, but there were cracks in them now—enough to let light through.

"you're not a distraction," he said quietly. "you're... god, you're everything. you're the first thing i think about when i wake up and the last thing on my mind before i go to sleep. you make this whole nightmare bearable, and that scares the hell out of me."

your heart hammered against your ribs. "then why—"

"because i'm an idiot who thought he could protect us both by pretending not to care. because i thought if i kept you at a distance, it would hurt less if something happened. but all i've done is hurt you, and i..." he took a shaky breath. "i can't stand the thought of being the reason you look sad."

"so what now?" you asked.

jax was quiet for a moment, then slowly lifted one of his hands to cup your cheek. the gesture was so tender, so careful, that it made your breath catch.

"now i try to stop being such a coward. now i stop pretending that keeping you at arm's length is protecting either of us." his thumb brushed across your cheekbone. "now i tell you that you're the best thing that's happened to me since i got trapped in this digital purgatory, and i'm sorry i've been too scared to show it."

"and the others? you'll stop pretending like we're nothing when they're around?"

he winced slightly but nodded. "it might take me some time to get used to it. being open about... feelings... isn't exactly my strong suit. but yeah. i'm tired of pretending you don't mean everything to me."

the word 'everything' sent warmth flooding through your chest. you leaned into his touch, some of the tension you'd been carrying for weeks finally beginning to ease.

"i don't need grand gestures," you said softly. "i just need to know that this is real for you. that i'm not imagining the connection between us."

"it's real," he said immediately. "more real than anything else in this fake world. you're real, and what i feel for you is real, and i'm sorry i made you doubt that."

you studied his face, looking for any sign of the deflection or insincerity that had hurt you so much. instead, you found only honesty and a vulnerability that you knew he rarely showed anyone.

"i'm sorry too," you said. "for not talking to you about this sooner. for letting my insecurities build up until i was ready to assume the worst."

"don't apologize for that. you had every right to question my intentions when i was acting like..." he paused, searching for the right words. "like someone who didn't deserve you."

"jax." you shifted even closer, until you were practically in his lap. "you do deserve to be happy. you deserve to be loved. and you deserve to love someone without being terrified that it's going to destroy you."

something in his expression crumbled at that, and suddenly his arms were around you, pulling you against his chest as if he was afraid you might disappear if he didn't hold on tight enough.

"i don't know how to do this," he mumbled into your hair. "i don't know how to be in a relationship without being terrified all the time."

"we'll learn together," you said, wrapping your own arms around him. "we'll take it one day at a time, and we'll be honest with each other, and we'll figure it out as we go."

you felt him nod against your shoulder. for a few minutes, you just held each other, soaking in the comfort of finally being open about your feelings.

"can i ask you something?" jax said eventually, pulling back to look at you.

"anything."

"that first week you were here, when caine paired us up for that stupid trust exercise and you actually trusted me not to let you fall off that platform..." he paused, a small smile playing at his lips. "did you know then? that you were going to turn my whole world upside down?"

you laughed, the sound lighter than it had been in weeks. "i had no idea. i was too busy trying not to panic about being trapped in a game to think about cute rabbit boys."

"cute?" his eyebrows raised, and there was his familiar smirk, though it was softer now, more genuine. "just cute?"

"devastatingly handsome," you corrected, echoing his earlier words. "better?"

"much." he leaned down to rest his forehead against yours. "for the record, i knew. the moment you trusted me with something as simple as catching you, i knew i was in trouble."

"good trouble or bad trouble?"

"the best kind of trouble." his voice was soft, intimate in a way that made your heart skip. "the kind that makes you realize everything before was just marking time."

you felt tears prick at your eyes again, but these were different—tears of relief, of happiness, of the overwhelming feeling of finally being understood.

"i love you," you said quietly, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them.

jax went very still, his eyes searching your face. when he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.

"say it again."

"i love you, jax. all of you—the mischievous troublemaker and the vulnerable person underneath. i love your terrible jokes and your protective instincts and the way you pretend not to care when you care more than anyone. i love you."

the smile that spread across his face was radiant, transforming his entire expression. "i love you too. so much it terrifies me, but i love you."

when he kissed you, it was different from the stolen kisses you'd shared before. this one was a promise, a commitment, a declaration that you were done hiding from each other and from the world.

when you finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, jax rested his chin on top of your head.

"so what happens now?" he asked.

"now we go to dinner, and you sit next to me instead of three seats away. now you hold my hand when we're into adventures. now we stop pretending that what we have is casual or temporary or meaningless."

"and if the others tease us?"

you pulled back to grin at him. "then we let them. let them see that the great jax actually has feelings. it might be good for your reputation."

he groaned dramatically. "there goes my image as the heartless prankster."

"i think you'll survive. besides," you added with a mischievous smile of your own, "now you'll have someone to help you plan your pranks. i've got some ideas about getting back at caine for that adventure last week..."

the delighted laugh that escaped jax was pure joy, and you realized that this—this openness, this partnership, this love—was worth every moment of doubt and fear you'd endured to get here.

"i knew there was a reason i fell for you," he said, pulling you close again. "evil mastermind hiding behind that innocent face."

"you haven't seen anything yet," you said, and kissed him again, tasting laughter and love and the promise of all the tomorrows you'd face together.

outside your room, the digital circus continued its eternal performance, but inside, in the safety of honesty and love, you and jax had found something real in a world of artifice. and for the first time since arriving in this strange place, the future felt bright with possibility.

⌗ taglist: @idexmids @siriuslyginnychase @eleteo125 @st4r-dustx @corpsebridenightamare @boreaswrites [OPEN]

✦ REQUESTS ARE OPEN! ✦

© KENZDOLLS 2025 . do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work in anyway including the use of ai onto any other social media platforms or it will permit an instant block on all platforms.

[xoxosierralane]

| ᴛʜɪs ᴡᴀsɴ’ᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʟᴀɴ |

✎ from sierra: hii sweets, i know this is a little late lol.. but home love island they stressing me tf out (if u watch ttm!!). But anyways this is really just an opening to this little series yum still working on, if you guys like this enough i will definitely keep continuing. Also if you wanna be on the tab list just lmk and i got you !

✎ synopsis: Azzi Fudd didn’t plan to see Paige Bueckers again. She didn’t plan to feel anything either—not the nostalgia, not the anger, and definitely not the ache in her chest. But when the past walks back into the same room—wearing a ring and someone else’s name—plans don’t really stand a chance. Some people move on. Some people move home. And some people… never stop wondering what if. This wasn’t the plan. But when has anything ever gone according to plan?

✎ taglist: @asapeveryday @thaatdigitaldiary

Azzi Fudd—that’s me.

Or at least, it’s the name they put on magazine covers, Instagram tags, and those weird commercials for skincare products where I smile like there’s no tomorrow.

Nothing real. Nothing close to the truth.

Because if you’d looked harder, you’d see the silence beneath the noise.

The way I disappeared.

The half-smile that never quite made it past my lips.

Leaving? That was the easy part.

Coming back? That’s the one that really hits.

—

Airports and I have an understanding: I hate them.

They smell like fake soap and stress you can’t avoid, and this one was no exception.

Hoodie pulled halfway up, suitcase dragging behind like it owed me money. Not really rushing. At least not anymore.

Today wasn’t another gig, another brand deal, another event I was supposed to pretend I cared about.

I was just… back. Washington.

For better. Or worse.

My phone buzzed nonstop the minute I landed. I didn’t even need to look.

I knew it was Aaliyah, she’s been texting me more and more ever since I told her I would be coming back home.

lili 💕 (12:11 PM): did you land???

lili 💕 (12:12 PM): how was the flight

lili 💕 (12:13 PM): DID YOU BRING ME ANYTHING

lili 💕 (12:14 PM): azzi jazlyn mf fudd.

lili 💕 (12:14 PM): why do you hate me??

I rolled my eyes and scoffed. Some things don’t change.

(12:15 PM): oh please

(12:15 PM): the government is crazy and foul lili

(12:15 PM): also pls stop texting 4 times in 2 minutes

lili 💕 (12:16 PM): sue me???

lili 💕 (12:16 PM): i’m hungry we’re getting lunch together!

(12:16 PM): bold of you to think i haven’t eaten since yesterday

lili 💕 (12:16 PM): what’s wrong w u

(12:16 PM): next question

(12:17 PM): calling a cab, try not to rush me i WILL stay home.

Acting calm was the plan. But inside, I was losing it.

I hadn’t had something to look forward to in months. Maybe years.

Cold hit my face stepping outside like it was punching a bag labeled Azzi Fudd.

Welcome back, Washington. (kill me.)

My career? Thriving in its own weird way.

Modeling worked out better than basketball ever did.

People still recognized me. “Oh, you’re the one who hates Gatorade.”

Yeah. I hate it. Passionately. Coconut water overrules easily.

But me? I was a mess.

Emotionally? A bigger mess.

Romantically? Don’t even ask.

The divorce was quiet.

Just a handful of people knew about the year I spent undoing the damage he did—his insecurities, his control, the noise that wasn’t love.

And now? He was gone, I thank the man above.

lili 💕 (12:19): i have news IMPORTANT news which you need to hurry your ass here for :)

(12:25 PM): on my way. what’s the tea?

aaliyah (12:25 PM): not telling. but it’s good. you might even scream.

(12:26 PM): better not be no new gatorade flavor you’re excited about

aaliyah (12:27 PM): you’re dramatic

(12:30 PM): literally poison, y’all sick

I dropped my phone on my lap and leaned back.

This place wasn’t home anymore.

But at least I didn’t have to pretend today.

Soon, overpriced brunch with the one person who made me feel okay when nothing else did.

I didn’t know it yet, but this was the beginning.

Not perfect. Not easy.

But real.

The cab was quiet—the kind of quiet I liked.

Tipped the driver like I was throwing cash at my anxiety.

Brain fueled by airplane snacks and two hours of sleep.

Pulling up to my mom’s place felt like rewinding a VHS.

Same cracked driveway with the basketball court. Same faded welcome mat yelling Come in and stay awhile.

Key under the mat (because yes, mom still did that), and there she was��Katie, scrubbing dishes like I hadn’t just flown cross-country, like none of the last few years even happened.

“Az!”

Her voice was warm, like a hug you never wanted to let go of.

She hugged me tight. I hugged back harder than I meant to. Missed this. Wouldn’t say it.

“I thought you landed at three,” Mom said, studying my face. “You look tired. Hungry?”

I was about to lie.

Then Dad’s voice came from down the hall.

“Who’s that? My superstar?”

Tim grinned like he always did, like he had no clue.

I laughed. “Hi, Dad.”

“How’s LA? How’s Jackson? He with you?”

Damn it dad really?

“Dad. We’re divorced. Remember?”

His smile slipped like he was caught in a sitcom dad moment.

“Oh—right. You told us. Or—after?”

I gave him a look.

He scratched his neck. “Aaliyah said something first. Figured I’d wait for you to say it official—”

Mom smacked his arm with a towel. “You weren’t supposed to say that.”

I shook my head, heading for the door. “Y’all are unbelievable.”

“Y’know we just love you!” Mom called after me.

“Uh huh sure.”

“Where you headed?” Dad asked, disappearing into the pantry.

“Lunch.”

“Oh, you and Paige catching up already?”

I froze.

Not dramatic. Just paused. Like my brain short-circuited and rebooted.

Paige. That name. I hadn’t heard it in months. Maybe years.

I looked back slow. “Paige?”

Mom nodded, sipping coffee. “Yeah. She moved back after you left. You didn’t know?”

“Mm mm.” I shook my head.

Suddenly I didn’t know what to do with my hands. Or my brain.

Paige was back.

She was here.

Why wouldn’t the universe wait for me to be freshly divorced, scrambled, unprepared?

Mom tilted her head. “I thought you two were still close after everything. Best friends don’t just stop talking.”

I was about to say something when—

Honk.

A loud, dramatic honk from outside.

I moved to the window, already knowing what I’d see.

Aaliyah, sunglasses on, head out the window like she was about to start a protest.

“AZZI. DO YOU NOT CHECK YOUR PHONE?! LET’S GO!”

I didn’t say anything to the crazy canadian. Just looked at my parents, waved like everything was normal, and booked it out the door.

Aaliyah stared like I owed her rent once I got in the car.

“Do you have government-level Do Not Disturb or something? I’ve been waiting ten minutes. This is disrespectful.”

I laughed. “Hi to you too.”

“You’re annoying.”

“I missed you.”

“Drive.”

She did.

I didn’t say anything about Paige. Not yet.

Some things you don’t unpack in the car.

But I felt it. The knot in my stomach.

The one that only shows up with that name.

Aaliyah drives like her life depends on it, even when it doesn’t. One hand on the wheel, one scrolling Spotify, acting like she didn’t just honk up a storm.

“You want music or no?”

“Your call. But no moody playlist.”

“It’s actually good.”

“Depression.”

“You literally just got divorced.”

“Woww really?”

“I missed you. What do you want me to say?”

“Something nice?”

“Your hair looks good.”

I ran my hand through my curls, smirking. “Thanks.”

“Better than when you were with what’s-his-face.”

“Jackson.”

“Right. The walking dry erase board.”

I laughed. “You’re mean.”

“Honest.”

“He looked like he called his mom before every decision.”

“You hated him from day one.”

“You fumbled your twenties.”

I laughed again. Felt good. Like exhaling after holding your breath too long. “Enough about my tragic past. What about you and Prince Charming?”

“Don’t call him that.”

“You called him ‘God’s apology for your exes’ last time.”

“Okay, true. But now he’s into Formula 1 and thinks he’s a pro driver.”

“Real love.”

“Shut up. Anyway, this is about you. Your ‘starting over’ era.”

“Enough.”

“Girl you modeled for Vogue.”

“Digital Vogue.”

“Still Vogue.”

I stared out the window. City the same but not. Or maybe I was. My timeline never matched everyone else’s. Basketball didn’t go like Paige’s or the others’. It stings.

“I feel behind.”

“Behind what?”

“Everyone. Everything. Like I’m still figuring it out.”

“The finish line’s fake. Nobody’s really ‘there.’ They’re just pretending better.” I smiled. Sounds like something mom or Paige might’ve said before everything changed. “This got deep.”

“Restart. Tell me something dumb.”

“I still hate Gatorade. Whole chest hate.”

“You’re the only basketball player ever who says that.”

“I’m not a player anymore.”

“Still hoop in your sleep.”

“Trauma.”

“Okay Dr. Phil, relax.”

We laughed. The silence between felt like understanding. Aaliyah pulled up to the cafe more aggressively than needed.

“I’ve been holding this in for days.”

“Don’t make that face.”

“What face?”

“That face where you pretend not to care but don’t blink for three minutes.”

I threw the door open.

“No idea what you mean.”

“You’re doing it right now.”

I shrugged. “Spill.”

We sat barely ten minutes before I started bouncing my leg. “Spill. You’ve been dying to tell me since yesterday. She sipped water. “Let’s ease into it?”

“No. Sun’s out. You’re suspicious. Spill.” She groaned. “Why do you always bully me?”

“Because you have a big mouth until it matters.” She smiled nervously. “Okay. I’m engaged.”

I gasped loud. Old couple nearby flinched.

“Shut up. Lying.”

“Nope.”

“Shut up!”

“Stop yelling.”

“Will not! You’re engaged??”

“Yes.”

I grabbed her hand. “Where’s the ring? How? When? Who?” She blushed. “Boat ride. Cheesy. Sweet. I cried a lot.”

I sat back clutching my chest. “This is so cute. I’m so happy for you lili.”

Then she muttered something.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Aaliyah.”

“I’m doing a double engagement party…with Paige.”

I blinked. “With who?”

“Paige. She’s engaged too. And her fiancé is kind of cool.”

My brain blue-screened. Hands dropped.

“You’re joking.”

“No.”

“To Paige Bueckers.”

“Yes.”

Jaw open. “You knew she was here? Engaged? And you dropped this mid-convo like it was nothing?”

“I thought it’d be fine.”

“Aaliyah.”

“Okay, yes, I screwed up. Don’t kill me, but you guys can’t avoid each other forever Az.” She said with her fake sappy face. “I’m not avoiding anything okay?” I said knowing damn well.

I dropped my face in my hands. “Need a drink.”

“It’s noon.”

“Exactly.”

“You were actually exciting to see.”

“I am.”

She smiled nervous. “If it makes you feel better—”

“Don’t.”

“Okay.”

“I mean—ugh. Double engagement party?”

“Not planned that way!”

I looked up at the ceiling. “Did you ask how I’d feel being in the same room as Paige Bueckers and her fiancé?”

She winced. “No.”

“Oh great. Reassuring.”

Silent clinking. My mind racing.

“She’s not supposed to be here.”

“Where?”

“In Washington.”

“She grew up here too.”

“Okay, like six years.”

“You don’t own the city.”

“I’m just saying. She left, I left. I thought—”

“You thought you could pretend she didn’t exist?”

I said nothing. Jaw clenched.

“She’s not Voldemort.”

“Shut up.”

“You gonna be okay?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t seen her, but I already feel hit by a bus.”

“It’s okay if you cancel. Don’t come.”

“Miss your party? I’m petty not heartless.”

She smiled. “That’s my girl.”

“But if she looks at me like I’m that same girl from college—”

“You’ll what?”

“Probably cry. on my fifth glass of champagne.”

She snorted. “So dramatic.”

“Says the girl who fake-passed out so a guy wouldn’t break up with her.”

“Bought me three more days.”

I laughed, tired but real. Looked out at the cloudy sky. People walking by. Couples holding hands. Dogs in sweaters. Phone-yelling men.

The world spins. Doesn’t care who’s married, heartbroken, or pretending not to be wrecked by a name no one says out loud.

“You think she’ll actually show with her?”

Aaliyah paused. “It’s her party too. But Paige is Paige.”

I nodded. True.

Silence thick. Not awkward. Just heavy. I pulled out my phone. She peeked.

“Who ya texting there?” Jeez ms nosy.

“No one.”

I lied.

Almost typed Paige’s name.

Almost sent a text.

But didn’t.

Not yet. Maybe never.

Smiled at Aaliyah. “Dessert?”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. “You’re taking this better than I thought.” I shrugged. “Growth.”

But my mind spun fast—dangerously—whenever Paige Bueckers was involved. Because I’m good at hiding. Too good. Hiding cracks in my marriage. Bruises from love that wasn’t love. Late at night, I still dream in jump shots, gold medals, blonde ponytails, and what-if.

Years of practice folding feelings into sharp-edged smiles. Yeah, I looked fine. If Aaliyah could see inside, she’d cancel the party.

Instead, I speared a piece of cheesecake. Ate it like I wasn’t thinking about the last time Paige hugged me.

Smelled like spearmint and stress and something I can’t name. “Mmm. You’re paying.”

She side-eyed me. “Emotional blackmail. Toxic.”

I smiled. Dimples and all. “Learned from the best.” Outside, rain finally picked a side. Soft and quiet. The kind that makes you remember.

I didn’t look out the window again.

I didn’t have to.

The past was already here.

And oh boy was I not ready to go back.

——

Most people think heartbreak is loud.

That it kicks down the door and wrecks everything in its path. That it screams. Demands. Destroys.

But sometimes it’s quiet.

Sometimes it waits.

Lurks in the corners of your good days, and whispers on the bad ones. Like the song you swore you deleted. Like the sweatshirt you still sleep in. Like a name that still makes your chest pull in strange directions.

Paige Bueckers is in love.

That’s what she tells herself every morning, brushing her teeth in a bathroom she shares with the woman she’s going to marry.

That’s what she tells Taryn, when they hold hands across the table, planning wedding playlists and reception seating like none of it feels like choreography.

That’s what she tells Aaliyah. When she’s brave enough to ask.

And maybe she is.

Maybe this is love.

Not the kind that explodes.

But the kind that folds your laundry. Buys oat milk. Remembers your mom’s birthday.

Love with clean lines and good lighting.

But sometimes, when the world goes quiet—

She still thinks about her.

Azzi.

She’s not supposed to.

It’s been years. People move on. People grow. People change. But memory doesn’t care about growth.

Memory’s a cruel little thing.

It brings her back anyway.

And sometimes, that’s worse than forgetting.

———

The morning starts like most do.

Paige wakes up to the smell of eggs she always asks for the night before and a Spotify playlist that sounds like it’s personally attacking her sleep schedule.

Taryn’s singing. Loud. Enthusiastic. Completely off-key. It’s 8:52 a.m. and already the kitchen is full of syrup and sunshine.

And love.

Real love.

So Paige gets up. Smiles. Stretches like everything in her body and head isn’t heavy. She grabs the hoodie off the chair—Taryn’s favorite one to steal—and pads into the kitchen barefoot.

“You’re awake!” Taryn beams. She’s flipping pancakes with way too much joy for someone who worked a night shift. “You ruined the breakfast-in-bed surprise. Rude.”

Paige kisses her cheek. “M’bad. Smelled the cinnamon, had to come .”

Taryn laughs. “I gotta keep my fiancée on her toes.”

Paige smiles again. It almost reaches her eyes.

She should feel full. Loved. Settled.

But there’s a flicker.

A familiar static in the back of her head.

Azzi.

Still there.

Even now.

Even here.

Paige takes a bite of pancake. Nods like it tastes perfect. Doesn’t mention how it sticks to her throat. She pretends she doesn’t notice the ring on her finger feels tighter today.

———

Earlier today

The message comes at 9:42 a.m.

Right as Paige is rinsing out a protein shake she didn’t finish.

aaliyah (9:42 AM): btw. azzi’s in town. like. now.

also. don’t freak out

also. don’t throw up

also. don’t be weird at the party ! bye!

The phone doesn’t vibrate again. It doesn’t need to. Paige just stares. Until the screen fades to black. Then flips it face down like it burned her.

Azzi.

Back.

Here.

Now.

Washington was supposed to be safe. This city was supposed to be after. Not again.

Her hands are wet from the sink. But they’re shaking, so she blames the water. She continues her day folding laundry. Answering emails. Working out and overthinking. Halfway through, she realizes she’s folding that hoodie again.

The one Azzi used to steal.

The one Azzi wore the night they said too much and not enough. Taryn walks in, gym bag slung over her shoulder.

“You good?” she asks. Paige doesn’t flinch. Too well-practiced. “Yeah. Just… thinking.” Taryn raises an eyebrow. “Scary.”

“Shut up.”

Taryn kisses her forehead. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

She means it. She does.

But her chest stays quiet.

The rest of the day is a blur.

Paige doesn’t cry. She doesn’t fall apart. She’s grown. She’s evolved. She makes slushies and answers calls. But her brain keeps looping back.

To Azzi’s laugh in the tunnel before games.

To the way she said Paige’s name when no one was listening.

To that fight. That ending. That almost.

She opens Instagram.

Azzi’s profile is now public after having her blocked every other month.

Paige scrolls.

Just once.

Just enough to see that smile. The effortless one that used to be hers to witness.

She closes the app. Opens it again five minutes later.

She types out a message.

Deletes it.

Types it again.

Closes her phone like it said something unforgivable.

She throws it onto the couch.

Watches it bounce.

Tells herself she’s fine.

Tells herself she’s over it.

Tells herself she’s happy.

Tells herself she’s in love.

Repeats it until it sounds like static.

———

There’s a pair of sneakers in the back of her closet.

White with gold trim.

Barely worn.

Azzi once said they were her favorite.

Paige almost donates them every year.

But they’re still there.

Still clean.

Still hers.

Like a maybe she never let go of.

Like a version of herself she keeps buried under meal prep and wedding plans. Somewhere across the city, Azzi is back. And Paige is pretending her whole body didn’t react to that message like it was a live wire.

She sits on the couch. Legs folded. Hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands.

She thinks about texting her again.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she whispers her name into an empty room like it might echo.

“Azzi.”

She says it soft. Like an apology. Like a prayer.

Like she’s still in love with a memory.

Like she doesn’t know what she’s doing anymore.

Because maybe love isn’t loud.

Maybe it’s quiet.

Maybe it’s the part of you that never really left.

Even when you swore you moved on.

Paige Bueckers is in love.

She just doesn’t know who with.

Not anymore.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Words & Phrases to Avoid in Writing

When you sit down to write an article, essay, or novel, you’ll have to make decisions about word choice and phrasing.

Whether you’re a writer of novels and short stories, a teacher proofreading a research paper or other academic writing, or a content marketing specialist trying to eliminate weak words from your infographic, there are certain unnecessary words you should eliminate that can improve any piece of writing.

Here is a list of words to avoid, as well as some general writing and editing tips to follow in order to become a better writer:

“Very”: Though “very” is meant to be an intensifier, it is clunky and provides no additional information beyond the word it’s magnifying. If you find yourself writing that someone is “very hungry” or “very tired,” it’s likely a sign that you should be choosing stronger adjectives. Instead of “very hungry,” try “famished.” Instead of “very tired,” try “exhausted.” Substituting “very” with stronger adjectives will help decrease your word count, make stronger word choices, and develop a sharper writing style.

“Is” and other “to be” verbs: “To be” verbs, including “is,” “am,” “are,” “was,” “were,” “being,” and “been,” are among the most common words in the English language. That means they’re also among the most overused and should be rejected in favor of stronger verbs. Oftentimes, “to be” verbs are a sign of passive voice, which results in needlessly complex sentence structure. Here’s a good example: Why write “The line was flubbed by Alex” when you could write “Alex flubbed the line”? Active voice helps eliminate useless words while making the sentence more dynamic and easier to understand.

“Thing”: “Thing” is a vague word—it can mean many different things, and vague words force the reader to spend extra time and effort to determine their meaning. When a writer uses words like “thing” and “stuff,” they’re often ignoring a potential replacement word that’s far more vivid and clear. Whether your preferred medium is fiction writing, copywriting, or online writing like blogging, one of the most common writing mistakes you can make is using “thing” and “stuff” instead of a word with more specificity.

Redundant phrases: “Join together.” “Armed gunman.” “Unexpected surprise” are all examples of redundant phrases (not to mention clichés). These unnecessarily wordy phrases can cause a reader to become distracted, and editors will often ask writers to get the same point across in fewer words. If you notice any of these phrases in your first draft, you should eliminate them in your rewriting process.

Extra words and crutch phrases: When it comes to the English language, native speakers tend to use extraneous words and filler phrases in their everyday speech. Bloggers and long-form writers alike should try to eliminate these phrases from their writing. Removing filler phrases like “at the end of the day” and “in spite of the fact” will help you use fewer words and improve the overall clarity and efficiency of your writing.

Prepositional phrases: Prepositions are frequently necessary to indicate the relationship between nouns, pronouns, and action verbs, but writers who are overly reliant on prepositional phrases can find themselves writing needlessly long and complex sentences. Thus, one of the most essential writing skills you can develop is the ability to excise prepositional phrases from your work. If you find yourself staring at a sentence with a bunch of prepositional phrases, try shifting to active voice, substituting adverbs, or omitting nominalizations.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs