#because i literally made that from my head 😭😭😭😭

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@jollyhunter

Okay, I'm finally home and this was such a wonderful thing to read through! It made my day 😊

Girl, let me tell you I was also giggling the entire time I wrote this. This fic was so self indulgent because the reader IS me, one billion percent, the awkward anxious person who has no idea how to catch someone's attention 😆 But I love it resonated with you too (but I'm also sorry it took you back to your past trauma lol 😂)

I love your writing style and especially the way you add humor!! Like this had me already cracking up - Butcher and the boys x LotR, where’s my funfic, hm??

Oh goodness THANK YOU SO MUCH! 🥰 I literally laugh to myself the whole time I write and most of the time I'm scared no one else will get the jokes, but thank you that really means a lot 💗 But YES the subtle Eomer drop... if you haven't read As Tradition Dictates, you need to because it's so good and it's been living rent free in my head since I read it. And oh my word the cross over would be wild- Soldier Boy does act like an Orc sometimes, but we love him for it anyway 🤣

It’s a real struggle 😭

Amen it is 🫶🏻

Sneaky bastard - I feel like he’s only saying that because he’s afraid that he will fall for her. (Probably already has and is taking his chance now since she’d basically friend zoned him 😂)

He could be... 😏 You could be getting dangerously close to the truth there my friend 😉

EDIT: I FORGOT TO COMMENT ON THE FRIGGIN LOCUSTS SUPE - I’d pay to see that scene; Butcher and Soldier Boy running from a swarm of locusts because they can’t punch or shoot their way out as usual and making a deal to never talk about this embarrassing moment again 🤣

You know, I am so happy you pointed this out, because I really didn't think that in depth about what that scene would look like. And I hate locusts so I was like... what supe power would just be too much for me. BUT THAT IS SO FUNNY! I can see Butcher firing off like two shots into the swarm, while Ben kinda holds up his shield half-heartedly debating if it's worth it (it's not), and the reader and Hughie are already in the car with all the windows rolled up just watching it unfold. Even funnier would be her not letting Butcher or Ben into the car because she doesn't want any of the locusts to get in and she's shooing the two of them away. 😂

NOW WHERE‘S MY PART TWO?? I’M READY

Running joke I have is that I really can't write a one-shot to save my life... and this fic is no exception. I would love to make this a series (and I sort of accidentally plotted one out for this lol). The problem is I'm trying to finish up a soulmate AU series I started last year for Soldier Boy called If The Stars Wish It So and I have a prompt celebration running so I want to finish up those two things before I start a series based on this fic... BUT I do want to, because I love fake dating and I think that I could make this exceptionally awkward and funny lol.

But I am so happy that you liked this one sweetie and thank you so much for all the lovely feedback! 💜

Promise Not To Fall In Love With Me

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader and a little bit of Billy Butcher x f!reader

Prompt: "I find him very attractive." /"I'm standing right here"/ "I know."

Requested by: @angrydragon90

Tropes: Fake Dating, Pining.

Summary:  When you first joined Butcher's team the last thing you expected was to develop a crush on him, but after two years of pining, you get a proposition from the last person you'd expect to care.

Word Count: 5K

Warnings: I'm gonna label this 18+ just in case (I don't really think it is). Some cursing, Sexual innuendo, References to sex, Over glorification of a man's shirtless body (I'm not complaining) Reader is a little anxious/anxiety/socially awkward? Drug use/Drinking (Soldier Boy), Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy (He's a warning, we all know it and somehow still love him for it).

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Prompt Celebration Masterlist

A/N: This is the third fic for my prompt celebration! This one was requested the incredible @angrydragon90 💗 Had to do something with a little bit of Valentine's Day spirit, but I'm going to be honest, this one turned into something that I didn't expect... let me know what y'all think. I also was thinking about @zepskies fic As Tradition Dictates for the more *ahem* gratuitous descriptions of Butcher 😉

Butcher’s muscles rippled over his bare chest and broad shoulders with every swing of the mighty axe down to the earth. Each strike of the axe against wood sent chips of bark flickering in the air around him like sparks. Sweat rolled down his sun kissed skin curving in the dips of his muscular torso, along the tensing muscles of his back, and through the dusting of hair on his torso, before disappearing into the waistband of the dark jeans hung low on his hips. 

Heat kisses your cheeks and darkens the skin the longer you watch him and you bite your lip hard to keep the appreciative sigh of the scene in front of you at bay. But it does little to stop your eyes which rove over the rugged man chopping wood. 

No man his age should look that good. 

Butcher props one of his feet up on the tree stump he’s been using as a table oblivious to your attention, shouldering the axe for a moment to glance at the stack of firewood he’d chopped, looking like a mighty warrior surveying his lands. 

Your mind starts to slip into a fantasy of a shirtless Butcher riding horseback across a desolate plain, his dark hair long, and a sword strapped to his saddle commanding a group of riders behind him to his every whim. Before scooping you up onto his saddle to ride with him, his strong arm wrapped around your waist, and his face buried in the soft skin of your neck, his rough whisper in your ear a grating caress as he-

You clear your throat, cheeks darkening crimson, and take in a shaky breath to dissipate the daydream that usually starred in several of your fantasies. The same ones that probably came from the romantasy book that you’d brought along on this trip and were too embarrassed to read when anyone else was awake.

He raises a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, shuffling it back through his hair that turns a chestnut brown in the light of the setting sun that flickered through the thick forest surrounding the small cabin you were all staying in.

Oh to be a drop of sweat.

You think mournfully, taking a long sip of your lemonade out of a brightly colored bendy straw, the same lemonade that you’d made in hopes of enticing Butcher over for a break.

It had worked, but only for twenty seconds.

Twenty glorious seconds that you got to bask in Butcher’s presence so close that you could smell the familiar cologne and the scent of sweat clinging to his skin while he drank the lemonade and you tried not to stare at his bare chest for too long. You hoped that Butcher thought the flush on your cheeks had everything to do with the heat and nothing to do with all the things you were imagining him doing to you. 

And then there had been an additional two seconds when Butcher smiled at you and said “Thanks poppet” in the swoon worthy accent of his that made your knees weak before he sauntered back over to the woodpile and you watched him go shamelessly. 

Hughie says something to Butcher you can’t hear, but it makes Butcher laugh. He throws his head back with a wide grin that makes you sigh to yourself again, hands tensing where they sit poised over the tangle of wires in your lap. 

You were supposed to be working on a new gadget to help grapple up buildings, one that you and Frenchie had designed together, but you were distracted by Butcher. 

You were always distracted by him. 

It had been three days since Butcher, Soldier Boy, Hughie, and you arrived at the cabin in the middle of nowhere after a mission went wrong. The specifics weren’t important, let’s just say that there was a miscommunication and what the four of you thought was a supe who could turn into a single locust, was actually able to turn into a swarm of locust so thick you couldn’t see an inch in front of your face. 

You had a sneaking suspicion that MM and Frenchie had something to do with the miscommunication, given how eager they had been to stay behind at headquarters and do paperwork, and the secretive smiles they had shared at the briefing before your team left.

But needless to say, none of you had been eager to live through a reenactment of the eighth plague and all decided to lay low to consider your options, while hoping the locust supe didn’t decimate all of the corn in the midwest.

You shudder remembering the crawl of the scratchy legs along your skin, the flapping of millions of wings like the beat of a drum, the crunch of locusts underfoot, and the low pitched hum of the swarm that vibrated so loud it made you feel your body shaking from the inside out. 

At this point I would have taken a swarm of guinea pigs.

The cabin wasn’t the worst place you’d stayed at in all the time you’d worked with Butcher. There was running water and several rooms inside including two bedrooms with lumpy pillows and mattresses with creaking springs, a living room with a sagging floral couch, and a threadbare kitchen with dusty cabinets and doors that fell off whenever someone tried to open one. 

Outside the cabin there was a small patch of wildflowers that fluttered in the strong wind that blew from the East, an overgrown garden where tomato plants, potatoes, and herbs grew without care, and a small front yard that was more of a grassy clearing. 

Sure the cabin had it’s quirks, but the real problem was that the four of you were trapped here in the middle of summer with a generator that only did so much for electricity, but had no air conditioning whatsoever, which meant it was cooler to sit outside on the porch than inside the sweltering cabin. 

Overall, it had been three days of nothing, but listening to Soldier Boy bitch about the lack of extracurricular activities, three days of nothing but hearing the soft chuckle under Hughie’s breath when he texted Annie, and three days of nothing but you lusting after a man who was twice your age chopping wood.

Why was he chopping wood when it was so hot and none of you needed it… You had no idea, but you figured that the universe was finally throwing you a bone because you got to watch him do it.

The porch was cooler than sitting inside. There were two creaky rocking chairs that faced the overgrown “front yard” that was more of a clearing and the breeze did weave under the overhang of the roof to wick the sweat that gathered at the back of your neck, but the problem was, it was impossible for you to feel anything but warm, especially with what was unfolding in front of you. 

The weather isn’t the only thing heating up.

You think to yourself watching Butcher lean down to pick up another piece of wood, admiring the way his worn dark jeans cup his muscular ass.

Fuck, I’m just as bad as Soldier Boy. 

The truth was, you’d been crushing on Butcher for the better part of two years since the moment the two of you met on your first day when you’d tripped and dropped the giant pile of blueprints you were carrying to your desk and he was the only one who stopped to help you pick them up. 

After Homelander had been stripped of his powers and exposed for the narcissistic psychotic freak he was, you’d started working at Supe Affairs, thinking that it was the perfect way for you to make a difference in a world reeling from the revelation. It had shaken quite a few people to know that the so-called heroes they looked up to were in fact just as crooked as a line drawn by an elephant on a tricycle. 

But you liked your job… sometimes. 

Sure, the pay sucked, the benefits were dismal and the hours were long, but you didn’t care about any of that. You felt like you were making a difference, using the engineering degree that your dad had insisted on for something other than trying to figure out how to build a bridge that withstood the force of a punch from someone as strong as Homelander. 

And you hadn’t meant to develop a crush on William Butcher of all people, you swore that each day to yourself, but it happened without warning. He was nice to you, he always had your back on missions, and sometimes when you were working on something after hours on a mission- like the gadget in your lap- Butcher would sit with you while everyone else slept, nursing a glass of whatever it was he had, and he always made you feel like a valued member of the team.

Yes, he might be a little rough around the edges, but you liked that about him, that he didn’t pull punches, rather he told it like it was. It was refreshing in the world you lived in when everyone else was so afraid of offending someone that they just kept their mouths shut. 

But the problem was that you were younger than him and a little inexperienced. 

Well… a lot inexperienced. You’d never been in a relationship before, never really done anything before because there wasn’t time when you were in school getting your degree, not to mention you had spent the last two years imagining yourself in a relationship with a man who didn’t know you existed.

That might be a little harsh, he knew you existed, obviously, but rather he didn’t see you as anything more than a teammate or at least like a little sister. The nicknames that he called you were all some form of “kiddo” or “poppet.” Nothing like the things you’d read about men calling the women they loved in books or heard in movies. 

The most experience you had in the realm of love and relationships was binge watching Sex and The City (you could quote it by heart), flipping through Cosmopolitan Magazine and other articles about love on the internet like they were opioids, and reading through romance novels reverently as if they held the secrets of the universe. 

Not to mention the draft of the romance novel on your computer… but you’d go to the grave before anyone ever saw that, and if they did see it you’d take them with you. 

Reading about relationships was easier than having one, at least that was what you told yourself to feel better. It also didn’t help that you’d seen two out of three sisters married with kids, with the third one getting married in a few weeks and you without even a shadow of a date for the wedding.

That meant you would be stuck at the awkward reject table again with your weird fourth cousin who always came on to you and tried to show you the rooster tattoo he had on his hip bone, your dad’s brother who cleaned his dentures in public after he ate and his wife who always asked you what you were “doing” with your life and curled her lip up in distaste no matter what you said, and the gaggle of their ungrateful children who were always sticky for some reason and chewed with their mouths open while spilling food all over the table like cavemen.

Sitting there with them made facing the locust supe more appealing.

But even with the pressure of trying to find someone, anyone to take, you couldn’t muster up the courage to tell Butcher how you felt about him. 

Butcher glances over as if he can sense you and you immediately drop your eyes to the bundle of gears and wires in your lap pretending to fiddle with something that doesn’t need to be fixed.

Yes, because that’s the way I’m going to win him over, by making absolutely no eye contact. Perfect, masterful. What can go wrong?

What the books, magazines, tv shows, and movies didn’t prepare you for was how to find the courage to talk to someone of the opposite sex without feeling like your tongue was going to drop out of your mouth or like you were going to throw up. 

You wait a few beats until you’re sure that he’s no longer looking at you before you raise your head to watch Butcher again. 

Ben chuckles under his breath where he sits beside you in the other rocking chair, leaning back with one of his hands behind his head. His muscles tense in the black t-shirt as he adjusts his arm. 

“What?” You ask him. 

He exhales a long and obnoxious cloud of foul smelling smoke from the joint he has in his hand. “I think you’re a hypocrite.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you’re out here eye-fucking that asshole and you yell at me for staring at you.” He chuckles with a wide smirk as he takes another hit from the blunt.

How can he smoke that? It’s like 100 degrees out here!

“I am not!” You reply as loudly as you dare, glancing over to Butcher to make sure that he didn’t hear Ben’s comment, anxiety prickling along the back of your neck, but he’s still talking to Hughie about something. “And you don’t just stare at me! You come up behind me like some gremlin out of hell, with your big hands and-”

“We both know how much you like the attention doll.”

“I do not!” Your cheeks flare bright red. 

The only downside to working on Butcher’s team was sitting directly next to you. When you found out that you’d be working with Soldier Boy, one of your dad’s favorite heroes, you were excited to meet him, and then you had and he turned into another giant disappointment. He was loud, brash, short-tempered, rude, and was always either ogling you, coming on to you, smoking something, or drinking. 

You supposed it could be worse. You didn’t hate him, and you got along with him, but he was always around. The plus side was that Ben was the one of the only people you didn’t have a hard time talking to.

Yes, he was attractive, but his particular lifestyle didn’t appeal to you and for that reason whatever nerves you had about talking to attractive men of the opposite sex evaporated when it came to Ben. 

It was unfortunate that such a skill was wasted on him of all people.

“I just-” You hesitate, eyes dropping back down to the grappling device in your lap, not sure why you’re about to admit this to Soldier Boy when you haven’t been able to admit it to anyone else. 

Probably because I’m sick of singing the line from Frozen “conceal don’t feel” over and over in my head.

“I find him extremely attractive.” You mumble on a shaky breath. 

“I’m sitting right here.” The frown in Ben’s voice is prominent, but it only makes you roll your eyes at him. 

“I know.” Your eyebrows furrow together. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Why are you looking at him when you could have my full attention.” He leans forward, dark hair falling forward into his eyes, mouth pulling up in a confident smirk. "I mean there's nothing else to fucking do, might as well do me."

Your cheeks flush with his words, but you tilt your head to the side to study him, eyes slipping over his rugged features. Tracing over the neatly trimmed beard on his cheeks, the brilliant green eyes that seemed to glow, the way his muscular body filled out his black t-shirt and blue jeans, the soft dusting of freckles that contrasted the hardness of the man he was flecked over his skin, and his full lips that are curved up in a sinful smirk that would make even the strongest woman crumble. 

But not you. Ben was… Ben. He was brash, obnoxious, handsy, impatient, and disrespectful. 

At least, that’s what you thought.

Sure you didn’t work with him often, but you believed you had a pretty good grasp on the kind of person he was. You did, right?

“You’re not my type Benny.” Your eyes flick back to the project in your lap, moving your fingers deftly through the wires of the internal mechanism.

Ben recoils at the use of his nickname, but he recovers with a low chuckle. “Don’t call me that and I’m everybody's type.”

“Not mine. I don’t like supes.”

You weren’t sure if that was 100% true. You liked Kimiko. What you meant to say was that you didn’t like supes like him. Supes that used his powers without care for the consequences, Supes like Homelander who didn’t give a shit who got hurt as long as the job was done. 

And you weren’t a supe, which meant that if you were with a supe there was always the possibility of you dying during sex or dying before you had sex in the first place. Your job also presented the possibility of you dying before you’d had sex, but you weren’t going to let that hold you back.

“But Butcher has-” Ben begins to say.

“Temporary powers. Not all the time.” You correct, unable to stop your eyes from drifting back over to where Butcher has begun to start swinging the axe again. “And look at him. Fuck, he’s over there like Paul Bunyan, rugged, chopping wood-” You sigh continuing to watch the man who probably has no idea you exist.

Ben rolls his eyes. “I could do that.”

You don’t pay Ben any attention, because Butcher is bending over again and you bite the inside of your cheek hard. 

Ben sits there for another few beats watching you watch Butcher. The wind chimes that hang above your heads jingle merrily as the breeze picks up once more bringing the smell of the wild flowers and wet earth from the forest surrounding the cabin. 

“You know I could help you.” Ben says slowly.

Your eyes flick back to Ben from Butcher in confusion. “Help me?”

What is he talking about? Does he think he can figure out how to fix the grapple gun? The other day he couldn’t figure out how to open the automatic trunk of a car and he just ripped the trunk door right off.

“Get him.” Ben nods his head in Butcher’s direction, but you’re still confused.

“How?”

And why? Why does Soldier Boy want to help me of all people?

“Well, I could help you make him jealous.” Ben leans towards you, his eyes sweeping once over you as he does, lingering too long on your chest and the edge of the jean shorts you were wearing.

“And how would you do that?”

“Well for starters you could come sit on my lap baby, see how you like it.” Ben winks. “Take me for a little ride.”

“Pass.” You roll your eyes. 

“Oh I see you want to have a more advanced lesson.” He smiles, scooting his chair towards yours, a dull scrape of wood on wood, so now his knee is touching yours. “He could catch an earful of us tonight. I’d be happy to fuck you. It’d give me something to do.” Ben takes another hit of his joint, the smoke making you scrunch your nose in distaste, while he gives you an appreciative once over. “Fuck knows the only entertainment I’ve had for three fucking days is my hand and it would be good to have a nice tight-“

“No thanks.” You interrupt, face flushing when you imagine what he was about to say.

Ben stiffens in surprise. “What?”

“I’m good.” You shrug. “I’m gonna get him the old fashioned way.”

The same old fashioned way that I’ve been using for the past two years and had absolutely no results.

“And what way is that? Pining after him and hoping that one day he’ll finally notice you?” Ben scoffs. “I can see how well that’s working for you doll-face. How long have you been working with him?”

“Two years-”

“Fuck, two years?” Ben sputters. “You should just tell him that you want him to fuck you.” 

“That won’t work.”

Ben’s face scrunches in confusion, the joint clasped in between his thumb and forefinger forgotten. “Why the hell not?”

“Because-” You glance down at your hands, thumb running along the jagged edge of the grappling hook slightly embarrassed. The last thing you wanted to tell Soldier Boy was that you were a virgin. The guy would mock you endlessly. “Because I’m younger than him and he’s-”

He’s experienced. 

“So? You think that he hasn’t thought about fucking you?” Ben takes a long sip from the whiskey sitting beside his chair. “He’d be lucky to have a little piece like you.”

You blink in surprise. It was the closest to a compliment that Ben had ever given you. He did tend to compliment your figure whenever you were around, but you usually ignored that because he did that to everyone. 

Truthfully, the thought of dating Ben didn’t appeal to you at all, but the thought of using him to make Butcher jealous was not a terrible one. And at this point, you didn’t have anything to lose. 

Well… except THAT, but you wanted it to be special, at least that’s what you’d always told yourself.

You sigh, a little frustrated, watching Butcher out of the corner of your eye swing the axe in a glorious arch to the earth. You weren’t sure how to get Butcher’s attention. You’d tried the usual things…

Leaving the room as soon as he walked in to avoid a conversation.

Gone completely mute when he asked you a question.

Pretended you didn’t see him whenever he walked into a room.

Tried to bring him coffee, but then chickened out and drank his and yours and then immediately had to go to the bathroom to avoid shitting your pants while having heart palpitations.

Basically the social anxiety was working wonders on the office romance you wanted so badly. 

“Ben?” You say tentatively, hands tightening on the contraption in your lap. At this rate you were never going to fix it and Butcher was going to have to figure out how to fly. 

“Yes, gorgeous?” Ben raises an eyebrow. The blunt is between his lips now and he’s looking at you curiously.

“If we did pretend to be…” You swallow nervously. 

“Fucking?” He leans forward eagerly, eyes twinkling with interest.

Well… I’ve never understood what it meant when someone wrote “his eyes darkened” until this very moment. 

“Dating” You correct holding up a finger.

Does his mind always go to the gutter?

You remember everything you think you know about Ben.

Yes. Yes it does.

Ben leans back with a frown. “I don’t date.”

“Well it wouldn’t be real! You’d just be helping me make him jealous and it would be nice to have a little practice maybe…”

“Practice?” He looks confused. It wasn’t the first time he had in this conversation or within the last five minutes, but like hell you were about to admit without at least one drink to Soldier Boy the extent of your dating life.

“Yeah. I’m not the best at talking to people or-”

“You’re talking just fine right now.”

“You’re different.”

“Why is that?”

“Because you annoy me and I don’t know you’re easier to talk to for some reason!” 

“Thanks.” Ben says dryly. 

By now all the anxious energy has begun to pop and crackle against your skin at the thought of what the two of you could be doing and at the thought of you two actually pulling this off and you having a shot with Butcher. Not just a shot in hell, a real shot.

“But if you’re serious about helping me get him-“ You continue.

“I was.”

It was odd that he was the one who had suggested this in the first place, and even weirder that he didn’t seem hesitant at all to be doing this. 

Maybe he thinks that we’re going to have sex. Your throat tightened at the thought, eyes widening, your nerve endings electrifying with anxiety. Oh holy fuck what if he thinks that if we do this he’ll get to do whatever he wants to me?

You clear your throat, heart beating just a little bit harder in your chest. The entire situation was making you regret the extra cup of coffee you had this morning. “What exactly would I have to do?” You don’t recognize your voice. It comes out a little more wobbly and just a little more tentative than it was. 

You didn’t know what Ben was expecting you to do and you didn’t want to say yes, only for him to force you into sleeping with him like he’d suggested earlier, the most you'd thought the two of you would do is just make out a little-

Oh holy fuck then we’d have to kiss and I don’t know if I’m a good kisser and he’s definitely kissed more than one person not to mention he’s-

The thought made you flush to the roots of your hair. 

Ben hesitates, eyeing you and you wonder if he can hear the deranged monologue inside your head or if he can hear just how hard your heart was beating. You hoped not. 

“You wouldn’t have to do anything, doll. I’m not going to force you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.” There’s something genuine in his eyes when he answers your question, something that you’d never noticed before. 

Your mouth drops open in surprise. 

It wasn’t that you believed that Ben was that kind of man, but rather that what he just said to you might have been the most caring thing that he’d ever uttered in front of you. He was the last person that you’d expect to care about someone being uncomfortable or care if someone else was okay with everything that was happening in the bedroom.

Maybe I don’t know him as well as I think I do.

In all honesty you only knew the way Ben acted, you didn’t know anything about his life. The man kept his cards closer to his chest than a well-seasoned card player and his poker face, forget it. You couldn’t crack that combination even if you wanted to. 

Everything else you'd heard about him was through the grapevine of gossip at work. None of it was first hand.

Ben sighs and shakes his head at you as if he’s a little annoyed with himself for saying that out loud. “But I still think it would be easier if you just told him that you wanted him to fuck you. Would’ve worked on me.”

“I’m not good at that sort of thing.”

And it was true. You could take down a target, diffuse a bomb in less than ten seconds with a thin mint and a bobby pin, but saying something out loud like that to something else made you feel nauseous.

Ben hesitates again and in his hesitation the anxiety and embarrassment starts to come soaring back into your chest.

You were asking Soldier Boy, Soldier Boy, to pretend to date you so Billy Butcher would fall in love with you. 

Well kids, this must be what rock bottom feels like. I might as well just pray that the locusts come back to take me away. 

“Fine.” Ben states. 

“Really?” Your eyes widen.

He shrugs, but doesn’t answer.

“We’d have to have rules.” You blurt, and Ben makes a face.

“Rules? Never been too good with those, Sweetheart.”

“And I’d need you to promise that you wouldn’t-” 

You lose your train of thought in the wind chimes that rattle over your head and the sound of Butcher’s laugh.

“Wouldn’t?” He arches an eyebrow.

“Lose control.”

Honestly, sometimes you were a little afraid of Ben. You’d never say that out loud or admit it, but he was stronger than Homelander.

You knew Ben's reputation around the office- heard the hushed whispers of the women in the break room who said he was the best fuck of their lives, heard the horror stories of what he did to his old team, and had seen first hand what his temper was like. You also knew about his powers and worried that Ben might have a little bit of a control problem or at the very least anger management issues.

“I’m not going to fucking hurt you if that’s what you think.” Ben growls, his eyes narrowing at your insinuation. “I’m not some fucking monster, doll.”

“I don’t think you’re a monster Ben.” You sigh. “I just- I don’t have powers and you’re kinda strong and I-.” You take a deep breath to steady your voice. “I don’t think that you’d hurt me on purpose. But-”

Ben’s hand comes out to touch your chin, tilting your gaze up to him and stopping the bicycle of babbling you were about to ride around the block. Your eyes widen slightly with the contact, you weren’t used to people touching you, certainly not like this. 

Keep it together… 

“I wouldn’t hurt you by accident either.” Ben’s green eyes are focused on yours, and you can see just a sliver of emotion behind them that you can’t identify. “But if we’re going to do this you gotta promise me one thing.”

“What?” Your voice comes out like a squeak.

“You’ve got to promise not to fall in love with me.” He sends you a saucy wink that makes you want to punch the strongest man on earth, instead you settle for pushing him back from you.

But you’re not prepared for the wave of disappointment you feel when he lets go of your chin. 

“I’m not in any danger of that Benny. You’re not half as smooth as you think you are.” You start to lean back in your chair, but Ben reaches out to grab your wrist, his touch surprisingly gentle, the contact burning through your body, as he pulls you forward, so close you can smell his cologne. Somehow it's something that smells classic and modern at the same time, a hint of spice that tickles your nose and makes your throat tight. 

His voice lowers into a purr that vibrates through his chest, his next words expelled on a warm breath that weaves through the air between the two of you. 

“Sweetheart, you’re about to find out just how smooth I am.” 

What have I gotten myself into?

A/N: Again, not what I was expecting, but I really love this one y'all and I probably laughed way too hard at bits when I was writing it.

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! I love hearing what y'all think! 😊 If you'd liked to be added to my taglist please let me know!

Taglist

@roseblue373 @livya99 @mrsjenniferwinchester @zepskies @waynes-multiverse

@jollyhunter

[haveihitanerve]

The Book Game: Slugs and Chinese-

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T READ CHINESE?!?!?!

(I am working on Toby’s Pocket commentary I swear) I saw this one yesterday and its too fucking funny and also shorter so here you all are :) hope you enjoy

Tom: did anyone come to a comedy show- Audience member: *my time has come* Tom: *wait I wasn’t done with my epic monologue, its really funny I swear :(*worried that it would be boring as hell- Sam: *laughing maniacally* AJ: jesus

Aj: *opens book, stares, shock, turns to audience*

I love how the second the audience starts laughing at AJ’s shock, Tom immediately knows its because of him and cuts off to look at him. They’re so fucking cute

Luke going to inspect the book, finding nothing amiss in the title, and then exploding when he sees the writing inside- I’m having flashbacks to Lonely Planet When Europe

Luke so delighted he has to cross the stage and almost falls into Tom 🫠😭

Tom having to inspect the book too because ok now Luke has been laughing for too long and he’s curious lol

“Yeah tom you bigot!” Sam needed an excuse to join the chaos and of course, insulting tom is the way to go XD

Tom’s resigned sigh and drop of the book as AJ and Luke lose it. They delight each other so much its absolutely wonderful to see

“So lukes gonna introduce this game now-” Tom wants to be a part of the chaos XD

“Make sure its not racist okay?” Tom had to shift the attention to someone else lmaoo

I just adore how they did not, in fact, think to return the book and get one they understand because, for the bit, they know this book is best, and that they specifically made AJ keep it, because he is the chaos king and would do best by it XD

“A little knowledge…” Luke: *waiting expectantly for him to finish the sentence, then finishes it for him because the sentence in the book is not that* i love them so much omg

“OH! BAD TEMPERED THOUGHT!” LMFAOOO WHAT???

“Ooh… ohhh malice!” Sam i adore you XD

Here comes aj XD

“What does that say?” YESS AJ!!! SNEAKY CLEVER BOI!!! YES!!!

“YOU MEAN YOU DON’T READ CHINESE??!??!” BETRAYED AJ HELPPPP- his life is flashing before his eyes dude is panicking

Audience member: *frantic* my dad does! AJ: *quickly scoots further* oh!

Aj having to break for a second and just lay still as a dying slug because what even is his life XD

“Play hateful, this.” His face helpppp-

Also love how that actually worked really well in the scene???

Tom: *introducing himself into the scene, literally* Sam: *reciprocating* AJ: [desperately] does anybody else speak chinese?!?!

“It goes with high heels.” AJ needing to fold his head into his arms to laugh, Tom pausing the scene because he heard that and what, Luke laughing at AJ’s pain, and Sam trying to keep them focused XD

AJ’s little leg kicks im crying

“MAKE NO MISTAKES!!!” Tom sounds genuinely distressed lmaoo

“OOOOHHHH!” *frantically trying to find a good line comeback*

“Variation in your tactics!” Confirmed that all that matters while speaking is proper tone because that sounds withering coming from Tom, but is actually a very mild sentence lol

Aj standing and Tom genuinely surprised while Luke and Sam fake surprise XD

“THAts not FAir!” Tom’s hands shooting up in surrender and his little grin at AJ that makes AJ smile back 🫠😭

Sam: “Troublemaker!” it is true 🤷‍♂️ AJ: *flipping open his book, forgetting he doesn't speak chinese* chapter four. Brilliant words, truly eloquent aj🤧

Aj and Sam doing “and scene” in unison, every time they do it it kills me for no reason

AND SCENE

Ahhhhh that was fucking glorious. Loved every single second of it, and this means that when I finally get to go to one of their shows, I’m bringing a German book, it has been decided lol. 

Anyway hope you guys found as much enjoyment in AJ’s distress and the other guy’s mutual delight as I did, and I shall return as quickly as possible with Toby’s Secret Pocket and Jingle Boys commentary :) 

BYEBYE!!!

@snek-of-eden @dawn-speckled

[neunnnnnnn]

⋆｡˚୨My extraterrestrials experiences after shifting୧˚｡⋆

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

extraterrestrials- "They are beings or life forms that originate from outside Earth, typically from other planets, moons, or even different galaxies."

Okay apparently they are Aliens and not Spirits or ghosts( That was my mistake, but I lowkey still think they are spirits.. atleast through my experiences)

One thing that surprised me was that extraterrestrials exist, it was one thing no one would convince me were real because it didn't make sense to me in anywayyy, I couldn't fathom how they were other beings like with flesh that existed with us but it changed after I first discovered shifting.

I'll mention 6 of them because there are honestly alot I could write a whole ass 20 pages and I'm not even kidding.

I WILL BE REFERING TO THEM AS "IT" or "THEY" BECAUSE I DON'T THINK THEY HAVE GENDERS.... well I honestly couldn't tell.

I assigned them names because why not, except from one who already had a name.

LONG POST AHEAD‼️

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

Lina☾

I first met Lina when I 1st astral projected for the 1st time, I kid you not I was scared asf. And its understandable because I was still beleving that spirits and demons are scary and that I am going to die if I ever meet one. Lets just say I screamed myself back into my body and started going to church again😃. We met again after 2years because I was so scared that I did not attempt anything spiritual for 2 whole years!!.

I tried astral projecting again and they came to me as soon as I was exploring outside my room. Again I was scared asf but I kept telling myself that I was safe and in control. I tried speaking to them at first but they was just staring at me and I was starting to get uncomfortable and I wanted to leave but I didn't know if it was going to attack me or not.

As I started to leave they talked to me, but it was telepathic because... okay first of all it had no mouth but I could hear its voice in my head. ( and I have to add that it had no normal voice but it was like static? that's the only way I can describe it.)

Anyway they asked me where I was going to which surprised me because...wtf why would they ask me where I'm going. I was legit scared and was finding a way to leave and it said something that shocked me that I even made a post abt it ( The post).

I didn't get to answer them and they disappeared and I was brought back to my body. I have never seen them again and I would lowkey want to just to show it how much I've improved now😂.

2. Areꕤ

I am so sure she is a female because of the aura that she was emitting to me felt so safe and cuddly.

I met her after my first time shifting. I still remember that feeling that I had of not wanting to go back to my cr but at the same time fearing that I might miss my parents if I decide to just stay here, I went to bed in my reality and said my safeword but instead of returning to my cr I went straight to the void. I didn't fully understand what the void was at that time so I assumed I was dreaming or something.

I suddenly started feeling my surroundings changed and I was in a field, I told myself that I was lucid but it didn't quite feel like I was in a lucid dream but I knew deep down that I said that because I didn't want to scare myself.

I suddenly had that feeling that I wasn't alone and when I looked to my right she was there literally close to me that I screamed a little. I moved away a bit and I remember feeling safe even though she had scared me. She was actually really helpful, because I kept asking questions after questions and even asked her if she's been to earth and she said yes but she didn't stay because of how low vibrational it was😭. One thing I will never forget is when I asked her If I should permashift or not because at that time I was so desperate to leave my cr but I was scared to leave my family and she said, "Reality belongs to you and only you, wherever you go your loved ones will also be there with you" I cried my eyes out lmao but it honestly changed the way I viewed permashifting. I still am planning to but I am now not in a hurry.

I have seen her again and I last saw her last year at around the time I was taking a break from shifting.

3.Beau𓇼

This one was interesting and kind of playful and I'm glad that I got to meet them after I had gotten rid of my fears.

They were in my Lucid dream and it appeared after I tried making a portal to shift to my WR. I was a bit frightened because it kept on changing forms? like it would change into my mom then my s/o then my teacher, it was honestly confusing and I asked them what they wanted and that's when it changed into its original form. Idk what to say to them and I assumed that maybe they were friends or atleast knew Are. But it didn't because it looked at me like I was crazy when I asked them about her.

Anyway I didn't really know what to do so I just kept on exploring the dream while they were following me around. I had a feeling that it was a child like around 9years in human age but who knows. they ended up scaring me awake tho😂.

Oh and I've never seen them again.

4.Slay⚘.

This is a recent and when I say it was kind of mean. And it was when I astral projected. The minute I opened my eyes it was in my room, ofc it scared the living shit out of me that I "ran" (not really) out of my room and it kept on following me, and I just screamed at it to leave me alone. And it did but I was scared that I just went back to my body 😭✋🏾

5. Doe༊·˚

Appeared to me while I was in my 80s reality and told me that they knew I was not from this reality ( the 80s one) and I was ofc shocked to my coreee because I thought they were going to prevent me from going back to my cr🤦🏽‍♀️.

They were a bit talkative, they were asking me alot of questions from why I shifted, to my life in my cr and I was lowkey skeptical that they wanted the info to take it to the government( The movies that I've watched!!! Omg 😭) Anyway I was answering some questions and was also asking them some but they refused to answer some but they said that they approached me because they could tell that my soul had recently arrived there!!!, which was honestly fun to hear, like they can tell if someone shifted here!!?

Anyways I didn't see them again when I recently shifted to my 80s reality.

6.Yui♡

That was there name when I had asked. They came to me in a lucid dream as I was flying but they were impersonating my childhood friend. I easily noticed and told them to reveal its real form and they looked shocked that I easily found out, but at this point it was easy.

They refused and wanted to stay in that form and I was like okay, whatever makes you happy I guess. But I had a feeling that they wanted something because I honestly don't think they would approach you for the fun of it?

But yeah they continued to hang out around me which was weirding me out because it making me become aware that the place that I was... was in my mind, like it was making me become so aware I didn't like it and I woke myself up.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Yeah I guess that's it ofc there are some that I didn't mention but I felt like these were the more interesting imo.

Shoutout to these beautiful people for asking me to make a post about it <3 ( @gonfreecs123) (@vwrtual )

I am happy to answer any questions you have🩷🩷

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

omg HI i just wanted to say as a fellow OG vanilla milkshaker, first we missed you SO much, and second you have nooo idea the legacy you left behind w echo paradox. we literally call it the shadowvanilla bible and a mustread for anyone getting into the ship 😭 i just think its astounding how beautiful your writing is and also all those little bits and pieces of ep 7&8 you managed to predict with that fanfic series. im so happy youre posting again youre our hero 💛💙

hey!! fellow OG vanilla milkshaker 💛💙

aaa i'm flattered you guys think so highly of me, it's a little hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that i have?? a legacy?? I'm still very proud of echo paradox though, so if the people decide it is the shadowvanilla bible, then the shadowvanilla bible it must be!

dude i was ASTONISHED with some of the little things i predicted in ep7-8. generally, if i write things in canon, i prefer to write reflective fics (like the aftermath fics i just posted) rather than predictive ones - i like to work as closely with canon material as i can, as a method of character analysis, and add a bit of my personal interpretation as flavour. anything else canon-adjacent, like echo paradox, i consider fully aus. the whole emphasis of the being one and the same thing made a lot of sense to me just based on the faerie kingdom stuff and was part of the whole appeal of the ship to me, but somehow i uh. didn't expect canon to go so explicit with it too?? it was SUCH a pleasant surprise though

speaking of working closely with canon, i actually desperately wanted to write shadowvanilla from the beginning of the ep7 update back in january, but i held off because i wanted to have the full context of ep8 too 😔😔 so i'm also very happy to be posting again!!

[maplegyu]

THE WAY I CLICKED THIS SO FAST BECAUSE OF THE TITLE!!!!!??!?!

I RECOGNIZE THAT QUOTE ANYWHERE 😭 (its even the header of one of my sideblogs!!)

BUT I DIDNT WANT TO ASSUME SO WHEN I GOT TO THIS PART!!!!!! I ACTU SQUEALED

I KNEW WHAT WAS COMING. I KNEW WONU WOULD CONFESS IN THE BEST MOST CREATIVE MOST ROMANTIC WAY POSSIBLE BUT I WAS STILL WAS NOT PREPARED WHEN I FINALLY READ THE FIC THROUGH!!!!!!! One of the best shortforms i've ever had the pleasure of consuming!!!!!

You catch how his fingers curl and uncurl in his jacket, the poor fabric already wrinkled at his fidgeting.

Of course the visions in my head for this was *the* Darcy hand clench scene

Years ago, there had been a time when you entertained the thought of dating Jeon Wonwoo. In night-outs where he’d offer to get you home, a hand on your back to keep you from stumbling as you’d fumble for keys that always ended up at the bottom of your bag. He had even taken to keeping a pair of slippers in his car, in your size, for you to change into when your feet were hurting. Wonwoo never told you—he just knew your foot size, just cared in the understated, quiet way he always did. When you found out, you remember thinking that this would be the kind of man you wouldn’t mind offering your heart to. Thought that obviously he’d only do something like that for someone he was in love with.

PLEASE THE WAY THE WRITING TRANSLATED INTO A VISUAL MONTAGE IN MY HEAD???!?! HOW COULD I NOT SWOON!!!! HOW COULD I NOT ROOT FOR THEM!!!??! MY GODDDDD the seed of wonu being an austen-coded man has forever altered my brain chemistry. I truly love any and everything remotely austen-adjacent!!!!

Today, that bird you had deprived of the sun beats its wings against your ribcage, insistent once more. Your body is simultaneously numb and buzzing with energy, as though it could not decide whether it wanted to freeze up or run a few hundred laps.

Just stellar writing and imagery all around. One of the first things i thought was that this is such a fantastic example of figurative language! 💖

This whole scene... god ITS LITERALLY MY VERSION OF READER'S: me!!! but also me when!!!!!

“In case it isn’t obvious, Jeon Wonwoo, I’ve been in love with you too.” You whisper. He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. Where before, he was afraid to look at you, now, it seems it’s all he can do. The fondness in his gaze is enough to bring anyone to their knees.

THE CONFESSION WAS SO GOOD AND CONFIDENT. THE FOREHEAD RESTING IS SO REGENCY-CODED I KNOW ITS MODERN DAY BUT THE CALLBACKS TO THINGS PLAYING OUT A LITTLE OLD FASHIONED PERIOD JUST FEELS SO ROMANTIC TO ME!!!!!!!!!!

“That was hell of a gamble for Valentine’s,”

I LOVED THIS LINE SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!

idk what it is... it made it feel like the stakes were extra high but wonu was just that sure/confident!

“You’re okay. I don’t think I’m up for anything, er, more, tonight, but can we please keep kissing.”

I loveddd this too!!! It was so cute and suchhh a mood! Hahaha

Behind your ribs, the bird flies, finally free.

PERFECT FREAKIN ENDING. everything was just lovely from start to finish! this is perhaps my fave wonu fic ive read to date!!! 💖💖💖

Thank you for writing and sharing this 🥰

if i loved you less

summary. wonwoo's biggest gamble starts a week before valentine's day. pairing. jeon wonwoo x gn!reader genre/tags. non-idol!au, friends to lovers, bookworm!reader, spoilers for a 210-year old novel, wonwoo wins most creative confession, suggestive at the end wc. 2.9k suggested listening. pretty u, seventeen // dreams, the cranberries // andante andante, abba // i will, the beatles // library card, janani k. jha // aphrodite, the ridleys

notes. late to a hearts day posting, but pls accept this humble offering in between thesis cramming! i first pitched this to kae waaay back, but unfortunately it is not royal/period au (sorry ueueue). i read aspen's accidental one night stand ww and dug around my wip's for this in a fit of madness LMAOOO as always, reblogs are appreciated and come say hi if you're so inclined 🫶🏼

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” Wonwoo hands you a package wrapped in brown paper, tied neatly with twine. Your eyes light up as you accept it with a soft thank you.

“Aren’t you a week early?”

“I know,” he replies simply. “I wanted to ask you to finish reading this by Friday.” Your brow furrows.

“Is it something I can finish by then?” Wonwoo nods. You feel the weight the parcel in your hands, considering his strange request.

“What brought this on?” You ask. 

The shift is subtle, but you notice it nonetheless—a flicker of something passing across his eyes, and his shoulders tensing up before he pulls them down again. Wonwoo looks away, as though steeling himself for something.

“It’s my reading recommendation.”

“Yours?” You straighten. Wonwoo’s never gifted a book to you before based on his own taste. He always based it off your reading list, after being hopelessly lost navigating a bookstore and asking the clerk for help, only to give you a book wildly different from your preferences.

You hold the book close to your chest. “Can I open it now?”

“No.”

“Fine,” you pout, then frown as a thought comes to you. “Wait. I remember telling you I’m on a ban right now.”

Normally, Wonwoo was scrupulous about following your rules, one of which being that he can’t gift you a book if your current priority was reading through the ones you already had.

He seems to weigh his words carefully before replying. “I just thought this one was too important to pass up.”

You catch how his fingers curl and uncurl in his jacket, the poor fabric already wrinkled at his fidgeting. Trying to make your voice as soothing yet nonchalant as possible, you pull your lips up to a grin, thumbing the edge of the twine ribbon. “I suppose I can make an exception for my best friend.”

It seems to have the opposite effect.

There it is again—the subtle shift in his demeanor, the miniscule purse of his lip before Wonwoo speaks. “Do you have dinner plans, or are we doing movie night again?”

“Movie night sounds good. Any requests for food?”

Normally, Wonwoo would ask you to prepare ramyeon, especially after you had figured out Mingyu’s recipe, while he brought dessert. But his reply, like everything else in this conversation, is unexpected. “I’ll handle it.” He checks his watch before leveling you with an apologetic look. “I have to run. There’s a bunch of shit to do at work between, but I’ll see you on Friday?”

If he wanted to talk to you, he would. You’d never push him to say anything he wasn’t ready to share. You repeat this to yourself, even as you nod, maintaining your façade of soothing nonchalance.

“Yeah, see you.”

For the past couple of years, Wonwoo’s gift of choice has always been a book. After your protests at the price of new titles and your steadfast allegiance to your library card, among other reasons, the rules had been laid out as follows:

Copies should, as much as possible, not be brand new. They could be from thrift stores, secondhand shops, yard sales, or those Facebook groups where owners sold their old titles. Only new releases would be the exception, and even then, indie bookstores should be the first place to look.

Refer to the Notion page of your current to-be-read list for possible titles.

If you were on a book buying ban, so is he; it’s bad enough that your shelves continue to groan under the weight of books still unread. 

The first rule was for your indulgence, too. You happened to take home a volume of the Diaries of Anaïs Nin only to find notes scribbled in the marginalia, and fell in love immediately. It’s a rare thing in your collection, but you do have someone’s old Letters to Milena and Giovanni’s Room, the latter with annotations in Arabic, of all languages.

You stare at the unwrapped gift, heart in your throat.

Emma.

Wonwoo must have been lying when he said it was his recommendation; you have your own well-worn copy, annotations and all, sitting in the corner of your shelf dedicated to Austen. Hands shaking, you open your messages, snapping a photo of the book laying on the desk.

You [picture] ??? wonwoo?? (Seen)

He sees it almost immediately; three dots appear onscreen. you hold your breath.

aa wonu It’s a gift. Don’t overthink it. But I hope you won’t get mad.

You is it smth I should be mad abt?

aa wonu Up to you.

You you know i’ve read emma, right

aa wonu Have you started reading this one yet?

You turn to Chapter 1, and gasp. There, in black ink, is Wonwoo’s familiar scrawl, remarks littering the blank space between the heading and the text. You flip through the first half, seeing how he’d write anything from a smiley face to bracket off entire passages with an exclamation point. Some brackets and underlines have longer annotations beside them that you have yet to read.

It’s all in black pen—so characteristically Wonwoo, who wouldn’t be the type to use different colored highlighters and page flags, anyway.

You oh my god. wonwoo

aa wonu The last time I read a classic was in high school Don’t judge me too harshly. Please. See you Friday?

You hesitate before replying.

You yeah ofc! see you!!

Your thumbs are shaking too badly as you type the last message; the phone gets thrown on your bed, bouncing once before resting on the pillow. A hand comes up to cover your mouth. You stare at the book, mind whirring.

Years ago, there had been a time when you entertained the thought of dating Jeon Wonwoo. In night-outs where he’d offer to get you home, a hand on your back to keep you from stumbling as you’d fumble for keys that always ended up at the bottom of your bag. He had even taken to keeping a pair of slippers in his car, in your size, for you to change into when your feet were hurting. Wonwoo never told you—he just knew your foot size, just cared in the understated, quiet way he always did. When you found out, you remember thinking that this would be the kind of man you wouldn’t mind offering your heart to. Thought that obviously he’d only do something like that for someone he was in love with.

Now, of course, after his exes and your own, and no confession in sight, you had buried your wishful thinking in the deepest parts of your heart. You’d even grown to appreciate it more, finding comfort in the care that was independent of any romantic expectation.

Wonwoo, your best friend, chose, out of all the books to annotate and gift you, Emma. You know how the story goes. He knows you know how it goes. Yet Wonwoo’s thoughts are here, immortalized and entrusted into your hands, the same hands you have now buried your face in while trying to reel in your breaths.

Today, that bird you had deprived of the sun beats its wings against your ribcage, insistent once more. Your body is simultaneously numb and buzzing with energy, as though it could not decide whether it wanted to freeze up or run a few hundred laps.

It could be nothing—could be like that time with the slippers again where you allowed yourself to be caught in your wishful thinking. You don’t know if your heart can take it if it isn’t. You don’t know if your heart can take it if it is.

You welcome Wonwoo in your apartment with a painfully bright grin, accepting his proffered bag of takeout before ushering him inside. He had offered only a soft hello, barely a smile on his face as he took off his shoes by your entrance. You couldn’t bring yourself to keep up any chatter while he washes his hands in your kitchenette, even as you busy yourself a few feet away with peeling off the tape on the plastic containers and wiping away any grease that leaked out.

“I’ll set up the table,” he breaks the silence, gaze unreadable. He’s already holding the two rice containers, and two pairs of chopsticks from your stash. 

You paste on a smile, tape still sticking to your fingers. “Sure.” 

He walks away. Not even when Wonwoo had broken up with his last partner, who made him choose between them and you, has it been this awkward. Steeling yourself, you join him, setting down the plate of chicken and bowl of steaming kimchi jjigae a safe distance from the laptop.

Before you begin eating, you hold up a hand for him to wait. Reaching into a nearby drawer, you pull out and offer your own present—a beta-release of a game he had been eyeing for some time now. Wonwoo’s eyes soften.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, as though he hadn’t been expecting you to gift him anything.

“Of course,” you respond immediately. Wonwoo glances at you before looking away. He always sits across you when you eat, and you catch the micro-changes in his expression as he shifts, staring hard at a spot on your floor before picking up his chopsticks. He looks at anything but you. The sound of the bamboo breaking seems to echo around the space.

Eventually, it’s too much for you to bear. You square your shoulders, inhaling a quick, sharp breath.

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” you begin, tentatively.

“…I thought about not coming,” he replies, raising his eyes to meet yours, which have not yet looked way from him. He looks away again. Something in your chest twists painfully, even if your body is buzzing with repressed adrenaline.

“Do you still want to watch a movie? Or are we gonna talk about it?”

Wonwoo’s eyes are guarded. “Is there anything to talk about?” he replies, an edge in his voice. “You never messaged after that day.” 

“I thought you wanted today to be the day we talked about it? Seemed like too big of a thing to discuss over text.” And you had spent the last week agonizing over what to feel, how to feel, what to say, and how to say it. He presses his lips together, fixing his gaze on the piece of napa cabbage resting on top of his rice. The broth stains the grains around it with a tint of red. 

He rests his chopsticks against the rim of the bowl before leaning back, running a hand through his hair. “I get it. It’s a lot. I’m sorry.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be sorry.” The response feels automatic, but you do mean it. He has nothing to be sorry for.

You look at him, really look, searching his features. There’s something in his eyes that breaks your heart—as though he had come here already expecting heartbreak, yet showed up nonetheless. 

Just like that, all the questions, any plans you had for today, vanish like smoke. 

“Just—just wait here.” You set your chopsticks on your bowl. The bamboo clacks softly right before the chair creaks as you stand, stumbling back a little as you turn to your bedroom. 

“Where is that—” you mutter. “Aha!” You run back to the table, where Wonwoo is waiting. Under his fingers, the takeout napkin is all but shreds, though he does try to hide it under the table once you arrive. You approach him, dragging your chair so you can sit beside him, nothing separating you.

“Hold out your hands,” you instruct. Wonwoo does, and you set down a copy of Emma on his waiting palms. But not the one he gave you the other day. It’s yours, the one you’ve owned for many years.

Wonwoo stares at it, before lifting his gaze to you. 

“Did you know,” you begin softly. “I used to like Persuasion the most. I loved how it was written, how both characters were more mature than the ones in her other books. Pride and Prejudice had my favorite characters. But Emma…”

You thumb at its spine, and then at the crease on the cover, a thin white line disrupting what would have been solid black. Its careworn edges are familiar under your fingertips, and you know if you fan the pages in front of your nose it will smell like the characteristic scent of old books.

“Emma is the one I reread the most. At least, certain parts of it.” There’s a page marked—the scene where Mr Knightly finally lays his heart bare to Emma. From behind your back, you bring out his gift, flicking through the pages until you find the same page in this copy, Wonwoo’s only highlight in a book annotated with black pen. 

If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.

In your copy, there’s the same, with a note in your handwriting—in the script you first learned in high school and tried to revisit some years ago before giving up: me!!! but also me when!!!!!

Wonwoo looks at both of these, mouth parted. You know how sharp he is, how the pieces have already come together in his mind. 

“Really?” He asks, voice soft, as though he can hardly believe it. The only thing left is for him to believe it. You know, because you are the same. It was only the heartbreak in his eyes, the anticipated rejection at the start, that made it sure for you. 

Tentatively, your hands wander, moving from clasping the book to cupping his hands, cool under your own. You glance down at the book.

“‘If I have not spoken, it is because I am afraid I will awaken myself from this dream.’” Finally, you allow the giddy smile to spread across your face. Your heart flutters against your ribs, so utterly alive. “We’re both idiots, aren’t we?”

His lips twitch upward. After a moment, he begins to chuckle, and the weight on his shoulders seems to dissolve before your eyes. You begin to laugh too, simply out of the sheer relief of finally realizing that the past few days are now behind both of you. 

“In case it isn’t obvious, Jeon Wonwoo, I’ve been in love with you too.” You whisper. He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. Where before, he was afraid to look at you, now, it seems it’s all he can do. The fondness in his gaze is enough to bring anyone to their knees.

“Thank God,” he whispers back. You just stay there, basking in the moment, letting the joy finally seep itself into bones that have been weighed by resignation for so long. After a while, you begin to pull away, only you catch how Wonwoo’s gaze drops down as you do. You pause, gazing at him questioningly.

There’s a minute tremble in his hands as he reaches for your face, brushing your cheek with his fingers. His thumb traces a line on your jaw. He leans in, but stops, watching your reaction first before closing the distance all the way.

Though his approach was hesitant, the kiss itself is anything but. His hands find your cheek, then your neck, then your waist, pulling you further forward. You thread your fingers through his hair, both to bring him closer and to anchor yourself. There’s the faint taste of spicy broth, but you don’t care, knowing you’re the same anyway.

“That was hell of a gamble for Valentine’s,” you murmur once he pulls away, shaking your head. “Why now? How long have you known?”

Wonwoo just smiles. “It’s been a few months since either of us had a partner. And after the last one, when I was made to choose…they called me out on how unfair I was being, trying to be with them even as they knew I was in love with someone else.”

Your breath catches in your throat even as he continues.

“I tried to deny it, at the time, but they knew even before I did.” he finishes. He tilts his head and leans forward, closing the distance again. It’s more insistent now, the hands on your waist fully pulling you onto his lap. Wonwoo’s teeth nip at your lower lip, and you gasp. It shifts from chaste into something more demanding; his hands wander, fingers trailing paths of fire as they run across your back and grip your waist, as though he were finally releasing everything that had been pent up in him until this moment. 

He swallows you into himself, and you allow yourself to be pulled into his passion. His mouth moves, latching down onto your neck and sucking. A quiet, shuddering moan leaves your lips. Wonwoo freezes. He pulls away, stricken, looking at you.

“Sorry,” he rasps. “I took it too far.” His hair is mussed, lips swollen and puffy. Something in your stomach stirs as you look at him like this—a Wonwoo you’d never seen before. A Wonwoo who is like this because of you. “I—”

You kiss him again, just because you can. Just a small thing, a tender reassurance. Pulling away, you smile. Absently, you play with the short strands of hair at his nape. “You’re okay. I don’t think I’m up for anything, er, more, tonight, but can we please keep kissing.”

After a beat, he chuckles, shoulders relaxing as his thumbs trace circles on your waist. Wonwoo leans in, lets your lips meet again in a slow dance, almost lazy. Like you finally have all the time in the world.

“Okay. But maybe after dinner and brushing our teeth. I’m still hungry.”

“Deal.”

Behind your ribs, the bird flies, finally free.

[niteskysx]

strawberry.

bjorn x reader (i tried smth different by putting Reader in the fic instead of yxn so let me know if it looks okay or if it works for you guys 😭)

Summary: One night, she shows up in his room—with intentions he never thought she’d bring to him, acting like the complete opposite of her usual shy, rule-following, goody two-shoes self. He thinks she’s finally dropped the good girl act. Has she?

(if this is a bit long, i apologize. i tried to post it on ao3 but i havent been accepted there yet lol)

Bjorn sat on his bunk, thumbs tapping idly at the controller in his hands, the dim light from the screen casting a glow over his face. His brows furrowed in concentration as he muttered under his breath, completely absorbed in the game.

The door slid open with a soft hiss.

“Unless you’re Tyler with a bottle of booze or an alien here to kill me, get lost,” he grumbled without looking up.

No response. Just soft footsteps.

Bjorn’s fingers paused over the buttons, and he finally looked up, frowning when he saw her standing there.

She was the last person he expected to show up at his bunk. Little-miss-stick-to-the-rules, the one who always looked at him like he was one sarcastic comment away from getting shoved out of an airlock. Her usual stiff posture was gone; instead, she leaned against the wall, lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. The hell? She never smiled like that — not at him.

She didn’t look like herself. Her hair was a little more tousled, her eyes shadowed like she hadn’t slept.

She sat down next to him, close enough that her knee bumped against his. Bjorn blinked.

“Uh… hi?”

Her lips twitched. “Hi.”

Bjorn scowled, setting his controller aside. “Okay, what the hell? Did you get lost on your way to literally anywhere else?”

She tilted her head, gaze flickering to his mouth before meeting his eyes again. “No. I wanted to see you.”

Bjorn’s body stiffened. His brain scrambled for a logical explanation—maybe she hit her head during that last escape, or maybe Tyler had spiked the water rations for fun.

“What do you want?” he muttered, voice low and rough.

“Nothing,” she said simply, her smile deepening. “Just your company.”

Bjorn shifted, suddenly uncomfortable. “Go find company with the others,” he muttered. “You know, the people you actually talk to.”

“But I don’t want them,” she murmured, leaning in slightly. Their knees were completely touching now.

Bjorn narrowed his eyes. “Are you drunk?”

“No.”

“You sure? Because you’re acting weird. Like… you got body-snatched weird.” He forced a smirk. “Should I check for antennae?”

She laughed softly—a different kind of laugh. Low. Smooth. Something about it made his stomach tighten.

“Come on, Bjorn,” she murmured.

His body tensed. “Come on, what?”

She leaned forward just a bit, her breath warm against his ear. “You always push me away,” she whispered. “Why?”

His pulse jumped. He pulled back, eyes searching hers. “Okay, yeah, you’ve either been hitting the ship’s hidden stash or you hit your head.”

She tilted her head, her fingers skimming his arm. “What if I just want to get to know you better?”

Bjorn caught her wrist, gripping it firmly. “What the hell’s the matter with you?” His voice was sharp, but his grip wasn’t.

She only smiled, like she knew something he didn’t. “I don’t know.” Her voice dropped, almost teasing. “Why? Do I seem… different?”

“Yeah.” He let go of her hand, shoving himself upright. “You don’t act like this.”

“Like what?” she asked, stepping even closer. Now she was standing between his legs, looking down at him. He swallowed.

“Flirty,” he said bluntly.

She giggled. Actually giggled. Bjorn swore under his breath. “You hate me, remember?” he muttered. “Think I’m an arrogant prick.”

“Maybe I changed my mind.” Her fingers dragged down his arm, nails scratching lightly over his sleeve.

Bjorn shivered. He should push her away. Instead, he just stared at her. “You’re not like this,” he said again, voice strained. “You’re shy. Quiet.”

“Maybe I’m tired of being shy,” she murmured.

He sucked in a breath as she shifted even closer. He tried to lean back, but his shoulders hit the headboard.

“Maybe I like your attention…” Her breath brushed against his neck, warm and teasing. “And wondering what it would feel like to touch you.”

Bjorn’s brain short-circuited. What the hell was happening?

She was practically in his lap now, her weight pressing against his thighs, her fingers ghosting up the back of his neck. His instincts screamed at him to stop this, to shove her away and demand what the hell had gotten into her.

Instead, his mouth did what it always did when things got weird: it ran with it.

“Well, you know what they say,” Bjorn drawled, letting his gaze flicker to her lips. “Opposites attract.”

She smiled. “You think we’re opposites?”

“Yeah. I’m fun. You’re…” He waved a hand vaguely. “Not.”

She giggled again, a sultry little sound that sent heat curling through his stomach. “Maybe you just don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

Bjorn exhaled sharply, trying to ignore the way her knee pressed into his thigh. “Please. I know you. You’re the one who gives me that disappointed teacher look every time I crack a joke.”

Her fingers toyed with his belt. His muscles twitched under her touch. “Maybe I just enjoy your attention.”

Oh, hell no. Something was definitely wrong. His pulse hammered in his ears.

“What’s with you?” he asked again, voice rough. He caught her wrist before her hand could slide under his shirt. “Seriously.”

Her pupils were blown wide now, black swallowing the color. “I don’t know,” she whispered. Her lips parted. “But don’t you like it?”

Bjorn gave a shaky laugh. “Yeah, well, if you’re trying to seduce me, you might wanna work on the creepy factor.”

She tilted her head. “Is it working?”

Bjorn’s grip on her wrist tightened. “I mean… maybe a little.”

His smirk faltered when she swung one leg over his thighs and fully straddled him. Heat surged through his body. Her weight pressed against him, her nails dragging over the back of his neck—it messed with his head.

“Relax, Bjorn,” she whispered. “You think too much.”

“That’s funny,” he muttered. “Everyone says I don’t think at all.”

Her fingers slid into his hair, tugging his head back slightly. His throat bobbed. Every instinct screamed to stop this, because something about the way she looked at him wasn’t normal.

But then she leaned down and kissed him.

Slow. Deep. Needy.

Bjorn groaned, his grip on her hips tightening as he kissed her back. She tasted like metal and danger, like something he shouldn’t want but couldn’t stop craving.

His hands slid up her back, gripping her like he was afraid she’d pull away. The kiss turned messy, desperate. His mind screamed at him to get a grip, to push her away before he did something stupid.

But when her hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer—he was gone.

So, so screwed.

(3  Hours Earlier)

The emergency lights bathed the control room in harsh, red flashes. Alarms blared through the ship’s speakers, a robotic voice repeating: “Containment breach. Sector 5.”

Navarro’s hands flew across the controls. “Shit, shit—come on!” she muttered, her eyes darting between the monitors. One showed Tyler and Bjorn, trapped in the quarantine chamber, weapons raised. The other displayed a writhing mass of translucent, sinewy creatures slithering toward them.

“Navarro, get us the hell out of here!” Tyler’s voice crackled through the comms, his usual bravado laced with panic.

“They’re closin’ in,” the reader said, gripping the back of Navarro’s chair. Her heart hammered in her chest. The creatures' movements were disjointed but fast, their limbs twisting unnaturally as they swarmed toward the two men. “Can’t we override the door?”

“I’m trying!” Navarro’s fingers flew across the keyboard. “They locked it remotely from the lab after the breach.” She paused, brow furrowed. “Wait. There’s a manual override in the maintenance shaft.”

The reader swallowed hard. “I’ll go.”

“You sure? It’s crawling with those things out there.”

The screen showed Bjorn, standing back-to-back with Tyler, swiping his forearm across his sweaty face. His voice crackled over the comms, his accent sharp: “Oi, can we speed this up? Not tryna be anyone’s midnight snack here!”

The reader didn’t answer. She was already sprinting toward the maintenance hatch.

The shaft was barely wide enough to crawl through. The metal walls groaned with each movement. Sweat dripped down her temple as she pushed forward, flashlight clamped between her teeth.

The override panel came into view — a small box marked MANUAL RELEASE. Her hands shook as she flipped it open and punched in the code Navarro had given her.

“Come on… come on…”

From the shadows ahead, something scraped against the metal. The hair on her neck stood on end. Her eyes darted toward the sound. The flashlight caught a flash of pale, rubbery skin skittering across the metal.

She slammed the release lever down.

The alarm shifted to a new tone: “Chamber door disengaged.”

Back in the control room, she stumbled through the door as Tyler and Bjorn burst in behind her.

“Holy fuckin’ hell,” Tyler panted, bending over with his hands on his knees. “That was close.”

Bjorn leaned against the wall, sucking in breaths. His shirt was torn, streaked with dark fluid. “Yeah,” he wheezed. “Remind me to never volunteer for a ‘routine inspection’ again.”

“I bloody hate space,” he muttered.

Hours later, the adrenaline had worn off. The ship was quiet again.

The reader stood in the tiny bathroom, running damp fingers through her hair. Her reflection stared back, eyes shadowed with exhaustion. She turned her head to the side, inspecting a scrape on her cheek from the maintenance shaft.

That’s when she felt it: a faint tickle along the shell of her ear.

She frowned, reaching up. Her fingertips brushed against something cold and slick.

It moved.

She jerked her hand away, heart slamming in her chest. Another tickle — deeper now, just inside her ear canal. Her breath hitched. She grabbed the edge of the sink, eyes wide with horror.

Sudden pressure built behind her eardrum. Her vision blurred. Then, as quickly as it came, the sensation disappeared.

Her pulse slowed.

Maybe she imagined it. Maybe it was just leftover nerves from the mission.

She forced a shaky breath and turned off the faucet.

Behind her, in the mirror’s reflection, her pupils dilated unnaturally. Just for a second.

And then... black.

———————————————————————————

Her breath came in short, shallow gasps. Her body arched into his touch as his fingers toyed with the button of her pants, fumbling to undo it. His mouth found the pulse at her throat, sucking softly, and a low hum escaped her lips.

Then—

A jarring flicker behind her eyes.

The sensation was sharp, like someone yanking a cord plugged into the base of her skull. Her vision blurred. For the briefest moment, everything went black.

When clarity returned, she was on Bjorn’s bed, half-straddling his lap, his hand already slipping beneath her waistband.

Her heart seized.

What the hell—how did I get here?

Her stomach lurched. Her body felt disconnected from her mind, like waking up in the middle of a nightmare. The pressure of his palm against her hip, the heat of his breath on her neck—she didn’t remember any of it or how she got into this position.

“Stop,” she whispered, voice shaking. “Get off—get off me.”

Bjorn didn’t react immediately. His mouth was still at her throat, teeth grazing her skin.

Her pulse skyrocketed. Panic took hold.

“Stop!” she said louder, raising her hand and slapping the side of his head.

“OW! What the—?” Bjorn recoiled, clutching his temple. His eyes flashed with confusion and anger. “What the hell?!” 

She shoved his chest so hard he nearly fell off the bed. His head snapped back, the sting of her slap still burning against his scalp.

“What the hell are you doing?” she shouted, scrambling off his lap like he was on fire. Her eyes were wide with panic, cheeks flushed.

Bjorn blinked. His brain short-circuited. His hair was disheveled, her lipstick smudged across his jawline. “Me? What am I doing? You’re the one who climbed into my bed and started getting handsy!”

Her mouth dropped open. “I did not!”

“Oh yeah? You just happened to sit on my lap and try to eat my face for fun?” He pointed to his hair. “You yanked my hair like you were testing the damn roots!”

Her face twisted with confusion — then horror. Her hands flew to her mouth. “Oh my God.” 

She stared at him, heart racing, mind spinning.

He scoffed bitterly, running a hand through his hair. “First you come in here, climb on top of me, panting in my ear like a rabid fox—and now you’re bloody hitting me? Fucks the matter with you?”

Her eyes went wide. “I—I don’t remember doing that. I don’t know how I got here— I don’t- I was lying in my bunk and… then I… I woke up here. With.. you.”

Bjorn let out a low, bitter chuckle. “Right. Sure you don’t.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed, shaking his head as he stood. “God… you are such a fucking tease.”

She backed away, breath unsteady. The confusion etched into her face was unmistakable. Bjorn’s eyes narrowed; his head tilted as he watched her, curiosity flickering behind his frustration.

Her brows knitted. She took another shaky step back, nearly stumbling before catching herself. Without another word, she turned and fled the room.

Bjorn ran a hand through his hair, giving his head a slight shake as if to clear it. “Fucking girls, man,” he muttered, then collapsed back onto his bed with a frustrated groan. 

Reader slammed the door to her room and locked it, her chest heaving. Her heart still raced from whatever the hell had just happened in Bjorn’s room. She backed away from the door, rubbing her temples.

What the fuck was that? How did I even get there?

She paced to the mirror, her reflection just as disheveled and panicked as she felt. Her hair was tangled, her lips swollen from Bjorn’s kisses. But she didn’t remember walking there. Didn’t remember straddling him. Just… being at the sink. The pressure in her head. The sick squirming sensation beneath her skin.

Her hand flew to her ear. The spot just beneath the canal—where she’d felt it last night. A twitch, then a burrowing sensation. Her stomach churned.

No. No, this couldn’t be real.

She pressed harder, wincing at the soreness. Something had happened. Something had crawled in.

Her mind shot back to earlier: Tyler and Bjorn fighting off the small, slick creatures in the cargo bay. The skittering limbs, the way one darted toward the vent before Bjorn stomped after it.

Her pulse spiked.

One must've gotten out.

One must’ve gotten into her.

———————————————————————————

The med bay had found nothing. No parasites, no head injuries, no alien goo lodged in her brain. By the end of the day, she was convinced she’d had a psychotic break. A weird, horrifyingly embarrassing psychotic break that involved dry-humping Bjorn’s lap.

She hadn’t spoken to him since. Every time she passed him in the halls, she speed-walked in the opposite direction while he smirked like the cocky asshole he was. 

Now the crew was gathered in the common area, poring over whatever scraps of data Navarro had managed to recover from the ship’s security feeds. Everyone was tense. Tired. Half-expecting those acid-blooded monsters to rip through the walls at any second.

Navarro tapped a few keys on the console. “Alright,” he muttered. “Here’s footage from corridor C, two hours before the first attack.”

The screen flickered. Grainy black-and-white footage showed an empty hallway. The group leaned in. Nothing happened for a few seconds… until a small, worm-like shape wriggled across the floor and disappeared into the ventilation shaft.

“What the hell is that?” Tyler asked.

“No idea,” Navarro said. “Looks like it moves like a—wait.” His brow furrowed as he clicked to the next feed. “This is from the crew quarters last night. After we locked down the south wing.”

The screen changed.

Her stomach dropped.

There she was. In fuzzy night-vision, walking into Bjorn’s bunk with a slow, almost predatory stride. She watched herself climb onto his lap, run her fingers through his hair, and kiss him like she was auditioning for a damn romance holo.

Tyler choked on a laugh. “Holy shit.”

Her entire body locked up. Heat flooded her cheeks. “T-t-that… that wasn’t me!” she stammered, voice cracking.

Bjorn, sitting across from her, turned his head slowly and met her gaze. His mouth curved into a lazy, delighted grin. “Sure looks like you.”

“It’s not!” she shouted, practically vibrating with mortification. “I-I don’t remember any of that! I was possessed!”

“Oh yeah?” Bjorn leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “By what? The Horny Ghost of Deck Three?”

The group burst into laughter.

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. “I-I swear! I was sleeping! And then I woke up in his room and—”

“On my lap,” Bjorn added helpfully. “Don’t forget the lap part.”

Navarro frowned, tapping the screen. “Wait, hold on. Look at the timestamp.”

They all turned back to the footage. As her possessed self kissed Bjorn, a tiny shape slithered out from behind her ear — the same worm-like creature — and crawled from the bunk to the floor.

Seconds later, her body froze mid-kiss. Her eyes went glassy.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “I wasn’t crazy.”

Navarro nodded grimly. “Looks like whatever that thing is… it was controlling you.”

Bjorn let out a low whistle. “So you were possessed.” His jaw tightened, amusement draining from his face. “Brilliant. I was snogging some alien parasite, not you.” His eyes darkened. “That’s fucking disgusting.”

Tyler shifted uncomfortably, arms crossed over his chest. “Why Bjorn, though?” His tone was casual, but there was a flicker of something beneath it—jealousy, maybe. “I mean… you could’ve climbed into either one of our bunks.”

Bjorn, still lounging against the table, perked up. “Yeah. Why me?” He straightened, elbows resting on his knees, eyes locked on hers. “Gotta say, I’m curious.”

Even Navarro, typically all business, arched a brow and turned his attention toward her. The question hung heavy in the air.

She froze. The weight of their collective stares pinned her in place. Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “I… I don’t know.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t know what that thing wants.”

The silence stretched, brittle and sharp.

Navarro finally broke it, voice grim. “To reproduce,” he said, nodding toward the footage. “That thing—whatever it is—wasn’t just controlling you. It was looking for a host.”

Her eyes widened. “A host… for more of those things?”

“Exactly.” Navarro’s jaw tightened. “And it didn’t pick Bjorn at random.”

Bjorn’s smirk faded. “Wait… what the hell does that mean?”

Navarro leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “That thing was trying to reproduce. It chose you because you’re the most compatible host.”

Bjorn let out a dry laugh. “Compatible? What, like I’ve got a ‘prime breeding material’ stamp on my forehead?”

Tyler snorted, though his eyes never left the screen. “I mean… wouldn’t be the weirdest thing about you.”

Bjorn shot him a glare. “Piss off.”

She barely heard them. Her mind was spinning. “So… it climbed out of me and went into Bjorn?”

Navarro gave a slow nod. “Or at least tried to. We saw it crawl toward him on the footage before it disappeared under the bed.”

Her stomach turned. “And now it’s… what, still in here somewhere?”

The group fell silent.

Bjorn tensed. “Under the bed,” he repeated, glancing toward his bunk. His legs shifted, like he was preparing to bolt. “It’s still here.”

Tyler’s face paled. “Shit.”

Navarro stood. “We need to find it. Now.”

Bjorn took a step back, eyes scanning the floor. “Right. Great. A horny alien worm loose in my room. Just what I fucking needed.”

———————————————————————————

As Tyler and Navarro swept the flashlight beam across the floor, scanning for the creature, Bjorn shifted closer. His shoulder bumped lightly against hers.

“You know…” His voice dipped, low and teasing.

She stiffened. Bjorn leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “Do you really not remember what happened between us?”

Her throat tightened. She turned her head slightly — and immediately regretted it. His blue eyes caught hers, sharp and glinting with amusement.

“I—I told you. I don’t remember,” she stammered.

He tilted his head, a slow smirk curving his lips. “Shame.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, then flicked back up. “You were so… enthusiastic.”

“Bjorn,” Tyler called out. “This isn’t the time.”

Bjorn gives him a look of displeasure.

Her cheeks felt like they were on fire at this point.

_________________________________________________

The flashlight’s beam glinted off the metal bedframe, casting shadows like skeletal fingers across the wall. Tyler crouched, lowering the light to the floor. The shadows shifted — and then something moved.

Tyler’s voice interrupted the moment: “Shit—there it goes!”

A glistening, worm-like creature squirmed at the edge of the beam, pale and slick, like it had been birthed from static. It slithered toward the baseboard.

Navarro lunged first. His boot stomped down with a sickening squish. The creature convulsed beneath the heel, its form pulsing, writhing.

“What the hell is that thing?” she breathed.

“Parasitic entity,” Navarro grunted, grinding his heel into the floor. “Uses human hosts to reproduce.”

Bjorn’s jaw tightened. “Reproduce… like make us host its babies?”

Navarro didn’t answer. She just pressed down harder. The worm gave one final twitch before going still, a smear of iridescent fluid pooling beneath it.

Bjorn exhaled shakily. “Jesus Christ.”

Tyler leaned against the desk, skin pale. “So… is that it? We’re good now?”

Navarro crouched to examine the remains. The goo shimmered unnaturally in the light. “This one’s dead.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “But if it came through when we opened the rift… there might be more.”

Reader’s stomach twisted. “More? Like how many more?”

Navarro wiped the goo onto a tissue. “That depends on how long it was in you.” She stood, meeting reader’s eyes. “And what it did while it was.”

Silence stretched between them. Her skin crawled with invisible touches.

Bjorn broke it with a shaky laugh. “Great. So I almost got laid by a possessed chick because some horny alien worm decided I was a suitable breeding ground.”

He raked a hand through his hair and gave a crooked grin. “Gotta say, not my proudest moment.”

———————————————————————————

The ship was too quiet.

She sat curled up on the worn couch in the living quarters, pretending to read the manual for the comms system while the vents hummed overhead. The rest of the crew was gone, off checking the engine room for more of those alien freaks. She should’ve been worried. Anxious. Hyper-alert.

Instead, her mind kept flashing back to that grainy CCTV footage Navarro had pulled up yesterday.

Her. In Bjorn’s lap. Hands in his hair. Mouth on his like she was trying to suck the soul out of him.

The secondhand embarrassment still made her want to self-destruct.

"Deep breaths," she muttered to herself. "It wasn’t you. You were possessed. Just…ignore him."

“Talking to yourself now?"

Her spine straightened with a jolt. Bjorn’s voice.

Of course.

She didn’t look up. "Go away."

"Why would I do that?" His footsteps creaked across the floor. “We’ve got the whole ship to ourselves. Thought we could��bond.”

"Pass."

He chuckled. The sound made her eye twitch.

Her focus stayed glued to the manual as he dropped onto the couch across from her, sprawling like he owned the place. Silence stretched between them. She could feel his gaze like a physical weight, dragging up her legs, past her folded arms, straight to her face.

“You know,” Bjorn said after a minute, “I’ve been trying to figure something out.”

She exhaled sharply. “Are you now?” She answered completely uninterested.

He ignored her. "Your chapstick."

That got her attention. Her eyes snapped to his. "What?"

"That night," he said, tapping his lower lip with his thumb. "When you kissed me."

Her cheeks flamed. 

“Strawberry?” He squinted, tongue running over his bottom lip. “Nah… cherry, maybe? It was sweet. Kinda fruity.”

Her stomach twisted.

Bjorn chuckled. “C’mon. Tell me. It’s been driving me fucking crazy all day.”

"You're unbelievable," she muttered, standing abruptly to leave.

She turned toward the hallway — but he was faster. He stood and moved into her path with infuriating ease, blocking the exit.

Her heart skipped. She took a step back, and her shoulders hit the cold wall.

Bjorn placed a hand on the wall beside her head and leaned in just enough to make her breath hitch. His blue eyes sparkled with pure mischief.

"You know," he said softly, "it's my birthday today."

She crossed her arms, willing herself not to react. "Happy birthday."

"Thanks." His smirk deepened. "Aren’t you gonna ask what I want for my birthday?"

She clenched her jaw. "No."

"Go on." His gaze flicked to her lips. "Ask."

Her throat tightened. She hated how her pulse spiked when he looked at her like that. Like he saw straight through her bravado.

"...What do you want for your birthday?" she mumbled, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the floor.

Bjorn's mouth curved into a slow, wolfish grin. "A kiss."

Her head snapped up. "You’re insane."

"Maybe." He pushed off the wall just enough to trail his fingers down her arm. Goosebumps erupted across her skin despite herself. "But you seemed pretty into it last time."

"It wasn’t me," she said through clenched teeth.

"That’s what you keep saying." He leaned in again, voice low. "But you know what I think?"

"No, but I’m sure you’ll tell me."

His breath brushed her cheek. "I think you liked it."

Her chest squeezed. "You’re disgusting."

"And you’re a terrible liar." His eyes dropped to her mouth. “C’mon. One little kiss. For my birthday.”

The worst part? He was close enough that she could smell the faint cologne-and-cigarette scent of him, feel the heat of his skin. And for one horrifying second, she thought about giving in.

Then her fight instinct kicked in.

She smacked the side of his head — hard — and shoved him away.

Bjorn stumbled back, surprised, then laughed. "Agh! What the fuck?"

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she snapped, chest heaving. "Go and get your head checked, you freak."

She turned and marched toward the door.

Behind her, he chuckled again. "Damn. That actually fucking hurt."

She rushed out, heart racing, steps quick and unsteady.

"Strawberry," Bjorn called after her. "I knew it."

taglist: @guardiandear @asvtrials @spikedfearn @kayharrisons @maladaptive-dreamer @em1i2a3 @theblueflower05 @mommyarachna @caileeflavoured @blackynsupremacy

[skitskatdacat63]

And now my art has been reposted on tiktok, have I finally made it as a creator? 🥺 But like seriously my god, I didn't think I had to say but don't repost??????? I think I've been pretty safe from it cause I normally just draw AU art but ahh making relevant art, it's a dangerous game....I just yeah, don't necessarily know what to do about it, but yeah just don't please?

[lillymakesart]

my new OC: cempaka!

she is based on the story/universe that my friend @haydardotjpg's OCs indra and yuwei exist in! pls go checkout haydar's art he is amazing!! his ocs can be found more easily on his ig but if you're lazy this is his oc indra (cempaka's one-sided love interest) and yuwei (indra's fated lover)

also, cempaka means "magnolia" in malay!! (she gets a flower name bc my name is lilly which is also flower c:)

bonus first iteration under the cut!

i accidentally had "poinsettia" flower in mind when i did this iteration instead of an actual magnolia, hence the color scheme. but yeah, this is as self-insert as it gets LOL like she's literally MEEEEEE but still very different and i love her as she is <3

[respectfulrebel]

I wish I was better at expressing my feelings with words so I could write you a love letter telling you how much I appreciate you sharing your writing with us. The emotions that you weave into every line?? The little pieces of you in every story?? That's what makes them feel soooo alive and makes me care about those characters so much that my little heart swells with love 😭😭😭

Let me start by saying that I appreciate you dividing it in 2 parts because, girl, I needed a break to process some stuff 🫠

Soooooo, I'm just gonna go ahead and scream about my favourite moments now, if you don't mind.

The way she moves, so gracefully and entirely unselfconscious. The way she leans into her friends when she speaks. The dimple that appears in her left cheek each time she laughs, the way her shoulders shake, the way her hair ripples with her movements. She keeps tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, but it refuses to be tamed.

Okay, I think I'M in love with her. Noah's great and all but I wanna know more about heeeer.

She's out of sight. But he can smell her.

🫠🫠🫠

It's the quiet patience in his expression, the almost tender way he waits, that has her putty in his hands. She knows she'll always be safe with him. It doesn't matter that they haven't spent more than five minutes alone together. She feels it in her bones, in the space between them, in the way he looks at her like she's the only thing that matters.

😭😭😭😭😭😭 he just adores her so much i wanna cryyyyy

She laughs, watching his frantic search with amusement. She has no idea that, at this very moment, Noah is contemplating death if he doesn't find it.

that made me chuckle, okay drama king lol 🤭

He waits, letting her adjust. When she shifts, just the smallest tilt of her hips, it's all the encouragement he needs. He moves, achingly slow, each stroke a deliberate act of worship, so careful it almost makes her go mad. A tight, desperate sensation builds in her chest, and for a moment, she thinks she might cry.

🫠🫠🫠🫠 I am so in love with the way you write sex scenes OH MY GOD

His thrusts grow harder, faster. Her thighs cling to his hips. Her feet hoover just above the mattress. Her nails sink into the inked skin of his back as the pressure builds, and he hisses through his teeth. His reaction is instant. He catches her wrists, gathers them in one of his large hands, and pins them to the pillow above her head. Her breath stutters. Then, without warning, he thrusts deep. Take me. A strangled cry tears from her throat.

I was reading that part when my boyfriend asked me what I was reading so I showed him and he nodded approvingly saying "HOT"

Without thinking twice, he lifts a hand and brushes his fingers along the curve of her cheek, soft and reverent in his touch. This moment-the after-, this touch, it feels like a greater intimacy than anything they have just done.

I'm SOBBING at how soft he isssss 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Noah falls asleep with a hand resting on the small of her back, fingers curled over the curve of her ass, the other cradling the back of her neck, keeping her close as if afraid to let go, and his nose buried in her hair, just like he's dreamed so many times.

I'm gonna cry, this is just asdjfjdsksdkjshfkshfhshse AAAAAAA

"Really?" Folio leans forward, elbows resting on the chair armrests. "And why do you look like that? Don't tell me Noah isn't well-equipped down there."

OKAY, Folio has got me DYING. Literally the whole conversation and everything he says is just so funny. Honourable mentions:

"You really thought Noah had a whole-ass daughter?"

"Nothing a blowjob can't fix. Knowing Noah..."

"Hey, Sebastian! Say hi to your daughter!"

What a goof

🥺🤭🤭🤭🤭

"Got a little... distracted last night," he continues, gesturing vaguely with his hand. "Saw this girl, and, well... just had to follow her. I suppose I got carried away inevitably."

okay I saw that ;););)

She watches the horizon, the endless stretch of blue where the sea meets the sky, and the way the light dances on the water. Noah watches her. Her profile is beautiful, so soft. A picture of tranquility as she takes in the view, lost in the beauty of the landscape. There's something about the way she looks right now that makes everything else fade into the background.

Ok I love her :/ She has my heart :/

The book eventually ends in Noah's hands. He starts reading the novel, for real, and lets her explore the tattoos on his chest, stomach and arms, answering distractedly every question she has about them.

This is soooo cuuuuuuteeeeeee stooopp ittttt 😭😭😭😭 The whole beach thing with the sunscreen and the shoulder kisses and the freckles and the book was just AAAAAAAAHHHHH 🥺🥺😭😭🥺🥺😭🥺🥺😭😭

"It's hard to believe in anything that's not this moment, right now," he murmurs into her hair.

IT'S HARD TO BELIEVE IN ANYTHING THAT'S NOT THIS MOMENT, RIGHT NOW????????????????????? SOBBING!!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭

years of sleep — n.s. one shot

"She has always chalked up his teasing and looks to his naturally charming nature. Noah has always been boyfriend material—but never her boyfriend."

Noah and Reader have been drawn to each other for years, but have never dared to act on it—until a wedding and a one-night stand, in which their buried feelings are brought to the surface, along with some misunderstandings.

one shot ✨ noah sebastian x fem. reader words: 11.6k (it's a mini fic, let's be honest) reading time: about an hour it's divided in 2 parts so you can "bookmark it" at part 2 if you don't have time to read the whole thing in one go.

tags & trigger warnings: pure self-indulgence. two attractive idiots in love that don't know how to break the ice—until they do. misunderstandings. Noah has almost shoulder-length hair in this one. manbun!noah. angsty fluff, dirty talk, sexual content (implied masturbation, oral sex with both receiving, p in v protected). mentions of reader having a scar but no further explanation (implied past abuse but no more references to it). fluff, beach setting, noah applying sunscreen on reader, reader having a kink for noah's hair. let me know if sth else needs to be added. - Work inspired by this post by @defuckingthrone-dot-com - Honorable mention to @somebodyels3 for letting me use her butterflyclip-thoughts on this one 🦋

years of sleep — part 1 ☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It’s not the first time they’ve seen each other, but it’s the first time they’ve looked at one another from opposite ends of the room as if nothing else exists. 

They have known each other for two, maybe three years. Her friends are Noah’s friends, and by extension, they have become part of the same circle. Yet, despite the shared acquaintances, despite the countless gatherings and parties and concerts, they have never really spoken—never dared to exchange more than a handful of pleasantries, a few polite questions, and the passing comment about how great the show’d been before drifting away.

But there’s obviously something there. Something that’s always been. 

And tonight, they can’t escape what it’s meant to be.  

The wedding takes place at a seaside resort, where lush gardens stretch toward the shore, with palm trees everywhere swaying in the breeze, and a stone path that leads to an extensive beach. 

She first sees Noah in the hotel lobby. The space is crowded, buzzing with conversation and laughter. The moment their eyes meet, the world shrinks. A pull—subtle but magnetic—draws them in. And then, as if fate conspires to close the distance, Nicholas the groom, appears beside her and steers her toward Noah. 

Their greeting is brief, restrained. A formal hug. Fleeting contact. Her hello stays in his mind. Her voice is soft and sweet. Confident, too. And that smile? That pretty smile has him struggling for words. 

He wants to tell her she looks beautiful. He doubts he’ll have eyes for anyone else that night, not even for the two getting married. 

She wears a slate-gray dress, short and form-fitting, adorned with delicate rhinestones that catch the light. The thin straps expose her shoulders, her collarbone. There’s a necklace around her neck that could easily pass for a choker. The thought makes something in Noah twitch. Her earrings match the glimmer of it beneath the cascading waves of her hair. Her perfume, her scent… It unsettles him in a way he doesn’t fully understand. But, if he’s being honest, he doesn’t want to.

 He could say all of this to her, or he could keep it simple: You look beautiful. But he says nothing. Instead, he pretends to be interested in whatever Nicholas is saying to Matt, though he’s acutely aware of her gaze on him.

She’s just as aware of him—because, for all his efforts, he’s terrible at being subtle.

Noah looks devastatingly handsome today. A black double-breasted suit accentuates his lean frame, and for the first time, his brunette hair is pulled back into a low bun. It’s the first time she’s seen him with his hair up and there’s something about it that’s very attractive. So attractive that she has to turn around to avoid Noah seeing her nibble on her lower lip.  

As she looks away, so does he, letting Matt claim his attention. Alana claims hers, arriving in a stunning purple gown, effervescent with excitement. Her joy is infectious, so much so that, for a moment, she can pretend she hasn’t just spent the last few seconds lost in thoughts of Noah.

The venue is bathed in soft, ivory hues. Rows of elegantly arranged chairs line the aisle, their white cushions pristine beneath the glow of the sun. Sheer white drapery frames the altar, where tall glass vases filled with delicate baby’s breath and white orchids stand on either side. 

Noah stands on one side of the venue, positioned between Matt and Jolly. She is on the opposite side of the main path, nestled among the bride’s family and friends. She’s never thought much about marriage, but for the first time, the idea doesn’t seem so distant. She wouldn’t mind standing where the bride is now, as long as the man beside her is N—

She doesn’t have time to shake herself from the absurdity of that thought because, at that moment, the bride and groom seal their promises with a kiss. The room erupts in applause and cheers.

She dares to glance to her right. And as if drawn by an invisible thread, Noah looks her way, catching her eyes.

He’s clapping, like everyone else, but he stands out. He’s taller than most, impossible to miss. And then, he winks at her—a wink accompanied by a smile so effortlessly confident, so devastatingly attractive, that her knees nearly give way beneath her.

She’s in deep trouble.

God, she just hopes the makeup conceals the flush creeping up her cheeks. 

The celebration continues. The air is filled with laughter and clinking glasses. Music swells through the venue. The food is exquisite, the drinks abundant, and the guests are entertained. 

Despite the social nature of his job, Noah isn’t someone particularly outgoing and social. Rather, he prefers to keep to himself. 

But tonight is different. Tonight, he’s at ease, caught in the warmth of celebration, happy for his best friend. The air hums with good vibes, and for once, he isn’t the center of attention. He wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Not just because his friend is getting married, but because this day has given him something he’d never had before—an entire day and night in her presence.

The hours slip by, and frustration coils inside him. She’s right there, close enough to touch, yet he can’t seem to break the fucking ice. It’s maddening. He’s trapped in a dance of restraint. He knows it must be obvious, the way he looks at her, the way his body betrays every thought he tries to suppress. She’s the girl he’s barely spoken to, the one he’s only seen in fleeting occasions—yet he’s consumed by her. He’s been thinking of her for weeks, months. Even years, for fuck’s sake. She’s in his dreams. 

He’s dying to know her, to be near her, to hear the cadence of her voice as she talks about the things she loves and the ones she hates. He wants to learn her—her flaws, her habits, the little things. 

But more than anything, he wants to know the taste of her lips, the sounds she makes when she’s touched in the right places, the way she will moan when his hands and lips press on her skin and when his cock is buried deep inside her. 

He has to do something about it, and even though it’s been almost the whole day already, he’s willing to do it tonight.

As the others drink and the minutes slip away, Noah watches her. Discreetly. Intently. 

The way she moves, so gracefully and entirely unselfconscious. The way she leans into her friends when she speaks. The dimple that appears in her left cheek each time she laughs, the way her shoulders shake, the way her hair ripples with her movements. She keeps tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, but it refuses to be tamed. 

And he watches the way she blushes every time she catches him looking. 

When the clock strikes midnight, the dance floor overflows with guests, lost in the music. Neckties have been loosened, hairpins discarded. Jolly has long since abandoned his suit jacket. Matt sits at the table with a girl on his lap, whispering something in her ear that’s making her laugh so hard that even Noah is tempted to walk over and find out what the hell he’s saying. Nicholas and his bride have disappeared, and Noah smiles at the realization, exhaling a quiet laugh as he finishes the last sip of his champagne. Then, he’s back to looking for her. 

And he finds her. 

This time near the exit that leads to the garden, which is so dark and only dimmed by beautifully decorated lampposts with vine and white flowers wrapping around them. 

She stands at the threshold of the stone path, the soft glow from the lanterns casting a golden halo around her. The distance between them is vast—he’s at the other end of the room. But it doesn’t matter. They don’t need words to communicate. 

She blinks. A glance over her shoulder. 

And then she’s gone. 

Noah sets down his glass without a thought as he rises from his seat. His jacket is left behind—he likely won’t see it again, much like Jolly’s. 

He weaves through the throng of dancing bodies, mutters apologies, sidesteps laughter and swaying limbs, people kissing. The pulse of the music fades as he steps outside, swallowed by the stillness of the night and the back noise of waves crashing. 

She’s out of sight. 

But he can smell her. 

Burberry. Vanilla, rich and warm, laced with something darker, something almost sinful. 

He follows the scent. 

The stone path leads to a fork—one trail winds toward the beach, the other into the garden. 

He hesitates, pulse thrumming. Instinct takes over. He veers into the garden. 

Minutes later, he moves parallel to a stretch of resort rooms, their arched balconies overlooking the grounds. Streetlamps line the pathway. A sea breeze stirs the palm fronds, the leaves whispering secrets into the night. 

And somewhere ahead, she waits. 

It has been almost five minutes since she slipped out of the wedding hall. She leans against the wall of one of the buildings closest to the beach, the stoney surface pressing against her bare shoulders. Noah still hasn’t appeared. 

Maybe she misread everything—his looks, his winks, the tenderness of his smiles. Maybe she wasn’t obvious enough. Maybe the pull between them was only in her head, a trick of longing and circumstance. Or maybe it’s just the wedding, the romance in the air making her see things that aren’t really there.

Exhaling, she pushes off the wall and steps into the garden, rounding the corner of the small building. 

And collides with a solid chest. 

The impact is sudden, stealing her breath. Instinctively, her hands fly to the masculine chest for balance, fingers splaying over the firm muscle beneath the black shirt. His hands find her waist, steadying her, holding her in place. 

For a moment, neither of them moves. 

She looks up, and Noah’s almond-shaped eyes pierce trough her, dark but soft. The scent of his cologne—woodsy, expensive—wraps around her, muddling her thoughts. 

Under her palms, she feels the taut ridges of his abdomen. 

Under his hands, he feels the softness of her curves, the warmth of her body through the thin fabric of her dress. 

It takes everything in him not to let his hands drift lower—to her ass. 

Then, as if the absurdity of the moment catches up with them, they grin—two idiots completely and utterly lost in each other. 

A second later, Noah lifts a hand to her cheek, fingers featherlight as he tilts her face up to his. 

And he kisses her.

His lips capture hers, slow at first, testing, savoring. She melts instantly, arms winding around his neck, her fingers slipping into his hair. Even in heels, she must rise onto her toes to reach him properly. And this mouth—warm and insistent— tastes of champagne, a sweetness that only makes her hungrier for more. 

She barely notices when he presses her against the wall, steading himself with a palm on the wall next to her head.

By the time she comes to, she’s breathless, her lips are swollen, and Noah’s body is caging hers, his hands cradling her face now, his thumb stroking her skin. He watches her for a moment before his mouth trails from her jawline to the sensitive column of her neck, and when his lips graze that one spot—that spot—heat coils deep in her belly. 

She would have collapsed if not for the hand he slides to her waist, anchoring her, keeping her exactly where he wants her. 

“Let me take you to my room,” he murmurs against her skin. His voice is husky and his breath hot. 

He pauses just long enough, searching her eyes, making sure she knows that this is entirely up to her. Whatever she wants. Whatever she desires. 

It’s the quiet patience in his expression, the almost tender way he waits, that has her putty in his hands. She knows she’ll always be safe with him. It doesn’t matter that they haven’t spent more than five minutes alone together. She feels it in her bones, in the space between them, in the way he looks at her like she’s the only thing that matters.

Her answer is effortless. 

“Lead the way,” she says with a smile. 

Noah’s grin widens. He steals another kiss—because he can’t help himself—before lacing his long, tattooed fingers through hers. 

Without another word, he leads her away. Away from the music, away from the voices, from prying eyes. 

The walk to the room is hurried. Adrenaline and hunger run through their veins. Noah grips her hand, glancing over his shoulder every few moments, his smile impossibly wide, as if he already knows that there’s nothing that’ll change how the night will end. 

He barely makes it to the door without stopping midway to press her against the nearest wall, to claim her lips again, to let his hands roam freely over the curves he has only imagined. 

By the time they reach the secluded corridor where their rooms are, they are almost running. 

A strap of her dress has fallen, slipping down the smooth expanse of her shoulder, and just as Noah swipes his keycard against the door reader, he notices. 

“Wait.”

Two fingers graze skin as he lifts the strap, restoring it to its place. 

The mere brush of his fingers on her skin gives him such a sensation that goosebumps rise on his skin. Noah holds her gaze for a moment. As he gets ready to open the door, her hands curl into the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to her. Her mouth meets his in a kiss so deep, so hungry, that Noah nearly forgets himself, nearly forgets where they are, forgets that anyone could walk by and see him stripping her bare against the cool marble hallway floor and making love to her. 

Somehow, through sheer willpower, he manages to open the door and push her inside, barely breaking contact with her lips. 

Inside, he fumbles for the bedside lamp, bathing the room in a light cozy glow. 

She’s already pulling the hairband from his hair, letting the strands fall loose around his face. She threads her fingers through them. She doesn’t know what shampoo he uses but his hair smells like paradise.

Everything is messy. Desperate. A little awkward. 

And yet, within seconds, they are standing at the center of the room, facing the untouched bed.

She pauses, chest rising and falling, one hand at the nape of his neck, the other resting lightly on his chest. 

She looks around. His belongings are neatly arranged, each item in its proper place. The small details confirm everything she already suspected about him—Noah is meticulous. Even in chaos, he is composed. He’s perfect, and the hand on his hip, delicate and supportive, adoring but never crossing the line, confirms it too.

He’s waiting for her to say something, so his heart almost skips a beat when she slides to her knees on the floor. Heels still on. Her hands on his belt. 

Noah lets her unbuckle it. Fingers move with precision, making quick work of the button and zipper of his slacks. His shirt is next—he unbuttons it, but leaves it open, exposing tattooed skin, muscle, inked lines she clearly wasn’t prepared for.

She inhales sharply.

A near-moan escapes her lips at the sight of him, and Noah smirks.

He would have teased her for it—would have taken his time letting her explore—but then she tugs down his pants.

Her breath catches.

The outline straining against his black Calvin Klein boxers is… larger than she expected.

He watches the moment she processes it, sees the way her pupils dilate, the way her tongue peeks out to wet her lips.

She flicks her gaze up at him, seeking confirmation, blinking once—twice—before curling her fingers around the waistband of his boxers.

And when she pulls them down, Noah is the one exhaling sharply. 

She doesn’t break eye contact.

And when she finally moves forward, Noah knows—he’s done for.

She licks him from the base to the tip. She takes her time, savoring him and entertaining herself just enough to make him shudder. She revels in his reaction before enveloping him in the warm, wet heat of her mouth and taking him on the ride of his life. 

For the first few moments, Noah doesn’t know what to do with himself. He throws his head back and lets out a guttural sound as she takes him deeper, the suction sending jolts of pleasure straight to his core. His muscles tense, his hands flex at his sides, his breath starts coming in in ragged gasps.

His fingers twitch before finding their way into her hair, threading through the silky strands as he cradles her head and looks down at her. Such a good girl.

She looks so focused. He strokes her scalp gently, then guides her back and forth, his control unraveling with every flick of her tongue, every hollow of her cheeks. That’s it. Keep going. A vein bulges at his neck as he struggles to keep himself in check. 

“That’s... Yes. God, sweetheart.”

The sight of her, those lips stretched around him, eyes flickering up to watch his reaction… 

With a sharp breath, he forces himself to pull away, already mourning the loss of her warmth. He runs a thumb over her lower lip, and she catches it between her teeth, nibbling at it. The action makes him laugh—a deep, throaty sound. 

He offers his hand, and she takes it, rising to her feet. Without hesitation, she slides the straps of her dress down her shoulders, letting the fabric slip past her curves and pool at her feet. 

She’s not wearing a bra, and the thong she wears is nothing more than a whisper of lace, a mere suggestion of modesty. 

Noah eats her up with his eyes.

Before he can reach for her, she turns, climbing onto the bed, moving like a kitten. She pauses on all fours to look at him over her shoulder with a coy smile that makes his stomach clench. 

Noah swallows hard. He’s about to lose it. 

When she shifts to sit back, reaching for her heels, he stops her with a touch.

“Let me.”

He pulls his underwear and pants back up before kneeling at the edge of the bed. His grip tender as he slides her shoes off, pressing a kiss to the skin of her ankle. The care in his touch makes her pulse race. It’s so gentlemanly. She’s never felt so cherished. So lucky.

Her underwear comes off next. The weight of Noah’s eyes on her feels heavy, but it makes her feel safe anyway. She wants him. 

She reclines against the pillows, stretching out languidly. She parts her legs. Noah stands there for a breath, taking her in. Her confidence only deepens his hunger. 

He sheds his clothing and shoes and joins her, covering her body with his without yet touching. His fingers trail up her cheeks, his eyes searching hers. 

“Where do you want me?” he murmurs. 

“Anywhere you wish to be.”

He laughs and she trembles under him, loving the sound. 

That’s easy, he thinks. I’m already in bed, with you.

Still, he takes his time, kissing his way down her body, savoring every inch. Loving how the necklace wraps around her neck. He spends needed time on her breasts, playing with her nipples, his tongue circling, lapping. He looks up to see her lips parted and her eyes intently on him. She still not making any sound. Not yet. 

When his hand slides down her ribcage, he notices an old, ugly scar, just beneath her left breast. He also notices the way she stills. He takes one look at her, then kisses the scar without saying anything else and moves on. 

He worships her belly, dips his tongue into her navel, nibbles at her hip bones. 

He leaves the bed only to sit back on his heels on the carpeted floor. He searches for his hairband discarded earlier. When he finds it, he ties his hair up again, the sight alone enough to make wetness pool between her legs.  

Without warning, he pulls her toward him by the ankles. 

A gasp escapes her as he buries himself between her thighs.

There it is. 

His tongue parts her, teasing. He tastes her like a man starved, and it’s the truth—he’s been starving for her for years. His hands grip her hips, holding her in place as she starts to writhe beneath him.

She makes another sound. A soft, breathy moan. Then another. And another. 

It’s the sweetest, most erotic music he’s ever heard, and it only makes him more relentless. He keeps on sucking. He doesn’t stop, not until she’s trembling under him, clutching the sheets, her thighs quivering around his head. 

“Beautiful,” he says. 

She’s still catching her breath when she peeks up at him from beneath heavy lids, her cheeks flushed and lips dry and slightly parted. The sight makes him chuckle, the sound so laced with affection that it envelops her as if the sound of it alone was a comforting blanket. 

“Condom?” she asks when she regains some stability in her breathing. 

Noah blinks, nodding as he starts looking around and rummaging through his things. 

“I’ve got one… just give me a—” He curses under his breath, shoving aside his clothes. She watches him move around the room naked, cock hard. “Fuck. I know I have one… somewhere.”

She laughs, watching his frantic search with amusement. She has no idea that, at this very moment, Noah is contemplating death if he doesn’t find it. But then he spots it. He tears open the packet and rolls it onto him. He exhales sharply, running a hand through his still tied hair but pushing a lose strand back. “Sorted,” he mutters, positioning himself over her on the bed. 

She slides a hand behind his neck, drawing him closer. 

“Come here,” she demands softly. 

And God help him, he does.

She unties his hair, again, freeing the brunette strands to cascade over his forehead. Her fingers slide through the locks, and at the same moment, he pushes into her, slow and deep. 

A gasp catches in her throat as she stretches around him, heat and wetness engulfing every inch of him. 

He feels fuzzy. It’s unbearable, exquisite. His eyes are locked onto hers, and for a breathless second, they simply exist. A moan spills from his lips at the exact moment one escapes her, their voices melding in perfect synchrony.  

It’s better than he ever imagined.

It’s better than she ever imagined. 

He waits, letting her adjust. When she shifts, just the smallest tilt of her hips, it’s all the encouragement he needs. He moves, achingly slow, each stroke a deliberate act of worship, so careful it almost makes her go mad. A tight, desperate sensation builds in her chest, and for a moment, she thinks she might cry. 

She has imagined herself under his body many times. Too many to admit. She has touched herself in the quiet of night, fingers slipping between her thighs, wondering what it would feel like to take him this way, to feel his hardness inside her, the delicious weight of him pressing her into the mattress. To experience the solid heat of his body, his pubic bone against hers, the muscles of his stomach flexing against her own, his breath coming in broken gasps against her lips as he steals kisses whenever he can. 

Reality is nothing like she imagined. 

It’s a thousand times better. 

Noah is heavy and much bigger than she is, but instead of feeling smothered by his weight, she feels enveloped in a delicious embrace that promises to take her all the way to paradise, if she’s not already in it. 

His pace is controlled. The way he moves over her, the way he looks at her, with a little wrinkle between his eyebrows that says he’s being a victim of this delicious torture too, the way his hands touch her body, cling to her... 

His thrusts grow harder, faster. Her thighs cling to his hips. Her feet hoover just above the mattress. Her nails sink into the inked skin of his back as the pressure builds, and he hisses through his teeth. His reaction is instant. He catches her wrists, gathers them in one of his large hands, and pins them to the pillow above her head.

Her breath stutters.

Then, without warning, he thrusts deep.

Take me.

A strangled cry tears from her throat.

Noah’s rhythm shifts, urgency overtaking restraint. His movements become frantic, driven by something raw and insatiable, and she matches him, meeting every thrust, begging for more. A bead of sweat rolls down his temple. She can feel the heat of him everywhere—his sweaty skin against hers, his breath hot and labored against her lips, his body relentless in its pursuit of ecstasy. 

If she thought he was handsome before, it’s clear she hadn’t seen him fucking her, covered in sweat and lost in the decadent dance his body is dancing with hers. 

“I’m going to come,” he warns when he knows his release is imminent, voice rough and desperate. 

She feels a rush of satisfaction so intense it nearly tips her over the edge. She wants to prolong this, stretch it into eternity, but she also wants to see him break. She wants to watch him fall apart. See his expression when it happens. 

         Noah is holding on by a thread. He thinks about how once he comes, he’s going to get her to follow him, and then he wants to hold her and have her fall asleep in his arms. In the morning, he wants to see her wake up, blink up at him through sleepy eyes, wants to see her make up-free, in the first light of dawn.     

Fuck, he’s in so deep. And not just physically.

As he teeters at the edge, he refuses to go alone. He slides a hand between them, finding the swollen bundle of nerves that will send her spiraling with him. His fingers work, and within seconds, she is there, climbing, soaring, shattering. The orgasm is scorching. Noah practically roars against her shoulder, biting her without intending to, but she seems to like it, because the moment his teeth sink into her shoulder, she tenses around him. He is still spasming, releasing himself into the condom, when she trembles, arches, and suddenly moans loudly and prolonged. 

She is coming and squeezing him, every last drop. 

His arms hold her against him, crushing her to him as they both tremble through the aftershocks. She can feel the erratic thump of his heart against her chest. He can feel the sweat of her skin clinging to his. 

They feel...at home. 

Noah tilts his head to look at her, catching on the red marks he’s left on her skin. On her shoulder. Clavicle. Breasts. Suddenly, there’s uncertainty flickering behind his eyes. 

He’s never done this—whatever this is. He knows it’s not just sex. It’s something more. Something that’s been brewing, growing beneath the surface for some time. 

She opens her eyes, lips parted, still catching her breath. The sight of her like this, so flushed and disheveled, so swollen from his kisses, hair tangled in wild waves around her face… She could easily fall for a nymph, ethereal and untamed, as if she belongs to the wild.

“Are you okay?”

Noah is surprised, for it is not him asking the question, but her. He almost laughs. 

“I’m fine,” he assures her. 

Without thinking twice, he lifts a hand and brushes his fingers along the curve of her cheek, soft and reverent in his touch. This moment—the after—, this touch, it feels like a greater intimacy than anything they have just done.

Her lips touch the line of his jaw, nuzzling against the faint stubble that has already begun to shadow his skin. He shaved that morning, but the roughness is there, and she loves it. 

His kisses are different now—ghostly, soft and quiet. They make her heart grow wings and flutter. 

Noah pulls away with obvious reluctance, murmuring something about taking care of them. She watches as he slips from the bed, and the moment he is gone, she feels the loss of him like a physical ache. Still, she gathers herself enough to ask him to open the sliding doors to the ground-floor balcony. Noah obliges, and when he does, the distant murmur of laughter and music drifts from the garden, a reminder that the rest of the world still exists beyond this room. 

When he returns, he is utterly, shamelessly naked. He moves with the confidence of someone at home, still just as devastating and delicious as he was that morning, when he was wrapped in a tux and his hair was pulled into a perfect man bun.

She wants to keep Noah for herself. Forever. 

He holds a damp hand towel, hesitating only a moment as he approaches the mattress and murmurs, “May I?”

She nods. 

The first touch of warm cloth against her oversensitive skin makes her shudder. He is careful, tender in a way nobody has ever been with her. She holds her breath. She’s never been cared for like this. 

Minutes later, he stands beside the bed, still naked, hesitating. 

She watches him, her knees drawn up, an arm draped loosely over her chest. A cool breeze filters through the open door, rustling the curtains. Salt and water. 

“Stay,” Noah says, his voice almost tentative. “Please? I promise I don’t snore.”

She has to laugh. He’s so adorable. She nods. 

Relief floods his face as he climbs in beside her, tugging the sheets over them. She curls against him instinctively, pressing her face into the warm space between his shoulder and neck. 

Noah smells of sex and that masculine stench that is every man’s own. If only she knew that he is inhaling her too... And that, deep inside, he wants to wake up with his nose in her hair and her naked body clinging to him all the mornings he has left.

They talk for a while in hushed voices, the adrenaline still pulsing through them. He asks about her favorite food and her favorite flowers. She asks about his hobbies. About his job—what’s the best and worst of it. He mentions martial arts, and she hums, intrigued, and not-so-subtly lets her hands explore his biceps, his thighs, all tattooed, confirming what she already knew. He is strong, but beneath all that muscle, there is softness too. 

She falls asleep half on top of him. 

Noah falls asleep with a hand resting on the small of her back, fingers curled over the curve of her ass, the other cradling the back of her neck, keeping her close as if afraid to let go, and his nose buried in her hair, just like he’s dreamed so many times. 

When she wakes up, her cheek is pressed against something firm yet solid and comfortable. It takes a few seconds for reality to settle around her, her mind still tangled in the haze of sleep. The first thing she registers is the faint soreness between her legs. For a moment, her heart leaps in her chest in surprise, but then she becomes aware of the calm that envelops her, of the warmth and security she feels. Of the arm around her, pressing her tenderly against the male body lying on the bed. 

She lifts her head, and there he is. Noah fast asleep. His breathing slow and steady, lips slightly parted revealing just a hint of his teeth. A stray lock of hair has fallen over his cheek, and before she can think better of it, she reaches out and brushes it aside. 

Noah is a handsome man, but like this, with his guard down, his face relaxed, his body molded against her—he’s breathtakingly beautiful. 

Surrendering to temptation again, she’s about to kiss him and wake him up, steal the first drowsy moments of his morning, when a vibration hums from the nightstand on his side. 

The screen of his phone lights up, and her eyes are instinctively drawn to it. Half draped over his chest, she reaches out just to check the time, but the moment she picks it up, a notification banner flashes across the screen.  

LILIPUTH 👶🏼 "Hey! Mom wants to know if you can pick me up Friday instead of Saturday. She’s busy Saturday morning, so she’d rather drop me at the airport Friday. She says to hurry up because we’re already late, and flights are super expensive! Also, she kinda thinks you should pay for them... but don’t tell her I said that! See you soon!

She frowns. She processes the message. What it means, or what it could mean. 

“Mom says”?

Liliputh and a baby emoticon?

“Pick me up”?

He should’ve paid for flight tickets?

Her stomach twists.

The phone nearly slips from her grasp as the words sink in. 

Fuck.

Is Noah married?

Divorced?

Does he have...a child? Because that sure as hell sounds like a whole lot of parental responsibilities.

She’s holding her breath. Her mind scrambles to piece together a puzzle she wasn’t expecting, one she wasn’t even aware existed. 

And it’s not that he’s done anything wrong. It’s not that he’s lied. 

But she hadn’t thought about Noah having a life before her. A life this big. 

Panic swells in her throat. She realizes she’s laying on top of him sideways, her breasts pressing against his tatted chest. She’s panicking. She no longer feels comfortable or safe in his arms. The sheets feel more like a trap rather than a cocoon of safety. She needs air. She needs space. She needs to get out. 

It takes her less than two minutes to slip out from his arms, gather her clothes, and make it to the door in last night’s dress, barefoot, heels in hand. She doesn’t look back. Her bare feet move silently against the floor. Once she reaches the hallway, she presses her back against the door, heart slamming wildly against her ribs. 

She doesn’t want to leave. 

She wants to stay.

To crawl back into bed, to wake up tangled in his limbs, to feel the weight of his body over hers, his scent. She wants to hear his voice in the morning—sleep-rough and drowsy, whispering the same sinful things he murmured to her in the dead of night when she had been sleeping with her head on his bicep and he’d made love to her again, slow and deep, from behind her. He had first teased her with the tip, kissing her shoulders and neck. A minute later, they were slowly making love, his hand entwining her fingers over her breasts, his hot breath on the back of her neck.

“Can’t tell you how many times I’ve touched myself thinking of you—of this.” 

He’d been so attentive and hot the entire night, guiding her as he told her to fuck him, to rock herself against him, to use him… so tuned in with her as he talked her through her orgasm, encouraging her to make a mess on his cock…

She feels... confused and disoriented. In her head, she’s spent years with this perfect idea of Noah, of who he is, of how wonderful it would be to be with him... and suddenly, a simple message destroys all of that. 

It’s not a message. 

It’s reality.

The rest was her fantasy. Her fault. 

The things he had said to her during the night echo in her head. The perfect Noah and the perfect life she had created around him was nothing but an illusion, and now it had shattered, and with it her heart.

years of sleep — part 2 ☀︎⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Three hours later, late summer morning, the resort is buzzing with life. Most of the guests, primarily wedding attendees, have slept in, recovering from a celebration that lasted into the early hours. Others have been up since dawn, making the most of their vacation.

She sits at one of the poolside lounge tables, fingers idly tracing the rim of a half-empty glass of orange juice. Sunglasses shield her eyes, and though she’s showered and changed into a simple pastel blue sundress, she still feels the weight of the night lingering in her bones. 

Nicholas and his new wife must already be enroute to their honeymoon destination. Meanwhile, she’s stranded at this oceanside resort, three hours from Los Angeles, until tomorrow. 

And she has no idea how she’s going to spend the next twenty-four hours. 

In her mind, last night should have led to something different—a different chain of events, a different morning, a different future. She had pictured waking up in Noah’s arms, spending the day tangled up in him, stealing kisses between lazy moments and sunlit swims, and ending the night with slow walks along the beach under the stars…

But now, it’s painfully clear that none of that is going to happen. 

“And that long face on such a sunny morning?”

Davis’s voice cuts through her thoughts, drawing her attention to the walkway leading toward the parasol-covered tables. 

She forces a smile, slouching slightly in her chair in an attempt to appear more relaxed. She doesn’t want to bring anyone else down. This is supposed to be a happy day. Everyone else is happy. She refuses to ruin that. 

“Hungover?” Davis tilts his head, eyeing her. 

The way he asks makes her laugh, though the sound feels hollow. He’s swapped last night’s suit for white Bermuda shorts and a floral short-sleeve button-up. He’s really embracing the beach resort vibes. 

“Something like that,” she replies. Though the truth is that, despite sleeping late and being woken up at 4am for another round of sex, she slept soundly. 

“That makes two of us,” another voice chimes in. 

Folio drops into the chair beside her, a beer already in hand. She refrains from commenting on it. He’s dressed similarly to Davis, a backward cap covering his messy hair. 

“Well, you don’t look like it,” Davis notes. 

“That’s because I never hit the bed in the first place,” Folio grins. 

“You didn’t sleep?” Davis guesses. 

“Nope. Figured I’d just keep the party going. Took a swim at sunrise. Man, that’s an experience.”

The two launch into a conversation about his early-morning adventures and order some fruit and pancakes to be brought to the table. Eventually, they notice how quiet she is. 

“What’s with you?” Davis asks through a mouthful of blueberries. “Haven’t slept either?”

Folio smirks. “Or did someone keep you up all night?” He wiggles his eyebrows, his gaze dropping pointedly to the red blotches on her skin. Noah’s lovebites.

She barely reacts. She simply lowers her sunglasses and shoots Folio a pointed look. His grin falters immediately. 

“Oh, it’s definitely that. Who—?”

Before Folio can finish the question, Davis has already put the pieces together. 

“You slept with Noah.”

Hearing someone say it aloud makes it even more real. Her mind floods with images—Noah’s touch, the sweet and filthy things he said to her, the way he held her, the way he felt. Honeyed and intense.

She wraps both hands around the glass, lips pressing together. 

“Really?” Folio leans forward, elbows resting on the chair armrests. “And why do you look like that? Don’t tell me Noah isn’t well-equipped down there.”

She clicks her tongue, annoyed. “It’s not that.”

“So, he is. Is his performance not up to—”

“Nick,” Davis sighs.

“Okay, okay…” he puts his hands up. “Do we need to kick his ass?”

She hesitates, her fingers twitching, before finally voicing the question that has been gnawing at her insides since dawn. 

“Noah has a daughter?”

Folio’s grin vanishes. His brows furrow in confusion, then lift in something close to horror. 

“What?”

She looks between them. “Is he married? Divorced?”

Davis just stares at her, as if trying to understand where this is coming from. 

“You know Noah is single.”

“No. Actually, I don’t. I don’t know anything about Noah. Not really,” she snaps. “I only know what everyone else knows—what you guys tell me. He’s always the quiet one. I don’t know more than what I’ve put together from—from the way he behaves around me and with you guys. And none of you ever mentioned a wife. Or a daughter. Or—”

“Because he’s not married. And he doesn’t have a daughter,” Folios interrupts with a laugh. “At least not that I know of. Can you even imagine Noah married and with a baby?” He looks over at Davis, but Davis just shoots him a warning glance. 

Davis turns back to her with a soft expression. “Come on. You know exactly who Noah is. I know everyone acts like he’s this mysterious, unreadable guy just because he’s private, but the truth is, he’s exactly what you see. He’s quiet, yeah, but he doesn’t need to say much to show you who he is. He writes, he makes music, he lets go on stage… He’s the deep, poetic guy who likes to meditate in the morning and never really raises his voice. He’s thoughtful, maybe too much, and he appreciates life in that annoyingly profound way.” Davis huffs a small laugh. “Even if you haven’t spent much time with him, you know he’s single. The real question is how you two went so long without saying a word to each other when it’s obvious you’ve been pining for one another for years.”

Her heart stutters. “Years? What are you talking about?”

Folio rolls his eyes.

“What are you talking about? Everyone knows you and Noah have been into each other for ages, but because you’re both equally clueless or shy or whatever, you waited until Ruffilo’s wedding to finally do something about it. And now you’re coming in here all ‘Noah is a dad?!’ What the hell did you drink last night? Or more like, what did Noah do to you in bed?”

She groans. Before they can derail the conversation any further, she drops her eyes and mutters, “I saw a message on his phone.”

“A message?”

“From someone named Lily. Liliputh,” she specifies. 

Folio and Davis exchange a glance, and she immediately realizes that yes, there are things about Noah she doesn’t know, and they do. 

Folio cuts into his pancakes, spears a piece with his fork, and pops it into his mouth.

“Lily is Noah’s niece,” Davis explains. “His sister’s daughter. She’s twelve.”

She blinks. 

Once. 

Twice.

“Noah has a sister?”

Since when?

“Yeah. Older. She lives in New York. They only see each other a couple of times a year, that’s why he’s probably never mentioned her. He barely does to us, anyway. But they’re close, and I’m guessing Lily asked to come spend a few days in L.A. before school starts again, and Noah’s offered to take care of her.”

A wave of heat rushes to her cheeks. “Oh my God.”

Folio bursts out laughing, struggling to keep the food in his mouth. “You really thought Noah had a whole-ass daughter? And you thought he was divorced, too?”

She sinks in her seat. “It’s not funny.”

“No, but your reaction is. How many Hallmark movies have you watched?”

Davis, however, looks more thoughtful. “So… you freaked out.”

She sighs. “Yeah…”

“And Noah wasn’t awake when you saw the message, was he?”

“No.”

“So, you got up and left. Without saying a word.”

Her silence and the guilt written all over her face are answer enough.

After a beat, Folio deadpans, “You banged Noah,” he states. “And then you disappeared.”

She shoots him another glare, tempted to kick his shin under the table. “I didn’t disappear. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, but not in his bed,” Davis points out. “How would you feel if the roles were reversed? If you woke up after sleeping with him, and he was gone?

A knot tightens in her chest. 

Terrible. Used. Heartbroken. 

Guilt crashes over her, so heavy it makes her stomach churn. Good thing she hasn’t eaten anything… She bites her lip so hard she nearly draws blood. She needs to fix this. 

“Will he… be mad?”

David considers the question at the same time he savors a piece of mango. “Knowing Noah and how much he’s into you… he’ll understand. You just need to talk to him. Tell him why you freaked out. He’ll have a good laugh and later he’ll probably get you back into his bed. Problem sorted.”

How much he’s into me? The way Davis talks about Noah’s feelings is unsettling, like he knows something she doesn’t. Has it always been there, in front of her, and she hasn’t been able to see it until last night?

For years, she has lived off stolen glances and fleeting moments—content with fantasies rather than the courage to actually approach Noah like a normal person would. She always chalked up his teasing and looks to his naturally charming nature. Noah has always been boyfriend material—but never her boyfriend. 

Had she known earlier that Noah was pining for her, butterflies would have erupted in her stomach sooner. She might have finally gathered the nerve to walk up to him, to flirt back in a way that was more obvious to him about her feelings. But now, after abandoning him in that hotel room, she just feels awful. If she can’t fix this, she might as well walk straight into the ocean and let the waves take her. 

“Hey,” Folio squeezed her shoulder, snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts. His voice is suddenly surprisingly gentle. “It’s okay. This is not some huge, unforgivable thing. Nothing a blowjob can’t fix. Knowing Noah…”

Davis makes a disgusted noise, pushing his plate away. “Jesus Christ, man. How well do you know Noah?”

Folio throws his hands up again. “It’s a figure of speech, for fuck’s sake. What I mean is, Noah’s not the type to hold a grudge. And if there’s someone who can sweeten him up, that’s you. Talk to him. And if talking doesn’t do the trick… well, give him the look, get down on your knees, and boom—problem solved.”

She debates whether to smack him, but the absurdity of it all makes her laugh instead. Did she really think Noah had a teenage daughter? That he was divorced? She laughs at herself and internally thanks Folio, who always has a way of dragging her out of her head, whether she wants him or not. 

And much to her own frustration… she can’t stop thinking about what he said. 

If talking doesn’t get Noah to forgive her, she’ll do it on her knees and blinking up at him with her big puppy eyes. 

An hour later, after wandering alone by the sea for a while and going over the things she’ll say to Noah when she sees him again, she makes her way back to the hotel. Her sandals dangle from her fingers, her bare feet still damp from where the waves had lapped at her skin. She’s hungry, her body demanding a late breakfast or an early lunch. 

But more than anything, it’s her heart which is demanding. Demanding Noah, to find him, talk to him and— 

She sees him before he sees her. 

He’s at the reception desk, leaning on the counter, dressed in black jeans—in this heat, seriously?— and a white t-shirt. His hair is pulled into the same bun as last night, and he’s wearing black sunglasses. He’s chatting with the receptionist, a woman who smiles at him as she listens intently to whatever he’s saying. Before jealousy can settle in, the receptionist nods and disappears into the back room. 

That’s when Noah turns, reaching into his pocket for his phone, only to freeze the moment his eyes land on her. 

She doesn’t know what to expect. A flicker of irritation? Confusion? Anger? 

But not this. 

Not the way his entire face lights up. Not the way his lips stretch into a slow, easy grin, like seeing her is the best thing that’s happened to him all day. All week. 

“Hey,” he says. 

Her stomach does that thing. 

Hey? 

She approaches cautiously, hyper-aware of his almond-shaped eyes sweeping over her behind those black sunglasses. 

“Hi,” she greets. 

Silence stretches between them. For her, it’s suffocating. But Noah? He seems completely at ease, looking at her like she’s the goddamn sun. 

“Noah,” her voice betrays her a little. She fidgets with her fingers, taking a small step closer. “About this morning, I—”

The receptionist returns, holding a black tuxedo jacket. 

“Here it is, sir.”

Noah turns to her.

“Oh, thank God.” He exhales, taking the jacket and shaking it out. “Thought I’d lost it for good. Or that someone walked off with it.”

“Not at all,” the female behind the counter replies with a polite smile. “Anything else I can help with?”

Her eyes flick between Noah and her before Noah tells her “no, thank you” and she heads back to her desk. Noah drapes the expensive jacket over his arm. 

“Guess I shouldn’t be so careless next time,” he muses.

She frowns slightly.

“Got a little… distracted last night,” he continues, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “Saw this girl, and, well… just had to follow her. I suppose I got carried away inevitably.” His eyes darken slightly, teasing. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. Can’t get her out of my head.”

She’s blushing, of course. 

And that’s exactly what he wanted—to make her blush. 

“Prettiest?”

“Prettiest,” he repeats. He takes his hand to his sunglasses and moves them up to his head. When his brown eyes fall on her, she feels that tingling sensation coursing through her again. “Sweetest. Couldn’t keep my hands off her,” he continues, knowing very well what he’s doing. “Guess everything else just… slipped my mind.”

Heat flares up her neck. Why isn’t he upset? Why isn’t he at least a little annoyed that she slipped out of his bed after hours of making love? Why does he have to be so charming to her when she deserves none of that?

“Do you… regret it?” she blurts. 

His brows lift slightly. “Regret it?” he echoes. He glances down at the jacket draped over his arm. Then he smirks. “I’d lose ten of these if it meant spending another night like that with her.” 

She bites her lip, grinning like an idiot. Like the idiot she is for assuming he was a divorced dad.Jesus Christ. She pinches the bridge of her nose, ducking her head to hide her flushed cheeks.

After a beat, he adds, “but preferably if she’s there in the morning.”

Oh.

“What about you?” he asks. “Anything you regret?”

She draws in a slow breath. 

“One thing, yeah,” she admits.

“Yeah?”

By the way his face changes, she can tell he’s suddenly feeling uncertain. Does he think she regrets being with him? That she regrets letting him touch her, letting him fuck her?

“I… want to make up for it,” she says. “So that I don’t carry this regret with me any longer.”

He watches her carefully. “Sounds like one you’ve carried for quite some time.”

She scoffs. If only he knew…

“Long enough to make a fool of myself,” she says. “But I’d like to fix it.”

His lips twitch, fighting back a smile. “You would?”

She nods, pulse quickening. She gives him the sweetest, most disarming smile. “I think I could. If you let that pretty girl spend another night in your hotel bed…”

Noah exhales. With his free hand, he reaches for her, his fingers curling into the fabric of her dress, pulling her toward him. Close enough that when he lowers his head, his nose brushes against hers.

“I don’t think that’s going to be enough, sweetheart,” he murmurs. She presses a hand against his chest—not to push him away, but to steady herself, to feel the solid of him beneath her palm. And, if she’s being honest, just to touch him again. “She needs to stay till morning. Otherwise, no deal.”

She decides she’s going to seal the deal with a kiss. But just as she tilts her head and parts her lips—

“Hey, Sebastian! Say hi to your daughter!” Folio’s voice rings through the lobby. 

They both freeze. 

Noah blinks. 

“What?”

She turns her head just in time to see Folio crossing the marble-floored lobby, a mojito in hand, looking far too pleased with himself before disappearing around the corner. Her face burns. Noah’s expression is one of utter confusion. 

“Is he drunk?” he asks. 

A small laugh escapes her as she drops her forehead against his chest. He still hasn’t let go of her dress. Her fingers grasp the fabric of his white t-shirt as her embarrassment melts into quiet amusement.  

“I thought you were a divorced dad.”

Noah stills. Then he’s lifting her chin with the bend of his fingers. “A divorced—What are you talking about?”

“I accidentally saw a message on your phone this morning—Lily’s message,” she explains. “I was just checking the time, I swear. And when I saw the message, I immediately assumed... that you were divorced. And that you had a child.”

He stays still for another beat, just looking at her. Then, to her complete and utter relief, he throws his head back and laughs. The sound is so warm and rich that it dissolves the last of her tension. 

“Thank God,” he says. 

“Thank God?”

“That you left because of that and not because I snore.”

“You don’t snore,” she assures him.

He exhales through his grin, his thumb brushing her chin. “And you’re adorable.”

“Pretty sure I’m just stupid.”

“Stupidly adorable.”

“Thanks,” she rolls her eyes, only confirming what he just said. 

Adorable. 

Her stomach betrays her then, letting out a low rumble. 

She groans. Seriously, can I catch a break?

Noah glances down at her middle with a grin, amusement dancing in his eyes. 

“Perfect timing.”

“Huh?”

“Now that I’ve got my jacket back, and I found the pretty girl I was looking for…” he pauses and tilts his head, “I was wondering if you’d like to have lunch with me?”

Like he even needs to ask. 

“I’d love to.”

“It’s a date, then.”

He offers his hand. She takes it, just like last night. 

They share a light lunch at the seaside restaurant of the hotel, which is located beneath a shade of swaying palm trees and cottage-like roof. The ocean stretches before them, glistening under the midday sun, waves rolling lazily onto the shore. The air is charged with salt and the aroma of grilled seafood, mingling with the faint sweetness of tropical flowers. 

Their table is a feast of colors—salad with citrusy vinaigrette, golden spring rolls, focaccia glistening with olive oil, and a selection of small plates. Conversation is effortless between them as the breeze rustles through the palm fronds and plays with her hair. 

They talk about everything. Food. Music. Work. He asks about her studies, and she asks about the book he’s reading. He makes her smile. She makes him laugh. She even offers him a bite of her plate and feeds him with a fork. They never mention the fact that last night she had his cock in her mouth or that he mapped out every inch of her with his tongue until she was shaking under him. 

After the plates are emptied and cleared, they stay, reclining in their chairs as the slow afternoon unfolds. The occasional lull in conversation is easy. It’s a silence that doesn’t demand to be filled. 

They sip iced tea later, enjoying each other’s company as the engulf in the refreshing drink. 

She watches the horizon, the endless stretch of blue where the sea meets the sky, and the way the light dances on the water. Noah watches her. Her profile is beautiful, so soft. A picture of tranquility as she takes in the view, lost in the beauty of the landscape. There’s something about the way she looks right now that makes everything else fade into the background.

Noah is in love, and he knows it. He’s been for a long time. He’s not letting her leave his bed the next morning, or any other for that matter. 

“Want to go for a swim?”

His question shakes her out of her momentary haze where she was imagining herself in the water, wrapped around Noah’s torso, being kissed under the sun. 

“What, in jeans and Adidas?” She jokes, giving his outfit a pointed once-over. 

Noah glances down at himself. “Yeah, good point… I’ll go get changed.”

She hums, pushing back her chair at the same time. “I’ll grab the sunscreen.”

They leave together, strolling through the resort’s sun-drenched pathways, holding hands. In the hallway outside their rooms, Noah keeps their arms extended and hands together before reluctantly releasing her. 

He should have kissed her. The though gnaws at him as she disappears three rooms down. 

It’s fine. He’ll kiss her when he has her in his arms again in a matter of minutes. 

They meet ten minutes after in the lobby. Noah has swapped his jeans for black swim trunks, his sneakers for flip-flops. His white T-shirt remains. a towel is slung over his shoulder. His eyes rack down the white bikini peeking through the airy fabric of her sundress. She catches the way his jaw ticks, how his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. 

She shakes the sunscreen bottle in front of him. “Got it.” 

Noah takes the tote bag from her with a quiet smile, ever the gentleman.

When they step onto the beach, they walk a little farther from the resort’s main area, the sand cool beneath their feet as they seek out a quiet spot all to themselves. The beach is tranquil, mostly deserted, with only a few scattered sunbathers, the low season keeping it peaceful. They lay out their towels side by side. 

Of course, Noah suggests applying sunscreen on her. To her surprise, he’s again very gentlemanlike about it, asking for permission before he spreads the lotion across the curve of her ass. When she turns around and offers her chest to him, her nipples are visible through the fabric of her bikini top. He notices, obviously. But doesn’t say a word. When his fingers lightly access under the fabric and caress the curve of her breasts, she holds her breath. Then Noah pokes her nose, leaving a streak of cream on the tip and laughs, a boyish sound. 

“Charming,” she says. 

“I know,” he replies.

But even when he says that, it seems that his usual cocky grin is subdued. He seems more serious now, his gaze more intense and darker than it was the night before, like something in him has shifted. There’s a depth to his look, a quiet mindfulness that wasn’t exactly there before, the previous night when they were finally all brave and playful.  

She tries to see what’s there, in his eyes, but before she can, he hands her the sunscreen bottle. “Your turn,” he says. 

An hour under the sun and Noah’s freckles begin to appear more prominently across the bridge of his nose, like a constellation made of stars. He seems unaware of how they dot his face, of the beauty he carries with himself, as natural and unassuming as the rest of him. 

Eventually, she pulls herself away from staring at him and buries her attention in a book, propped on her forearms, body stretched out on the towel. Noah takes a nap before shifting to lie on his side and starts kissing her shoulder. He inquiries about the book she’s reading. The Remains of the Day. Noah mentions he’s read something from Ishiguro before—Never Let Me Go, perhaps? He pretends to read the chapter she’s focused on, but his lips and fingers have other plans, distracting her with light touches, making her laugh and squirm when he starts tickling her. 

The book eventually ends in Noah’s hands. He starts reading the novel, for real, and lets her explore the tattoos on his chest, stomach and arms, answering distractedly every question she has about them. 

She rests for a while on the towel, gazing at the sky with her hands flat on her stomach. After a while, she gets up and walks toward the water.

The sun is beginning its slow descent, melting into the horizon, bleeding orange and pink across the sky. The beach is nearly empty except for the two of them and some tourists in the distance.

The waves lap gently at the shore as she steps into the cool, damp sand. The wind carries the scent of salt and something floral. The beauty of the moments feels surreal, and she wonders if she’s dreaming again. 

Time slips away as she stands in the sand, waves crashing around her, her hair tousled by the wind. She’s unaware of the male gaze observing her from the towel. But an instant or two later, male arms are wrapped around her middle, and Noah’s cheek presses against hers.

She nuzzles into him, placing her hands over his and letting his movements guide her, swaying. She’s never felt so… at ease.

“It’s hard to believe in anything that’s not this moment, right now,” he murmurs into her hair.

She cradles his cheek and turns to face him. Their eyes meet, and there’s no pretense, no walls. 

“Is this what I’ve been missing?” She asks, searching the depths of his brown eyes.

Yes, it is, but instead of answering her question, he says, “I should have said something earlier.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she replies, a tender hand cupping his sun-kissed cheek face. “I should’ve understood earlier. The way you used to look at me… It was too dreamy to be real.”

He presses a kiss to the palm of her hand, his voice low. “I wish I could tell you…”

“Tell me what?”

“Everything. What this means to me. How I feel. How I’ve felt for years and how awful I feel for not having had the guts to—”

She places a finger on his lips.

“We’re here,” she presses her body against his for emphasis. “Whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter. What this means to you… it means the same to me, Noah. I dreamt of you. You were my every fantasy. For years.”

“Tell me your dreams,” he demands. “I’ll make them come true. Each and every single one.”

“You’re already doing that.”

Noah’s fingers brush against the damp skin of her back. The world around them hums with distant laughter and soft music, but here, in their little pocket of space, time feels suspended. His touch wanders. He shifts closer because he needs her.

Unintentionally, right before he’s about to kiss her, his fingers catch on one of the strings of her bikini top. A simple tug. The tension in the knot gives way too easily. He is barely aware of what he’s done before the fabric slackens. 

A breath. A pause.

She stiffens, just slightly. Her shoulders tense, her body alert in the way someone instinctively braces for exposure. Noah realizes what he’s done in the same instant she glances around, eyes darting to the people farther up the shore. They’re too far to see, too lost in their own moments to notice. But still, she hesitates.

However, she doesn’t reach to fix it.

She doesn’t step away. 

Instead, she turns her gaze back to him, eyes gleaming. 

He understands.

His breath catches as he lifts his hands again, this time deliberate. His fingers find the second tie at the nape of her neck. The knot comes undone easily beneath his touch, the damp fabric slipping free. The bikini top flutters down, catching the breeze before landing softly at their feet in the sand.

Before she can move, Noah closes the space between them. His arms come around her, hands on her waist, pulling her against him, their bodies flush. His warmth envelops her, shielding her. Protecting her.

His thumb traces over the faint scar just beneath her breast. He lingers there, reverent, as if trying to read her past through it. 

“That’s a story for another day,” she whispers.

His fingers flex against her skin. “I’ll take care of you.” 

A soft exhale leaves her lips before she rises onto her toes, hands threading around his neck. Their mouths meet—slow at first, tasting the promise. Then deeper. Needier.

He doesn’t think before his arms tighten around her waist. He lifts her and he carries her forward, her legs around his hips, his feet greeted by water. Waves curl around them, rising to their waists as he holds her close.

She frees his hair from the bun. 

“I’m not sure you love the bun or hate it,” Noah muses. 

She grins against his wet lips. “I love how ridiculously hot it makes you look,” she admits, “but the urge to run my fingers through your hair is impossible to resist.” 

He hums in satisfaction and kisses her with an open mouth, hungrier and greedier.

There’s only the press of their bodies, the rhythm of the tide, the quiet gasp of her breath against his mouth.

And the night, vast and endless, coming to swallow them whole.

Steam curls into the air as water cascades down their bodies. The salt is long gone from their skin, for they’ve been in the shower longer than they can track. 

They move around each other in the small space, washing and rinsing, touching slowly, learning. 

He washes her hair, fingers massaging her scalp, nails scratching lightly in a way that makes her eyes flutter shut. She does the same for him, but when she stands in front of him, on her tiptoes to reach, he nibbles at her wrist, making her giggle—so much that he has to catch her before she slips. 

 She’s happy, thinking about how her hair will smell like his now. 

They stand under the stream of water for a while, hugging, saying nothing. 

When she shivers, Noah shuts off the water and hands her a towel before grabbing one for himself. 

Later, after they’ve brushed their hair and dried off, still wrapped in towels, she catches sight of him at the sink, securing a pink butterfly clip into his damp hair, pinning a few strands back from his forehead. 

From where she’s perched on the bed, with a foot propped up to apply moisturizes, she bites her lip to keep from grinning.

“That’s adorable.”

Noah glances at her in the mirror, then snorts when he realizes what she’s talking about. “Lily gave it to me when she was eight. Said it made me look cooler.” His mouth quirks. “She lied, obviously.”

“No,” she says, setting her foot back down on the carpet and flipping her hair over one shoulder. “It’s very fashionable. You should wear it all the time.”

“Instead of the bun? I don’t believe you,” he teases back. 

She sticks her tongue out and walks toward her suitcase, which she’d brought over from her room after they got back from the beach. He watches her, leaning against the sink with his arms crossed over his chest. Water still beads along her collarbones. 

She grabs her underwear, then pauses, letting it dangle from her fingers. When she turns back, the fact that Noah was watching her makes her heart jump. 

The way he stands there, with only a towel slung around his waist and damp hair messy except for that ridiculous pink clip doesn’t help the heat curling low in her stomach. 

She considers the fabric between her fingers, then tilts her head. 

“Do you want to get dirty again?”

His eyes darken, a slow, lazy smirk playing at his lips. “Do I want to get dirty again?” he repeats. “I think you know the answer to that, love.”

 Her smile could stop wars. 

She drops the underwear back into the suitcase and walks up to him, fingers grasping the hem of his towel, brushing against the skin just below his navel. 

“The clip stays on,” she says. 

Noah exhales a quiet laugh, raising an eyebrow as he lets her guide him toward the bed. 

“On one condition,” he says, catching her wrist just before she can tug the towel away and reveal his growing erection. 

She lifts a brow.     

“The clip stays on,” he murmurs, voice dipping lower, “as long as you do.” 

They hold each other’s gaze. The space between them disappears, years of hesitation dissolving into certainty. 

Her smile widens, so big it makes her cheeks ache. 

He just sealed a deal that will have him wearing that hair clip forever. 

He knows. 

She tugs the towel from his waist and rises onto her toes, pressing her lips to his. 

And then, there is no space left between them and no more years of sleep. 

💕 Happy Valentine's Day to all of you, my loves:

@rumoured-whispers | @iconic-taurus | @bloody-spades | @bluestdai | @theanarchymuse95

@somebodyels3 | @blade-dressed-in-red | @todressabladeupinred | @turn-your-life-into-folklore | @thecoyotescry

@iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning | @tosoundlessdarkistare | @missduffsblog | @flowery-mess | @chey-h

@tf-is-aesthetic | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare | @fadingangelwisp | @respectfulrebel | @amelia-acero

@theasowle | @xxkatsatwatwafflexx | @lunabuna991 | @ferduttini | @lacy1986

@bad-idea2021

I'm sorry if I forgot someone!

[kyouka-supremacy]

(╥﹏╥)

[bunnyboy-juice]

awawawawawawa

[ourladyoftheflytrap]

My mom always complaining about how I never spend time with her.... ma'am the last time we had a serious conversation you told me you thought i was making traumatic memories of my childhood up just to demonize you

[crossbackpoke-check]

find a blorbo (nhl tag game)

RULES: Go through the roster of each NHL team and find at least one player that you can root for.

tagged by @bondedpairs!! when i say too many teams to count and here for the narrative um. i may not have lied. this is not an extensive list of my blorbos but in order to make it not ten thousand years long i made up the rule that i had to do it straight from memory :)

anaheim ducks: as evidenced by recent events i DO like mason mctavish and trevor zegras but i have to honor laura and mention troy terry and beloved goalie gibbie*

boston bruins: oh for sure brad marchand… can i say patrice? one of the charlies got traded but i think mcavoy is still there because gryz is gone, brandon carlo is there still i think

buffalo sabres: cozens & thompson, owen power, rasmus dahlin, ukko pekka luukkonen

calgary flames: is chris tanev still here? is markstrom still here?? noah hanifin?? as a last resort i’ll say blasty

carolina hurricanes: aho & jarvy & teuvo teravainen & brent burns is still playing maybe? i know sepe got traded

chicago hockey: the bedsy narrative is compelling but ANDREAS ATHANASIOU MY BELOVED reunited with tyler bertuzzi… that’s the real story. also i like foligno

colorado avalanche: gabe landeskog, whatever ross colton & miles wood have going on, natemac + jo, mikko

columbus blue jackets: have long been on the merzlikins train, have been swayed to the darkside of umich boys (brindley, kent johnson, fantilli, blankenburg who is now on nsh)

dallas stars: seggy! mush! roope + miro and otter and robo and wyjo (rip ty dellandrea) and harls! etc.

detroit red wings: MOST players. dilly larks, moritz seider, jv, raymond, rasmussen, kitty, lyon, etc except for k*ne

edmonton oilers: mcdrai, ofc. nugent-hopkins, nursey, rip vinny & skinny

florida panthers: tkachuk, reinhardt, sasha barkov, verhaeghe (is there still?)

los angeles kings: adrian kempe… kevin fiala… danault… quinton byfield & alex turcotte

minnesota wild: kirill, marat, fleury, brodes, fabes, boldy, moose, middsy, spurge… god’s perfect idiots

montreal canadiens: going out on a limb here to say martin st. louis but also xhekaj (both), slafkovský, suzuki, my austrian reinbacher, yes fine cole caufield

nashville predators: MOST BEAUTIFUL D PAIR IN THE WORLD GRADY SKJEI AND ROMAN JOSI!! juuse, evangelista, isn’t stamkos there and also someone else who absolutely should not be

new jersey devils: nico… tuna (tatar), dawson mercer, siegenthaler, dougie hamilton, yes the hugheses whatever

new york islanders: barzy, zeeker & marty, anders lee, noah dobson lol

new york rangers: mika & chris, lafrenière & k’andre, shesterkin

philadelphia flyers: frosty & beezer and tk and sanny and the new baby michkov and coots and scooty loots and foerster etc etc. you know the Guys

pittsburgh penguins: the two headed monster but also compelled by rutger mcgroarty, and kevin hayes was there!!!

ottawa senators: timmy stü & brady! josh norris! the evolution of shane pinto! ullmark now and brännström and claude giroux and chabot

san jose sharks: ekky, thrun, mario, borde, logan couture, shakir, that other vaguely blond rookie

seattle kraken: brandon tanev, andre burakovsky! grubauer & d’accord also

st. louis blues: jordan kyrou, nathan walker (is still there?), rob thomas? is parayako still there?

tampa bay lightning: hedman, point, they dumped so many guys after the cup run… is kucherov still there or is he in nashville?? anthony cirelli (notable for being made out with by pat maroon)

toronto maple leafs: mitch, jt, willy, alex nylander, kniesy, dewar, et

utah hockey: crouse, keller, tuba

vancouver canucks: quinn, brock, petey, jt, garly, höggy, i want to say dakota johnson, elias lindholm?

vegas golden knights: brandon montour is here now… alex pietrangelo, so sorry to one i can’t remember who loves the lions it will come back to me

washington capitals: full of love and stupidity. oshie, nicke/ovi, pierre-luc dubois, dowd, vrána, milano

winnipeg jets: adam lowry!! josh morissey and kc and morgan barron, also vladdy my beloved

tagging @stillfertile + @colap1nto + @songsandswords + @moregraceful if they haven’t done it yet, i know they follow at least a couple teams. if anybody else wants to play i love adopting blorbos!!

[dzozef]

i got offered the promotion at work.... why am i every business owners wettest dream damn....

[orcelito]

Ykno the suckiest thing about being broken up with for someone else is that like. Well I'm doing generally fine, all things considered, but I Am kinda sad thinking about the things I've lost and all the casual affection that I can't have now.

But she's out there having all the affection she wants from her coworker, and it's just like. Damn this feels so skewed and SO unfair.

[aberooski]

The way I have such a ridiculously hard time trying to draw when I'm not just drawing GX characters into scenes that already exist visually really makes me feel so unbelievably shitty I just want to be able to put things I picture in my head to the page without it looking like complete shit 9.5/10 times 😭