#god this took such a long time to complete

[ang3ltine]

"𝐔𝐧𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐫 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠" - Robert ("Bob") Reynolds x freader x platonic thunderbolts

Bob was asleep for God knows how long, now that he has the chance at a better life. Who better to show him than you?

a.n - Ava was sick of seeing you and Bob dance around eachother like puppies in love, so she does something about it

warnings - mention of mental illness, lovesick Bob! minor spoilers and major fluff!!

"Remember to call us if you need anything ok?" You were currently on the quinjet, ready to leave for a mission. But there was a problem, Bob had to stay in the tower by himself.

Bob nodded hurriedly before ushering you back onto the ship, but you hesitated when he turned to leave. You grab his arm rather quickly, which prompted him to look back at you with wide eyes.

"Be safe," you whispered softly so that it falls in his ears only.

Both Ava and Yelena heard the couple from a distance and snickered to themselves.

"I.. I will," Bob stutters before giving you a tight-lipped 'bob' smile. He stepped back so that he wouldn't delay your mission.

The hatch to the ship closed as you peer down at the small figure waving at you. Yet, you could almost feel the smugness of the duo behind you.

"Be safe," Yelena says with sickingly sweet tone while Ava butt's in afterwards. "Oh I'll be so safe."

You give them a deadpan look before responding with crossed arms. "Can you guys stop?"

"But how will that keep us safe?" Ava retorts sarcastically while Yelena falls into her arms dramatically. "I'll be safe once you kiss me."

You knew the two of them were mocking you for having a soft spot for Bob. Ever since you guys took him in after his 'incident' as Sentry. No thanks to Valentina ofcourse.

"Can you girls stop gossiping? It's annoying." John grunted while adjusting his suit.

The team was split into two for today's mission. Boys vs. Girls to make matters worse, but you guys didn't want to lose to John Walker.

So you tried your very best to complete your part of the mission as quickly as possible. An old hydra base had been spotted a few weeks ago so Bucky wanted to check it out and gather intel, just in case.

The location was in the snowy mountains of Slovakia and it was mission based on stealth. Something that John struggled with, and Alexei, so he was left in charge of the jet. Much to his disappointment.

"Oh you gotta be kidding me..." John mutters as he spots you from a distance with a smug smile on your face.

"Hey asshat, how's the taste of being a loser feel?" You quipped while happily walking out of the building, after successfully infiltrating it.

John on the other hand had failed his part and the others had to step in while he sat in the quinjet with minor injuries.

He puts his hands up in defence before sighing. "Fine, you win this time."

Internally he was fuming, but he wasn't ready to admit that.

"Relax I was just kidding." You mused while passing by him with a quick pat on his back. John knew that you were joking, but it was reassuring to hear the words himself.

"You think Bob's doing ok?" You mumbled while putting on your seat belt.

"Don't worry, I'm sure he's curled up on the couch thinking about you." Yelena let's out a coarse laugh while she takes her seat next to you.

" Oh 'lena what would I do without you?" You say sarcastically while she links her arms with yours. "You'll be lost...and unsafe."

The last comment made you roll your eyes before finally laughing along to the joke. As the rumble of the quinjet signalled it's takeoff sequence, so you got ready to take a nap on the journey back home.

What you all didn't expect was to find Bob standing on the helipad, with a pillow in hand. It seemed like he was anticipating your return since he was sort of giddy when you got off.

"Ahh look your boyfriend was waiting for you after all," Ava makes the comment while walking past you swiftly. You shook your head unamsingly before making your way towards the awaiting brunette.

"Were you waiting for us?" You sighed while reaching up to fix his hair. It had gotten messy due to the blast of wind from the quinjet engines.

"Oh well...I sort of had another episode while you were gone...so I thought I'd wait out here until you returned." It was hard to make out what he was said on the last part but nonetheless, you pull him into a warm embrace.

"You wanna talk about it?" You whisper into his hair before running your fingers through the dark brown locks. Bob shook his head as he buries his face into the crook of your neck.

Not wanting to push him, you just stood there while holding him until he was ready to go back inside.

What you didn't notice was how fast Bob's heart was racing while you two hugged.

Deep down he was glad that you didn't, he would be too embarrassed to ever admit that he secretly liked you. For now, it was better for you not to know.

"You got that right?" Ava asks while squinting her eyes to get a better view from the hanger. The sound of a click from a camera could be heard before Yelena answers with her phone in hand.

"Got it." Yelena snickers mischievously.

"We need a plan to get these two idiots to confess."

"What do you have in mind?" Yelena turns to Ava while she thinks of something.

"Ok... I think I have one."

"Is...is this ok?" Bob asks while showing his bowl full of cake batter. You leaned in slightly to see for yourself, and to your surprise, it was perfectly light and airy.

"Wow Bob! The batter looks perfect!"

Bob breaks into a wide grin at the compliment as the rush of giddiness returned. He observed the way your mouth was moving while you talks and was seemingly under a trance, that was until you pulled him back to reality.

"Bob sweetie are you ok?" You say in a gentle tone as you wave your hands infront of his face. He blinked at few times , seemingly lost before nodding. "Uh.. yeah I'm good."

"Aww you call him sweetie now?"

You sighed and hung your head low at the sound of the familiar voice. " 'lena don't push it."

You two had been dancing around each other for about 2 months now. Every day, it seemed like you were closer to getting Bob out of his shell. Whatever you did worked because he was able to start training with you all without the worry of the 'void' returning.

Speaking of Bob, he was in the kitchen having his dinner with Ava's company. It was late and well past midnight when the group had finished their training.

Her plan was beginning to unfold when you rushed into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around your shoulder.

"What happened? Is there any emergency?!"

Your hair was slightly damp from the shower you had just taken. Bob recognised the top that you were wearing and almost choked on his food. You were wearing his blue t-shirt that he had left behind a few nights ago.

"There's no emergency is there?" You sighed as you shift your gaze towards the woman near the refrigerator. She simply shrugged before taking a chug of cold milk.

Bob had completely forgotten about the shirt and to make things worse was that you look absolutely gorgeous with it on. Not to mention, your thighs were exposed since your shorts were hidden underneath the gigantic top.

"Bob...! I didn't know you were still awake," blood rushed to your cheeks when you realised Bob was staring directly at you with wide eyes. You had no idea he'd be here, thinking that everyone else had gone to sleep already.

Bob cleared his throat and swiped his bowl to the side. His dinner now forgotten about and directed his attention towards you. You felt like a deer caught in headlights.

You were planning on giving his shirt back but you kept on delaying up until now.

"Oh uh --...hey love." Bob stutters slightly while he drinks in your appearance. Which was very out of character for him, even making Ava stop dead in her tracks from the sudden pet name.

The muscles of your cheeks began to rise as you felt yourself smile at the sweet nickname that he had given you. Bob on the other hand? Felt himself swoon whenever you gave him that smile of yours.

Yelena returned from the pantry with a bottle of water in his hand with a shit eating grin on her face. Giving knowing glances between the two of you.

"Its good to see you too 'lena," you sighed before making your way towards the counter.

"How's your day been beautiful?"

Bob was caught offguard by hearing Ava giving you a pet name as he blinks at her in confusion. Was there something going on between you and Ava that he didn't know about?

He became even more jumpy when he noticed your form taking a seat right next to him.

You fought back the urge to smile again when you noticed the tips of Bob's ears turning red. He looked like a puppy begging for attention. Nonetheless you turn back to Sam to answer his question.

"My days been eventful, to say the least. I mean I made some new adjustments to my suit so it could take in more volts of energy-"

Ava nodded and promted you to carry on. You spoke about the drills you had done with John and Bucky aswell.

Bob had tuned out of the conversation. He rested his head on his palm as a lovesick sigh escaped his lips. He followed the way your mouth moved while you talked and the way your hair would bounce slightly from every gesture you'd make.

Seeing the way your eyes would sparkle whenever you'd talk about something you're interested in.

Bucky considered himself lucky to be in your presence and the way the light above them gave you a warm glow. He didn't even notice the conversation dying down as you, Ava and Yelena turned their heads towards him.

You looked at him with concern while Yelena muffled her laugh behind her hand. She saw how smitten her best friend looked which only convinced her more to get you two together.

"Bob hon', are you ok?"

Ava let out a choked laugh at the nickname. You gave her a light glare as she calmed herself down.

Your body was fully facing the now flustered Bob, he almost flinched out of instinct when your cold hand met his burning cheeks.

"Geez Bobby you're burning up, are you feeling ok?" You started to get worried, thinking maybe he had gotten a fever.

"Mmh? I'm feelin' fine though." Bob murmured as he looked like he was going to collapse right there in your arms. Getting absolutely drunk from the attention you were giving him.

"I'd say otherwise," Ava mumbled to herself in amusement as she excused herself, also dragging Yelena with her despite her protests.

She believed that the two needed some privacy so she had the fabulous idea of locking you two in.

"Seriously guys?!" You yelled when the shut the door on you both. Knowing that there was no use in chasing after them, you turn to face Bob again.

Bob saw the way your mouth was still moving but he couldn't focus on the words that you were saying. If this was anyone else, he wouldn't even let them touch him. Depending on the person ofcourse, like Yelena.

But it was you. The woman that had the ability to make his heart hurt from how lovely you were. He'd never felt so much love for someone in a long time and it kind of scares him.

You were still patting his cheek, feeling the slightly rough stuble beneath your skin. You also moved stray hairs out of his face and tucked it behind his ears. He wanted to say something but no words came out.

"Maybe we should head to the med bay to get yourself checked out." You were about to get up to leave until you felt a strong grip on your arm as Bob made you sit back down again.

"Do you not want to go?" You asked in confusion as you tilted your head. Bob froze as he tried to figure out what he should do next.

His hands slowly reached up towards your cheeks and gently caressed them with his thumb. He was impossibly close now, his nose practically touching yours.

You were surprised at how bold he was being but you weren't one to complain. But still, you waited to see what he would do next.

The faint scent of your shampoo and conditioner fills his nostrils. Your peer into his deep blue eyes, his pupils were dilated but oh so full of love.

You hesitated, and rightfully so. Bob had the tendency to fluctuate his mood so you weren't sure whether you should take advantage of the situation.

Bob brushes his lips against yours, testing the waters. Not knowing if you wanted this or not. Without a second to waste, you pressed your lips fully against his.

They molded together perfectly, you don't know why you waited so long to feel this, to feel him.

His lips were like you imagined, soft and plump with a hint of cinnamon since he just started eating his dessert.

But a distant voice at the back of Bob's head made him pull away.

You noticed the way his eyes filled with worry, knowing something was bothering him. He lets out a shaky breath as you feel a slight shift in his demeanour, as if trying to hold something or someone at bay.

"Would you... want someone like me? I mean -... you don't think I'm...pathetic?" A hurt laugh escaped his lips as he mentions the last part.

"Darling, is that the reason why you're so hesitant?" Your heart hurt squeezed at the thought of him even thinking of being unworthy of love.

You lift his chin up so that he'd make eye contact with you again.

"You know...I fell for you for a reason, Bob. That means every part of you, including your insecurities. Because... that's what makes you human, just like us."

He couldn't help but smile brightly at your statement as all his worries leaving him in an instant. The voice that was nagging him not a moment ago, vanished. As if it wasn't there in the first place.

You pressed a chaste kiss on his lips to start off, causing Bob to become even more giddy than usual. Then turning into laughter as you pepper his face with kisses before pressing one last kiss on his now pink lips. Due to the excess tint from your lipbalm.

"Thanks for believing in me..." Bob whispers against your lips as he peers down at you through his lashes.

"Always," you whispered back in a slightly quieter tone while brushing the stray hair away from his eyes.

You silently ask for Bob's permission with your eyes, which he answered with a firm nod before leaning back in once again.

He lets out a surprised gasp against your mouth when you took a seat on his lap for better access. Taking the chance to show him how much you truly loved the man beneath you.

The rest of the world faded around you as you both got lost in time. It was beginning to get hard to breathe as he pulls you against him to deepen the kiss. You felt a butterflies deep in your stomach that you never felt before with anyone.

Bob could taste the slight hint of strawberry on your tongue from the candy you had eaten just before taking a shower. In another bold act of gesture, he takes the opportunity to fully immerse himself in the kiss and sucks lightly on your bottom lip. Wanting to taste more.

His hands were all over you and he had a hard time keeping himself under control. Giving your hips a gentle squeeze while you sat on his lap.

He whimpers against your lips while you gently prod and nibble on his bottom lip, the soft muscle becoming swollen.

Literally, anyone could walk in and see you two, but clearly that wasn't on their mind at the moment.

But eventually you both had to pull away for air, your cheeks were flushed but you were content. Smiling softly down at the adorable brunette below you. Bob lightly nuzzled his nose against yours while both your breaths became foggy due to the cold air in the kitchen.

"So Sunshine....can I finally call you mine?"

Before he could answer you hear the sound of muffled talking in the hallway and they were headed straight towards the kitchen.

You two quickly scrambled off eachother and tried to act casual. Bob picked at his now cold food while you rummaged through the fridge.

"Cut the act you two. We already know what happened." A teasing voice called out. "By the way, we have pictures as proof."

You internally groan as you turn to see Ava with a smirk on her face with Yelena having the same amused look.

"So, are you two dating now?" Ava asks while she looks between you and Bob.

You huffed as you made your way over to Bob, who was already standing up from his seat and stood beside the chair awkwardly. You reached his height by tiptoeing slightly and placed a firm yet soft kiss on his cheek.

Bob's face turned almost bright red while Ava and Yelena both looked at you in disbelief.

Which only made the situation all the more amusing. They didn't expect you to be so bold.

"I guess we are," you respond with a doting smile as Bob shared the same look he'd always had.

Lovesick.

Taglist: @doodlebob-mp3 @starktonyx @perdidosbucky-yyo @marianastudiesart @ordelixx @hisredheadedgoddess28 @avatarobsessedgirly @starstruckfirecat @adventure-awaits13

[vamptizm]

SNOOZE — p. bueckers iv.

pairing: paige bueckers x soraya mensima (oc)

synopsis: rookie paige bueckers enters the league with confidence, charm, and a bad habit of gravitating toward things she shouldn’t want— like soraya mensima, the wings’ respected star and reluctant heartbreaker. soraya’s been here longer, knows better, and refuses to let lines blur... even as paige keeps rewriting them with every smile.

warnings: fluff. slight angst. mentions of weed. sexual content. high sex. oral (s!receiving) pussy drunk paige.

word count: 12.8k

♯┆taglist (open) .ᐟ ★ @brenwritesss @bueckersbitch @ekisokay @paige05bby @sierrale8ne @ohmybueckers @pboogerswbb @yailtsv @lilpaigeyherbo @prettygirl-gabi @mariahthealchemist @avvwritesstufff @vintagebueckers @naeswrrldd @thaatdigitaldiary

Soraya's phone buzzed with a short vibration on the nightstand, lighting up the screen with a message from Paige:

BDB Paige💜: downstairs. take your time, passenger princess.

She blinked at it for a second, then sighed softly. She already felt bad enough letting a rookie chauffeur her around all week—not that Paige had given her a choice in the matter. But to make her wait on top of that? No. Even if Paige didn't seem to mind in the slightest, Soraya wasn't about to add ‘ungrateful’ to the list of things she didn't like being called.

Grabbing her gym bag and keys, she gave a quick glance back toward the living room where her cat was curled up on the couch. She padded over and leaned down to press a kiss to Jiggy's furry forehead.

"Be good," she murmured.

Jiggy didn't even twitch. Not a flick of the ear. Ungrateful, indeed.

Soraya rolled her eyes, heading for the door. She moved too fast down the stairs, nearly missing a step and stumbling before gripping the railing with a muttered curse. Deep breaths. Chill. She wasn't about to break her ankle before practice even started.

When she opened the back door of Paige's car, she tossed her bag in the backseat before sliding into the passenger side. Her gaze instantly landed on Paige—her hair pulled into a low, messy bun, face completely bare of makeup, purple glasses perched slightly crooked on the bridge of her nose.

God. She looked beautiful in that effortless, stripped back way. The kind of beautiful that wasn't trying to be anything at all.

It wasn't until Paige turned to her with a lopsided smile and held something out that Soraya noticed the iced matcha in her hand.

"Good morning to you too, passenger princess," Paige greeted, her voice a little tired but bright in the way early mornings sometimes made people seem more sincere.

Soraya blinked down at the green drink, then back up at her. "What's that?"

"Matcha? That's what you like, right?" Paige asked, brows pinching together slightly like she wasn't totally sure she hadn't just imagined it.

Soraya tilted her body slightly toward her, looking between the cup and Paige's face in silence. The quiet stretched just long enough for Paige to feel it press into her chest.

"Who told you that?" Soraya finally asked, her voice quieter, more curious than suspicious.

"No one," Paige shrugged. "I just heard you mention it to Nai the other day. Figured you'd appreciate one this morning."

The words came out with practiced ease, but the thud in her chest betrayed her cool front. Why was she nervous? It was just a drink. A gesture. Nothing weird about that.

Right?

Another beat of silence passed before Soraya reached out. Her fingers brushed against Paige's as she took the cup gently, and for a brief second, the contact felt louder than either of them expected.

"I do. Thank you," Soraya said, her tone softer than before. She didn't acknowledge the tingle that climbed up her wrist from the contact, and neither did Paige.

Paige watched her for a second longer, studying the way the rim of the cup pressed against her lips, how she seemed slightly more present after the first sip.

She glanced at Soraya's reflection in the passenger window—loose ponytail, skin bare but glowing, two tiny pimple patches on her cheek, and black glasses that made her look softer, somehow. Paige caught their mirrored images: matching glasses, morning wrinkled clothes, and sleepy expressions. They looked almost domestic. Cozy. Like something warm and familiar.

The thought snuck up on her, unexpected and uninvited, and nestled somewhere in her chest.

"No problem," she replied.

They didn't speak for a while after that, letting the silence bloom between them as Paige pulled away from the curb.

Not awkward—just still. The kind of silence that didn't ask to be filled. Outside, the morning light bled through the trees, casting long, shifting shadows across the dashboard as Paige drove with a steady hand. Inside the car, the soft hum of music floated through the speakers, cushioning the quiet.

Then the opening notes of Another Life by SZA came on.

Soraya's posture shifted instantly. Her shoulders, once slightly hunched from the early morning chill, relaxed. A faint brightness sparked in her expression, barely noticeable unless you were looking closely—and Paige was.

"Turn this shit up," Soraya said, leaning forward without waiting for a response. Her fingers adjusted the volume with a practiced ease before she sank back into the seat, a satisfied little grin pulling at her lips as the beat deepened.

Paige flicked her gaze toward her, just for a second, before returning her focus to the road—the kind of driver who never let her attention drift for long. Still, the curve of her mouth betrayed the question forming on her tongue.

"You like SZA?"

Soraya turned to her with an expression that landed somewhere between disbelief and amusement. Her brows pinched together slightly as if Paige had just asked whether she liked air or water.

"Like?" she repeated, drawing out the word. "I fucking love that bitch. Especially this song. It's been on repeat for weeks."

Her voice was alive in a way Paige hadn't heard yet—animated, unfiltered. There was something playful tucked into the edges of it, something that made Paige's chest stir a little.

She smiled, unable to help it. "Same," she said simply, voice quiet but full of something real.

She didn't offer more. Not yet. Not because she didn't have more to say, but because Soraya was still a closed book, just beginning to crack open. And Paige had learned that pushing too hard made people snap shut. So she stayed where she was—present, open, patient.

Soraya glanced at her sideways. Something in her chest warmed at Paige's answer. Sure, liking SZA wasn't exactly rare, but this specific song? There was a quiet intimacy in that. Knowing that Paige, someone who always seemed composed, cool, and sharp around the edges, played this song on repeat too—it did something to her.

She didn't say anything else. Just gave a soft, almost imperceptible nod, then brought the matcha back to her lips.

She wanted to speak. She really did. But the words stuck to the roof of her mouth. Not because she didn't have them, but because sharing them still felt unfamiliar. They weren't close enough for comfort yet, not quite. And Soraya wasn't the kind of girl who spoke just to fill the air.

So they drove on, not speaking. Letting the music talk for them.

The breeze came in through the window, light and cool against her skin as SZA sang over layered instrumentals. Soraya closed her eyes for half a second, just breathing it in—the sound, the calm, the sense of someone beside her who didn't make silence feel suffocating.

It was rare. And she wasn't ready to name it, but she liked it.

And Paige? She kept her eyes on the road, but she noticed. Every little thing.

For once, Soraya didn't detour to the vending machine. No organic fizzy peach red bull, no chocolate bar, no three minute stall in the hallway just to avoid walking in with someone else.

This morning, she walked straight in.

Which meant she and Paige entered the locker room together, shoulder to shoulder, no space to pretend otherwise.

The second they crossed the threshold, the atmosphere shifted.

It wasn't dramatic. No gasps, no silence. Just a few too casual glances from the girls already inside. Some looked up, gave absent nods, and kept it moving. But others—Arike, Dijonai, and Nalyssa, seated in a trio near the back—exchanged knowing looks like they'd been waiting for this moment all week. Grins stretched across their faces before the teasing even began. Eyebrows wagged. Shoulders bumped. Silent laughter buzzed between them like an inside joke without a punchline.

Soraya rolled her eyes immediately, already regretting everything. She let out a quiet exhale through her nose and rolled her eyes, pointedly ignoring them.

Beside her, Paige caught the theatrics out of the corner of her eye. A faint smirk tugged at her lips, but she swallowed it down. She didn't mind the attention. Not when Soraya was walking beside her, shoulders relaxed in that effortlessly cool way of hers.

They moved to their lockers, which happened to be right beside each other. Had been since before the first day of the rookie's arrival, although Soraya still hadn't decided if that was good or bad luck.

Soraya sat first, dropping her bag by her feet and unzipping it with one hand while tugging off her zip up sweater with the other. Paige followed a second later, stretching her long legs out in front of her and began to carefully put her eye contacts in.

They changed in silence, the usual locker room hum around them. The shuffle of sneakers, clinking of water bottles, the occasional burst of laughter. Nothing felt particularly different, and yet...

After a few minutes, Dijonai's voice rang out over the noise.

"Alright y'all, listen up!" she called out, already grinning. "Me and Lyss are throwing a little welcome get-together tomorrow night. Just something chill. Drinks, snacks, music, vibes. First preseason game’s almost here and we got hella new faces, so it's only right."

A wave of agreement rippled through the room. A chorus of "bet," "say less," and "I'm down" followed, everyone nodding or tossing their hands up in agreement. It was a day off, after all, and the idea of unwinding before the storm of the game began was too tempting to resist.

Everyone seemed excited except Soraya, who remained quiet where she sat in front of her locker, lacing up her sneakers like she hadn't heard a thing.

Dijonai noticed immediately.

She didn't bother saying anything aloud. Just gave Soraya the look—one they'd perfected after years of friendship. Her expression didn't say ‘are you coming?’ It said ‘you're coming, and you know it.’

Soraya didn't argue. She didn't have to. She just rolled her eyes lightly in response, the universal sign for ‘fine, whatever.’

But then, as she finished tying her last shoe and leaned back slightly, she glanced to her left to Paige, who sat almost close enough for their shoulders to brush if either of them shifted their chairs closer just a little.

"Y’going?" she asked, casually. The question was simple. Almost too simple. But it landed with more weight than it should have, a quiet ripple in the space between them.

Paige was caught slightly off guard by the question. She blinked once, then looked over at Soraya beside her, their bodies aligned, their legs almost touching.

It was such a small question. Barely a sentence. But something about the way Soraya asked it—the softness behind the words, the faint tilt of her head, the way her dark eyes flicked up with something unsure—made Paige feel like the answer mattered more than it should. God, how could someone have such hypnotic eyes?

"Yeah, I'll be there." Paige said quietly. She nodded once to seal it, like it was obvious. Like there was no other choice.

'If you want me there,' she added in her head, the words lingering like a secret between her ribs.

Soraya held her gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then nodded, just as quietly. "Okay." Her voice was lighter now, lower, like she didn't want anyone else to hear.

The older turned back to her locker. She didn't smile—not visibly. But there was a flicker in her eyes, a quiet glint of satisfaction. Like she got the answer she wanted, even if she'd never admit she wanted it. But Paige noticed. And something in her chest warmed at the sight.

Eventually, everyone began filing out of the locker room, ready to start another day of training. But Soraya and Dijonai lagged behind, as usual.

Dijonai—slow on purpose—rifled through her duffle bag like she had all the time in the world. Soraya, now fully dressed and ready, leaned against the lockers and waited, arms folded, gaze aimlessly drifting until her best friend finally stood and motioned toward the gym doors.

As they walked side by side down the corridor, Dijonai bumped her hip playfully against Soraya's. Her grin was smug, like she'd been waiting to get her words in.

"'Y’going?' " she echoed in a poor imitation of Soraya's tone—soft, almost sweet, way too obvious to be brushed off. "Since when do you care about any of the rookies?"

Soraya groaned, head tipping back in dramatic irritation. "I asked because she's the one that would have to drive me, dumbass," she said flatly. "I don't care what she does."

"Mhm," Dijonai replied, with the exact amount of disbelief that made Soraya want to punch her in the arm. "Sure. Keep tellin' yourself that, Sora."

Soraya didn't answer. She just shook her head and kept walking, but her silence said more than words could. And Dijonai, who'd known her since college, saw right through it.

Practice had gone well.

Another long day of training camp, the kind that left legs sore and minds buzzing, but with the kind of exhaustion that felt earned. The coaches were ramping up the intensity— two days until the first preseason game and a little over two weeks until the season opener, and it showed. The drills were sharper, the scrimmages more heated, especially for the rookies, who had to fight for every inch of space and respect.

Soraya though, wasn't worried about herself. She'd earned her spot long ago—two years in the league, one of the most versatile hybrids on the team. She knew the playbook, the pace, the pressure. This wasn't new to her.

And if there was one other person Soraya definitely wasn't worried about, it was Paige Bueckers.

UConn's golden girl. A four year starter who'd practically built a legacy brick by brick under Geno. The league had been buzzing about her debut long before she even declared. Watching her in camp, the way she moved— deliberate, unbothered, efficient—only confirmed what Soraya already knew. Paige wasn't just making the roster. She was about to be the face of it.

That night, after a quiet car ride and a murmured "thanks" before slipping out of Paige's passenger seat, Soraya had gone straight to bed. Not from exhaustion, necessarily, but from that bone deep kind of tired that came from silence. She hadn't said much during the drive, hadn't offered conversation, directions, nothing.

It lingered with her the next morning.

Soraya wasn't the type to feel guilt easily. But something about Paige carting her around without even a flicker of annoyance—not once asking for gas money or thanks or a single word in return—sat in her chest like a quiet weight. She needed to sort out her car situation, and fast. It'd been almost a week now, and the mechanic hadn't offered much hope unless she was willing to fork over the price of a used Honda just to revive her 4 year old Kia.

Maybe it was time to let it go. Time to invest in something new. Something reliable. Grown up.

Still, for today at least, she could ignore that. The rare bliss of a day off meant no early alarms, no sprints, no whistles. Just rest.

She slept in—or at least, what counted as sleeping in for her. It was 8:47 a.m. when Jiggy padded her way across her back, each paw landing with perfect, tiny disrespect. Her breath, which smelled somewhere between old cheese and expired curiosity, hit her square in the face as she sniffed around with impunity. It was that, and not the sun that truly woke her up.

"Ugh," Soraya groaned, face buried in her pillow. "Your breath smells like death."

Jiggy, unbothered as always, sat on her hip like she owned the lease.

Despite the rude awakening, Soraya found herself smiling, brushing a hand over her fur as she blinked the sleep from her eyes. Waking up to her squishy little face was still her favorite part of the day.

She spent the rest of the morning moving slowly—eating fruit out of the fridge, catching up on half a show she barely remembered starting, scrolling aimlessly. Her phone buzzed with messages from teammates in their group chat, confirming times and rides for the get together later that evening, but she didn't respond just yet.

The day was hers. Quiet and slow. Untouched by anyone else's energy.

But by late afternoon, around 4:30, Soraya was up again, tying her hair into a loose bun and slipping into her kitchen. She'd never been the type to show up empty handed. Not now, not ever.

It was just how she was raised.

In both Ghanian and Algerian culture, hospitality wasn't optional—it was sacred. A value woven deep into everyday life. Whether you were invited to someone's home or just dropping by, you brought something. Food, flowers, a bottle of juice. It didn't matter what it was, only that you came with your hands full and your heart open.

To show up empty was to show up without respect. And respect, especially the quiet kind, mattered to Soraya, contrary to popular belief.

So she started to bake.

Her kitchen smelled like chocolate and browned butter within minutes. The warm, familiar notes that reminded her of childhood, of her grandmother's kitchen, of small apartment ovens filled with the scent of long lost care and love.

As the brownies baked, she glanced at her phone again.

It was going to be a long night of pretending to be social. She needed the calm now, while it lasted. And maybe—just maybe—she didn't mind the idea of Paige being there.

While the brownies baked in the oven, the real battle was happening in Soraya's bedroom.

She stood half dressed in her closet, hands on her hips, surrounded by rejected options draped over her bed and chair. Most things she owned were either loud, bold, or unapologetically her. Statement pieces, sculpted silhouettes, textures that caught the light. ‘Doing too much’ was kind of her thing. That was the point. She never underdressed, unless it was for practice, and even then, it was a stretch.

But tonight, she wasn't sure. She didn't want to look like she was trying too hard, especially not in front of teammates she was still getting used to. And especially not in front of her.

Eventually, she settled on something that felt like a compromise. An short, ashy-brown leather skirt with a built-in belt that hugged her hips just right, paired with a black halter cami. Velvet florals bloomed across the sheer mesh, like ink spreading in water. The delicate tie at the neckline and the open back teased more than it covered, letting the curves of her chest breathe against the air. If we were being honest it, it was more of a covering bikini top with curtains. It wasn't modest—far from it—but it was honest. Soft in its confidence and a little vulnerable.

Soraya wasn’t big on modesty. She’d already spent a large majority of her life covering almost every inch of skin for other’s satisfaction.

Still, she lingered in front of the mirror longer than she wanted to admit.

She moved on to makeup next, more in control here. She swept soft shimmer across her eyelids, letting it catch the light just right, lifting the corners with a foxy blend. A warm brown lip combo followed—subtle, but sensual. Polished. Intentional. She didn't rush. She never did. Glamming up was second nature, one of the few rituals that truly relaxed her. She thought of Dijonai then, how they'd once bonded over their love for fashion, makeup and heels that made statements louder than words.

Just as she added the final touch of gloss, her oven timer went off. She sighed, standing from her vanity chair and carefully padding into the kitchen.

Jiggy sat by the oven, tail twitching lazily like she was the one doing all the work.

"Thanks for looking out, chef," she laughed, slipping on oven mitts before carefully pulling the tray out.

The brownies were golden at the edges, still slightly gooey in the center—perfect. She let them cool as she packed up the rest of her things, slicing the squares neatly and transferring them into containers with practiced care. Her phone buzzed on the counter just as she was sealing the last lid.

She answered quickly, tucking her phone between her ear and shoulder while making her way back to the closet.

"Hello?" she said, scanning the floor for her shoes.

"I'll be right down," she added, slipping her feet into a pair of low-level black Miu Miu heels that hugged her ankles like they were made for her.

"Don't rush yourself, ma. I'm downstairs whenever you're ready."

That casual pet name—ma—was said so lightly it almost flew over her head.

Almost.

But it landed. Oh, it landed.

Her heart did something it hadn't in a while—skipped, stumbled, caught itself. She shook it off quickly, grabbing her purse and the brownie containers, trying not to overthink it. Paige called everyone names like that. Probably. Maybe. Right?

Still, she found herself holding the containers a little tighter as she hurried out of her building and spotted Paige's car waiting at the curb, headlights glowing against the soft dusk.

She slid into the passenger seat like she'd done so many times now, the door clicking shut behind her as she placed the containers in the back. When she finally looked over, Paige was silent.

Her gaze was already on her.

And not in a casual, what's up? kind of way. No, Paige was looking—really looking. Her eyes moved slowly, taking Soraya in from the top of her goddess braids to the curve of her waist, the cut of her cami, the way the skirt clung to her hips like it belonged there. Her stare lingered in a way that made Soraya suddenly hyper aware of the exposed skin at her chest and back, the way the neckline dipped dangerously low.

The air in the car thickened for just a moment.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting," Soraya finally said, trying to break the tension—unsure if Paige was judging her, if the silence was disapproval, or worse, indifference.

It pulled Paige out of whatever trance she'd been in. Her lips tugged upward, soft and slow.

"Don't worry about it, beautiful."

Beautiful.

Another pet name. This one warmer. A little more intimate. A little more... intentional?

Soraya looked ahead quickly, lips parted in surprise but no words coming out. The butterflies in her stomach were unwelcome and unexpected. She didn't know what scared her more—how easily Paige said it, or how easily she liked hearing it.

As Paige pulled away from the curb, Soraya forced herself to breathe evenly, casting a sidelong glance at her driver.

It was her turn to look.

And oh, she looked.

Paige wore a pair of black cargo pants and a white cropped polo tank, the fit hugging her torso just right, revealing a sliver of toned waist and abs. Her hair was down and straightened, silky and effortless. It threw Soraya for a loop. She'd never seen Paige like this—feminine with just enough edge. She couldn't help but blink at the profile in front of her, like she was seeing her for the first time all over again.

She turned her gaze to the window quickly after, not trusting herself.

They pulled up to the apartment just as the sky dipped fully into night, warm light pouring from the windows onto the pavement. Soraya carried the containers of brownies carefully, and Paige stayed close behind her, not quite hovering but not straying too far either.

When Nalyssa opened the door, she was already grinning.

"Look who finally decided to show up," she teased, stepping aside to let them in.

She dapped Paige up first, before turning to Soraya and giving her a brief pat on the arm. That was the extent of her touch, and that boundary had been understood from day one. Soraya didn't do hugs or unnecessary contact, and everyone respected it.

"Fashionably late, huh?" Nalyssa said with a smirk, stepping back as the two walked in.

Paige glanced over her shoulder toward Soraya, who was hanging her purse up at the entrance. "Someone took her sweet time," she said casually with a small grin, tilting her head in Soraya's direction like it wasn't that big of a deal.

But Soraya had good hearing. Very good hearing.

She turned slowly and shot Paige a look—sharp enough to draw blood—before walking past the two of them, her heels clicking pointedly against the hardwood. Nalyssa raised her brows and looked at Paige like ‘girl...’, holding back a laugh.

Paige just sighed, dragging a hand down her face as she trailed behind.

The apartment buzzed with chatter and laughter. Dijonai and Arike were already at the kitchen island passing around drinks, Ty and Maddy were sprawled out across the floor with the rookies, and someone had music playing low in the background, just enough to fill the gaps in conversation.

The smell of something sweet in the air—probably the brownies Soraya brought—only added to the warmth of the room.

Soraya eased back into it quickly. She wasn't loud, but she wasn't closed off either. Her natural poise made her stand out no matter where she sat, but tonight she was unusually relaxed. She even cracked jokes here and there, and they landed. Like, really landed.

"Okay so, one time she told our Coach she couldn't finish the scrimmage because Mercury was in retrograde?" Dijonai burst out, unable to contain herself.

"I wasn't wrong," Soraya replied coolly, raising her brow. "We lost three players to rolled ankles that week. Don't play with the planets."

Everyone erupted. Even Teaira snorted into her drink.

Laughter came in waves, and Soraya's one-liners caught people off guard in the best way. The Soraya they'd seen in practice was focused, reserved, borderline intimidating. But tonight? She was magnetic—deadpan and witty with a rhythm all her own.

Paige laughed with them, but her attention kept drifting. She couldn't help it.

Her eyes followed Soraya without meaning to. The way that leather skirt moved when she walked, how her top dipped when she leaned forward—one wrong move and it would've revealed everything, if she hadn't tied it just right. And Paige had noticed things she hadn't before. Small tattoos near her ribs. Another under her shoulder. Subtle, delicate. Intriguing.

She was captivating in a way that made Paige feel both restless and rooted.

Eventually, the group filtered into the living room, drinks in hand for those who'd Ubered, water bottles or soda cans for the others. The couch and floor quickly filled with players sitting cross-legged, leaning into one another, lounging with the kind of ease only teammates could achieve.

Dijonai, drink in hand, stood in the center with her usual flair.

"Alright," she declared. "Never have I ever. Don't fight it. Team bonding."

Groans and eye rolls followed, but mostly playful ones.

Even Soraya, who usually slipped out of games like this with a raised brow and a conveniently timed phone call, stayed seated. She rolled her eyes, sure—but the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth betrayed her. "This game's always messy."

"That's the point," Arike said with a grin, already holding up her fingers.

Paige sat on the floor, back against the couch, her legs stretched out in front of her. Soraya settled onto a floor pillow a few feet across from her, crossing her legs at the ankle, posture perfect, fingers resting loosely on her lap like she had better things to do—but her eyes were glinting, amusement tugging at her mouth.

She was in it.

And Paige, from her spot on the floor, looked at her from under her lashes, suddenly hyper aware of the quiet tension pulling between them again.

It wasn't the game that had her nervous. It was whatever the hell this was..

Everyone held up ten fingers, and the first few questions came quick.

"Never have I ever shot on the wrong basket."

Half the room groaned, fingers dropping fast. Soraya included.

"Never have I ever been ejected from a game."

Another wave of laughter—especially when Teaira and Madison both dropped their fingers with a shared look of shame.

"Never have I ever gone on a date just for free food."

Fewer fingers fell. And when Soraya lowered hers, there were whistles and grins tossed her way.

Laughter cracked through the group like thunder, Aziaha nearly choking on her drink. But soon enough, the questions turned from harmless to heated.

"Never have I ever had a situationship that felt like a relationship," Nalyssa tossed out casually, like she wasn't about to expose half the circle.

One by one, fingers dropped. Except Soraya's.

"Seriously? Like never?" JJ blinked at her, clearly appalled. "That's basically the college experience."

Soraya cocked her head, the gold accents on her earrings catching the light. "That shit is stupid. I'm an adult, thank you."

A chorus of fake boos erupted. Someone threw a throw pillow her way. She caught it without flinching and dropped it right beside her with practiced grace.

"Okay, okay," Dijonai jumped back in, practically bouncing where she sat next to Nalyssa. Her grin was wicked. "Never have I ever hooked up with someone from an opposing team right before playing them the next day, dipped without a word, and then lost because they were out for vengeance."

Loud ooohs echoed. Soraya groaned, eyes narrowing at her friend like she might leap across the room.

"You're so annoying," she muttered, putting a finger down.

Paige was already laughing, shoulders shaking, head tipped back, the whole nine.

"It's not that funny, Bueckers," Soraya said flatly, though her lip twitched with a smile.

Paige only chuckled harder. "It’s hilarious, actually."

A few more rounds passed—some tame, some eye opening—but it was Soraya's turn again, and she didn't miss a beat.

She shifted slightly on the pillow. Her eyes locked on Dijonai, lips curling slow like she'd been waiting all night.

"Alright. I've never had a wet dream about a teammate and then couldn't look them in the eye for a whole day."

The room exploded.

Dijonai gasped like she'd just been shot. "That was years ago, and it was traumatizing!" she yelled, pointing wildly.

Nalyssa leaned into her girlfriend, cackling. "You didn't speak to me for 48 hours."

"I didn't know what to say!"

Soraya just leaned back like a queen in her throne, smug satisfaction radiating off her. "Whatever you sayyy."

But her victory was cut short when she saw it—movement across the circle. Paige, quiet and collected, lowering a finger.

For that question.

Soraya blinked.

Her brows pinched for just a second, confusion curling in her gut. It was subtle, but it was there. Who? Who had Paige had a dream about? Was it someone on the team now? Someone in the past? Someone in this room?

But before she could spiral deeper into suspicion, Paige looked up and right at her. The blonde smiled slightly. Slow. Crooked. Unapologetic.

And then—

"Never have I ever faked an orgasm," Paige said, smooth as silk, tossing it out like she wasn't digging her fingers into something deeper.

The question hit like a spark flicked into a gas line.

Giggles rose around the circle, but Soraya didn't move right away. She just looked at her. Something in her chest tightening, burning, thrumming low and quiet like a secret.

And slowly, like she was peeling back a layer of clothing, she dropped a finger.

Paige's brows rose subtly.

The others kept laughing, teasing, some dramatically offended, others proudly innocent, but all Paige could hear was the static buzz behind her ears—and see Soraya's perfectly still expression. Not flustered. Not shy. Just watching her like she knew exactly what she'd done.

The air between them crackled.

Her tongue flicked across her teeth behind closed lips, and she leaned back against the couch, eyes narrowing slightly as she tried to recalibrate.

Paige swore if they were even a little more alone, she might've said something stupid. Or done something worse. She didn't know if she was delusional, horny, or just weirdly intuitive—but whatever game Soraya was playing... Paige was ready to lose on purpose if it meant staying on the board.

Instead, she just bit the inside of her cheek and sat back, trying not to let it show.

But Soraya saw it.

It was almost 11 by the time people started standing, stretching, and murmuring their goodbyes—some hugging, some exchanging sleepy jokes, others pulling out their phones to call Ubers. A few of them swayed just a little more than usual, giggling tipsily as they stumbled into shoes or jackets. But not Soraya. And not Paige.

They were still steady. Still grounded. Still hyper aware of each other.

The night had been full of laughter, louder than expected, filled with too many inside jokes and confessions that would probably resurface in group chats come morning. But underneath all of it, a different current had been pulling—quiet but electric. Glances that lasted too long. Eyes catching across the room, then darting away. A couple times, Soraya had caught Paige already looking. Paige never tried to hide it.

Now, standing by the door, Soraya gave a single, lazy wave as everyone called out their goodbyes. Paige said a few quick words, hugging a few before the two of them stepped out into the warm Dallas night.

The heat wasn't bad, but it was the kind that lingered on your skin like a second layer. The streetlights buzzed softly. Soraya's heels clicked lightly on the pavement as they made their way to Paige's car. The ride back was supposed to be short—fifteen minutes, maybe less with little traffic—but the silence that filled the space between them made time stretch and thicken.

There was music playing low through the speakers, vocals melting into the hum of the engine. Paige's hand rested loosely on the wheel, the other shifting between the gear and her thigh. Her knuckles tapped occasionally with the rhythm. And still, she hadn't said a word.

Soraya sat back in the passenger seat, one leg crossed over the other, her eyes flicking toward Paige's profile now and then, subtly— like she couldn't stop herself. It felt hotter in the car than it should've. Summer creeping in early, or maybe it was just the weight of everything left unspoken between them.

When they pulled up in front of Soraya's apartment complex, Paige's headlights flashed across the familiar stone facade, casting quick shadows. She eased the car into park and for a second neither of them moved.

Soraya stared at the building, then at her lap, then back at Paige. The silence stretched tight.

"Wanna come up?" she said suddenly, her voice even and casual, almost as if it had just occurred to her.

She turned her head toward Paige with a calm expression, but there was something sharp underneath it.

Paige looked at her. Just looked. Studying her face, taking her in like she hadn't been doing it all night.

And then she nodded. Soft. Sure. No hesitation.

And up they went.

The hallway felt quieter than usual. More echoey. The faint smell of someone cooking down the hall mixed with the click of Soraya's heels against tile.

When Soraya unlocked the door, she didn't even need to flip the light switch to know what she was about to hear.

Sure enough, the moment the door creaked open, Jiggy padded into view with practiced entitlement, meowing as if to say finally.

The light flicked on. The cat made a beeline—not for Soraya, but for Paige.

"Oh my God," Paige laughed under her breath as Jiggy circled her ankles, tail held high like a question mark. "She remembers me?"

Soraya raised an eyebrow as she slipped her heels off by the door. "Of course she does. She's got standards."

Paige bent down and scooped the cat into her arms effortlessly, cradling her like she'd done it a hundred times before. Jiggy melted into her with a satisfied purr.

And Soraya just... stared for a second. The sight of Paige—tall, confident—holding her cat like a baby, her thumb gently stroking between Jiggy's ears... it did something to her. Softened her in a way she wasn't used to feeling around anyone. Definitely not someone who looked at her the way Paige did.

"God," she muttered, turning toward the kitchen to distract herself, "Why’d you have to be so cute?"

"What was that?" Paige called out with a smirk.

"Didn't say anything," Soraya tossed over her shoulder, voice light.

But her heart was thudding.

And Paige, now standing in the middle of her living room with a cat in her arms and something unreadable in her eyes, wasn't exactly making things easier.

Paige sat on the couch, legs spread comfortably, Jiggy curled comfortably against her thigh like the cat had claimed her as her own again.

The light in the apartment was low, golden and forgiving. The kind that made everything feel a little dreamlike. Or maybe it was just Soraya.

When she returned, Soraya had two cold cans of Diet Coke in hand. Condensation clung to the sides, dripping slightly onto her skin as she leaned over the coffee table and placed them down with a soft clink.

Then, casually, almost like it was nothing, "You smoke weed?"

Paige looked up from where she was gently scratching Jiggy's ear, her eyes meeting Soraya's across the small space.

A beat passed.

"Sometimes," she admitted, voice low but honest.

That faint smirk curved across Soraya's lips again, a little slower this time, a little more knowing. "Bet."

And with that, she turned and disappeared down the hall.

Paige stayed where she was, but she couldn't help the way her eyes trailed after her, the slight swing of her hips, the way her hair caught against her back. Everything about her was so... intentional. Even in silence, Soraya seemed to be saying something.

When she returned, she came armed—with a small ziplock bag, a Hello Kitty grinder, a bedazzled pink lighter that looked half used, and a neat little pack of papers.

‘Cute’, Paige thought to herself.

Soraya dropped the supplies on the coffee table and plopped down on the couch beside Paige like it was routine. Like they'd done this a dozen times before.

She didn't say a word.

Just reached for the grinder, poured some of the weed into it, and began twisting calmly, like she had all the time in the world. Her fingers worked with quiet confidence—no rush, no wasted movement. Paige watched her, not even pretending to look away. She noticed how Soraya's brow furrowed slightly as she concentrated, how her nails tapped the edge of the tray in rhythm with the music, how the ring on her thumb caught the light every time she passed it over the paper.

Then came the part that made Paige's breath catch.

Soraya brought the joint to her lips and licked the edge of the paper slowly, precisely. Her tongue traced the seam before she sealed it, her lashes low, her mouth soft and deliberate. Paige had to look away for half a second but it was too late. Her face already felt warm.

Soraya reached for the lighter, brought it to her lips once more and lit the end. She took a slow, steady inhale, holding the smoke in for a beat before letting it curl from her lips like a whisper.

The silence was thick now, but not awkward. Not empty. Just heavy.

Soraya turned her head, eyes finally meeting Paige's. There was no smirk this time. No teasing. Just a slow, quiet look as she extended the J in her hand, offering it wordlessly.

There was no pressure in the gesture. No expectation. Just the space to say yes or no.

Paige took it.

Their fingers brushed as she did—skin to skin, warm and fleeting—but it lingered. A spark that passed from hand to hand. Soraya didn't look away, and neither did Paige.

She brought the joint to her lips, inhaled slowly. The smoke curled around her like fog, and Soraya watched the way she moved through it. The way the red tip of the joint glowed faintly in her hand. The way her mouth opened slightly with each exhale.

"You smoke often?" Paige asked after a long moment, her voice softer now. Almost lazy. The way people get when their edges begin to melt.

That earned her a look from Soraya—something unreadable flickering in her eyes before she took the J back. She inhaled again, slower this time, deeper. Like she was savoring it.

"Special occasions only," she murmured.

Paige tilted her head slightly. "What's the special occasion?" The question was teasing, but gentle. A nudge. A smile curling on her lips.

Soraya let out a soft laugh—an actual laugh, one that Paige hadn't quite heard yet. It was quieter than the ones she gave the team, less performative. A real sound. And for some reason, it made Paige want to lean in.

"I don't know," Soraya said, gaze dropping to the rolled piece in her hand, then flicking back up to Paige. Her voice was low, almost amused, but there was a vulnerability tucked beneath the words. "You tell me."

And Paige could've sworn her heart skipped a beat. It was suddenly so easy to forget that this was still technically just a casual nightcap between teammates. That they hadn't even kissed. That nothing had happened yet.

Because everything was happening already.

Right there, in the silence. In the smoke. In the way their knees brushed when they shifted. In the way Jiggy had fallen asleep against Paige's thigh like she was already home.

At some point, Jiggy abandoned them.

She hopped down from Paige's lap with a soft thud and padded off into Soraya's room, her tail twitching once as if to say ’good luck’, before disappearing down the hall. Maybe it was the lingering smell of weed—or maybe even the cat couldn't handle the tension in the room anymore.

The joint was nearly gone, passed back and forth like a secret. Their fingers had brushed a dozen times now and each touch burned hotter than the last. Their bodies were relaxed, slouched and open in a way that only came with that deep, sinking high, like the gravity had shifted and softened just for them.

Paige couldn't ignore it anymore. Couldn't ignore the way her lips tingled when the joint, still warm from Soraya's mouth, touched hers. Couldn't ignore the faint taste left behind—sweet, unmistakable, chocolate lip gloss. She knew she wasn't imagining it. Knew it wasn't just weed induced paranoia. She could taste her.

That alone was driving her a little insane.

Somewhere along the way, they'd turned toward each other, almost magnetically. Paige now lounged back against the couch, legs wide, that lazy manspread like she owned the place. One arm slung casually over the backrest, fingertips nearly brushing Soraya's shoulder. Her body language was open, indulgent. Like she was daring Soraya to come closer without ever saying a word.

Soraya, meanwhile, had folded herself into the corner of the couch, her legs tucked under her, skirt riding up her thighs without her even noticing—or maybe not caring. She knelt slightly, leaning toward Paige, red rimmed eyes locked on her with a kind of amusement, but also something else. Something slow burning. Her lashes fluttered as she laughed and giggled, as her voice lifted, lighter than usual. The weed had peeled back her layers just a little. Made her softer and looser. She giggled at Paige's dry comments like they were stand-up material, body tilting forward and supporting herself with a hand on the rookie’s shoulder. And every time she did, Paige felt like she'd earned gold.

She wasn't even trying to be funny anymore. She just liked the sound of Soraya's laugh.

The room was drenched in sensuality—almost too much of it. The music hadn't helped. Soraya had thrown on a playlist earlier without a second thought, just wanting background noise. But now... now it played the kind of songs that made you want to slide a hand up someone's thigh. Slow beats, sultry voices. Jhené Aiko crooning softly over the speakers, followed by a slow Bryson track. Then Doja. Then PARTYNEXTDOOR. It was music meant to be played with hands between bodies and mouths pressed to skin.

And they both knew it. They just hadn't said it.

Paige's eyes were dark now. Not the usual bright, carolina blue, but something stormy, clouded. She was watching Soraya with a hunger she wasn't trying to hide. Her gaze moved over her like a hand—lingering on her thighs, the slope of her neck, her lips as she chewed them slightly, unconsciously. It was all slow, all thick and heavy like honey.

Then, like she was trying to snap herself out of it, Paige spoke—voice deeper now, worn soft by weed and want.

"As fun as this is, it's getting real late."

She didn't move, though. Didn't make any effort to get up. Her head turned slightly toward the door, but her body stayed exactly where it was, rooted beside Soraya like she was stuck to the couch.

Soraya didn't miss it. She shrugged a shoulder, casual but her voice had that same weighted undertone. "You can't drive like this. Just stay the night, I don't mind."

Paige's mouth curved into a slow, knowing smirk. "Oh, you don't mind?" Her eyes dropped to Soraya's mouth. "Or you want me to stay?"

A breath of laughter slipped from Soraya's lips before she could stop it. It came from the chest, quiet, a little raspy. The weed made it harder to be careful. She tried to roll her eyes, but it didn't land the way she meant it to. Nothing she did could hide how warm her face felt, or the way her chest fluttered under that gaze.

"Maybe."

The corner of Paige's mouth twitched again. She leaned deeper into the couch, even more relaxed, legs spread further now. Like she wanted Soraya to feel the space she was offering. Her voice dropped to a near whisper. "It's a yes or no, ma. Can't have you being unsure."

She brought the joint back to her lips—what little was left of it—and took a lazy hit. Then she leaned forward just enough, still lounging, still looking like sex personified, and held it out in front of Soraya's face.

There was something so quiet in the moment. So devastatingly attractive.

Soraya looked at the joint, then back at Paige. The blonde's hand steady, fingers loose but sure and her lips parted. There was something in her eyes that didn't blink.

Soraya leaned in.

Her lips wrapped around the joint exactly where Paige's had been. They didn't break eye contact—not once—as she pulled, slow and deep, the tip burning bright. The smoke settled in her lungs like it belonged there. Her heart pounded harder, louder, and she swore Paige could hear it.

Then she exhaled, smoke curling between them like a veil, thin and white. Her lips parted slightly as she did, and the faintest tremble threatened to betray her.

Paige hadn't moved. Still slumped. Still watching.

Those sharp blue eyes were half lidded now. Unreadable. Unrelenting.

The music behind them was still playing—something darker now, slick and dripping in bass. Paige's lap still looked inviting, and Soraya couldn't stop herself from imagining how it might feel to crawl into it.

Soraya nodded.

It was small—barely more than a dip of her chin—but it was all Paige needed. Her lips were parted, the gloss still catching the soft glow of the TV light, but they looked dry now. Kiss starved. The kind of mouth that needed to be ruined or worshipped—there was no in between.

"Yes."

That one word was soft. Steady. But it split the moment in half. Like it answered more than what Paige had asked. Like it reached back to every sideways glance, every unspoken stare since the day they ‘met’. Every tension laced interaction that had crawled under their skin and taken root. Yes was surrender. Yes was want. Yes was finally.

The joint burned quietly between Paige's fingers.

She held it out to Soraya, never breaking eye contact, and her voice came out like smoke—slow, husky, and laced with a pull that couldn't be denied. "C'mere."

Two syllables. A command and a confession all in one.

The second Soraya moved, something shifted. A switch flipped. Her body seemed to move before her brain could catch up. Like the ache between her legs had taken over the steering wheel. Like the weed had slipped its fingers into her bloodstream and whispered ’go.’

She straddled Paige with quiet hunger, one knee sinking into the couch cushion then the other, until she was settled firmly in her lap. Right on top of her. Right where she wanted to be. Right where Paige needed her.

The soft leather of her skirt rode up her thighs in the motion, revealing smooth skin, just enough to make Paige's throat go dry. The way Soraya sat was intentional, hips tilted forward, pressing herself down like she wanted Paige to feel everything.

And god, did she feel it.

Paige let her eyes trail down, slow and shameless. Those thighs—soft and warm and pressing down against her lap like a living fever. But then Paige's gaze dragged lower, catching the slight tremble in Soraya's hands as she took the joint again.

Soraya was just as gone. Her eyes wandered over Paige's exposed skin, the hem of her crop top riding up from the way she was slouched. It bunched at her ribs, barely covering the hard lines of her stomach. Abs hidden and revealed in folds that looked good enough to bite.

Soraya licked her lips unconsciously. She imagined dragging her tongue along every ridge. She wanted to touch and she wanted to taste. But instead, she brought the joint to her lips again and took one last, deep hit.

Then, her hand reached forward, fingers curling under Paige's jaw, tilting her face up gently. Her touch was careful, reverent. And then she leaned in, slow and dangerously close.

Her mouth hovered just above Paige's.

And she exhaled.

Smoke poured from her lips directly into Paige's mouth—warm, thick, tasting of weed and chocolate and something maddeningly Soraya. Their lips never touched, but it didn't matter. The space between them sizzled. Paige's hands found her hips, fingers digging into her waist, like holding her was the only way to stay grounded.

Their mouths lingered there. A breath apart.

Close enough that Paige could feel the heat of her. Could feel Soraya's breath catching. Her pulse racing. Could see every detail in her eyes, dilated and bloodshot.

There was a beat where Soraya didn't move. She just stared at Paige, pupils blown wide and chest rising in quick, shallow breaths. The weed clouded her thoughts, but not enough to drown out the way her body screamed for something more. Something to answer the ache now burning low in her stomach, in the space between her thighs where Paige's thigh rested.

She wasn't used to this. The silence between wanting and taking.

Soraya Mensima wasn't afraid. She rarely was. But this felt different. Not because she didn't want it—but because she wanted it too much. And in this moment, she needed to let go of the wheel.

So she leaned in, close enough that Paige could feel the brush of her breath again.

‘Fuck it.’

The words never left her lips, but Paige could see them pass through her expression. In the way her shoulders dropped. In the way her lips parted slightly, expectantly. In the way she looked at Paige like she was giving permission—not out of submission, but necessity.

Paige didn't hesitate.

She grabbed Soraya's face like she'd been dying to. Like her hands had been twitching to do it all night. One hand slid behind her neck, the other gripping her jaw, fingers spread wide like she was anchoring herself. And then she pulled her in.

Their lips met in a kiss that was anything but tentative.

It started soft, yes—testing the waters for the briefest second, a flicker of hesitation—and then it devoured.

Open mouthed. Desperate. Hungry.

Like Paige had been starved for a taste and Soraya was the meal she hadn't known she'd been craving until now. She kissed her like she needed it to breathe, like she'd been wandering through a desert and Soraya was the first drink of water she'd found.

Soraya melted into her immediately. Her hands gripped Paige's arms, nails digging through the fabric of her shirt, holding on like the kiss was threatening to pull her under. The soft clink of bracelets on her wrist echoed faintly as her hands started to move—grabbing at Paige's shoulders, her chest, her waist. Anywhere.

There was nothing gentle about it. They kissed like they'd waited too long and now had too little time. Lips clashing, tongues tangling, breath catching between them in broken little gasps. They didn't pull away. Not even to breathe. Only long enough to change angles, to kiss deeper, harder, hungrier.

Paige's grip tightened at Soraya's waist, blunt nails digging in to drag her closer, grind her down just enough that they both felt it. A strangled sound slipped from Soraya's throat, caught between a whimper and a moan, and Paige swallowed it like she wanted to collect every sound Soraya could give her.

Soraya's mouth tasted like smoke and watermelon gum and heat. And Paige kissed her like she wanted to memorize every bit of it with her tongue. One of Soraya's hands buried in Paige's hair now, tugging just enough to make the blonde groan into her mouth, and god—if she'd known it would feel like this, she would've said yes days ago.

The music in the background had long faded into white noise. The playlist still spun sensual tracks on shuffle, The Weeknd humming some filthy lyric in the background, but neither of them heard it now.

There was only heat. Skin. Lips. Tongue. The rustle of clothing. The sharp inhale when Paige grabbed Soraya's ass through her skirt and pulled her flush against her.

And Soraya? She didn't stop it. Didn't slow it. Didn't even try to tame the wildfire they'd sparked. Her body moved on instinct now, chasing friction, chasing sensation, chasing her.

She wasn't thinking anymore. She was feeling.

And Paige's hands, mouth, and body were giving her everything she didn't know she needed.

Eventually, Paige broke the kiss, breath ragged and eyes searching, her hands still holding Soraya's face like something precious. The world felt quiet, everything dulled except for the pounding of their hearts and the warmth between their bodies.

"Look at me," Paige murmured, and Soraya did—her lashes heavy, lips swollen, pupils so blown out her eyes looked nearly black. Her breath caught in her throat at the way Paige was looking at her, gaze simmering with restraint and need all at once.

"I need you," Paige said, voice low and husky with emotion and hunger. "But only if you want this too."

The air felt too still, too thick. Soraya's mind, already fogged from the weed and the ache between her legs, didn't hesitate. Her nod came first, slow and sure. Then her voice followed, soft but steady.

"Yeah."

One word, but it sealed everything.

Paige didn't move right away. She watched Soraya for a few more seconds, eyes scanning her face like she was double checking every detail. For sincerity. For a reason to stop.

But she found none.

So Paige's hands slid down to Soraya's hips again, curling under her ass as she rose to her feet in one smooth motion, lifting Soraya with her like it was second nature. Soraya's legs instinctively wrapped around her waist, her hands bracing against Paige's shoulders.

As the blonde turned and gently sat her back on the couch, she leaned in to kiss her again—deeper this time, but somehow slower and more deliberate. Her hands roamed, sliding up the curve of Soraya's waist beneath the material of her top that barely covered anything anyway, fingertips dragging over her warm skin, memorizing it.

With one knee between Soraya's legs, Paige hovered over her, just close enough that their breaths mixed again. She kissed her slowly, like she could lose herself in the taste. Soraya let her, let herself fall deeper and deeper into it, until Paige began trailing down, her mouth ghosting down her jaw, her neck, the hollow of her throat.

Then Paige pulled back.

She knelt.

Right in front of the couch, between Soraya's open legs, hands caressing the smooth skin of her thighs. Soraya could hardly breathe as she looked down at her, breath caught like a stone in her chest. The heat of Paige's hands, the intimacy of her position—so close, so reverent—left her lightheaded.

Paige placed a soft kiss on Soraya's left knee. Then the right. Gentle, like prayer. Like worship.

It made Soraya dizzy.

"You're fucking killing me," Soraya whispered, the first thing she'd said since the yes.

Paige's lips curled into a smirk against her skin. "Good."

She spread Soraya's thighs slowly, her hands firm but tender. The sight that met her had Paige cursing under her breath—purple lace, slightly damp, so soft and delicate it almost felt unfair. Her mouth watered.

"Fuck..." she murmured, almost to herself. "You're so pretty like this."

She kissed the inside of Soraya's left thigh, then right, inching higher with each kiss, her voice low and warm against her skin.

"I've been thinking about this since the second I saw you."

Another kiss, even higher.

"Since the first time you invited me up."

Higher still. Paige's voice dropped even more, practically a whisper.

"Since the way you looked at me across the room tonight like you wanted me to ruin you."

Soraya's breath stuttered. Her thighs twitched in Paige's hands.

Paige looked up then—just for a second. Her lips brushed over the crease where thigh met hip, dangerously close.

"Y’do want me to ruin you , don't you?"

And Soraya could only nod again, barely able to form the words, her fingers curling into the couch beneath her.

"Yeah," she breathed. "Fuck, yeah."

Paige's lips didn't stop moving, trailing further up the inside of Soraya's thighs with each kiss, each brush of her mouth a new promise. Soraya's skirt had already started to ride up with how wide her legs were spread, the leather bunched around her hips, and Paige took her time.

Her hands moved with purpose, sliding along the hem until they found the small side zipper. With one hand she tugged it down, slow and deliberate, the metallic sound of it unzipping breaking through the heavy silence like a warning bell. The built-in belt hung uselessly, never meant to be functional. Paige didn't touch it. She didn't need to.

She peeled the skirt down Soraya's legs inch by inch, letting her knuckles brush along the soft skin of her thighs as she did. When it finally slipped off completely, she tossed it to the floor without looking away from her. Her eyes stayed locked on Soraya like she was studying something sacred. Like she wanted to remember every reaction, every shift of breath.

Paige leaned back in, her breath warm against the front of Soraya's purple panties. That shade—pale and light, her exact favorite kind of purple—caught her off guard. Of all the colors in the world, of course it was that one. It made her blink slowly, almost like the universe was mocking her with how perfect this felt.

She looked up, locking eyes with Soraya, her voice low and full of restrained hunger.

"Can I take these off, ma?"

Soraya's breath hitched, her lips parting as her chest rose with the weight of her anticipation. Her eyes were already glassy, breath shallow.

She exhaled. “Mhm.”

Paige's fingers moved to the waistband, hooking around the delicate fabric so gently it made Soraya's stomach twist. She pulled them down slow—agonizingly slow—making sure the brunette felt every second of it. The way her fingers dragged down her hips, her thighs. The way the fabric caught momentarily on her skin before giving in.

Once they were off, Paige let them fall to the floor beside the skirt, and then she returned to her knees.

She lifted Soraya's legs gently, draping them over her shoulders with careful hands like she was setting up something sacred. The weight of them grounded her, but the sight in front of her nearly knocked the air from her lungs.

Face to face with Soraya's core, glistening and inviting, Paige could do nothing but stare for a long, suspended moment. She swallowed hard, lips parting, a soft curse slipping out under her breath.

"Fuck..."

She was completely, utterly entranced. And she hadn't even tasted her yet.

Paige didn't move at first. Just took her in, like Soraya was something holy and intoxicating all at once. Her lips were barely an inch away, and when she finally spoke, it was with a rasp that made Soraya's hands curl against the couch cushions.

"Just wanna kiss it," Paige muttered, almost to herself, eyes glued to Soraya's glistening cunt. "Just one little kiss."

And she did. Soft. Barely there. Like a whisper of a touch, like she was trying to memorize the feeling and taste in slow motion. Then another, with more pressure and less restraint. It had Soraya twitching, breath catching in her throat as her hips lifted slightly in response.

But that was all it took. Paige let out a quiet groan, deep and low in her throat like it physically hurt to hold back. Her hands tightened around Soraya's thighs and then she was in it—mouth open, tongue flattening against her with no shame, no patience.

Every slow flick and lick turned greedy. Every drag of her tongue became more intense, messier. Paige was absolutely gone.

"Goddamn," she breathed against her, voice wet and muffled. "You taste so fuckin' good, mama..."

Soraya whimpered—an honest, unfiltered sound—and it only made Paige work harder, tongue lapping at her with messy, unrelenting strokes like she was starving. She wasn't just eating—she was devouring. Worshipping.

Spit and slick, her mouth moving with purpose as she moaned into it, like she needed Soraya to know how much she loved every single second of this. She mumbled filth between licks, words slurred and drunk with need.

"Fuck, you're perfect. So sweet. So wet. All f'me, huh?"

Soraya couldn't answer. Not with words. Just breathless cries and quiet moans that got louder every time Paige's lips wrapped around her clit and sucked, again and again. Her fingers clenched the cushions, legs trembling around Paige's shoulders.

Whenever Paige let out a "That's it, mama," or "You like that, huh, baby?", it lit the other girl up from the inside out. Made her stomach clench. Made her thighs shake. That nickname in Paige's voice, drenched in lust, had her head spinning.

Paige didn't stop. Didn't want to stop. She was lost in it—pussy drunk, completely feral. Her hands gripped tighter, mouth moving faster, sloppier. Like the taste of Soraya was the only thing tethering her to the ground.

And Soraya? She was gone too. Unraveled. Floating somewhere above the room with every flick of Paige's tongue and every ragged moan whispered against her. Her whimpers turned into cries, the kind that echoed off the walls and left her unable to hold anything back.

She'd never been devoured like this. Worshipped like this. Fucked like this without even needing to be fucked.

Paige was the whole experience. And she wasn't even done.

She didn’t come up for air.

Not when her jaw started to ache. Not when her arms started to shake from holding Soraya so close, so still, so completely spread for her. Her mouth was messy, her face soaked with spit and slick.

She was ravenous and adorned with greed—tongue working in slow, then fast strokes, dragging and curling as she devoured the girl above her like she was the only thing she’d ever eat again.

There was nothing sweet about the way she moved. Just pure hunger. Like she needed to claim every inch of her, mark her with her mouth. She groaned into her again, louder this time, tongue pressing deep and curling, nose brushing Soraya’s clit in just the right rhythm.

Soraya gasped, hand flying to the back of Paige’s head, not to pull her away—no. To pull her closer. Her voice came out shaky, breathless, almost ruined. “Fuck… Paige…”

That alone earned her another deep groan from between her legs, like Paige needed to hear her name fall apart on her tongue.

And then—quiet but clear—Soraya exhaled, “That’s it, Paige. You’re so good at this.”

That broke something in Paige. Shattered any sliver of control she had left.

She hummed into Soraya’s pussy, sucking on her clit now, tongue flicking harsh and fast as her hands gripped the girl’s thighs like she could fuse them to her skull. She was fully unhinged. Greedy. Possessed.

“Say that shit again,” Paige rasped between sucks, eyes wild when she glanced up, her voice strained and hoarse. “Say it again, mama. Tell me whose pussy this is.”

Soraya was barely breathing, her words tumbling out between moans, “Yours… all yours, don’t stop—”

Paige didn’t. She dove back in like a woman starved, moving with messy precision, chasing every moan like it was oxygen. Her hips subtly rolled into the couch from underneath, lost in the rhythm of what she was doing.

“Look at you,” Paige murmured darkly against her, licking a fat stripe from slick to clit, “fuckin’ fallin’ apart just for me. So wet, so fuckin’ good…”

She kissed it, then licked again, then sucked—loud and wet. Soraya cried out, hips arching upward instinctively, the sound guttural and raw. Paige grinned into it.

“You like that, mama?” she rasped, her voice wrecked, wet and swollen lips brushing against Soraya’s core with every syllable. “You gonna cum for me just like this? Let me taste all of it?”

“God—keep talking,” Soraya whined, eyes rolling back as her hands trembled in Paige’s hair. “You’re fucking sick.”

Paige chuckled lowly and quietly, tongue sliding deep again before she pulled back to kiss the inside of her thigh—just once—before diving back in. “Maybe. But you fucking love it.”

Her fingers slid up, spreading Soraya open even more, and her tongue worked like she had something to prove. Like she’d die if she didn’t make her cum in her mouth. She didn’t care how soaked her chin was, didn’t care about anything except the taste, the sounds, the way Soraya moaned her name like she owned it. Like it was a prayer.

“Shit, maybe,” she breathed, half-laughing, half-moaning, her legs tightening around Paige’s head. “You—fuck, Paige, I can’t—”

“You can,” Paige corrected. “Wanna feel all of it, baby.”

Soraya whimpered, dragged one hand up to her mouth where she bit down on her knuckles before yanking it away and reaching for Paige again.

The rookie latched back on to her clit, moaning into her as her hands gripped Soraya’s thighs tight. Her mouth moved with a rhythm and power that should’ve been illegal, and all Soraya could do was fall apart.

Paige could feel it. The way Soraya’s thighs clenched, how her moans dissolved into whimpers, her hips twitching—every inch of her trembling and on the edge.

“Cum for me, mama,” Paige murmured, licking through her like sin. “Let me taste how good I make you feel.”

And Soraya did.

With a cry that ripped from her throat and a body that buckled under pleasure, she let go. Paige didn’t stop, not even as she came, licking her through it, drinking down every drop with a greed that was almost frightening.

And when Soraya finally collapsed back into the couch, chest heaving, skin flushed and trembling—Paige licked her lips and looked up at her like she just found a new religion.

Soraya couldn’t think.

Her body was still humming, strung out in the best way, chest heaving as if she’d just run a marathon with no finish line in sight. The room felt thick with heat, smoke, and the echo of her own voice, moans she barely recognized as her own still ringing in her ears.

Paige was still between her legs, eyes heavy and mouth glistening, and Soraya didn’t dare move. Couldn’t. She was stuck in the moment, pulse fluttering in her throat, legs twitching involuntarily.

The only sound was their breathing. Paige looked wrecked. Flushed cheeks, wet chin, swollen lips parted as she was still catching her breath. But her eyes stayed locked on Soraya, never once breaking contact, as if she were trying to memorize every inch of her.

Soraya hated how much she liked being looked at like that.

And even worse? She didn’t want her to stop.

She swallowed hard, reaching down with fingers that barely felt steady enough to move. They brushed through Paige’s hair gently, grounding herself. Paige leaned into the touch.

The softness of that moment nearly broke something open in Soraya.

She blinked, tried to slow the rush of thoughts that flooded her—what the hell just happened, why did it feel like that, why did she already want more?

“Uh…” she started, but her voice was raw. She didn’t even know where she was going with it.

Paige looked at her, raising a brow, a lazy little smile playing on her lips. “Uh?”

Soraya huffed a breath, her smile barely there. “I don’t know what to say.”

Paige chuckled, dragging her hands slowly up Soraya’s thighs, light and reverent. “It’s fine. Just breathe. Don’t want you passing out on me.”

That should’ve made Soraya laugh. Or roll her eyes. Or something.

But all she could do was stare.

Her body was still buzzing. Her mind was a mess. She didn’t know what this meant, didn’t want to think about it too hard—but Paige’s presence between her thighs, the burn in her lungs, the ache still blooming in her stomach—it all screamed that something had changed.

And yet, Soraya didn’t pull away. Didn’t move to cover herself. Didn’t speak.

She just let Paige’s fingers trace slow patterns into her skin, let the silence stretch between them like a thread pulled too tight. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It was risky.

She didn’t want to admit how much she liked it. How she wanted to reach down, pull her back in, let her do it all over again.

But she didn’t. Because that would mean admitting she wanted her in some way. And Soraya wasn’t ready for that.

After Soraya directed Paige towards the bathroom and she disappeared down the hall, the room felt strangely quiet. Too quiet. Soraya leaned back against the couch, her chest still rising and falling, skin tingling, nerves flickering like a live wire. The haze of weed and release hadn’t cleared yet, but the first hints of post-climax clarity were creeping in.

She swallowed hard. Her legs fell a little heavier against the cushions now that Paige wasn’t holding them up. The absence was loud. Almost too loud.

By the time Paige returned, a damp washcloth in one hand and something unreadable behind her red, half-lidded eyes, Soraya was still—watching. Thinking too hard. Feeling too much.

Paige knelt again, silent, gentle. She didn’t say anything as she ran the cloth over sensitive skin, careful and slow, as if Soraya might break. She didn’t flinch, but she didn’t sigh or smile either. She just watched. Her lips parted once, maybe to say something—thank you, maybe? But nothing came out.

“Let me know if it’s too much,” Paige murmured lowly, almost like she was checking in, like the lines of care were still being drawn.

Soraya just shook her head, a nearly imperceptible movement. “It’s fine.”

And it was. But it also wasn’t.

When Paige finished, she sat back on her heels, wiping her hands dry on her thigh. “I should let you sleep,” she said, quiet but casual.

Soraya hesitated, then nodded, before slipped her panties back on with slow, practiced movements, her fingertips grazing the sides of her thighs where Paige’s hands had just been. The air felt thick around her, heavy with heat and haze, and though her breathing had started to settle, her thoughts hadn’t.

She didn’t say anything at first, just quietly rose from the couch, legs still a little unsteady, and padded toward her bedroom.

“Guest room’s just down the hall,” she said over her shoulder, not quite looking back.

Paige, still kneeling on the floor and catching her breath, nodded in silence, lips parted like she’d thought about saying something but stopped herself.

Inside her room, Soraya quickly changed into her pajamas. The room was dimly lit, and for a second, she caught her reflection in the mirror: cheeks still flushed, lips still swollen, a familiar unreadable expression settled in her eyes. She didn’t look away. Not yet.

She grabbed a folded shirt and a pair of cotton shorts from her drawer—simple, loose, soft. The hem on the shorts reached her knees, and she figured they’d fit Paige just fine. Close enough. She hesitated before grabbing a fresh set of sheets from the closet, cradling the bundle against her chest as she walked back down the hall.

Paige was standing in the guest room now, just inside the doorway. Her arms were loosely crossed over her chest, like she didn’t quite know what to do with them—an unfamiliar awkwardness that tugged gently at Soraya’s chest. She didn’t say anything as Soraya walked past her and to the bed, setting the clothes down carefully.

“These should fit just fine,” Soraya murmured, smoothing out the shirt with her hand.

Paige’s eyes flicked to the clothes, then to Soraya. Her voice was soft, quiet in a way that felt strangely intimate. “Thank you.”

It was just two words, but it made something in Soraya tighten.

She focused on the sheets instead, methodically stripping the bed and remaking it with clean linens. Paige watched her the whole time, not out of expectation, but as if watching was the only thing she could do. The silence between them wasn’t tense, it was full, almost thoughtful. But it pressed down on Soraya all the same.

She stood at the doorway once she was done, her hand resting lightly on the frame. She didn’t say anything right away. The words felt heavier now that they were here, standing in this new version of space between them.

“Goodnight,” she finally said, eyes not quite meeting Paige’s. “Sleep well.”

And then she turned before Paige could reply, disappearing down the hall and back into her own room.

The second the door clicked shut behind her, Soraya exhaled like she’d been holding her breath the entire time.

She crossed the room and sat at the edge of her bed, her head falling forward into her hands. Jiggy was already curled on the pillows, small body tucked into a loaf beside where Soraya usually lay.

Soraya didn’t move at first. Her heart was still beating too fast, a low, steady thump echoing through her chest, her throat, her wrists. She stripped back the covers and climbed beneath them, laying flat with her eyes wide open, staring up at the dark ceiling.

Jiggy shuffled closer and pressed into her side.

What the hell did I just do?

The thought came sharp and cold, slicing through the soft warmth that lingered from Paige’s touch. Her hands rose slowly, covering her face as she groaned softly into the empty room.

She hadn’t meant for this to happen. She hadn’t wanted it to happen.

Except… she had.

That was the worst part. She hadn’t just let it happen—she’d wanted it. She’d wanted Paige’s mouth on her, her hands on her skin, her voice murmuring things Soraya should never let herself crave.

And now the air between them was different. Something irreversible had bloomed in the silence, and she’d thrown her own rules—rules she set for a reason—out the window for a night of hungry, breathless want.

She rubbed her hands down her face, forcing herself to breathe.

The ceiling fan spun in lazy circles. The bedsheets felt too hot. Her skin still tingled. And her mind was spinning in cruel, chaotic loops.

She’d fucked up. Big time.

extended taglist 🐆 — @thelightknight21 @private-but-not-a-secret @angryflowerwitch @jieysiee @angelliicc @paigebaby5 @ttytttt-gndgnvbm @syraxbigfanfr @forward1212 @niya500 @wosolipa @enchantingesme @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @ksimsplayer @hggbiijj @pupbistro

[chrollohearttags]

˙ .🍰 . 𖦹˙—late night cravings • the excerpt ˙ 🍰

a little drabble/preview of this doordasher!eren fic I’m working on bc it’s far too long right now and idk when I’ll finish it 😭

˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—˙ . ꒷ 🍰 . 𖦹˙—

linking up with doordasher!eren always resorted in one or two outcomes for (y/n)…after waiting nearly an hour for the food you’d purchased and communicating with him, he’d arrive with a bag full of cold food and a snide remark to accompany it. You’d often find yourself shouting, cursing and yelling at him for his stupidity. He’d simply apologize and enact that annoying charm you’d fallen for…even so, he didn’t get a pass and you’d kick him out, promptly shutting the door in his face so that you could somewhat enjoy your subpar meal in peace. You often questioned why you even bothered getting infuriated with him. Hell, there wasn’t any use in it. It wasn’t as if he’d feel any remorse for that lackadaisical attitude of his. And it wasn’t as if you’d genuinely be upset with him either! Hence why he continued to do so. Then there were the other times….

“Oh God…”

“Just breathe, baby..I got you..here, grab my hair and pull me in closer.”

the times that resulted in the two of you congregating in the back hatch of his Trackhawk. A completely different car from the one he’d normally drive. Your legs spread wide and stretched to each side as he resided between them..buried face deep into that soaking cunt. That very white tank top and biker shorts you’d answer the door in, were now shuffled around your ribcage and your ankles, courtesy of him undressing you in a haze. A towel resided underneath your asscheeks because Eren was painfully aware that you had the tendency to make a mess. A fact he’d learn all too well the first time you’d hooked up and hell, he welcomed the idea! So he’d make sure to come prepared. With plenty of water and snacks once the two of you were finished to help replenish your energy and of course, all the love he could provide. He’d do whatever it took to make his beloved (y/n) comfortable.

“There we go. Now you can’t run from me..” Lobbing a trail of spit onto your folds before continuing to feast greedily on your dripping heat. After another grueling shift and midterms, Eren decided to scoop you up for a ride around town to help you clear your head. It was the start of a much needed and deserved vacation. Two weeks off from sitting behind a computer screen and being yelled at by dumbass customers. Or listening to boring lectures. You were reclaiming your time back and what better way to start it off than by letting your ‘sworn enemy’ eat your pussy in the back of his car?! You two were in a remote area on the other side of town…away from the hustle and bustle of the city. Near the beachfront without a single house or person in sight. It was ideal for a little venture like this.

“Erennnn..fuck..”

“Mmmm…I know…I know it feels good. Just keep riding my tongue, imma get you there.”

it was a promise you knew he’d fulfill, even if it took all night. He was aware that you hadn’t had a proper orgasm in a while and you needed to release that tension..even if it manifested in the form of cream trailing down his chin! So Eren dutifully sat on his knees; planted in the grass with his pants shifted to his waist as he stroked his cock to the sounds of your moans. Regardless of how sensual and steamy the moment was, he couldn’t help but to partake in his usual jokes!..

“This pussy tastes so fucking good, baby…crazy ‘cause you eat like a damn raccoon.”

“Fuck you..swear you get on my damn nerves.”

laughing as your head fell back onto your shoulders and those fingers clutched those chocolate locks even harder. You’d even find yourself gasping for air as that impending climax drew near..with one hand still pleasuring himself, the other plunged two digits into your tight hole and fingered you. Whilst those lips remained suctioned around that swollen clit.

“Aww, but you’re still gon’ come for me, right?” Knowing that you were directly in his clutches and he wasn’t going to let go until you gave his trunk area a good rinse down! Watching you writhe around and unravel as you squirted all over the place was worth any sharp insults or remarks. He just needed to see you fall apart so he could be one with you next..so without haste, he’d quicken those movements and rapidly flick his tongue across that aching bud, pleading with you to release at any moment. To which you didn’t disappoint. Forcing him to withdraw his fingers, (y/n) would generously release those warm, sticky juices in a stream all over his face, chest, the back carpet and down to the hitch. Even catching your own feet in the process! Left quivering and frozen in ecstasy, a trail of tears as a result of that climax, fell down your cheek as you struggled to capture your breath and construct a single word or thought.

“FUCK! Oh my—gosh!..” finally blurting out in a fit of pleasure and laughter. “I don’t remember the last time I came so hard. What the fuck is wrong with you?” To which he could do nothing more than continue to cackle, knowing that he may have gone a bit overboard just to achieve his goal.

“Sorry, baby. You know I can’t help myself..love watching you squirt.. ‘s just so sexy. That’s why I’m about to make you do it until you pass out.”

Which earned him quite the shocked glare because you weren’t even finished riding this one out and he was ready to make you come again?! This man was insane.

“Listen, I don’t want you thinking about anything except feeling good when you’re with me. Not school, work..coworkers, nothing.”

In the midst of his spiel, Eren had risen to his feet and was now gripping your thighs; holding them to either side as that long, thick cock rubbed against those sensitive, slippery folds. Lathered up with sticky liquid and remnants of his precum dripping from that aching tip, he’d slowly but surely ease himself inside and allow his head to fall back onto his shoulder after releasing a breathy ‘shit’..

“Just take this dick, beautiful..that’s your only fucking job right now. You don’t have to do anything else except be my lil’ slut.” In a split moment alone, his energy had shifted from playful to somewhat dominant. Clutching your throat just lightly enough to garner your attention and keep those eyes on him. “You can do that, right?” Once you nodded your head, he’d shove a thumb between your lips to suckle on and pacify your loud moans.

“Haaa—damn, baby. Squeezing me so tight already. Why do you have to feel so fuckin’ good?.” Although reluctant to admit it, he was making you feel far too good right now. Pleasure like you’ve never experienced and craving more as the moments passed! “This pussy ‘s so creamy..fuuuck. I love it..” Eren, despite his nonsensical nature, was the ideal lover..always placing your needs before his own, constantly doting and checking on you, even giving you a slight bit of aggression and dominance because he knew you liked the idea of someone else having control every once in a while. Hell, he’d even resort to tricks that other partners hadn’t in the past.

“Nnnngh..Ren, baby..what are you—“

“Oooh, look at you, (y/n). Who would’ve thought you liked getting your toes sucked on..somebody’s a lil’ freak.”

Although you were enjoying the sensation, you couldn’t help but to take a jab at him regardless.

“Or maybe you just like weird shit.” Giggling at his statement as he cupped your feet in his palms. Cleaning off the remnants of your earlier ’shower’. “You should know by now..I'm not with that lil’ kid shit. I’ll do whatever to make you feel good..”

Never in your life had you experienced love making or sex in general the way you had with Eren. Delicately, he’d bring your feet to his shoulder blades and glide his tongue around them whilst staring deep into your eyes. He had a chokehold on you, mentally and physically. One that could not be so easily broken. “Damn..I really can’t get rid of you now.” Meanwhile, he’d continue slowly pounding you with those deep strokes. You’d feel yourself crowning and then tightening around the base of his shaft. With it came silky cream being dredged from your body.

“This dick is so fucking big…stretching my pussy..”

“I love when you talk like that..but it’s okay, you can handle it, beautiful. You can take it for me.”

he’d continue to nurse your feet, placing gentle kisses along the insoles before eventually speeding up. He’d shift his weight so that your legs were pinned back entirely and those hands were cuffed around your ankles. He’d burrow his weight onto your body and feed you deeper, heavier strokes. Your eyes remained plastered on him before eventually rolling back. Sounds of loud smacking, moaning and gasping filled the quiet night air.

“Yes! Keep fucking me, right there! Gonna make me come again!..”

“Yeah? Gonna nut all over this fucking dick? Then do it..I told you not to hold back. Let it out.”

demanding in a haze as you furiously rubbed your clit to aid his rapid strokes. You felt as if you were going to explode any minute and he wasn’t too far behind. Truth be told, this was a new experience for the both of you and never in a million years would you have expected the man who delivered your food..to be digging you out in a public area. But that was the type of excitement that Eren had brought into your life and you wouldn’t change it for a thing. Suddenly, he’d look up from feeding you those deep strokes, to watching your eyes go cross before your head would dangle back on your shoulders and a loud yelp followed. Continuing to rub that clit, (y/n) let out another release that satisfied both of your carnal desires. Those juices were sent flying and his abdomen took the brunt of it. Seeming as how he couldn’t be bothered to pull out as he slowly fucked the remainder of that orgasm out of you.

“There you go. Make a fucking mess for me, baby. Make a mess on your dick..this belongs to you.” Something about hearing him let you claim dominion over his body made it even harder to want this moment to cease. By the tears falling down your cheek, he was certain you’d never experienced anything like this. Before proceeding, he’d place a hand around the back of your neck and his lips to your own..shoving that tongue in your mouth.

“I’m so proud of you, baby..and thank you for trusting me..I told you I’d make all that stress go away..”

and luckily, this was just a mere taste of what was in store!

@thatbitchatesblog @tieraaaxo @koreancoochies @large-juice

[benispunk]

New Perfume

logan howlett x reader

You changed your perfume and Logan noticed.

A/N: the context is I woke up this morning thinking about this and...yeah that was a good wake up call. This was written in a few minutes somehow and it's not beta read.

TW: NO SMUT but pretty suggestive.

Masterlist

It started with you just walking past his room in the hallway.

Logan heightened senses made him able to smell everything, from any distance, in any situation.

To say he was sensitive to smells was an understatement.

Whether it was a bad or a good scent, the sensory overload could be too much.

It had never happened like that though.

Perfumes.

He loved a good perfume.

Not because he was a pro at it, god no. He would rather die than enter a perfumery. Scratch that, he would die if he entered one.

But sometimes, when a woman passed by and she had perfume—and you could still smell her body’s smell—oh, he was gone.

But never like this.

Never this much.

You passed by his door everyday. Hell, you were in his arms everyday. He could recognise any kind of smell on your body. Anything. From the shampoo in your hair to the chocolate stain on your finger that you didn’t notice after baking the most delicious chocolate cake he had ever eaten, to…well…let’s say he could really smell anything.

And your perfume…

There was nothing like it. Truly.

He had no idea if it was because of your body smell in the first place or if it was just because this perfume was perfection for your skin but…he was in love with it the moment it reached his nose.

So when that morning he smelled you passing by and the smell was different…

The man was on a mission.

Moments later, he found you in the School’s kitchen and once he made sure no one was around, he walked like a predator behind you. Because the smell…

Oh. It was delicious.

He approached you, slowly, quietly. He was right behind you. You still hadn’t noticed him, too busy making your little morning toasts you loved to have for breakfast.

You felt his hands around your waist first, which made you jump and look upwards which gave him the perfect access to your neck as he pressed his face there and he just…sniffed.

He was like a damn dog. Smelling you over because something was different. Not usual. But definitely good for sure.

He couldn’t stop. Even if he wanted to—and he didn’t—he couldn’t possibly get his nose away from your skin.

Because you had changed your perfume and for some reason it was better than the last one which was already the most perfect fucking scent he had ever smelled in his entire—way too long—life.

He knew you were talking to him but he was focused. He needed to smell you like he needed to breathe air. It was vital.

You let out a small laugh, still slightly breathless from the surprise of his touch.

"Good morning to you too," you murmured, resting your hands over his where they held your waist. "What's gotten into you?"

Logan didn’t answer right away. His nose was still buried against your neck, eyes closed, completely focused. His stubble scratched lightly against your skin, and you felt the slow, deep inhale he took, like he was trying to memorize every molecule of you.

"It's new," he finally muttered, voice rough like gravel, like it was dragging itself out of his chest. "You changed it."

You tilted your head a bit to the side, giving him more access without even thinking. "Yeah. I ran out of the other one, and I found this little bottle I hadn't used before. You like it?"

Logan groaned, deep and guttural.

"Like it?" he echoed, lips brushing your skin. "Sweetheart, next time you think about changing your perfume, tell me first."

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "Why?"

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes from behind, and the look he gave you was absolutely sinful. 

His hands pressed just a little tighter against your hips, grounding himself.

"Cause I wasn't ready to get this hard first thing in the goddamn morning."

Your jaw dropped, then you snorted. "Logan!"

He didn’t even blink. "I'm serious."

"I can tell," you teased, shifting slightly back against him on purpose, just to be mean. The sound he made in response was somewhere between a growl and a curse.

"You think this is funny?" he said, his lips finding the spot just below your ear again, voice dropping to something dangerously low. 

"You think smelling like this and walking around like it's not a crime is funny?"

You laughed again, and he huffed against your neck, like he was trying to stay calm but utterly failing.

And then, softer, almost shy under the heat of it all, you said, "You really like it that much?"

His response was instant.

"I like you that much."

That shut you up real quick. Your heart stuttered, and Logan felt it—his senses caught everything. Your breath hitching, your chest rising just a little faster. His arms tightened around you instinctively.

And just like that, the air between you changed.

"I'm not done smelling you," he murmured. "But not here."

You swallowed, your voice suddenly quieter. "Then… where?"

He smirked against your skin.

"My room."

You blinked, glancing down at the half-buttered toast still sitting on the counter.

"Wait—what about my toast?"

Logan paused, eyes flicking from your breakfast to your face, like he was weighing the options. And then, shamelessly, completely serious:

"As selfish as this sounds… I need my breakfast first."

Your mouth fell open, scandalized. "Logan—"

But he was already pulling you with him, one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, his nose back against your neck like he couldn’t be without it. And honestly? 

You weren’t complaining.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he murmured with a smirk. "I'll make you another one after."

You were still laughing softly as he led you out of the kitchen, your half-forgotten toast cooling behind you, the smell of your perfume trailing after you like a secret only he got to keep.

And yeah.

Maybe Logan wasn’t into perfumes.

But yours?

Yours would ruin him every time.

XXX

[forpsheturnpesbian]

Can you do somethin where Paige is having a hard time adjusting to Dallas and mentally just isn’t doing great so azzi comes and surprises her and they work through her thoughts and headspace and just some fluff

Home is you

Word count: 667

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

a/n: hope this is to ur liking, tried to do this ask justice. One of my first times writing please point out any errors and i’ll try my best to correct them eng isnt my first language. (Didn’t proofread it bare with me guys)

Dallas was..great

Nothing was wrong. She had chosen to be there. She had sworn to give this franchise the best player they could ever hope for, because they had chosen her

Out of all the players invited with the intent of contributing to greatness, she was their pick, their prospect, their player.

Paige was a franchise player and she was chosen to be exactly that

And as much as that is rewarding it is equally terrifying in its own unique way.

Everything was brand new, a new team, new coaching staff, new place, hell a whole new goddamn city. And P took it like a champ—Cheering on teammates, semi-unpacking, establishing her goals for the season, getting used to what Dallas has to offer, and training to get better everyday like she says everyday.

But the rook can only take so much. Till the tension has sinked completely into her bones, till she can barely breathe. Finally a breath of fresh air

Incoming call: Az💗

“Baby?” Paige asked her, breathing for the first time all day sinking into her overly expensive couch still in her sweaty gym clothes.

“Yeah im here” voice soft and tinged with concern

“This might be the wildest thing i'mma ever say” with a huff

“Uh..huh” Azzi raises a brow but follows anyways

“I think I- miss storrs?” She said rubbing her forehead

“Really? That's what you built up to?” She says trying to conceal her amusement but her tone was not convincing anyone.

“But seriously what makes you say that?” She asks in a tone so sweet and warming it puts honey to shame

“I just- I don’t belong here” voice cracking for just a second, barely noticeable over the line

“Paige” her voice softening even further

“Azzi” she says teasingly trying to ease away whatever worry she knows azzi’s feeling

“You fit anywhere and everywhere you go, and you know that”

“Do I? This is news to me tell me more” she snorts but she knows what azzi’s saying is real “yeah I know”

They talk about nothing in particular for god knows how long, during god knows when.

How they even find the time for it is truly a challenge itself.

But they’ll always find it, it doesn't matter if it’s 5 hours or 5 minutes.

…

A few days after that call she starts feeling all the isolation she didn’t know she felt in the first place rush back to her when she started unpacking the rest of her things.

It all hits her full force when she opens her polaroid box.

A shoe box she filled with pictures of everyone she could possibly need—her siblings, her dad, the team, coach, and the person who filled most of the box—her love

And that broke whatever show she tried so hard to put on.

That is until home finally found her, when she couldn’t find it.

When she sees the brown eyes she fell into when she was 14 and never left.

And before she knows it she latches all 6 feet of herself onto azzi with no space for air in between. She just stands there for a moment, head buried in her neck, wrapping her arms around azzi like if she held on tight enough her girl would never slip away.

“Do me a favour never leave again” Paige asks wholeheartedly, head still buried into all things azzi.

Earning a small laugh from her, and Paige thinks it’s the best thing she's heard since she’d gotten here.

“I’ll try my best for the 2 days I'm here?” She says slightly amused

“Shhh Im in denial let me have this” and it earns a real laugh from the brunette, the kind that makes you dedicate your life to hearing over and over again.

And as for Paige she’s heard 9 years worth of it and many more to come, whether it's right here or 1000 miles apart she’ll always find a way to hear it.

[kakashisacademia]

a/n: a little something based on this fanart by @|tearofgods on twitter

pairing: model Sukuna x photographer you x model Satoru Gojo | warnings: teasing, edging, dirty talk, overstimulation, oral (both ways), fingering, vaginal sex

summary; you’re a rising star among the photographers, but your professionalism slips completely when you have Gojo and Sukuna in front of your lense

ೃ⁀➷ The Heat Behind The Lens

You’d worked with models before. Gorgeous ones. Famous ones. Some had even tried to flirt. All charm and cologne, but you’d learned early on to stay cool and professional. You were good at this. A rising name in fashion photography.

Unshakable. Focused. Calm. Until today.

The studio doors slid open and they walked in.

First came Satoru Gojo, six feet plus of smug confidence and unreasonably long legs. His silver-white hair looked artfully messy, but you knew it took at least two stylists to get it that way. He wore dark sunglasses indoors, a knowing grin already stretching his lips as he caught sight of you.

Then came Sukuna, walking sin, all sharp eyes and lazy dominance. His body was a roadmap of ink and lean muscle, and the way he looked at you? Like he knew you were about to fall apart, and he was just waiting for it to happen.

“Yo,” Gojo called, finger-gunning at you like you weren’t already clenching your thighs behind the camera. “You’re our photographer? Cute.”

You cleared your throat, brushing sweaty palms on your jeans. “Yes. I mean - yes, I’m Y/N. I’ll be leading today’s campaign shoot. Thank you both for being on time.”

Sukuna smirked. “We wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

God help you.

Fifteen minutes later you were adjusting lights and pretending you didn’t hear their low voices and laughter from the changing area. The stylist had prepped them with nothing but tight black boxer-briefs and striped low-rise trunks for the ‘Raw Summer’ campaign - minimal clothing, all body, all heat.

And when they stepped out? You nearly dropped your goddamn camera.

Gojo strolled out first, bare chest glistening faintly under the overhead lights, thumbs hooked just beneath the waistband of his briefs like he was already flirting with indecency. “This angle good for you, sweetheart?” he asked, twisting his hips like a damn runway model, eyes sliding over your face with delight.

Before you could answer, Sukuna followed, muscles rippling, arms covered in stark black tattoos that drew the eye right to where his hands casually adjusted his waistband. He didn’t say a word. He just held your gaze and smirked, head tilted as if he already knew the heat rising in your cheeks had nothing to do with the lights.

You adjusted the camera, clearing your throat again. “Let’s, uh… start with standing poses. Arms relaxed, look into the lens like you own it.”

They did own it. They owned the room. The camera. Hell, they were starting to own your heartbeat too.

Gojo sauntered up, leaning just a little too close. “How’s the focus, baby? Hands shaking?”

Sukuna let out a low chuckle from behind him. “Bet she can’t even look at us without blushing.”

You did blush hot and fast, and Gojo’s grin stretched wider. This was going to be a long, long shoot. But you weren’t going to let them win.

Gojo’s teasing? Sukuna’s lazy hunger? No. You were a professional. And no matter how hard your heart pounded or how warm your cheeks were, you had a job to do.

“Okay,” you said, swallowing down the heat in your throat. “Next shot’s from a low angle. I need to capture the abs. All that definition, tension in the core.”

Sukuna arched an eyebrow. Gojo just smiled like he knew something you didn’t.

“Low angle, huh?” Gojo drawled. “You sure you can handle that view, sweetheart?”

Instead of answering, you dropped to your knees, camera in hand, thighs spreading wide for stability as you sank down right in front of them.

Click.

You knew it the second it happened; the shift. They weren’t smirking anymore.

Gojo blinked behind his shades, mouth parted just slightly, like he was about to say something and forgot how to talk. Sukuna made a low, unreadable sound deep in his throat, eyes fixed not on the lens but on you. The way your legs were spread, how you were perfectly framed between them, camera poised like you belonged there.

Kneeling. Focused. Mouth slightly open, breathing heavy from the effort of controlling your desire.

Sukuna tilted his head, slow and dangerous.“Careful, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice gravel and fire. “Pose like that, and we’ll forget this is a shoot.”

Gojo’s voice dropped too, full honey-laced and full of heat. “You always get on your knees like that when you’re working? Or just when you’re looking up at us?”

You swallowed hard, but you didn’t flinch or move. You just adjusted the focus ring and said, “I go wherever I need to get the perfect shot.”

Gojo let out a sharp exhale, licking his lips. “Tch. You’re gonna kill me.”

Sukuna didn’t blink. “She knows exactly what she’s doing.”

You did, but it wasn’t just for the effect. This shot? It was art. Their abs tense, the sunlight catching beads of sweat on their skin, the way their hands hung low over their waistbands like they were seconds from peeling the last of the fabric away…

Click. Click. Click.

And just as you leaned in for one final frame, Sukuna’s body shadowing yours, Gojo’s cocky voice above your head murmuring, “You sure you’re not enjoying this a little too much, baby?”, your hand slipped.

Only a little. Just enough to brush Gojo’s thigh and he froze slightly.

Sukuna leaned in, voice a growl at your ear. “You touch us like that again, sweetheart, and I’ll make you drop that camera.”

Your breath caught. The shutter clicked once more.

You exhaled slowly, rising to your feet with practiced grace. Camera secure, knees only slightly shaky. “Alright,” you said, voice a touch breathless. “That’s a good stopping point. Let’s take five.”

You tried to sound casual, cool and unbothered by what just happened. You failed spectacularly. Because when you looked up? They were staring.

Sukuna hadn’t moved an inch. He was still standing in his tight briefs, arms crossed lazily over his chest, but his eyes had darkened. Not with annoyance, but with hunger. The kind of look that made your mouth dry and your thighs clench.

Gojo sat on the edge of the low platform you’d used for the last round of shots, legs spread wide, sunglasses pushed up into his hair. His electric blue eyes were locked on you. No jokes and playful grin. Just that slow, simmering heat as he watched a bead of sweat trail down your collarbone.

The air in the studio shifted. You suddenly realized you were still standing between them. The way prey might stand between two predators and they knew it.

Gojo leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. “You always kneel that pretty when you’re working, baby?” he asked, tone deceptively soft.

You hesitated. That was your mistake.

Because Sukuna moved. Just a step closer, barely noticeable, but your body felt it. Like static before lightning. “I could see down your shirt,” he said bluntly, voice low and dangerous. “Bet you didn’t even realize what kind of show you were giving us.”

You swallowed, defending yourself. “I was just getting the right angle.”

Gojo chuckled, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah, and we were just modeling. Funny how everyone’s pretending right now.”

You looked at them, really looked. Sweat on their skin and tension in their jaws. Not posing anymore, not acting. Just watching you and waiting. One wrong move, one step too close, one word too sweet or shy or cocky and they’d close in. And you’d let them.

You turned toward the lighting stand, trying to compose yourself, but your hand trembled as you adjusted the reflector.

Sukuna’s voice rolled in behind you like thunder. “Still think you’re in control, little photographer?”

And then Gojo, closer now, right at your shoulder. “Or are you just waiting for us to break that camera so you can finally drop the act?”

You turned around slowly, cautiously. Two gods of sin, shirtless and starved, watching you like dessert. God help you, you thought again. Because the break wasn’t cooling anything down. It was only winding them tighter.

You tried to keep moving then. Check the monitor. Adjust the lighting. Pretend you didn’t feel their eyes dragging over you like touch hot and heavy, slipping beneath your clothes and into your skin.

But they knew. God, they knew. You hadn’t hidden well that flicker of hunger behind your lashes. That soft parting of your lips when Gojo had leaned in. The way your breath hitched when Sukuna’s voice brushed your neck. You were drenched in restraint, dressed in professionalism, but they could see the cracks forming in real time.

Gojo stretched, long and loose, and the way his arms flexed was deliberate. “You okay over there, sweetheart?” he asked, deceptively casual. “You’ve been staring at the same setting for the last minute.”

“I’m not staring,” you said a little too fast.

Sukuna gave a low, dangerous hum. “She’s memorizing,” he murmured. “Every line. Every vein. Every inch.”

You bristled, spinning around with a too-tight smile. “I’ve shot models before, you know.”

Gojo tilted his head, grin spreading slow. “Mm. But not us.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was thick. Because they weren’t touching you. Weren’t closing in. They were just standing there half-dressed and gorgeous, letting their words peel you apart.

Gojo’s voice dipped low, smooth and dark. “Bet your camera’s not the only thing overheating right now.”

Your stomach flipped.

Sukuna’s eyes dropped to your hands and saw the slight tremble. “Tryin’ so hard to act like you’re in control. It’s cute.”

You forced a laugh, lifting the camera again. “You think you’re intimidating me?”

Gojo chuckled, shaking his head. “No, baby. We’re just wondering how long you’ll pretend you don’t want us to ruin your whole professionalism act.”

Click. Your finger pressed the shutter like it might save you. It didn’t.

Because Sukuna stepped closer, closing the gap. Not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the heat rolling off him.

“We can wait,” he murmured, low and lethal. “But the longer you hold back, the worse it’ll be when you finally let go.”

Gojo’s voice floated in like a silk rope tightening around your throat. “And we’ll make you beg for it, sweetheart. But not with words. Just… looks. Shaky hands. A little whimper, maybe.”

You inhaled sharply.

Sukuna’s eyes gleamed. “There it is.”

They hadn’t touched you. They hadn’t crossed that line. But you were already shaking on the edge. They weren’t going to push you off. Not yet. They were going to make you jump.

The final setup was a two-man shot. Both models in frame, half-lit, low exposure to catch every ripple of muscle, every glint of moisture on their skin.

You didn’t mean for it to feel like a climax, but it did. Because now touch was required. And you were the one doing it.

“Okay,” you said, steadying your breath as best you could. “Sukuna, I want you seated on the edge of the platform. Gojo, stand behind him. Right hand on his shoulder, the other on your hip.”

They obeyed without argument, but with intent. Gojo’s palm slid over Sukuna’s bare skin like he meant it. Sukuna leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, neck bowed just enough to show off the tendons flexing along his spine.

You swallowed. Then moved closer. Water spray bottle in hand. Your fingers shook slightly as you misted Sukuna’s chest. Cool droplets catching the light, turning his tattoos into gleaming, dripping lines. You sprayed Gojo next, droplets sliding down the curve of his abs.

Sukuna’s jaw twitched.

Gojo exhaled through his nose. “This part of the job always this fun?”

“It’s to catch the light,” you murmured.

Gojo smirked. “Sure it is.”

You moved in, closer, too close, and reached out. Your fingertips brushed Sukuna’s collarbone. Just a gentle adjustment of his posture. But under your touch, his muscles tensed. Not flinching, more like bracing.

“You’re stiff,” you said.

Gojo choked on a laugh behind him. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, “you really shouldn’t say things like that.”

You tried to ignore him, but then you stepped between them, guiding Gojo’s arm higher, repositioning it on Sukuna’s chest and your palm pressed against Gojo’s bicep. His skin was hot. His breath ghosted your cheek. And when you turned your head slightly, your lips were inches from his. Your thighs pressed together again unconsciously, automatically. You couldn’t help it. You were buzzing. On power, on lust, on the way they both watched you like they were trying not to pounce.

And then you caught it. Gojo shifted behind Sukuna, eyes hooded, jaw clenched, and… oh.

You didn’t mean to look down. You absolutely didn’t. He was definitely not soft anymore. Neither, you realized with a thrill of horror and excitement, was Sukuna. You stepped back fast. Sprayed them both again like you were punishing them for it.

“We’re almost done,” you said quickly.

Neither answered. Both of them were staring at you with the same expression. Dark. Tense. Starving.

Sukuna’s voice finally cut through the thick silence. “You’re playing a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

Gojo’s lips curved. “And we’re running out of patience.”

You lifted your camera. Clicked the shutter and whispered, “So don’t break.”

Their breath hitched. Touch wasn’t the problem. The problem was how much you all wanted more.

You didn’t know who moved first.

Maybe it was you, lingering too long as you adjusted Gojo’s hand on Sukuna’s chest. Maybe it was Sukuna, the way he looked at you like touching was a promise, not a line to avoid. Or maybe it was Gojo, whispering something dark against your temple that made your knees buckle.

“Final frame,” he murmured. “C’mere, baby.”

You should’ve said no. You meant to. But you turned your head, just slightly and he kissed you. Soft at first, almost gentle. Then not. Gojo’s mouth opened over yours like a command, tongue teasing the seam of your lips before pushing in. One hand on your cheek, the other gripping your waist like he was holding himself back.

Behind you, Sukuna moved in like a shadow. His hands curled around your hips, fingers dragging up under your shirt, calloused palms rough against your soft skin. His mouth hovered at your ear.

“Still wanna be in control, sweetheart?” he growled.

You whimpered and that was answer enough.

They didn’t give you time to think. Gojo pulled you into his lap as Sukuna knelt behind you, hands slipping under your leggings, dragging them down slow. Gojo kissed you harder, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth just as Sukuna’s fingers brushed the heat between your legs.

“So fucking wet,” Sukuna muttered. “She wanted this.”

Gojo laughed breathlessly. “She still trying to act like she’s working?”

You barely heard them. You were on your knees now again, but this time, on purpose. Stripped and eager. Eyes blown wide, body shaking.

And when Gojo pushed his boxers down, thick and already leaking? You didn’t hesitate. Your mouth wrapped around his cock like you’d been craving it. Your mouth was hot and willing. He groaned low, fingers tangling in your hair.

“Holy shit. Fuck, sweetheart. That mouth.”

Behind you, Sukuna crouched again, snapping the strap of your bra down your arm and pulling it off slowly. His phone was in his hand and your camera discarded and reclaimed. A flash went off. You gasped around Gojo’s cock, throat tightening with the surprise, and he hissed.

“Ohhh, don’t stop now,” he moaned. “She looks so good like this, doesn’t she, Sukuna?”

Another flash. You turned slightly, dazed, to find Sukuna smirking behind the lens.

“Look at that,” he said, voice gravel. “Messy mouth, big eyes, tits out. Bet you’ve imagined this every time you looked through that camera, huh?”

You whimpered and sucked harder, cheeks hollowing as Gojo’s head tipped back. He didn’t last much longer. Neither of them did.

Because once you had Gojo moaning above you, Sukuna was next. He dropped the camera, stripped bare, and nudged your thighs open with his knees. He didn’t fuck you yet. He just leaned down and dragged his tongue up your inner thigh, slow and greedy.

“You wanna come, don’t you?” he whispered. “Tell us.”

You shook your head. Apparently the wrong move.

Gojo pulled you up by the chin, wiping your mouth with his thumb. “Say it, baby. Or we’ll stop.”

Your voice broke. “I…I wanna come.”

Sukuna laughed low, pleased and wicked. “Not yet.”

You were soaked. Your thighs trembled while your hole clenched around nothing. Breasts flushed and bare, nipples hard from the cool air and Gojo’s mouth which had been all over you minutes ago. Sukuna had your legs over his shoulders, his tongue everywhere but your clit, taking his time like he had a fucking grudge. Still no one had let you come. They were drawing it out on purpose. They treated you like their personal playground.

Sukuna’s tongue flicked low, maddening slow before he pulled away. “You’re twitching, sweetheart.”

Gojo chuckled behind you, where he was now lounging half-hard, lazily stroking himself as he watched. “She’s close. I can see it in her eyes.”

You whimpered, hands fisting beneath you, body arched and aching. “I can’t…” you breathed. “Please.”

Sukuna’s fingers slipped in just enough to stretch, to tease. He didn’t give you rhythm you needed.

“No begging yet,” he growled, thumb brushing lightly over your clit. One sweet, electric touch that made you sob out loud. “You haven’t earned it.”

Gojo leaned forward, pressing his lips behind your ear. “What happened to the confident little professional, huh?”

You turned your head, panting. “She’s… she’s gone.”

He laughed, genuinely delighted. “Oh, baby. That’s hot.” Then he kissed you, tongue slipping in to taste your helpless moan.

Sukuna pulled away, leaving you empty. You cried out, hips chasing his mouth and fingers. “No,” he said simply. “Not yet.”

Gojo’s voice was soft and cruel. “We want to see what you look like when you snap.”

You tried to move, to grind against a thigh, a hand, anything. But Gojo pinned your hips down and tsked.

“You gonna come without permission?” he whispered, mocking. “After all that discipline?”

“I can’t… I can’t think…”

“Good,” Sukuna murmured, lips brushing your inner thigh. “Don’t think. Just feel.”

Another kiss. Another flick of his tongue.

Gojo pressed two fingers to your lips. “Suck.”

You obeyed. Obscene, wet sounds filling the room as your mouth wrapped around his fingers like you’d done his cock. He hissed.

“God, she’s such a mess.”

Sukuna growled. “Not messy enough.”

He dropped his mouth again, sucking your clit just hard enough to make your vision white out. You screamed, actually screamed, hips bucking and then he stopped.

You choked on Gojo’s fingers, tears flooding your eyes. “No!”

“Ohhh, baby.” Gojo pulled his fingers from your mouth, wiping your spit over your cheek. “You’re gonna come so hard when we finally let you.”

Sukuna sat back on his heels, panting slightly, face shiny with your arousal. “She’s shaking.”

You were. A full-body tremble, broken sobs falling from your lips. Gojo reached for the camera.

“Smile for me, sweetheart.”

Click. Another photo. A snapshot of your ruin.

You didn’t know then how many times they’d edged you anymore. Three? Four? Every one worse than the last. You were trembling all over, hair sticking to your damp skin, your body humming with tension so deep it felt like it was carved into your bones. You’d begged.

Fuck, you’d begged so much and many times.

Not pretty, not proud. Full-blown sobs. Broken whimpers. Pleas ripped from your throat while your body screamed for release and they still hadn’t let you come.

Gojo was behind you now, long body wrapped around yours, his fingers between your legs again. Light, lazy, barely-there touches that made you cry out and shake harder.

“Please,” you gasped, eyes wet, hips twitching. “Please, please, I… I can’t.”

Sukuna knelt in front of you, hand fisting the roots of your hair, forcing you to look up at him. “You’re fucking beautiful like this,” he growled, cock thick and flushed, inches from your mouth. “You gonna cry for it?”

You already were.

“Open,” he commanded.

You did and he slid in slow. Not all the way for now, just enough to feel your lips stretch around him, your throat flutter. You choked, moaned, clutched at Gojo’s arm around your waist like it was the only thing holding you together.

“Such a mess,” Gojo breathed, mouth at your ear. “You gonna fall apart for us, baby?”

You tried to answer, but couldn’t. Because Sukuna pushed his fat cock deeper, fucking your throat in slow, shallow thrusts that matched the pace of Gojo’s fingers against your clit.

The stimulation. The teasing. The cruel control. You were unraveling.

“Let her,” Gojo murmured. “She’s ready.”

“Not yet,” Sukuna hissed. “I want her broken.”

He pulled out, spit and precum dripping from your lips, and grabbed your jaw with one hand. “Look at you. The little boss behind the camera, reduced to this.”

You whimpered. “Please, I’ll do anything-”

“Oh, baby.” Gojo chuckled darkly. “You already are.”

His fingers slid in, two at once, pumping shallowly. So close. Your walls clenched. Your legs kicked. You were babbling now incoherent nonsense, praise and begging and curses all tangled on your tongue.

Sukuna’s lips brushed your ear. “You come without permission, and we’ll start over.”

No!

Gojo curved his fingers right into that spot. That evil, devastating spot that made your vision flicker. You shrieked.

“Don’t you fucking come,” Sukuna growled, biting your throat. “Take it. Let it hurt.”

You were crying. Your thighs were shaking. Your body was on fire. And then Gojo leaned in, hand still moving, mouth pressed to your shoulder.

“…Come for us, baby.”

That was it. You shattered. Back arched. Legs locking. Screaming into Sukuna’s shoulder as your orgasm ripped through you like a fucking storm.

Hot. Endless. Violent.

It didn’t stop. They didn’t stop. Sukuna pressed his cock against your tongue again as Gojo fucked you through it with his fingers.

“You’re so good,” Gojo whispered. “So fucking good for us.”

You collapsed in their arms, twitching, sobbing, lips swollen, pussy dripping. Absolutely broken.

You thought you’d been wrecked before. You were wrong. Because after they let you come? After they praised you and held you and murmured sweet filth into your ear while your body trembled in the aftershocks? They still weren’t done.

You were limp in Gojo’s arms when Sukuna rose up from where he knelt, looming over you like the devil himself, eyes burning.

“You think we’re finished, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low, dangerous.

You blinked up at him, dazed.

And Gojo, grinning like a man unhinged and whispered, “No cameras this time.”

Then Sukuna flipped you onto your stomach and dragged you up by the hips, ass in the air, thighs spread. You had one heartbeat to breathe before he lined up and slammed into you. You screamed.

Slick, hot, already so sensitive and he didn’t give you time to adjust. Just gripped your hips and fucked into you, hard and fast, each thrust brutal and deep. Your hands scrabbled for something, anything, to hold on to.

Gojo knelt in front of you, cock flushed and aching. “Mouth,” he commanded.

You opened and he pushed in. Suddenly you were filled from the front and back, no mercy, no tenderness, just two bodies using yours like you were made for it. Like you’re nothing, but a cocksleeve.

“Fuck,” Sukuna growled, nails digging into your hips. “She’s gripping me like she needs it.”

“She does,” Gojo said, fucking your mouth slow while you choked on him. “Look at her. She was made to take us.”

You were crying again. Overwhelmed. Shaking. You wanted more, reduced to a filthy toy that wanted her holes filled. Sukuna hit deeper, harder, each thrust making your eyes roll. Your mouth drooled around Gojo’s cock as he fucked your throat, one hand stroking your hair as if to mock how gentle he could be.

They were both panting now. Both close.

Sukuna leaned over your back, growling in your ear, “You want us to come inside you, baby?”

You sobbed as Gojo slid out so you could answer, “Yes… yes, please, I need it. ”

Gojo groaned, cock ramming back into your throat. “Fuck, that voice.”

You came again, or more you exploded, thighs shaking, body clenching so tight around Sukuna he snarled and buried himself to the hilt, hot and thick and deep as he spilled into you.

Gojo followed seconds later, pulling out and stroking over your lips, coming messily across your cheek and tits, panting curses between gasps.

The three of you collapsed in a pile, skin on skin, sweat and come and tears smeared between your bodies. The room was silent. Spent.

Until Sukuna, flat on his back, still breathless, muttered. “So…when’s our next photoshoot?”

You wheezed a laugh into Gojo’s shoulder.

And Gojo, voice rough and wrecked, grinned and said. “Hope you’ve got a wide-angle lens, sweetheart. ‘Cause we’re not fitting all this tension into one frame.”

[yeonmuse]

In which our hatter is invited to live with the timekeeper and his daughter. Little did he know his time spent with her would lead to falling in love

Request from anon: Chosen Journey [ hatter guide, potion & pocketclock tether, traveling to the hatters teaparty ]

✧ fluff, alice in wonderland au, childhood best friends to lovers, jake is an absolute fool for reader

Authors notes: another req for the 1k special event. this one took so long im so sorry. I’m currently on the road right now so i wrote all of this while on an 14 hour car ride. Cant lie im very slee deprived but i wanted to make sure i got this done for you, i truly hope you enjoy it. (Might be losing my mind idk)

Other reqs can be found here

The timekeeper wasn’t a man of many words, he was poised, stoic and every move he made was completely calculated much like the white rabbit who was oh so punctual. Though when it came to you, your father had always had a soft spot, he’d give the world and more to you, his only daughter, only child.

The only thing he could never grant you was access outside of the palace. You wondered what it was like to venture past the walls of the old castle. To live in a place where there was more in life to observe than just ticking clocks or counting the hours as that dragged along. Here it was just you and the stretch of time that never seemed to end when you’re living within the walls of time itself.

Your father was of course aware of your desire to venture, and as guilty as he sometimes felt for keeping you there, it was up to him to keep you within those walls, to ensure he would never lose you to the time outside of those walls. So eventually when you turned 5 he did one of the only things he thought suitable for someone of your curiosity.

Sim Jaeyun was a peculiar boy, known as Jake or the hatter to those closest to him. He’d been most known for holding tea parties and dancing aimlessly amongst the trees and animals of the forest. He was quite questionable to many, though as mad as he was in their eyes to the wonders of wonderland he was no stranger. For he knew the entirety of wonderland like the back of his hand, as if he himself had created it.

He had entered every cavern, every home, every forest and sea there was to explore, though the one place he had never been was the timekeeper's palace. Aside from the family that lived there, not a soul had ever been granted access into such a place. So imagine his surprise when he received a letter from the timekeeper himself inviting him to live in the castle. A castle that many had heard whispers of, a castle whose beauty knew no bounds, no time but eternity.

The day you’d anticipated was finally here, your 5th birthday, the day you’d waited for longingly counting down the seconds, minutes and hours until it’d come. Sometimes the clocks spoke, whispers and rumors they told of course, you’d grown used to the white lies and stories they told just to invoke your happiness. But this time they spoke of a boy, a boy from the outskirts of the timegates, a boy who would soon arrive to teach you everything that he knew about the outside world. About wonderland.

When your father called you down from your room he hadn’t expected to find his precious daughter dressed to the gods, hair perfectly slicked back with a ponytail full of braids and curls and ribbons, and a beautiful dress one of many found in your room of wonders (in simple words it was just your closet that had a mind of its own). When he called you from your room little had he known you’d already been peeking from the banister into the foyer, your curiosity not allowing you to wait until you were called to meet the boy, you just had to see for yourself.

“yn, this..this is Jake, he’ll be living with us from now on.” You stood shyly behind your father, eyes peeking out from behind him to finally catch a look at the boy you’d heard whispers of for two weeks now.

As you stood looking at him, taking him in curiously, he himself seemed to be just as curious about you. He stared at you almost as if you were some sort of spectacle.

“I’m Jake!” He finally inquires, jetting out his hand for you to shake, with an enthusiasm that almost bewildered you.

You give your father a timid look at which he returns with a nod of encouragement, making you finally step out from behind him to shake the boy's hand.

“Yn.” You respond softly, taking his hands into yours

From that day forward you and him had become quite close. He told you of his every adventure outside of the castle and you told him about time, and all of the things that made the castle tick. There were often days where you found yourself dissatisfied even with his company and he was sure to give you space on such days. He’d go and venture outside of the castle and return with different gadgets and whatsits all to put a smile on your face and bring you joy. It was his everlasting vow to you that if you couldn’t visit wonderland then he’d just have to bring wonderland to you.

“Jake, we only have two days to get this right. Will you please come down from there and help me with these books.” You complain, piling books onto books and gathering them all at the nearest table before dropping into the seat.

Jake on the other hand had been too busy perusing and goofing off in the loft area, it was part of the library that he and his father had worked on solely for you once you’d told him you wanted your personal book nook.

“What’s the point of studying if the words just don’t stick? I find that if you just study the class beforehand, your memory is more likely to be kind to you.” He responds swinging down from the loft before dropping down at your side.

“Can’t exactly study how to train a bandersnatch in a single hour, or is it that you’re looking to get eaten rather than train one?” You respond, your head in your books as always.

“All I’m saying is, you study too much, you’ve always studied too much.” He retorts, pushing the book from in front of your face and giving you one of his ever so charming smiles.

Growing up with Jake you’d grown used to his flirtatious banter and peculiarity which on many occasions had influenced you. Since the day he’d entered the castle it was like the two of you had been sewn together at the hip. He never left your side, like a newborn puppy that had already grown attachments to its newfound family, he had been completely devoted to staring at your side. It had gotten so bad that eventually your father had made the executive decision to finally let you venture outside of the castle by going to school (with the company of Jake of course). Of course he didn’t allow you to go as far as Wonderland but, for now the little freedom he had decided to give you would just have to suffice.

“Studying is the exact reason why I’m passing every class while you, Sim Jaeyun, are getting tulips for a grade rather than roses.”

“Hey tulips aren’t that bad, I could be getting lilies.” He defends, earning a winded laugh from you.

“Jake, study.” You command softly, giving him a concerned glance before returning your attention to your books.

“And what if I don't?” He responds teasingly, earning an amused look from you.

“Hm i guess the bandersnatch is gonna want a snack.” You retort, resting your hand on your palm, making him scoff.

“I’ll be sure to give him one when I get that perfect grade. You fail to remember I know all of wonderland like the back of my hand, anything you study I already know.” He shrugs, seemingly completely unbothered at the topic of tomorrow's lesson.

“Exactly why you’re getting graded with tulips hm?” You tease, your brows knitting together with amusement.

“Oh getting that rose grade and rubbing it in your face will be so sweet.” He comments, sparking an idea that you knew he was bound to abide by, after all he’d do when you asked him.

“How about we bet on it then? If I’m right and you’re graded less than a tulip, then you take me to a wonderland.”

“What about your father? You think he’d allow you to venture off? You’re already pushing it by going to school? Do you remember that time in kindergarten when you let kim sunoo talk you into going into town square, your father took away your pocketwatch and you cried for hours because you’d never seen him so upset with you.”

“Will you let that go when I was six?” You respond rolling your eyes, a sigh escaping your lips. “I’ll take care of it okay.”

“Alright say I do agree to this, if I win..what do I get out of this?”

“Um. Well what do you want?” You could see the gears in his head turning the moment the question spilled from your lips, and you weren't sure if it was a sign to run for the hills or if he’d choose to spare you.

“To be determined.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Means that you’ll find out when i win.” He responds, shooting you a cheeky smile before kicking back in his seat.

Today would serve as the determining factor of your future, freedom and finally experiencing life outside of the walls you so desperately seek an escape from. While you yourself were completely nervous to have everything riding on this Jake had been as confident as ever, so confident it almost annoyed you.

“I can’t wait to wipe that smile off your face.’’ you taunt, scrunching up your nose at him as you watched him circle you with a cheeky grin on his face.

“You’re so sure you’re going to win.’’ he responds, stopping in front of you and pulling up a chair to sit. Admiring you as you tie your shoes.

“Of course i’ll win i’ve been studying everything that the professor told me, even saved the research on my phone see.’’ Pulling your phone from your pocket you hand it over to him so that he could see all of the research you’d taken the time to gather. You’d hoped that within showing this he would realize how serious you were and that it’d rile him but he simply gives an amused look as he continues to scroll through.

“You also happen to have, like, a hundred photos of prince sunghoon on here.’’ he teases, making you snatch your phone back.

“Why do you have so many photos of him on your phone anyways?”

“Stop smiling.’’ you shove your phone into your pocket, ignoring the pink tint that had formed on your cheeks at the revelation of wonderlands prince in your camera roll.”the girls at school talk about him okay, I just wondered what he’s like…since he’s famous in wonderland..everyone seems to know him.’’

“Already looking to ditch me for a prince?’’ he responds playfully, a hint of jealousy in his tone that seemed to go unnoticed by you.

“I could never replace you jakey, you’ll always be my number one.’’ your words made his chest tighten in his chest, for those words meant so much to him but you would of course never know that.

No matter how obvious he’d seem to make it you never seemed to get the hint that he was completely, utterly in love with you and he had been since you were children. He loved your curiosity and wonder for a world that was not your own, you’d had such a peculiar outlook on the world that anyone outside of the palace walls was sure to call you mad just as they called him.

“Are you sure you don’t want to backout of that I mean i’ll understand if you decide to change your mind i'm quite good with animals.” he brags on, stepping up from his seat as you yourself finally stood to make way and join the others that had been participating in today's lesson.

“Afraid that you’ll lose Jakey?’’ you question tauntingly earning a chuckle from him.

“Actually i’m pretty confident I'll win.’’ he retorts, until eventually the two of you are shushed by the teacher as she begins to go over the do’s and don'ts of today's lesson. An endless list of things you’d already known all because you had gone out of your way to learn them.

Everyone's turns seemed to fly by quickly, many of them doing half assessed work whereas some of them had actually been taking their lessons seriously. Then it had come down to you and Jake, and as your name had been called to show what you’d learned your confidence had slowly dissolved and replaced itself with nerves, that was strike one. Never show fear or nervousness when working with bandersnatch, they were majestic yet frivolous creatures and any sign of unease could at any moment set them off.

It had been a simple task, tame it, and get a saliva sample, how hard could it be right? Everyone else had done it without casualty so it couldn’t possibly have been that troubling?

Oh how wrong you were, the monet you’d inched onto the field the creatures nose flared and it let out a huff, it was obvious that he could already sense your unease but of course you had been too far in, there was no stopping you then. That was strike two, you should have drawn back, should have taken your chances leaving it be, but your pride consumed you, you wanted to win.

‘Yn i don’t think you should-’’ Jake tries to warn, but you immediately shut him down

“I got this jake, I practiced for this.’’ you had been so busy plotting your next move, too busy caught up in jake's warnings to realize it's inched closer curiously. By the time you’d turned around to meet its eyes you’d panicked and lept forward, as quick as you tried to be it had been quicker, clawing at you and swiping you off to the side making the others around you panic. Through blurred vision you could make out Jakes figure leaping over the fence and into the field, the last thing you’d seen as your vision blurred was him calming the animal to get to you.

You woke up in your bed, the moon peeking through the curtains casting shadows on your bedroom floor. When your vision had fully cleared you spotted Jake at your bedside fast asleep, hair a disheveled mess. He seemed to be sleeping completely sound until he felt your fingertips graze his forehead, pushing his mess of hair back on his head.

“Yn?’’ he called out softly, a slight rasp to his voice, obviously due to the fact that he’d just woken up.

“I’m not dying you know.’’ you spoke softly trying to lighten the mood as you’d already known you were about to receive an earful from him.

“You wanted to see wonderland that bad hm?’’ he finally spoke and you sat gazing at him in complete shock as he sat rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“I didn’t , i just wanted to prove that I could do it. It was my only chance to get you to agree and-’’

“I’ll take you.’’

“What?’’ You stare at him, blinking repeatedly as if you’d heard the words he just spoke incorrectly

“I’ll take you yn.’’

“But the bet, I didn’t win.’’ you respond, obviously confused at his sudden agreement to take you.

“Screw the bet. I’d rather give in now and just deal with whatever consequences with your dad later than have you hurt again.’’ at his words you immediately fell silent, you weren’t exactly sure what to say.

“Where. Where did you want to go?’’

“Wonder forest.’’

You know that this was a crazy idea, everything about it was completely mad, to go against your fathers wishes was something that you had never done but alas your curiosity outweighed your obedience. So now here you were standing outside of Jake's bedroom door anxiously waiting for him to open up before your father could find you waiting there. Finally the door swung open revealing Jake on the other side, first words to leave his mouth as he saw you standing there completely dolled up “i’m literally such a fool for you.’’

He had said it so faintly if you hadn’t stood right in front of it you’d have missed it.

“Exactly what makes me love you more, now are we going?’’ you ask, turning around to make your way down the hall but he’s quick to stop you.

“Where are you going?’’ he questions, making your brows knit together in confusion.

“Um..wonderland?’’ you respond back as if it wasn't the most obvious answer.

“Are you trying to get caught by your father?’’ he sighs, pulling you into his room and shutting the door behind you.

“I don’t understand how else are we going to get there if not out the front door?’’

“Through the looking glass.’’

“The what?’’ You watched as he moved to the giant mirror standing only a few feet away from his bed.

“The looking glass? It’s like a gateway? How have you never..how have you never heard of it all this time?’’ you shrug in response, making him sigh and shake his head before taking your hand.

“I brought this back with me from Wonderland the day your dad forced his curfew, it allows me to transport back and forth without the risk of being caught. Though i haven't made much use of it since he started letting you go to school.’’

‘Well how does it work.’’

“Let me show you.’’ as if it was the most normal thing in the world he steps through the mirror forcing you to follow suit as he dragged you along. For a mere two seconds you were met by complete darkness until you found yourself stepping out of a doorway of sorts.

“You’ve had that in your room this entire time? Why didn’t you tell me?’’

“Because i know if you knew i had access to a literal portal into wonderland you’d do something stupid.’’

“I would not?’’ you scoff, earning a skeptical look on his behalf.

“You nearly got mauled by a bandersnatch today for a bet?’’

“Well that’s different!’’

“Is it?’’ he chuckles pulling you along with him as he made his way down a cobblestone staircase.

“Where exactly are we right now anyways?’’

“You wanted to come here and you cant even recognize where we are?’’ he responds, a breathy laugh spilling from his lips as the two of you stopped right before an archway of trees.

When you finally did realize where you stood your eyes lit up immediately, there was no hiding your excitement especially from him. There was always a glimmer, a twinkle that shined in your eyes when you’d become excited or happy. The look on your face was one he knew all too well, and as long as he could stand here and know he’d make you happy it was all he cared for, to him nothing else mattered. The further you walked the more your eyes wandered, taking in the conglomerate of trees that stretched out through the forest, all shapes , all colors. Some adorned with flowers and vines while others had grown mushrooms and leaves had fallen though they were all beautiful nonetheless.

“I can’t believe you got to come here every day…that you got to live here.’’ your fingers grazed the leaves that felt so different to the ones back home, they brushed against your skin like velvet, as if the leaves had grown into a fine silk.

“It was kinda lonely, wonderland is a beautiful place but it sometimes becomes dull without anyone to share it with.’’

“I’m sure you had friends?’’

“None like you..’’ he responds softly, his gaze now dead set on you and the way that you’d taken in your surroundings as if it was a dream you were bound to wake from.

“Come on I wanna show you something.’’ with those words he takes your hand, once again dragging you along this time with rushed steps. Eventually the two of you came upon a small house in the opening of the forest.

“Jake? What is this?’’

“My house, or at least it was until.’’

“Until you moved into the palace.’’ you finish his sentence somewhat disheartened. Having been here made you realize how much you’d been depriving Jake of taking in the beauty of wonderland himself.

“Do you ever...do you ever regret deciding to stay there. In the palace with me and my father.’’

“At first it was hard, I can admit it wasn’t easy adjusting to your dads rules, but being there it became less lonely than things were here. I have you.” as his eyes burned into your own you found yourself growing timid under his gaze, something about the way he looked at you sometimes always made your stomach turn.

“Thank you, for taking me here even though i lost the bet fair and square you still went out of your way to make me happy.’’

“I’d do anything you asked me to..anything. When I said I was a fool for you I want it. Not in some Joking manner but in all seriousness. If you asked me to slay a dragon i would..if you asked me to give you the stars I'd give them to you.’’

“Jake I-’’

“Let me finish? Please let me finish?’’ he pleads, a slight whine in his voice that makes you fall silent the more you hear it

“I would do anything for you, I mean it every time I've said it.” he slowly inches closer, stopping in front of you and brushing the loose strands of hair from your face, an action that made your breath catch in your throat. “I’ve spent countless times mapping out how I would tell you this, many days I'd told myself to just go for it but I could never bring myself to tell you..i'm in love with you yn. From the very first day that I moved into that palace I've liked you. You don’t have to love me back. You don’t have to share those feelings but I'll always be your fool. I’ve devoted my entire life to being at your side and I won’t stop just because my feelings differ from yours’’ every word that spilled from his lips brought butterflies into the pits of your stomach. So many emotions, nerves, anxiety, happiness all because you had heard five weighing words spill fro your lips.

“You- you love me?’’

“Since the moment I knew how to love. I’ve had countless conversations with the moon at night. He tells me all about the sun and I've told him countless times about you. You know how foolishly in love a man must be to converse with the moon.’’ he rambles on, making a laugh spill from your lips.

“As foolish as a girl that talks to clocks? As foolish as the girl that cries in kindergarten when her best friend is put in another class. As foolish as a girl that has loved her best friend for years, but has forced herself to believe that he could never love her in that way.’’ you spout a long list of things, all of which call out specific parts of your life.

“You..you loved me?” for a moment there was a look of perplexion shadowed on his face, as if he himself couldn’t believe the words that had spilled from your lips. Though as he stood there staring at your face and the way you looked up at him as if you’d been anticipating his words there was a faint glimmer in his eyes.

“You’re serious.’’ his eyes widen as he gazes down at you, for the first time seemingly completely unsure of what to do with himself. “Can i…can i kiss you..please nothing else matters tonight if I get to feel your lips on mine. Even if i wake up tomorrow to find that it's all a dream i-’’

His rambling was cut short the moment your lips lock against his, both your lips molding together as if they were made for one anothers. A kiss to you that was nothing short of perfect,for the longest time Jake had been all you knew. Other than your father he’d been the only person consistently at your side. Even as your father had finally let you venture a bit further from the castle walls he’d chosen to stay. There had been this entire world outside the walls of your home that offered so much beauty and comfort yet he’d always remained stuck in the walls of time with you.

As each of you pulled away from the kiss you couldn’t help the goofy smile that’d spread across your lips.

“My dad is going to kill us both.’’

“Absolutely worth it.” Jake beams, and a giggle spills from your lips at his inability to care in that moment.

That entire night Jake had felt like he was on the clouds, he’d suffer whatever consequences were given by your father later but right now he was a complete and utter fool for you. He took you everywhere, you’ve square, the white kings palace, the red kings palace, any place he could think of that he knew you’d find wonders in. If you two were to be killed by your father for this he’d at least show you all of wonderland before it happens.

“Hey Jakey.”

“Hm?”

“You never did tell me what you wanted for winning the bet.”

“You, I wanted you.”

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[miyasmagnolias]

𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ⋆˚࿔ ✍︎

miya atsumu x f!reader

when atsumu spills coffee all over your new book, he goes to the ends of the earth to make sure you never notice.

part four of the in close quarters series, a friends-to-lovers college AU featuring you, atsumu, and the ten months you spend living together senior year.

Perhaps inviting Atsumu to study with you was a bad idea.

To be fair, you had only ever studied with two other people — your former roommate, a pre-med major whose need for complete silence outweighed your own, and Haruka, who'd sit on the other side of the café just so she could meet her writing deadlines.

It wasn't Atsumu's fault you were used to working with people who could sit still for hours at a time. If anything, he made sure you took screen breaks. Got up to pee.

But after an hour of sitting across from him, you started wondering if you'd get any work done at all.

First, he'd ripped into a bag of kettle corn and tried to do trick shots with his mouth. The occasional piece would fall into your lap or pluck you square in the forehead, and he'd murmur an earnest sorry before trying again.

Next, he'd abruptly stand and take a lap around the café, the screech of his chair interrupting your train of thought each time he got up.

Now, you were watching him try and spin a pen around his index and middle finger, after which he'd nearly knocked over your matcha latte.

"Oh my god, would you stop?"

He looked up from where the pen had inked his gym shorts with wide, unassuming eyes. "Stop what?"

"Fidgeting."

"I can't help it! I need to move," he insisted, his caffeinated knee bouncing underneath the table. You sighed, moving your drink, books, and laptop out of the splash zone to avoid any casualties.

Ever since his coach had dismissed him from volleyball practice two weeks ago, Atsumu hadn't known what to do with himself. He was always either at the gym or tossing restlessly around the apartment, and while you didn't mind his presence, you felt like he was a ticking time bomb ready to decimate. His mental health leave was driving him — and you — crazy, and neither of you knew how to handle it.

"I swear, you need to figure out how to channel all this pent-up energy," you said, gesturing towards his tense, jittery body. "Buy a fidget spinner, take up knitting, I don't care. But you're gonna break something if you don't calm down."

As if on cue, Atsumu's eyebrow twitched involuntarily. Your stare was stern as you confiscated his second iced vanilla latte of the day.

"What if I took up readin'?" he proposed, reaching for the paperback you'd brought with you to the university coffee shop that afternoon. He thumbed through the pages like one might a Pottery Barn catalogue.

"Sure. If your attention span can last that long," you muttered under your breath. Atsumu shot you a glare.

"Excuse me?"

"Can you not bend the spine?" you said helplessly, watching as he practically manhandled your new book with his brawny hands. "I just got it yesterday."

"Ya buy it from the bookstore during yer shift?" he asked. You winced as he tossed it onto the table with a pitiful smack.

"No," you said, snatching it up and dusting the cover off with your sleeve. "A visiting author dropped by my writing seminar to give a guest lecture, and she passed out signed copies of her new book."

"What's it about?"

"It's a speculative fiction novel about the liminal space between two generations of Asian immigrants assimilating to their life in New York."

Atsumu blinked at you as if you'd just grown a third eye. "I'm not even gonna pretend like I know what the hell ya just said." Before you could open your mouth to protest, a young, doe-eyed student nervously approached your table. "I'm so sorry to interrupt," she said, practically shaking in her boots. "But are you Miya Atsumu? Setter on the men's volleyball team?"

"Why yes, yes I am," your roommate chirped, leaning back in his chair so he could look her in the eye. A pair of dimples flashed on either side of his cheeky grin as he asked, "What can I do for ya, miss?" Her cheeks turned bright pink. "C-Could I get a picture with you, please? My sister and I are huge volleyball fans, and she won't believe I ran into you today unless I have photo evidence."

"Well, we can’t have that now, can we?" Atsumu drawled, positively preening at the fact that — despite his leave — he was still the most popular player on the team. He immediately stood and straightened out his grey hoodie. "C'mere. Let's make yer sister jealous."

You watched in amusement as the fan shakily outstretched her arm to take a selfie with your roommate, her hand trembling even harder as Atsumu leaned in with that easy, smug smile of his.

Click!

"Thank you so much!" she gushed, the sheer delight on her face warming your heart by at least two degrees. Meanwhile, Atsumu's ego looked like it was about to blow the roof off the place. "Anytime," he said, eyes gleaming with charm. "And to whom do I owe the pleasure of bein' photographed with this afternoon?"

"Naomi." "It was lovely meetin' ya, Naomi. Will I see ya in the stands at our first home game?" "Oh, absolutely."

"Lookin' forward to it," he said with a wink. He might as well have shot her in the heart with an arrow.

"Dear lord," you drawled once the fan was out of earshot.

"What?" Atsumu asked, feigning innocence. You shot him a look of disgust as he slid back into his seat.

"Is this what you're like normally?"

"Why?" He smirked. "Didn't expect me to be so popular?"

"Sorry." You closed your eyes, pressing your fingertips to your lips. "I think I just puked a little in my mouth."

"Yer just not used to seein' me in my element, is all." Atsumu leaned back in his chair. "Want me to sign a napkin for ya or somethin'?"

"First of all, stop manspreading all over the place," you snapped, pushing his knees back together underneath the table with your shoe. "Second of all, no. I'm not that desperate."

"Come on. When I eventually go pro, that napkin'll be worth a million bucks."

"I don't need your autograph when I already have your sweaty gym socks all over my living room floor," you retorted. Your face dropped as a genius idea came to mind. "If I auctioned those on eBay instead, do you think I'd make more?"

Now it was Atsumu's turn to look disgusted.

An amused smile toyed on your lips as you checked the clock in the corner of your laptop screen. "Shit. I gotta clock into work soon. I'll see you at home?"

"Mm? Yeah, see ya at home," your roommate murmured absentmindedly, preoccupied by his thoughts as you hastily packed your belongings and made a beeline for the front door.

Why didn't you want his autograph? More importantly, why did he care? Girls were usually impressed by his athletic and conversational prowess, but he didn't think himself so fragile as to be affected by one measly rejection — much less from his brainy, smart-mouthed roommate.

Maybe his allure had worn off the moment you'd caught him bawling in the bathroom two weeks ago. Or maybe it was the sweaty socks he kept leaving on the living room floor.

Either way, it irked him.

Reaching across the table for the iced vanilla latte you'd confiscated earlier, Atsumu noticed your new book hiding beneath a stack of his own notes. You must've forgotten it in your rush to get to work.

Figuring he could catch you before you reached the crosswalk down the street, he placed his half-empty glass on the already-wobbly table and shot out of his seat —

Clank!

— only to immediately regret his decision a second later.

Dragging his gaze downwards, Atsumu blanched as his now-empty glass rolled across the table, the remnants of his iced vanilla latte leaving no survivors in its wake. Everything was soaked. His notebook. A half-completed accounting worksheet. Your new book.

"Shit," Atsumu hissed under his breath, picking up the book by its corner and watching as coffee dripped off the pages into a pathetic puddle at his feet.

Ruined. It was completely ruined.

And you were most certainly going to kill him.

"I fucked up," Atsumu told his twin brother two minutes later, phone sandwiched between his cheek and his shoulder and he tried to mop up the spill with a wad of paper towels.

Osamu's sigh rippled through the line like a strong gust of wind. "What'd ya do this time?"

Atsumu held up your soggy book with a grimace. "I may have spilled coffee on Y/N's new book, and I'm pretty sure it's disintigratin' in my hands as we speak."

His brother was silent for a long time before saying, "Well, what'd ya want me to do about it?"

"Help me!" Atsumu ground out. "How'd ya get coffee out of a book?"

"Ya can't, ya dipshit. Ya might as well have thrown it in the Kanzaki River."

"Real helpful, asshat."

Osamu sighed again. "What's the book?"

"I dunno! It's a novel. Somethin' about speculatin' or spaces or some shit like that."

"I meant the title."

"Oh," Atsumu huffed, angling his head so he could read the cover. "Cherry Blossom Interlude." Frowning, he muttered, "Sounds hippie as shit."

"Okay," his brother said after a brief pause. "There should be a couple copies left at this independent bookstore 'cross town. They close at five. I'm textin' you the address now."

Atsumu pulled his phone from his ear just in time for the notification to arrive on his screen. Pulling up the address on his GPS, he immediately scoffed.

"That's gonna take me an hour with traffic!"

"Well, ya should've thought about that before ya decided to be a clumsy fuck!" Osamu snapped. The volume of his voice nearly rattled Atsumu's phone. "Look, I gotta get back to my shift. Ya either come clean to her empty-handed or ya don't. But it ain't my funeral."

Despite himself, Atsumu knew his brother was right. Fuck. It would've been ten times easier just to trash the book, come up with some measly excuse about forgetting to bring it home and never seeing it again. But he couldn't do that to you. His conscience was annoyingly soft when it came to you.

"Fine," he spat out after a long while, tossing the sodden paper towels into the trash can with a defeated plunk. "I'll go."

Then, after swallowing his pride, "Thanks, 'Samu."

"Don't say I never do anythin' for ya," Osamu sniped before hanging up.

After speed-walking back to the apartment garage, Atsumu jammed his keys into the ignition of his car and yanked on his seatbelt, your soggy copy of Cherry Blossom Interlude sitting out to dry in the back seat atop a stack of napkins. His blood pressure spiked as he wove in and out of rush hour traffic, honking his horn at innocent commuters who were driving too slow for his liking.

All the while, he couldn’t shake the look on your face when you’d recited to him the synopsis of the book — the excitement in your eyes, the fervor in your voice. To think he’d ruined that was enough to make his chest ache.

He swerved into the bookstore parking lot at 5:03 PM, the vacant spaces and dark windows piquing his frustration as he threw the car in park and tumbled out of the driver's seat. A young bookkeeper with a pixie cut had just enabled the security alarm on the front door when she heard him, Asics slapping against the pavement as he sprinted towards her at full speed.

"Wait — wait!" Atsumu cried, skidding to a halt. He braced his hands on his knees, shoulders heaving as he panted. "I'm 'ere to buy a book."

The bookkeeper clutched her keys to her chest in alarm. "I-I'm sorry, sir, but I'm afraid I just closed up shop — " "Please, I — it's for a friend," he stammered, holding up your ruined book. As if on cue, the front cover peeled off the binding like a rotten banana skin. "I destroyed her book because I'm a clumsy fuck, and she doesn't know, so I drove all the way out 'ere to buy her a new one because I really don't want her to kill me. O-Or hate me. So please."

She received his babbled confession with wide eyes.

God, he hoped she wouldn't call the cops on him.

"Please," he repeated, clutching the tattered copy in his hands. "It'll only take a minute."

Her slender fingers fiddled with her keys as she considered his request, the desperation in his voice. After several seconds, her shoulders relaxed in what Atsumu could only identify as pity.

"Your friend has good taste," she said, jerking her chin towards the soiled cover. "You're lucky, too — I think I only have a few copies left."

Atsumu unleashed the biggest sigh of relief as she punched in the code to deactivate the security alarm and unlocked the front door.

"Thank ya. Yer a lifesaver."

"You're a good friend," she reassured him gently, the door jingling as she swung it open and ushered him inside. "Just...try not to touch anything while you're here, okay?"

By the time Atsumu pulled into the apartment garage with your replacement book and two rice plates from Onigiri Miya, you had already returned home from your shift.

"Hey!" you said as he swung open the front door and kicked off his shoes. "I was wondering where you were. You hit the gym today?"

"Nah, just ran some errands," he fibbed. He held up the plastic bag of takeout. "Stopped by Osamu's and picked us up some dinner."

"Oh my god, thank you," you said, taking the food from him and immediately unpacking it on the dining room table. "My shift today was so exhausting, I didn't even realize I'd forgotten my book at the café until I got home. Did you happen to grab it for me?"

Without missing a beat, Atsumu reached into the front pocket of his hoodie and retrieved your newest copy of Cherry Blossom Interlude.

"This the one?"

Despite himself, the relieved smile on your face was enough for him to forget the nearly two-hour trip he'd just made.

"Yes! Atsumu, you're a lifesaver," you cried, taking the paperback from him and inhaling the scent of its pages with zero shame. "I thought I'd lost it. Thank you."

"It's no problem," he said with a shrug, though a pang of guilt zapped though him.

As Atsumu watched you flick through the chapters, he weighed the pros and cons of telling you the complete truth. So what if you didn't know it was the original copy? It's not like you needed to know he was an absolute klutz —

"Wait." You stopped in your tracks, brow furrowing in confusion. You flipped through the first couple of pages in disbelief. "Where's the autograph?"

Atsumu's stomach dropped. "What autograph?"

"The author's autograph on the title page, it was right here," you said, slapping the page with the back of your hand. Meanwhile, Atsumu's face was steadily draining of color. "I swear, I was just looking at it earlier. Am I going crazy — ?"

"Alright, alright!" Atsumu held his hands up in defeat, unable to stomach your bewilderment for much longer. At your wide-eyed expression, he said, "Geez, Y/N. Would ya stop lookin' at me with those puppy-dog eyes? I can't lie to ya."

The truth spilled out of him shortly afterwards. He confessed to everything: the coffee spill, the hour-long commute to the bookstore. The bookkeeper who'd nearly sniped him when he'd knocked into the rack of postcards by the cash register.

"All that to say," he said towards the end of his long-winded story. "I'm so sorry I ruined yer book. I knew how much it meant to ya. If it makes ya feel any better, I promise to drink outta a sippy cup from 'ere on out."

He braced himself for your reaction, for the anger you rightfully owed him. Instead, you clutched the book to your chest and breathed, "You did all of that for me?"

Atsumu blinked at the sudden emotion in your voice.

"Well...yeah. I couldn't bear the thought of ya not bein' able to read somethin' ya were clearly so excited about."

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "Atsumu, you could have told me."

He shrugged noncommittally. "I didn't wanna see ya upset."

Before you could fully process what you were doing, you closed the space between you two and pulled him into a hug.

Atsumu froze as you wrapped your arms around his torso — refused to breathe as the scent of coffee and paper and your shea butter body wash washed over him like the tide.

"Thank you," you murmured into his cotton hoodie, trying not to focus on how good he smelled or how warm he felt in your embrace. "You didn't have to do that for me."

Slowly but surely, you felt Atsumu relax. He leaned his cheek against the top of your head, murmuring, "No. But I wanted to."

Later that evening, you watched him uncap your Sharpie with his teeth, staring at the blank title page of your new book with a skeptical look on his face.

"Ya sure ya want me to do this?" he asked, turning towards you on the couch. "I can sign somethin' else for ya, like a headshot. Or a brassiere. Fans like that."

"Nope," you said, shaking your head in resolution. "Since you ruined my copy with the author's signature, I figured this would be the next best thing." You propped your socked feet up on the coffee table and laughed. "Who knows? Maybe I'll sell it for a million bucks."

Atsumu sucked in a sharp breath before pressing the tip of the marker to the page. "If ya say so."

You were reading his autograph to you not a moment later:

To the best roomie a guy could ask for — and an even better friend.

- 'Tsumu

Your heart twinged at the dedication — at the easy, practiced dashes and curves of Atsumu's handwriting. Something in your expression must have given you away, because Atsumu leaned back against the couch with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Ya recondiserin' yer million bucks now?"

You shoved him playfully with your shoulder. "As if."

But, deep down, you knew.

You were never giving this away.

@miyasmagnolias, 2025

[sparrows4bats]

@vi-reads Thanks for the Inspo!!

Damian is smart, a genius to rival his father, everyone knows that, but what even the batfamily didn't realise is just how qualified he is.

Damian spent at least the first 10 years of his life with access to a multitude of tutors who were forced to change their ciriculums to adapt to how fast he learnt. By the time he joins his family, he has the equivalent of PHDs in many fields, including but not limited to Geology, Business and Finance, Engineering, and Zoology. He learnt classical instruments such as the violin and is fluent in multiple languages.

Now imagine a preteen Damian going from that to a classroom education with his age group for the first. No matter how elite Gotham Academy claims to be, there is only so much they can do to keep him stimulated, and as Bruce wants him to learn social skills, he is stuck in tedium.

So he looks for other outlets out of pure boredom. As the stagnantation gets worse, so does his attitude.

The first one to notice is Alfred, predictably. The old butler remembers how Bruce was at that age and the terror he was in his boredom, so he took Damian aside and offered him a deal. If he completes all of his schoolwork, how his teachers want him to. (It takes Damian only two hours a week) Alfred has no issue procuring him learning materials on any subject he would like. Damian so frustrated at this point, agrees without hesitation. The Manor quickly fills with university level textbooks on Physics, Chemical Engineering and Mathematics.

But soon that isn't enough, and Damian, despite knowing more than ever, has nothing to do with it.

He start seeking out the rogues after he finds their research. Ivy, Quinn, Freeze, and Scarecrow are very confused but so happy and flattered to talk about their work with Robin, who has fascinating ideas of his own.

Barbara is the next to notice because while she is taking inventory of Batcave supplies, she notices chemicals and other raw materials are going missing, so she checks the cameras and sees Damian making gadgets, different antidotes and poisons, even a second flying Batmobile!!

So Barbara confronts him about it and he (and Alfred) explain what's been going on and Barbara feels her heartbreak a little because God does she understand this problem she herself is always pursuing at least one qualification or writing a research paper under a puesdo name. When she was young, her boredom and the lack of accommodations in Gotham literally led to her becoming Batgirl.

A bored genius in Gotham is a recipe for disaster, so she very quickly sets Damian up with placement exams in every subject she can think of. He passes every single one of them at a high school level and many past university.

Damian looks elated when the results arrive, and Barbara easily convinces Harvard (where she did her law degree long distance) to accredit him and formalise his qualifications. They even work it so Damian can write his dissertations in Gotham Academy so that he can still gain social skills and go to Gotham University to use their labs and libraries when needed.

By the end of the year, Damian has earned his official PhD. in Geology and Mechanical Engineering and plans on doing his next one in Chemistry and Bioengineering. He even easily completes an MBA and starts branching out to the humanities.

The family doesn't know about any of this until Damian invites them all to his graduation, but do note the improvement in Damians' behaviour. (Damian keeps forging Bruces signature on the paperwork).

To say they are shocked but happy is an understatement. Bruce has a crisis because Damian has multiple PHDs in Gotham! What if he becomes a villain!

Yet all of Damians' research is for the betterment of people and animals. The batfamily becomes very overprotective of him, especially around chemicals. Just in case.

Jon finds out about it after Damian and he start dating. He knew his best friend was smart but hadn't taken him that seriously when they were kids. Damian went to Gotham Academy and hated every second of it.

After he slept over for the first time and couldn't find him in the morning, Jon located him in the Manor by his heartbeat to Damians study, where his degrees were framed and hung on the wall. He was in awe of how many there were.

Damian proudly explained each one to him, and Jon kissed his genius for every graduation he missed. He now calls Damian Doctor just to see him blush. (In the privacy of his own mind, Dr. And Mr Wayne Kent has a nice ring to it.)

Damian and Barbara bond and give feedback on eachothers work regularly. The bats who are still in school come to them for help, and Tim is inspired to get his GED and join a university program. (Alfred is Delighted) The Wayne Family Library expands rapidly to accommodate research materials, and Bruce builds Damian a proper lab. (It's so much easier to make antidotes now!)

When Damian goes to med school, he quits being Robin as he has to be there in person at odd hours. Bruce mopes, but goes to yet another graduation. Damian still does some lab work but finds his calling in Surgery and Medical Research.

The thing is, outside of the family, and even inside of it, very few know how many qualifications Damian has achieved.

Until one of the rare times Damian goes to Watchtower and someone tries to correct him as he explains the very complicated biochemical pathogen that is being spread by a new villain.

Damian looks bored and asks where they did their degree when other answers he goes, "Oh yes, I know your advisor. I disproved his shoddy results last month. I published my paper last week."

The hero turns bright red and tries to argue, but Damian shuts him down at every turn. "Well, the expert in this field - "

"Is me, so if you don't have a better idea, sit the hell down and shut up!"

The bats look so smug, and Jon has to restrain himself from dragging his wonderful partner into the nearest supply closet. (He finds Damian so irresistible when he is both competent and verbally evisirating someone.)

[jonayariley]

I've lived in NYC for a decently long time - I moved out in 2001 (right before 9/11 lmao) and lived here for ten years, moved around the country a bit, and moved back to the city a few years ago to stay. I've lived in 3/5 boroughs (including Queens, Brooklyn, and Manhattan so a good amount of NEW YORK cred) and use the subway system extensively.

I also remember how things were before some of the moderinization changes to the system - like the informational displays about when trains are coming. Used to be you just waited for the train to come and it came whenever and that sucked ass. Now it's a remarkably accurate and predictable system and generally speaking I love it. Change is not an inherently bad thing.

HOWEVER

I completely agree with OP that the new map is worse in almost every way. The old one wasn't perfect, but it did a pretty good job of giving you both an idea of where trains went and connected, and also what was going to happen above ground when you had to get up there and walk or take a bus or something to actually get to the end of your trip. Or god forbid you need to make an above-ground transfer.

Having at least a rough idea of where stuff will be in relation to other stuff is hugely useful - especially if you're less familiar with the transit system - and the new map basically just eliminates that as a reasonable thing.

I wasn't paying a lot of attention to it but I was on the A-train the other day and took a look at the new map on the digital display and like... it's just harder to meaningfully parse how the subway maps to the city itself. I also don't find it to be a more useful map for navigating the subway itself, but whatever.

It feels like something designed by committee based on stuff from other cities that was also designed by committee and it's just like... the old map was good, y'all.

But hey we've got a proud tradition here in New York of ignoring dumb bullshit changes to stuff in a stubborn way. Hell, I'm pretty sure some of the road signs still call it the Triboro Bridge and it'll be a cold day in hell before I call the Queensboro Bridge the Ed Koch anything fuck that shit.

People are being so high and mighty about the new NYC subway map

"You're just catching up to the rest of the world" That's not a map. That's a chart with the barest bits of context.

.....okay. This is the old map, which we've been using for almost fifty years. This is the new map. As you can see, the old map was cluttered with words, and the new map is cluttered with lines, and based on the London Tube, as most underground maps are these days.

And I hate it.

To be clear to everyone who is not themselves a New Yorker and hasn't been paying attention because it doesn't matter to their lives at all:

The London-inspired map style is ONLY ever more readable and navigable if you're already familiar with what's above ground; it's not really a map style, so much as a chart style with a very small number of context clues, like There's A River Kind Of Around Here.

If you have directions on hand to tell you EXACTLY which app to get of at, fine, but if you want to look at a map and go 'oh, those two have a much bigger gap between them than I thought, let's not get off early' then the NYC classic is better.

If you're a tourist, also better! You can look at the map on the wall and get an idea of where you are in relation to the rest of the city, at the VERY least in Manhattan.

NYC's previous map was basically like if you took a regular map and overlaid it with the tracks. Not to scale, sure, but easy to see the locations as they relate to both each other and to above-ground locations. If I'm showing around some out-of-towners and want to plot routes, it's much easier to toggle between the old map and a map with locations on it of such things already roughly correspond.

The high contrast colors and added details ALSO HELP. You can see the best entry points for Central Park, the intersections with other transit lines (yes, the LIRR and AmTrak are crucial here, along with things like the Tramway, ferry ports other than Staten Island) that can help you plan for transfers between systems, and major reference points or neighborhoods (The Met, various labeled parks that are on the old map but not the new one, important street names, physical bridges, major neighborhoods), and just generally everything you need in an actual MAP.

This new style makes things uglier, less navigable, and more cluttered due to the entwined lines. I'd liken it to a random animal's circulatory system laid out flat so you have no idea what the relation of two points is unless you already know what animal it is and what it's shaped like. If you plan to ONLY use the subway and know exactly where you're going, great!

The new map's primary strength is that it's good for people who are low-vision and already know what each station correlates to above.

For anyone who was looking for "a map of the city that focuses on outlining where the subway goes" rather than "a subway chart devoid of most context," then the classic map is better.

Trust me, I found the new style, the Tube Classic, to be ugly and difficult and CONFUSING when I was in Japan and London. It showed me a very neat and orderly chart that had little-if-anything to do with what little I knew about the city aboveground.

Also it's one of those things that's kind of woven into the city's identity. It's like your mom making you get a new haircut so you 'fit in at school' by making you identical to everyone else.

[lost-my-hed]

Chapter Six

Johnny and Y/N get impossibly closer to making contact

First Blush

⋆✩⁺₊✩☽⋆

Johnny’s eyes snap to look at Simon, who is still sitting in his chair nonchalantly, cock in hand. He stops jerking at his length, his mouth parted, eyes blow wide in--surprise, passion, love? He wasn’t sure either, but whatever his face said took too long. Simon, had one eyebrow raised and his head tilted as if to ask, do I have to ask again? That was all it took for Johnny to tug his shirt off and shuck off his pants and boxers. The fabric pooled at his ankles, and rather unsexily, he began to kick off the offending clothing items. Within seconds, Johnny stood in front of Simon completely bare.

“You may continue.”

Johnny short-circuited—he’s still not going to touch me? His socked feet stayed planted in their spot and he whimpered needily, “What? I didn’t tell you to stand,” Simon explains, “now go…before I make you.”

Johnny’s eyebrows furrowed pitifully as he took a few steps back to his spot. He pulled the old quilt thrown on the back of the couch and laid it out on top of the cushions—sticking to leather was a total cockblock. He flopped back down onto the plush material, this time opting to sit up directly in front of Simon. Not only did he have a better view, but he was sure the blonde could see every inch of his skin.

His right hand began to fist his cock in time with Simon, mirroring his pace and that alone was too much and pulled a groan from Johnny. Simon’s tells were discrete, his free hand clenching in a fist when the delicious friction of his hand increased, his brows furrowing in pleasure and focus, his bottom lip red and swollen from being bitten when Johnny wasn’t paying attention–This was affecting him too, and that made this so much tastier.

A knowing chuckle feels the small room after a moment, “You really are worked up, hmm?” Simon says, a grin threatening to pull at his lips, “Tell me what you're thinking about.”

“You Simon!” Johnny all but shouts, his eyes going all big and dreamy the more Simon draws the moment out, “only you..” he murmurs through a forced breath, as his eyes screw shut.

“Oh come on sweet’eart, you can do better than that,” he scolds lightly. Johnny is aware that he’s not actually upset, if he was he would already be over his knee. This was simply him toying with Johnny and it was deliciously cruel–toying and playing are very different in Johnny’s mind, “now, tell me what that pretty head of yours is imagining. I won’t ask again.” With that, he is back to his stoic self, hand still lazily pulling at his cock in time with Johnny.

The brunette holds back the moan that threatened to slip past his pink lips. God, Simon was spreading Johnny open without even touching him, “I, I keep thinking about you on top of me. Using me,” he explains as if it physically pains him to get the images swirling in his mind into comprehensible words, “You have one hand around my throat and, fuck–and the other playing with yourself as you ride me.” The flush on his face has travelled down to his chest and a thin sheen of sweat covers his muscles, “Please Si, I want to be inside you,” he admits, his hand increasing in speed in a pathetic attempt to imitate Simon’s tight hole.

Nothing will ever compare to sliding into Simon and the way he can feel the man above him flutter and clench around his cock. The image of the blonde subconsciously grinding his hips into Johnny’s as he adjusts to the feeling of being full is permanently burned into his mind. He always looks so pretty too–eyes half lidded, lips parted with the most gorgeous flush on his cheeks. The creamy skin of his thighs parted across Johnny’s lap is the perfect place for him to grasp onto as Simon takes what he wants. And fuck, if Johnny doesn’t get drunk off of the feeling of giving to Simon, “I wanna make you feel good.”

Simon shudders watching his boy begin to fall apart in front of him, following the commands that he’s been given so prettily. He’s completely desperate to please and give as a means to receive. It’s beautiful. He’s beautiful. And Simon was once again reminded how lucky he was.

“What a good boy I have,” Simon begins watching as Johnny’s head begins to bob up and down in frantic nods of agreement, “you need something more than your own hand, is that it?”

“Yes, yes, please. It’s not as good as you and it hurts Daddy, I-I” the man stutters out as if the faster he says the words thequicker Simon will understand.

“Shh shh, that’s enough. You're alright baby. You’ve been doing so good for me sweet’eart. You just need a little help, yeah?” Simon asks while standing from the chair and shucking his pants and boxers all the way down. Johnny’s breathing–more like needy pants like a bitch in heat–filled the room as Simon walked the short distance to the couch. The taller man reached out a hand and brushed the stray strands of hair behind Johnny's ear and cupped his cheek gently. His thumb brushed against the apple of his cheek soothingly before sliding down to grab his chin in a firm grip, tilting his head up to meet his eyes.

“Are you gonna help Daddy get ready for your cock, or is he going to have to do it himself?” Johnny practically sobbed out every version of "yes" he knew. If Simon wasn’t concerned with Johnny’s well-being and making sure that he maintained level-headed, he would’ve poked fun at Johnny's eagerness. It was obvious to him though, that this was not the time, nor would it have the effect Simon wanted. Johnny was too far gone, willing to give everything for the smallest amount of attention in return. And Simon wouldn’t ruin this perfect moment to try and get a rise out of his lover, “alright sweet’eart, I’ve got ya. Daddy’s right here,” he murmured while carefully maneuvering the brunette to make room for the two of them.

The moment Simon makes physical contact with Johnny it is like a fire was ignited inside of him, the shorter man loses all inhibitions and begins pawing at the bare skin of his thighs and arms, itching to be as close as possible. One of Simon's favorite parts about moments like these was the trust that had to be given. Johnny could give in to his base desires without a second thought because he knew deep down that Simon would take care of him–of them.

Eventually, he was able to make enough room so he could lay on his back, taking up Johnny’s previous spot. His legs were spread lazily, making just enough room for Johnny to slip into the space between his thighs, “There you go. Right where you belong, hmm?” Johnny’s hands were resting on his own thighs, sitting on his heels, “Do I have to tell you to begin?” Simon asks, his arms stretched out over his head, his shirt rucked up, showing a sliver of his inked tummy. To be honest, Simon was being a little mean and had Johnny dove in without asking or waiting for permission he would’ve scolded him for being greedy.

Johnny was shocked out of his stupor and bent forward before grabbing onto Simon’s ankles and pulling his legs to rest on top of his shoulders. Not only did this give Johnny more room to wiggle his form closer to Simon's hole, but it was a wonderful power imbalance that made Simon want to eat Johnny alive. Sure, Simon was the one on his back with his legs spread like a whore, but he was the one in charge. He had all the power and fuck if that didn’t make him feel alive, he didn’t know what did (loving Johnny).

It was addictive and the only thing that could rival it was the wet heat of Johnny’s tongue licking at the v of his hip and then nipping at the inside of his thighs, the promise of a purple mark appearing later. He kissed and sucked without abandon, quickly taking the pierced head of Simon’s cock into his mouth; suckling at the soft skin, his tongue running along the cool metal ball of his jewelry. He sighed at the feeling of the weight of his lover in his mouth, and the taste of him on his tongue. The steady reminder of his existence calming something deep within Johnny and the tension he was holding in his shoulders and brows released instantly.

A strong hand reached out, weaving their fingers into his overgrown hair and tugging gently with a groan, “Naughty boy, taking your Daddy’s cock without permission.” he murmurs through clenched teeth, but makes no move to stop his boy between his legs. Johnny whimpers at the sound of his lover speaking sweetly above him, not quite understanding what exactly is being said, but not caring enough to decipher the words. He was content spending the rest of the afternoon mouth stuffed full of Simon and nothing else. Simon allowed him to continue to play with his length, keeping him warm inside his mouth for a while longer, knowing that his lover not only needed it, but not feeling disciplined enough to pull him off.

“You're gonna make me cum if you're not careful.” Simon groans, his head tilted back enough to show the slope of his throat. Johnny had been toying with his tip for who knows how long, and it was going to be the death of him if he let Johnny have his way. He knows that the man would suck him dry if he had the chance, and as wonderful as that sounded, he had other plans in mind. Ones that regretfully didn’t involve cumming down his boyfriend’s throat. He pulls Johnny off of his cock by his hair and groans when he is met with one of the prettiest sights–his boyfriends flushed cheeks, eyes droopy with lust, and a line of spit from his bottom lip connecting him to his cock. It's sinfully wonderful.

The string bows and breaks when the shorter man sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and chews on the plump flesh absentmindedly, waiting for his next command. Simon has been trying to get him to stop biting his lips and playing with his lip rings–it’s a bad habit the man can’t seem to shake, but the blonde is sure that with time he will be able to train Johnny into being well behaved. For now though, he “tsks” his tongue against his teeth and reaches towards the man’s chin freeing his lip from its hold and runs his thumb along the swollen pillow. Johnny instinctively opens his mouth wide, pulling the digit into his mouth eagerly, sucking at the pad of Simon’s thumb like the good boy he is, “That’s it,” Simon’s encouraging murmur going straight to Johnny’s cock.

“Alright, that’s enough.” he says, drawing his thumb past Johnny’s lips, lingering for just a moment too long, “I think you have some work to do.” Simon says nodding down to where both men are obviously hard and wanting, “Put that pretty mouth of yours to good use, hmm.”

It doesn’t take long for Johnny to lean forward and press impossible closer between Simon’s legs. The brunette’s hands reach out to grasp his hips and tug him forward roughly, enjoying the grunt of surprise it draws out of the man above him. With Simon fully laying back, his legs hooked behind Johnny’s head and hips tilted up ever so slightly, it gave him the perfect view of his tight pink hole and Johnny was drooling just thinking about getting to play with him. Without hesitating, and one fleeting kiss to his thigh, he drags the flat of his tongue along the tight ring of muscles and whines when he feels it clench at the sensation. Simon’s hand takes its place back in Johnny’s hair, keeping the man right where he wants him, “Shit Johnny, just like that.” he groans, letting his eyes fall close and the pleasure fall over him like a warm blanket. Johnny’s greedy as much as he is giving–nipping and sucking at the tender flesh, making sure he was nice and wet before he went any further. It was sloppy and slightly uncoordinated, but so obviously full of passion and love.

Drool has started to slip past his lips and down his chin adding to the dirtiness of the encounter. And it was everything the two of them needed to feel a sense of normalcy—togetherness. The messier it was the more human they felt and the more real their love became. At the end of the day, love isn’t perfect or clean. It’s like a muddy white shirt that you’ve bleached and still can’t seem to get the stains out. And Simon would’ve never thought that he would be the type to get sentimental while having Johnny’s tongue on him, but here they are. His thoughts are paused by the feeling of a warm wet tongue entering his pink hole and beginning to scissor him open. He muffles his shout of surprise by throwing his free hand over his mouth. The hand in Johnny’s hair tugs relentlessly as he grinds his hips against Johnny’s face. The man beneath him was almost too good with his mouth and Simon swears he’s never going to get used to just how good it feels to be on the receiving end of his talent.

Johnny is strategic when it comes to working his lover open. He switches between licking and sucking at the tender skin and forcing his tongue into the tight ring of muscles. He’s currently thrusting his tongue in and out of Simon at a slow and steady pace—quick enough to stretch him out and give him pleasure, but still slow enough to be gorgeously excruciating. Every now and again he’ll suck at a particular spot or prod at the warm walls of his hole and have to hold Simon’s squirming hips in place and Johnny relishes in knowing that he’s responsible for the reaction.

“Alright,” Simon grits out, “You’ve had you’ve had your fun. Now use your fingers on Daddy.” Johnny is caught between an annoyed whine and a pleased moan when he hears what has been said. The only thing that soothes his lust filled brain is knowing that he will be getting closer to having simon on top of him if he listens. He pulls back just far enough that to still be able to mouth at the sensitive skin of his thigh and wiggle a finger into the space between his legs. Johnny is considerate enough to gently brush against the ring of muscle before he slowly pushes his pointer finger into the tight hole.

Simon’s eyes fly shut and he can’t help but clench around the intruding digit. It’s just enough stretch to be slightly uncomfortable and that almost makes Simon like it more. The pair continue this dance of warning about the next move, adding a finger or thrusting at a quicker place, and Simon beginning to feel like he’s floating. He doesn’t completely given into the feeling because it’s not necessarily the headspace he needs right now (despite how good it may feel). Instead, he grinds his hips against the man’s hand as a way to control the scene and display that he is still in charge. Every now and again, Johnny will hook his fingers up against the sponging spot inside him. The pleasure is burning and makes Simon shout out when the fingers brush against it just right.

In no time at all, Simon is sufficiently stretched out and barely containing his need to get off. He’s convinced that had he needed more time to get adjusted, he wouldn’t have had the wherewithal to care. Spearing himself on Johnny’s cock would have been worth the pain. Simon reaches down between his legs to tug johnny’s hand from between his legs, “Lay down on your back. Now.” He commands in a stern voice, though, the heaving of his chest and flushed cheeks give away just how affected he is by the pervious moments.

Johnny all but flings himself onto his back the moment Simon stands to give him room to move. His legs are parted subtly and he tugs at his painfully hard cock as he watches Simon crawl on top of him with big doe eyes. Simon swears he will never get use to that look—one so full of love and trust, “Get your hands off what’s mine.” Simon scolds swatting at johnny hand and replacing it with his own, “Daddy owns this cock, you understand?” He asks while giving his lover long, slow strokes.

“Yes yes! It’s yours, it belongs to you and only you!” Johnny sobs, itching to get his hands on Simon, but holding back (barely). He knows better than to touch something that isn’t his. Simon has sat himself on top of Johnny’s this as he toys with Johnny teasingly. And sure, it may be a bit mean, but he let Johnny have his fun. Now it’s his turn. He bends forward slightly to begin mouthing at Johnny perky nipples. Simon bites and sucks at the puffy flesh loving how it makes his boy whine pathetically begging for more.

“Daddy, please. I can’t—I” he whimpers out desperately trying to find the words to express his frustration and neediness. Unfortunately, deep down he knows that it’s a losing battle and even if his vocabulary could describe how he was feeling Simon would simply nod his head and just his bottom lip out in faux understanding.

“I know sweet’eart, Daddy’s being selfish huh.” Simon murmurs titling his head slightly and glancing down at Johnny’s eyes, before trailing over the rest of his figure, “Come on doll, why don’t you show Daddy just how good you can be and beg for him to sit on your cock.” He adds, a knowing smirk gracing his features as he watches the cogs of Johnny’s brain piece together what’s been said.

“Please Daddy! I need it. I need to feel you. It hurts! Im—I can’t, it’s too much.” He whines the words tumbling past his lips faster than his mind can create a cohesive sentence. “I‘ve been good. I want to make you feel good Daddy.” He adds quickly. And while normally simon would argue and say that Johnny had been nothing but a brat, the man wasn’t wrong. He had been on his best behavior this afternoon. Simon reaches out a hand and cups johnny’s cheek, loving the way he leans into his touch. His eyes fall closed around a slow blink and Simon is enamored.

“Shh, shh, shh. It’s okay. Daddy’s got ya.” He murmurs gently, “you’ve been such a good boy. That’s right.” He says while pulling his hand back and dragging it down his chest and then back towards his cock. Johnny whines at the touch, his head thrown back, “That’s it, Daddy’s here.” He coos leaning up on to his knees, hover just a few inches above Johnny before slowly guiding his cock towards his open hole and slowly sinking down onto his cock. They both groan at the contact—Simon from the painful yet perfect burning stretch of Johnny opening him further. And Johnny from the warm wet heat of his lover’s tight hole fluttering around his length. It was perfect.

Johnny reached his hands out to clutch Simon’s thighs and keep himself tethered to the ground. He was sure that by the end of this, an impression of his fingerprints would be permanently pressed into the soft skin. Simon starts off slow, a subtly grind of his hips back and forth while they get adjusted before slowly lifting up, just down come back down and sheath himself on the cock beneath him. As he grew more comfortable, and was sure that he wouldn’t shoot off early, he sped up his movements and began to bounce on Johnny’s cock at a brutal pace.

“Fuck Johnny, you feel so fucking good. Daddy’s so full of you.” He groans, his head thrown back and muscles flexing with his movements, “Such a good boy for me. So good.” The praise flows out of him like honey, slow and sweet, sticking to Johnny’s flushed skin. Soon enough his movements become erratic, losing their coordination, frantically trying to chase the pleasure that so close, “Come on baby, help Daddy out.” Simon murmurs desperately grinding his hips down against Johnny.

“Fuck Daddy,” he says while focusing his eyesight to look directly at Johnny’s.

That’s all it takes for the man underneath him to begin pistoning his hips up into his tight hole, “just like that, fuck. So good baby. You’re doing so good for Daddy,” Simon rambles out lost in the pleasure of his lover. The closer he gets the more needy his moans become and soon he’s folded over Johnny’s form, his hands planted on his chest and he meets Johnny’s upward thrusts with grinds of his own.

“Daddy! I—I’m, fuck! I’m gonna cum.” Johnny warns with a strained moan, his hips delivering harsh, smacking thrusts, in an irregular rhythm.

“You hold it. You be a good boy and make your Daddy cum first.” Simon scolds, “Don’t you dare finish before me.” He groans head tossed back, blond hair curling at his ears and the nape of his neck from sweat and extrusion. Johnny’s whine is downright pornographic when he hears Simon. He doesn’t even notice the tears welling in his eyes until he feels them running down his cheeks. He’s so close it hurts and he’s trying to hard to be good. To please his Daddy.

“Right there sweet’eart, just a little more.” Simon moans and with another couple of thrusts hitting against his prostate he explodes. His mouth fall open around a moan and his hips rut frantically against Johnny’s as he paints the younger man’s tummy white. The head of Johnny’s cock continues to bully against his prostate prolonging his orgasm and making his figure shudder with pleasure. When his hearing returns and he can finally catch his breath (slightly), he gives Johnny permission to let go.

“Cum for me. Cum for Daddy, doll. Fill me up.” He says watching as the frustrated furrow of his brows turns into one of complete bliss. Johnny cums with a silent gasp followed by the most gorgeous whimpers Simon has ever heard. He can feel his cock inside of him twitch before filing him with warm wet cum that he’s sure will begin dripping out of him. Johnny always liked to make messes and the longer he went without finishing the more of him there was to clean up. His chest was beaded with sweat and his head was laid flat against the blanket covered couch cushion as he tried to regain control of his breathing. Simon made no move to get off of his knowing that the weight of his body against johnny’s was not only comforting, but grounding.

“Good boy. You did so good for Daddy.” Simon soothes, running his hand through Johnny’s damp locks while his other is pressed firmly against his chest to remind him that he hasn’t floated far, far away. They both sit in comfortable silence as they regain their hold on reality and simply hold each other fondly.

“I can’t feel my cock” Johnny says breaking the silence with a knowing smile. Simon barks out a surprised laugh and kissing his man’s temple lovingly.

“I guess that means you’re feeling more settled.” Simons smiles running his thumb along the apple of Johnny’s cheeks, watching as he nods in agreement.

“Much better. Thank you for helping me. For allowing me space to figure out what I needed.” Johnny says quietly, his hands running up and down Simon’s sides comfortingly tickling the soft flesh and loving the way the man shivers when he runs over a particularly ticklish spot.

“You know you don’t have to thank me for that. You’d do the same for me. You just needed to come to terms with what you needed and were feeling by yourself. Nothing I said even if it came from a nice place would have helped. I knew that.” Simon explains his eyes holding the most genuine look Johnny thinks he’s ever seen.

How’d I get so lucky? They both think before leaning together to press their lips together in a loving kiss.

⋆✩⁺₊✩☽⋆

Y/N ended up falling asleep on the couch a little more than halfway through the random sci-fi movie with some weirdly vague title. And normally they would not get a good sleep on the couch, finding the piece of furniture just a tad too lumpy so me comforting. However, this time they actually felt rejuvenated and well rested, no back pain in sight. And when they woke up it was like one of those idyllic scenes from a book or something, the sun was glowing through the kitchen window into the living room, and they had the comforting weight of a cat on their legs. The tv was playing some random show that had automatically began to start while they were unconscious at a quiet hum. It was one of the most perfect “wake ups” Y/N had ever head.

It was only ruined when the decided to look at their phone and lost it between the couch cushions and in their search to find it, they remembered that if they wanted to meet this Soap person they were going to have to leave soon. If they hadn’t already missed their chance. Realistically they knew that the shop stayed open late, but they didn’t know how late this person typically stayed nor did they want to keep someone waiting an obnoxious amount of time. Furthermore, the later it was the less likely the were to actually go. When they finally tracked down their cellular device, their clock read four pm and they released a sigh they didn’t even realized they were holding in.

Y/N still had plenty of time to get ready, stop for a drink and snack, and head to the shop before they were officially (in their mind late). They quickly set off of tackling their outfit and making sure they were mildly presentable, currently they were rocking a slightly slobbish look and it wasn’t the most flattering version of themselves (if they said so themselves). The moved a grumpy Butter Bean off of their lap who was too tired to do anything about his upset, he quietly went back to sleep in the empty spot left by Y/N, so obviously he wasn’t actually holding a grudge. With a quick stretch and a peck to the feline’s head, they were off to the bathroom and turning on the shower head for a quick rinse and refresh.

There wasn’t anything better than the feeling of a nice hot shower Y/N thought. The only thing that could possibly rival it was a good nap like the one they just had. By the time they had stepped out of the tub and wrapped a towel around their figure, the tiny room was filled with a hazy cloud of steam and the mirror was cloudy. If they were back at home their dad would have yelled at them for not turning the fan on. Now, she laughs knowing that even with the shitty fan in her place, it still doesn’t make a difference.

They wiped off the condensation on the mirror in the shape of their face so that they could see while they brushed their teeth. Soon enough they were crossing the short distance to their bedroom and ransacked their closet and dresser for the best outfit to wear. They knew they wanted to be comfortable and something restrictive may not be the best choice. So, they settled on a pair of light wash wide leg jeans and a black long sleeve turtle neck. It wasn’t anything spectacular or fancy, but with a little bit of jewelry and a cute pair of sneakers they would look put together in no time. Before they knew it, Y/N was checking the clock and gathering their phone, wallet, and keys from the dish near the front door before getting ready to head out.

“Alright Butter Bean, I’m gonna get going, but I promise not to be gone for too long,” they say with a smile while bending over to kiss the top of his head. He slow blinked in response before nodding back off into a deep sleep. Although he was a cat, he had grown out of his survival instincts (Y/N thinks that they were still wired in him, he just has taken advantage of her kindness and decided not to utilize his skills unless actually necessary). When they headed out the door and got into their car it was a quarter past five and they felt like that was very reasonable. If they timed everything right—their drink and snack order and the trip to the shop, they could make it there in thirty minutes.

Soon enough, they walked through the doors of their workplace and waved to König who was working the register. He gave a small nod their way before turning their attention back to the customer in front of him. Although his size was massive and he often used it to tease Y/N, he was one of the most kind people they’d ever met. They also thinks that he was a crowd favorite for his mysteriousness…something about him was hard not to like. And that is why it made it so hard to stay mad at him for the whole spilling oat milk everywhere debacle.

“Please tell me my tea is at Y/N height and not König height,” they call out as they round the corner to step behind the counter and grab the oat milk from the fridge under the counter, their favorite mug, and all other fix ins they need. They hear him laugh before they see him begin to walk over and reach a long arm above their head. The sound of a metal tin gently clanging against the stainless steel countertops rings through the shop and they smile appreciatively, “Thank you sir,” they call out before beginning to concoct their perfect cuppa.

With little to no effort they have crafted the perfect (in their opinion) tea latte. And they could have totally waved goodbye to König and left with their hot tea in hand, but that not only seemed to easy, but way too fast. They still weren’t mentally prepared for such things. And, they had also read online that it was better to go into a tattoo or piercing appointment on a full stomach rather than an empty one. Y/N was sure to research (they use that word very lightly, as websites with the phrase “wiki” aren’t the most reliable), what foods to avoid etc. They found that caffeine and alcohol were no go’s and it was best to eat something on the lighter side, but still high in protein as to keep you full.

They decided that having a bagel with cream cheese and blackberry jam was the perfect sweet and salty treat while also keeping them (hopefully full enough). They knew that even if they wanted to, they probably couldn’t stomach eating something more than that. Nerves always settled in their belly and made them nervous and adding something intense like a burger would only make it worse.

They move with purpose, shoving through the “employee only” door and heading towards the small, but cozy break room. Not only does Y/N store their favorite sourdough bagels back there, but they have a small toaster oven and a mini fridge. It also helped that the hum of the shop significantly reduced when the door shut and they were by themselves.

It helped them focus their attention to the task at hand—make a bagel. While not overly hard or complicated, sometimes anxiety and worry got in the way and confused a rather mindless job. I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. I normally don’t leave things unfinished, but still. This is…different? It feels bigger. They think while they schmear a thick layer of plain cream cheese on to their toasted bagel. This is what I wanted though right? A change. Something exciting and out there? I’m over thinking this. They know for a fact that if König heard their plans for the night that he would laugh at how worked up they were. It wasn’t their fault though, they couldn’t help it.

Y/N took a bite out of their gorgeously crafted snack and sighed. If filling their belly was all it took to distract them from the revolving door of worries then so be it. When they had finished about half of their bagel, they decided that it was truly now or never. If they really wanted to do this, they had to leave. Now. And Y/N knew themselves well enough to know that if they didn’t they’d never go back and they would regret it immensely. Haunted by the thought of what if, what if they met this Soap person and they change their life for the better? Or they are a total dick? Or they are a complete pipsqueak with bubblegum pink hair. None of their questions would be answered nor would their assumptions be corrected or affirmed if they didn’t challenge themself.

Fuck.

Y/N wrapped up the remaining half of their bagel and made their way towards the front of the shop. They waved goodbye to König and the other workers that were tootling around before walking out the front door and hearing the bell chime behind them. They had decided before they left that they would leave their car at their word rather than driving to 141 Ink. They assumed that it may be difficult to find parking, and most importantly, it would get them there way too quickly. They needed time to gradually accept that they were getting closer. The air was crisp and the breeze was making it feel colder than it actually was. They chose to forgo a jacket, liking the way that the cold air chilled their skin and helped numb their mind. They nibbled on the bagel in their hand as they walked and people watched.

In no time at all (it seemed, Y/N had kept a quite leisurely pace) they were stood at the front door of 141 Ink.

⋆✩⁺₊✩☽⋆

Simon and Johnny had laid in the post orgasmic haze that has quickly become one of their favorite things. Normally they basked in each other’s presence lazily sharing soft touches and quiet words, but this time around they didn’t have the luxury of taking as much time as they wanted. They didn’t want to be caught up in their pillow talk and hear that their guest had arrived. This didn’t mean that they hadn’t taken their time (within their unofficial time limit), they just had to cut to the important stuff—grounding techniques, affirmations, likes and dislikes, etc. Simon ran over the checklist in his head to make sure that he didn’t miss a step and both men had received appropriate aftercare given their current circumstances.

They had both cleaned themselves up and changed their clothes, Simon was adamant about keeping a fresh set after the one time Johnny jumped him and made him finish in his pants during the middle of his shift. He had to scold his Johnny like he was a toddler and made him run to their shared home to grab his some clean boxers and pants. While he was off being his errand boy, Simon was tasked with creating a good cover-up story to explain why he was late to his next appointment. Ultimately, he went with adding some finishing touches to the tattoo design and making sure that the stencil printed correctly. It worked well enough.

Eventually, Johnny needed to stretch his legs and ran across the street to the small deli and grabbed the two of them some sandwiches, chips, and a large pop to share. Not only were the sandwiches always perfectly crafted, they were the best pick-me-up. Drunk? Los Vaqueros hoagie. Hungover? Los Vaqueros hoagie. Heartbroken? Los Vaqueros hoagie. The list goes on and on, and Simon and Johnny have yet to think of a scenario in which one of their sandwiches couldn’t fix it, or at the very least improve it.

They settled into a comfortable silence, sitting side by side on the couch, the blanket having been tossed over their soiled clothes to bring home and be washed. Simon often found himself wanting to be close to Johnny after a particularly intense scene, He craved touch and connection in a more tame way than what they had previously shared. In the beginning of their relationship, Simon held back on his touchy feely side.

Looking back now he wasn’t exactly sure what his reasoning was. He knew that it was because he was scared, but scared of what exactly, he couldn’t say for sure. Johnny, ever the observant one, had caught on to the way that Simon would move as if to grab his hand or throw an arm over his shoulders before stopping himself completely. Sometimes even going far enough to put distance between the two of them.

Johnny quickly made sure to wiggly and sneak his way closer to the man as he relaxed into his hormones and all the feel good chemicals swirling around in his brain. And over time, Simon began to reach for Johnny himself rather than waiting to be reached for. And that made Johnny feel warm all over, knowing that he was able to make the man comfortable enough to do so. He would never say anything, not wanted to make Simon uncomfortable, he know’s the man well enough to understand that he would pull back in fear of annoying Johnny. And he was not going to jeopardize these soft moments just for a small teasing jab.

Before they knew it, they had fell into a rhythm both working independently, but in tandem. It was one of Simon’s favorite things. Being able to work on his own tasks and hobbies, but still feeling fulfilled in having quality time because Johnny was near also doing his own thing. Their idyllic bubble of calm was popped though when Roach shouted like a toddler who hadn’t gotten his way from the front of the shop.

“Soap! You have someone asking for you!” The man shouted, elongated the ‘u’ for just a touch too long. Johnny and Simon both shared a look, Simon one of budding excitement with a subtle undertone of hesitation? Maybe, but more like nerves. Johnny however was practically vibrating in his skin. And it wasn’t like he needed Simon’s permission to go to the front, but this was a special case. Simon would argue that it still didn’t matter, but the smile on johnny’s face would make him swallow his words.

“Go on.”

⋆✩⁺₊✩☽⋆

this one is a long one, but hopefully a good one !! i promise they will meet (eventually) <3

[whereisthelxmbsauce]

Why should I care anymore?

SAGAU x Reader

Little heads up: characters may be OOC due to me just getting into SAGAU after not visiting genshin since Sumeru. Anything past that will be heavily OOC. This work contains some details of reader's mental health deteriorating, so do keep that in mind!

You've read a lot of SAGAU stories before. A genshin player gets transported into Genshin Inpact and is hailed as a god. It usually ends well, even if they may have body doubles. There's usually golden blood to prove your innocence. And after that, you'll be pampered and spoiled by your acolytes, right? Other than that, it's usually smooth sailing once you've been shown to have golden blood. "It sounded like fun" you once thought.

That was until you found yourself in the world of Genshin Impact. The moment you showed yourself in Mondstadt, you were immediately branded as an imposter. You predicted that; that's how things usually go.

One thing you didn't predict though was how fast the news spread. You were hunted down in Liyue, almost killed in Inazuma. God, you don't even want to remember what happened in the other nations. You knew how things played out, and it still hurt especially since it's actually hapoening to you.

You were genuinely hopeful at first. You genuinely wanted to befriend them at first. You wanted to play out those scenarios you've read about, maybe even develop romantic relationships if you're lucky. But after having weapons and magic hurled at your direction for who knows how long at this point, it pushed you to your breaking point.

"Honestly, why would I care about them after going through all of this?" you thought. Then when you start to bleed gold, they'll suddenly make a complete 180 and start to worship you. That thought didn't sit right with you. It was nice to think about at first, but after experiencing it for yourself, it sickened you.

Your time finally came. You were surrounded by many people, some of them being characters you used to spoil and play as, some of them being your favourites. It sickened you... It sickened you to the core. Even the traveler, who has been your first chosen vessel, couldn't defend you. They knew you were innocent, but against the entirety of Teyvat under the influence of the imposter, they couldn't do much despite their status.

"Stop it right there, imposter." The acting grandmaster's voice reached your ears. After hearing news of an imposter somewhere, many of them have been relentlessly following you. You have been wandering aimlessly, trying to get away. But much to your misfortune, you ended up where you came from. "We have you surrounded."

You tried to run away from their attempts to capture you but were shot by an arrow flying at your direction. That was when they finally saw the golden blood, your golden blood. Suddenly, their weapons lowered, all the firing stopped, and everyone bowed down in apologies. How funny. They see a speck of yellow, now they're on their knees.

Once they finally saw the truth, the False God was disposed of and you took over. They all apologized, offered gifts and prayed to you. Everything turned out well, right? You were treated like a god. People came to you for help. Then why do you feel so apathetic? You got your rightful place on the throne back, you were treated like royalty. Shouldn't all that make you happy?

For your godly status as the creator, it shouldn't have been a surprise to you when they finally started to ask for your help.

"Your grace, please help our family!"

"Your grace, please bless us!"

It was quick for them to turn to you for help, as if they didn't try to kill you before. You were a benevolent, forgiving god to them. You didn't have the heart nor the energy to punish them especially after recent events, which they mistook for as forgiveness. You didn't have the energy to interact with or correct them, nor did you care. Not anymore.

So you decided to try and seclude yourself from your followers. If they could attack you for who knows how long just because you wore the same face as their god, who wasn't even the real one in the first place, then they can handle being on their own.

"Your Grace, would you like to take a walk? You've been isolating yourself for a long time." You recognized that voice belonging to Nahida. Your most loyal followers have been visiting you daily for a while now. Leaving gifts for you, trying to convince you to go outside.

But honestly, how could you face them, especially after what they did? They begged for forgiveness profusely, they begged hard. But you knew it all. You knew at any time things could go bad again. They hurt you, so how can you forgive them? After all the effort you put in farming just so they could get stronger, they do this? They didn't even bother to check if the creator they had on the throne was the real thing. How incompetent of them.

Not everything ends up well, huh? You wanted the idealized world in those fanfics you read at night. But you got this; you became this—whatever this is. You became an apathetic, reclusive, hurt god, one damaged by the very people that followed you dearly.

No matter what they did for you, you remained uncaring. And why should you anyway? They almost killed you. You have every right to feel this way.

"Why bother with this world anymore? All my efforts to help them grow were meaningless, just as this world is." You made a mental note to delete Genshin Impact once you find a way home. You were done with this game.

[cdnonymous]

Hi @muletia again

God I saw your tags on the reblog of my work and honestly I feel you. Get sum rest, hydrate properly, same for eating. YOU’VE GOT THIS!!

And to cheer ya up I’ll give you Silence is Stronger than Words Part 3!!

Part 1 • Part 2

- 💿 ^v^

~1700 words

•—•—•—•—•—•

Silence is Stronger than Words

Dang I couldn’t sleep all night. The thoughts of my previous encounter with Megatron were making me go insane in too many ways. The soreness of the “love bite” he gave me yesterday night, the poorly timed remembrance of this random axolotl fact, his scarlet irises staring into me while mine were closed, thinking I was about to die. In a moment of exhaustion, I almost thought that I liked it, this rush of adrenaline that felt like an hour dose of it felt… nice.

But I quickly brushed this off, what was I thinking?! This is a merman, it’s not a human. It was probably a way to scare me, to make sure I knew what my place was, that if I even had the hint of a thought that I was superior to him my shoulder would get ripped off. But if he wanted to rip it off, wouldn’t he have done so already? I mean this was a golden… no, a platinum opportunity to even bite my head off… but he didn’t do it, and that’s what’s confusing me.

I fell asleep out of utter exhaustion, all those thoughts feeling like bullets in my mind, they ended up slowing down and coming to a stop. And when I woke up the next day, my alarm, it had been ringing for too long;

It was now 12 AM… I was 30 minutes late!!

I gasped out of bed, quickly getting myself in normal clothes, surprisingly didn’t need coffee because I had a way better motivation to keep me on both of my legs. I miraculously did not trip over the creaky stairs as I flew over them to get my notebook and outside shoes on.

— God please don’t be mad- I muttered under my shaky pants as I dropped my pencil and picked it up in half a second.

No breakfast, no coffee, just pure chaos as I ran out of my house by the usual door. The last time I was late, Megatron didn’t even surface out of the water, he seemed mad at me for it, and I was just barely 5 minutes late that time. But today, oh today I might have some surprises that I won’t like, especially if we count on the events of last night. I arrived at the Shy Lake faster than expected, my sprinting abilities did not disappoint me for once.

I stopped, panting like crazy to at least get a normal heartbeat. I wanted to be prepared for whatever shit Megatron was about to throw at me today. I was late, I don’t even know if I upsetted him yesterday anymore. I finally looked up and saw his buckethead… but I didn’t see his usual annoyed glare or worse, instead his eyes were closed. He was sleeping, his bust laid on the lake’s beach, his helm tucked in his scaly and silvery arms. When I stopped the heavy breathing from my sprinting session, I could hear him snore lightly, honestly I expected louder from him.

But no, it was like he, as well, needed some sleep, was it really that late yesterday? I stayed completely still, as quiet as the current breeze which was nonexistent today. I was looking at him with a mixture of emotions; confusion, envy, awe, fear… so many feelings that were completely unnecessary at the moment. I was frozen, not knowing what to do, his low and deep breathing was… peaceful despite everything. It was almost… cute. Yes, I called this behemoth of an axolotl merman cute.

Then I took this opportunity to take some notes on what I could see; the axolotl fins on each sides of his head were slightly twitching, his claws weren’t retracted, they were very visible from my point of view, and still looked as sharp as the sharpest steak knives. He had scars, each of them were telling a story, like any human scar. Some were recent and more prominent, some were older and much less visible. I wondered what could’ve happened, what made him wear these scratches. Were they from fishers, hunters, or other fishes? Definitely not other fishes, he probably eats them before they can even try to nibble on him.

Was this why he seemed so wary of me at first, because other humans saw him as a threat, a beast, or worse? As a pest, a monster, a trophy? This was absurd, but it could also be sadly plausible. While thinking about it, I let myself move from my previously frozen stature and I got slightly closer. Of course I didn’t want to disturb him in his sleep, he probably needs it anyway. I stayed at a reasonable distance, but I always got closer and closer.

And eventually I sat in front of him, my legs criss-crossing in front of his sleeping form. I was barely 30 centimeters away from his helm, which was still unmoving in his crossed arms. My breathing was already way calmer, it was silent as it usually was, I analyzed him, wanting answers but knowing I would never be sure of getting an accurate one. I felt bad for him as the scars that were on him seemed to multiply, poor man, he probably went through so much pain, loneliness, obstacles.

I sat right there, in my thoughts, not knowing what to do, or what to say. Eventually I heard him slightly shift, a groggy but light groan came out of his mouth, and by instinct I backed up a bit, still sitting down. He looked up from his crossed arms, but he was still lazily laying on them as if they were pillows. His eyes stared right at me, but I didn’t see any anger, any annoyance, not even smugness, he was just tired.

— Sorry for… being late. I whispered, not wanting to ruin his mood by being obnoxious in any way.

He seemed to answer with a low sigh mixed with a slight groggy grumble. I could definitely understand body language, and right now there’s no doubt that; A. He doesn’t feel threatened. B. He is tired. And C. He doesn’t mind my presence at the moment despite our proximity. I tried to think about what I could do, and of course, while I had my guard down, he extended one of his arms and grabbed my legs, pulling them closer to him. I was surprised at first, of course I was, who wouldn’t be, but as soon as I felt his familiar purring from yesterday, I knew he didn’t mean any harm.

He simply wanted me to be close to him, again. He nuzzled into me as if I was his personal doll or plushie, I couldn’t help but chuckle as he did so. He purred loudly like a cat, and I decided to slowly start to stroke the back of his helm, which he seemed to crave since his head simply melted into my lap.

— Damn… I let out silently, do you like me that much? I asked softly and jokingly.

I didn’t get a verbal answer, instead I felt his big webbed hands hug my back, which made me feel like a doll now, and he pressed his buckethead against me. I really felt like a cuddle buddy for him, which at the moment, was comfortable. He needed those hugs, and I can’t say I didn’t crave them as well. His purrs were soothing like last night, his eyes now closed from what seemed like satisfaction, I continued to stroke his helm. I smiled as I saw him get comfortable, I didn’t know why all of a sudden seeing this big cold mer happy and clingy felt… right.

I sighed, content, the anxiety, fear, all of those negative feelings, gone in an instant. I again took a glance at his scars, and I thought to myself. He needs love, yes he may look scary, look like a mindless beast that would kill without thinking, but he’s not. He wants to be loved, he craves attention, he wants to be cared for. And right now I feel like I can fulfil at least some of his needs. We’ll go at his rhythm, he probably didn’t meet any compassionate human in years, only trophy fishers and money grabbers ready to kill him for wealth and fame.

I want to be different from those jerks he probably had to deal with, I want to give him the attention he deserves, and it looks like I’m doing my job properly. Maybe he does love me, maybe he does think I’m a good mate for him. But I still need to accept it. And what if I’m wrong? What if it’s all just tricks? What if I’m just a delusional fool who is falling for his lies?

I suddenly felt his claws gently rubbing my back, as if he felt I was getting a bit stressed. My pulse already slowed down, but I was surprised that he was the one to be so… soft? My face slowly heated up as he was stroking my back the same way I was doing with his helm, then I felt his hands get under my shirt, just in my back. I didn’t know what to do, his claws were cold, but not in an uncomfortable way, it contrasted with my body heat still. My breathing got a bit heavier, although it was far from shaky or scared.

His touch was deliberately soft, as if he knew my skin wasn’t as rough as his, he knew I was fragile, he knew that if he pressed too hard he might make me bleed by accident. He wanted to make sure I wasn’t scared… right? His purring was still unwavering, and when I stopped stroking his helm the moment I felt his touch under my shirt, he didn’t glare at me or growl at me to continue.

Now I feel like he wants me… and not just for cuddles…

•—•—•—•—•—•

ANND there we goo *phew* that took 2 hours heh-

Anyway it’s almost midnight for me sooo

I’m going to bed byee

[scrivenger-grimgar]

I came to you for calamity xie lian and i am EATING with your white gold gathers au.

Tell me more please 🥺

thank you?!? okay so food time!

quan yizhen and his followers are stupidly good at stumbling across magic items, to the point where its actually become a part of his mythos!!

additionaly quan yizhen: 1 is autistic (so is xl, trust), and 2 has extreme trust issues due to boththe 'tidm and his background, the brocade immortal incident took his neutral trust in Heaven and sunk it down to hell.

so he doesn't trust heaven with ANY of the magic items he is offered or that he finds, to the point where he actually just seals them into a cave labeled DO NOT TOUCH.

xie lian LOVES cursed objects and weird magic. when he finds this cave, his natural instinct is "oh i simply must possess this!" and so he takes it.

and when quan yizhen comes back snd finds his curse cave empty, he naturally tracks the qi trail back to white gold's gilded forest, and then immediately fights xie lian for the stuff.

quan yizhen loses, but he does manage to stab xie lian's leg; xie lian had so much fun so he's like "why'd you attack me!? :D"

quan yizhen tells him, assuming the ghost is going to kill him, that he can't just let those artifacts be floating around, they could hurt someone or cause problems!! and xie lian looks at him and says "im doing the same thing!"

so xie lian takes this feral god around his laur and shows him all his stuff and explains how uts guarded and tracked, and that he's got a whole catalogue detailing each item and how its cursed and what the curse does, and quan yizhen only follows at first bc obvs white gold is going to kill him, but then they get to the part thats mostly bespelled weapons and qyz completely forgets about that part.

they spend three days yelling excitedly back and forth about different weapons and fighting styles from certain kingdoms and empires and different centuries and why one part of a style continued while another was discarded-

until ling wen contacts him asking where tf he went bc hes been gone for two weeks, please come back.

anyway, xie lian gives him an open invitation to return whenever and quan yizhen and xie lian becomes friends after a few years. qyz goes to xie lian with any cursed objects that he comes across and they'll have a short (4 day long) sparring session, and xie lian teaches him about obscure magics while qyz updates him on whatever heaven is up to and where not to go when it comes to curse collecting.

now quan yizhen has a natural talent for identiying people*, regardless of what skin they're wearing, but will only reffer to them with the name they used at introduction. so when xie lian ascends for the third time, quan yizhen already knows thats his friend, the calamity white gold gathers. but xie lian told him to call him by name. so even when he's wearing his human disguise, qyz knows that thats xie lian.

this is very confusing to everyone, actually, bc why tf does general qi ying know the disgraced plague god of xianle? neither of them will explain even if directly asked.

jun wu isnt aware of this freindship either, bc xie lian doesnt bring it up, ling wen doesnt think its important, and quan yizhen just doesnt show up to court; its not worth the rffort to send two other martial gods to drag him in when he wont listen and will activrly talk over someone else, even jun wu himself.

*this talent for identifying people also works on both shi qingxuan and ming yi. quan yizhen is known for calling many, many, junior officials and low-middle class deities "ming yi". he was already known for being weird at this point so no one thought anything of it. this also means that were he to see bwx qyz would adress him as jw. this is bc he has a weird form of qi synesthesia that lets him identify individual people, but becomes overwhelming in a crowd. This is partially why he finds xie lian's domain so relaxing; other than the curses its just one signature, everywhere.

this entire relationship is s parralel to yin yu and hua cheng bc i find it really cute!

anyway quan yizhen's vacation home in the gilded forest is his actual house, his palace in heaven is basically just an empty shell. he has a small shrine for yin yu, and even prays to him.

[isthiscoinsidenceorasign]

She's Theirs: Secret Love Song

Title: Secret Love Song

Summary: Nick meets Phoenix for the first time and is invited to the Hard Deck to have drinks with the dagger squad.

Word Count: 12,409

Warnings: flirting, cuddling, light drinking, oral m!receiving, p in v, double penetration, praise kink, sir kink, dirty talk, slight dom Jake, slight dom Bradley

Tags: smut

Author Notes: Hey y'all! Here's chapter five. The smut part of the chapter is an 11 out of 10 on the hot scale so you have been warned! I feel like I might need a hot meter going forward so y'all know just how raunchy a chapter is! Also if you'd like to be tagged in future chapters let me know!

"Captain Mitchell, do you have a moment?"

Nick paused as she noticed her father speaking with a woman about her age, her dark brown hair pulled into a tight bun.

He smiled brightly. "Hey, kiddo, what’s up?"

"I can come back if you want—"

"No, it’s okay. Stay. I’d like you to meet someone." Pete gestured toward the woman. "This is Natasha. Natasha, this is my daughter, Nick."

"Nichole," Nick said, extending her hand while studying Natasha with casual intensity. "But everyone calls me Nick."

Natasha shook her hand firmly, her brown eyes widening slightly in recognition. "Mitchell’s daughter. I should have made the connection." Her tone carried the crisp precision of someone accustomed to briefing rooms. "Natasha Trace—but most people call me Phoenix. Your father speaks highly of your engineering work."

"Does he now?" Nick smirked, casting a glance at Pete. "That’s new."

Pete crossed his arms, his flight jacket creaking slightly. "I always give credit where it’s due."

"Phoenix is one of our top instructors," he continued, using her callsign with a level of respect Nick rarely heard him extend to others. "Just set a new course record on the canyon run."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Impressive."

Phoenix shrugged with practiced modesty. "Your father’s course is designed to push limits. I just found the edge."

Nick took a moment to assess Phoenix further—not with admiration, but rather with analytical curiosity. She stood balanced, grounded, every movement economical and intentional. It was the stance of someone who thrived under pressure.

"The edge is where things get interesting," Nick mused, leaning against Pete’s desk. "Though I usually find myself a little past it."

Pete snorted. "Like father, like daughter."

"God help us all," Nick quipped.

An awkward silence settled for a brief moment before Phoenix turned her attention back to Nick.

"A bunch of us are heading to the Hard Deck for drinks. You’re welcome to join."

"I don’t think—" Pete began, but Nick cut him off.

"Actually, that sounds perfect. I could use a drink after the day I’ve had." She flashed a signature Mitchell smile—the one that always seemed to get her what she wanted.

Phoenix remained neutral, but something flickered in her expression. "Nineteen hundred hours. Don’t be late."

"I’m never late for a good time," Nick replied, the challenge evident in her tone.

Phoenix smiled slightly. "I like you. I think you’ll fit right in with the rest of the team."

"Can’t wait."

As Phoenix excused herself with a crisp nod, Nick couldn’t help but track the way she left—controlled, precise, completely self-assured. There was an effortless confidence in the way she carried herself, like someone who knew exactly how much space she took up and how to use it. It reminded Nick of the way seasoned pilots walked onto the tarmac—focused, intentional, always in command. She wondered if people studied her the same way when she left a room.

Pete cleared his throat. "So what brings you by, kiddo?"

"Finally got around to calling Mom back—so she’ll stop bugging you now. My boxes should arrive tomorrow."

"Took you long enough," Pete muttered, sliding a folder across his desk. "She called me twice this week."

"I was busy setting up some new lab equipment," Nick protested, leaning against the desk’s edge. "Besides, since when do you two talk more than once a year?"

"Since our daughter took a contract job at my base without telling either of us until the last minute," Pete said, his tone measured but his jaw tight.

Nick exhaled. "I told you both as soon as it was confirmed. And it’s not like I’m some teenager. I’m thirty-two with my own career."

"A career that’s now intertwined with mine," Pete pointed out. "You know how things can get around here."

Nick rolled her eyes. "Dad, I’m a civilian contractor working on propulsion systems. I’m not exactly a rogue pilot stirring up drama."

"And I’m one of the commanding officers responsible for maintaining the integrity of this program." Pete’s voice carried that familiar edge—the one that intimidated cadets and several of her past boyfriends but had never quite worked on her. "The last thing I need is people thinking my daughter is getting special treatment."

"Or for your daughter to embarrass the great Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell?" Nick shot back, her green eyes flashing. "Relax. I’ll be on my best behavior."

Pete’s stance softened slightly. "That’s what worries me. Your ‘best behavior’ usually involves breaking something expensive."

Nick grinned despite herself. "Only when it leads to making something better." She pushed off the desk. "Anyway, I’m here for the engines, not to crash your planes."

"Just try not to set anything on fire this time." Pete smirked.

"That was one time, and it was already broken when I got there."

Pete chuckled. "Well, don’t let me keep you from making new friends at the Hard Deck."

Nick nodded. "I’ll let you know what Mom ended up sending me."

She gave him a parting glance before heading out to change for the night.

The Hard Deck was already humming with energy when Nick pushed through the door at precisely 1905 hours—early enough to seem eager, late enough to make an entrance.

Most of the people she'd be meeting tonight knew her dad, and she wanted to make a good impression. She wanted them to like her for her, not because they felt obligated to.

As she rounded the bar, she spotted Phoenix heading toward her.

"Hey, you made it! I'd love for you to meet the gang—we're in the back playing pool."

"Okay. Lead the way."

She followed Phoenix to the pool table, where a man in a pale green Hawaiian shirt stood, looking familiar.

"Nick, I'd like you to meet my good friend Rooster."

Time seemed to falter as he turned, his eyes locking onto hers the instant he moved. The laughter and music of the bar faded into a distant hum, the motion of others reduced to a blur at the edges of her vision.

Her breath caught in her chest, pulse quickening as the world tilted slightly off-axis. The air between them felt heavier, charged with an unspoken tension only they could understand. In that moment, it was just the two of them—an invisible thread tightening, pulling them into a silent reckoning.

Bradley, Jake, and her had agreed to keep what they were doing hidden. But not once had they discussed what they would do if faced with something like this.

Rooster's eyes widened in recognition, his pool cue freezing mid-chalk. For a split second, Nick saw panic flicker across his face before he masked it with a casual smile.

"Bradley Bradshaw," he said, extending his hand as if they were meeting for the first time. His palm was warm against hers, fingers squeezing slightly—a silent message. "Heard a lot about you."

"All bad, I hope," Nick replied smoothly, falling into the charade with practiced ease. The whole exchange lasted seconds but felt like minutes, her mind racing through implications.

Phoenix glanced between them. "You two know each other?"

"I only know her by reputation," Rooster said quickly. "She was mentioned in one of my briefings."

"Just by reputation," Nick echoed, picking up the cue from Bradley seamlessly. Her heart hammered, but her voice remained steady. "Though I'm starting to think my reputation precedes me a little too much around here."

Phoenix's gaze lingered between them, sharp and assessing. For a moment, Nick worried she'd picked up on the tension crackling in the air.

"Well, Maverick's daughter working on base is big news," Phoenix finally said with a shrug. "Hard to keep secrets in a place like this."

Nick nearly choked on the irony. If only Phoenix knew about the secrets she was keeping—with the man standing right in front of her.

"Let me introduce you to everyone else," Phoenix continued, leading Nick toward the pool table where four other pilots were gathered. "This is Hangman, Coyote, Fanboy, and Payback."

Jake’s eyes locked onto hers, his pool cue pausing mid-stroke. The cocky smile that seemed permanently etched on his face faltered for just a fraction of a second before shifting into something more deliberate, more calculated.

He hadn't expected her to be here. And judging by her expression, she hadn’t expected him either.

"Well, well," he drawled, straightening to his full height. "The Mitchell legacy continues." He extended his hand with theatrical flourish. "Jake Seresin. They call me Hangman."

Nick took his hand, feeling the slight pressure of his fingers—another silent signal passing between them. "Charmed, I'm sure," she replied, matching his tone perfectly. "Though I have to ask about the callsign. Something to do with your execution style?"

The group laughed, and Jake’s eyes flashed with appreciation for her quick recovery.

"Something like that," he replied, twirling his pool cue. "I leave 'em hanging."

Coyote, Fanboy, and Payback introduced themselves in a blur of handshakes and call sign explanations that Nick barely registered. Her mind was too busy calculating angles, like she was in one of the flight simulators her father always wanted her to try—except this time, the danger was crashing into a social disaster rather than a mountainside.

"So, Mitchell's daughter," Hangman said, leaning against the pool table with studied nonchalance. "You're the engineering genius I keep hearing about. Here to fix our birds or clip our wings?"

"Depends on how good you are at flying," Nick shot back, accepting a beer from Phoenix. She took a long sip, grateful for the distraction. "I’m just here to make sure your engines can keep up with your egos—whether or not *you* can is another story."

The group erupted in laughter and a chorus of amused reactions, Coyote slapping Hangman on the shoulder.

"She got you there, Hangman," Coyote chortled.

Jake's smile remained fixed, but Nick could see the heat in his eyes—that familiar intensity that usually preceded him pinning her against the nearest wall when they were alone. The thought sent a flush of warmth across her skin, completely unrelated to the crowded bar.

"I assure you," Jake said, voice dropping just slightly, "my equipment has never had any performance issues."

Rooster coughed into his beer, and Nick bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

"Let's play," Phoenix announced, racking the balls. "Nick, you want in on this game? Girls against boys?"

"Absolutely," Nick replied, relieved for the shift in focus. "Fair warning, though—I grew up in bars like this."

"Perfect," Phoenix said with a wink, handing her a cue.

"Then I guess it's Rooster and me against you two," Jake said, surprising everyone.

"Hangman and Rooster teaming up?" Phoenix raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Fanboy. "That's a first."

"What can I say?" Jake shrugged, his eyes never leaving Nick's face. "I'm feeling... cooperative tonight."

Nick took the pool cue from Phoenix, testing its weight with practiced ease. "Don't worry, we'll still crush them."

As Phoenix racked the balls, Nick felt the unmistakable weight of both Jake and Bradley's gazes on her. This was dangerous territory—all three of them together in public, pretending they were strangers while carrying the heat of shared secrets. One wrong move, one lingering glance held too long, and everything they'd carefully hidden could unravel.

"Ladies break," Phoenix announced, stepping back from the table.

Nick leaned over to line up her shot, acutely aware of both men watching her. She positioned herself over the cue ball, exhaling slowly to steady her hands.

As she bent forward, she caught Jake’s eyes tracking the curve of her body, his familiar hungry look making her grip tighten on the cue. Across the table, Bradley was focused on his beer bottle, though the tension in his jaw betrayed him.

She struck the ball with perfect precision, sending the rack exploding across the table. Two striped balls dropped neatly into corner pockets.

"Beginner’s luck," Jake drawled, but his eyes were dark with something that had nothing to do with pool.

"Oh, honey," Nick smiled sweetly, circling the table to line up her next shot. "There’s nothing beginner about me."

Phoenix laughed, raising her beer in appreciation. "I think I'm going to like having you around, Mitchell."

When Jake thought no one was looking, he walked over to Bradley and casually turned to him, speaking in a low voice only he could hear.

"Did she tell you she was coming here tonight?"

Bradley kept his eyes locked on the game, his voice barely audible. "No. Did she tell you?"

"Obviously not," Jake muttered, taking a swig of his beer. "This complicates things."

Nick sank another ball, high-fiving Phoenix as she circled back around the table. She passed close enough to the men that her shoulder brushed Bradley's arm—a touch that could be dismissed as accidental but sent electricity through all three of them.

"Your shot, gentlemen," she announced, stepping back with a satisfied smirk.

Jake moved forward, his swagger more pronounced than usual. "Watch and learn, ladies." He lined up his shot, muscles flexing beneath his fitted t-shirt as he leaned over the table.

Nick found herself staring at the familiar curve of his back, remembering how those muscles felt under her fingers just two nights ago. When she glanced up, she caught Phoenix watching her with sharp, curious eyes.

"Impressive form, isn't it?" Phoenix commented, her tone casual but her gaze piercing.

Nick took another sip of her beer to hide her flush. "I've seen better."

Jake sank his shot with effortless precision, then straightened with that infuriating smirk. "Have you now?"

"Don't encourage him," Phoenix groaned. "His ego barely fits in the cockpit as it is."

The game continued, tension building with each exchange. Nick found herself performing a delicate balancing act—acting just friendly enough with Jake and Bradley to seem normal, but not so familiar that anyone would suspect. Every casual brush of hands as they passed pool cues, every loaded glance when others weren't looking, felt like playing with fire.

"So, Nick," Phoenix said as she lined up her shot, "what made you decide to take a contract at your dad's base? If you're anything like him, it seems like having two Mitchells on base is asking for trouble."

Nick shrugged, leaning against the wall. "The project was too good to pass up. Besides," she added with a wry smile, "trouble has never been something I've tried to avoid."

"I'll drink to that," Jake said, raising his glass in her direction. Their eyes met for a fraction too long before Nick deliberately looked away.

Bradley cleared his throat. "Your dad must be thrilled to have you around."

She smiled. "I wouldn't say thrilled," Nick replied, circling the table to line up her next shot. "More like cautiously optimistic that I won't blow up his base."

"You make a habit of blowing things up?" Phoenix asked, raising an eyebrow.

Nick bent over the table, focusing on the cue ball. "Only when necessary." She struck with precision, sinking another striped ball. "I prefer to think of it as aggressive problem-solving."

Jake snorted. "That sounds familiar. Isn't that what they wrote in your file after the Taiwan exercise, Rooster?"

Bradley shot him a warning look, which Nick caught from the corner of her eye. The tension between them was palpable—a silent conversation happening beneath the banter.

"Corner pocket," Nick called, deliberately changing the subject. She missed the shot by millimeters and straightened with a grimace. "Damn," she muttered, stepping back from the table.

"My turn," Bradley said, moving forward with measured steps. As he passed Nick, his arm brushed against hers—a touch that sent a jolt through her system.

"Careful," she said, voice pitched low. "Don't scratch."

His eyes met hers briefly. "I never do."

The double meaning hung between them like smoke—unspoken but suffocating in its intensity. Bradley leaned over the table, his form precise and controlled as he lined up his shot. Nick found herself watching the way his fingers gripped the cue—the same fingers that had mapped every inch of her body just days ago.

When he sank two balls in one shot, Phoenix whistled appreciatively. "Nice one, Rooster."

Jake clapped him on the shoulder, his hand lingering just a second too long for two men who barely tolerated each other.

"Look at you two, actually working together," Phoenix remarked, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Hell must be freezing over."

"We have our moments," Jake replied, his trademark smirk firmly in place. He leaned against the wall, beer bottle dangling from his fingers. "Right, Bradshaw?"

Bradley nodded curtly, already focusing on his next shot. "I hate to admit it, but we do."

Nick bit her lip to suppress a laugh. She knew exactly how well these two could work together when properly motivated. The memory of them moving in perfect synchronicity around her apartment last weekend flashed through her mind—Jake's commanding presence balanced by Bradley's meticulous attention to detail, both focused entirely on her.

"Your shot, Hangman," Bradley said, stepping back from the table after sinking another ball.

As Jake moved forward, he lowered his voice so only Nick could hear him. "We need to talk, darlin’."

"Later," Nick murmured, pretending to study the table as Jake lined up his shot.

The muscles in his forearms flexed as he drew back the cue, and Nick found herself transfixed by the familiar sight. When Jake glanced up and caught her staring, the corner of his mouth twitched in that knowing way that always made her pulse quicken.

"Eight ball, corner pocket," he called, executing the shot with flawless precision. The black ball rolled smoothly into the designated pocket, and Jake straightened with a triumphant grin. "Game."

Phoenix groaned. "Dammit. I hate losing to Hangman. His victory laps last for days."

"Weeks, actually," Jake corrected, setting his cue against the wall. "But I'll try to be humble about it."

"That'll be a first," Bradley muttered, though there was no malice in his words.

Nick found herself in a surreal situation—playing pool with two men she'd been intimately involved with for weeks, pretending they were strangers, while simultaneously trying to build a genuine connection with Phoenix, who seemed incredibly perceptive.

Fanboy, leaning against a beam, cleared his throat. "I need another beer and some food. Anyone else?"

Payback nodded. "I could eat."

Coyote agreed.

"Beer and wings it is. Nick, you want anything?" Phoenix asked.

"Another beer would be great, thanks."

"I'll be back with your drink then," Phoenix offered, following Fanboy toward the bar.

The moment they were out of earshot, Nick stepped closer to Jake and Bradley, her voice barely above a whisper. "What the hell are we doing?"

"Playing it cool," Jake replied, his casual posture at odds with the intensity in his eyes. "Like three people who definitely aren't sleeping together."

Bradley ran a hand through his short hair, his expression tense. "This is exactly why we need to keep things quiet. If anyone starts putting pieces together…" His gaze flickered toward Phoenix, lingering slightly. "She’s sharp. I caught her watching us earlier—maybe nothing, but we can’t afford slip-ups."

Nick’s stomach twisted. She hadn’t noticed Phoenix watching them, but Bradley was more observant than most.

"She doesn’t know anything," Nick insisted, though she wasn’t entirely convinced. "But we need a plan. We can't just avoid each other on base or anytime we're out in public."

"We don’t," Jake said, leaning against the pool table with his arms crossed. "We establish a baseline now. Three people who just met, maybe become friends. Nothing suspicious about that."

"I really wish you told us you were coming here tonight," Bradley admitted.

"I could say the same thing. Jake’s text said you had plans with 'the boys' tonight."

"Yeah, the boys—as in our squadron. Who you're now drinking with." Jake ran a hand through his hair, a rare tell of his agitation. "This is exactly what we agreed to avoid."

Nick didn’t like the tension radiating from them. It wasn’t fair. Her being here wasn’t planned—if Phoenix hadn’t invited her, they wouldn’t be dealing with this.

"You're mad at me, and I don’t want either of you mad at me. I didn’t plan this. Honest."

Bradley's expression softened instantly. "We're not mad," he said, voice dropping lower. "Just caught off guard."

"Speak for yourself," Jake muttered, though the tension in his shoulders eased when he met Nick's eyes. "Fine. Not mad. But this is complicated enough without surprise public appearances."

"I know," Nick sighed, glancing toward the bar to make sure Phoenix wasn’t returning yet. "She invited me when she was in my dad’s office. How was I supposed to know this was your regular hangout?"

"It’s the only bar within twenty miles of the base," Jake pointed out, his lips curving into a reluctant smirk. "Where did you think we spent our nights when we weren’t with you?"

Nick rolled her eyes. "I don’t know. Figured you had secret pilot things to do. Ironing your flight suits or polishing your ego."

Bradley laughed. "We save that for Sunday nights."

"We just need to communicate better in the future," Jake said. "And if we stick to my plan, we should be fine."

"I feel bad putting you both in this position," Nick admitted. "But my dad would lose it if he found out. And I don’t think it would go over well with everyone else. What we’re doing isn’t exactly socially acceptable. They wouldn’t understand."

Jake’s expression darkened as he moved imperceptibly closer. "I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks is acceptable," he whispered, his voice carrying that dangerous edge that always sent shivers down her spine. "But I do care about your position at the base—and Rooster's career."

Bradley nodded, his eyes scanning the room to ensure they weren’t being watched. "We all agreed to these terms. It’s just... uncharted territory having you here tonight."

Nick had seen commercials for a TV show about a polyamorous family—the husband had four wives, living openly on national television. If he could do that, why couldn't she be the same way with Bradley and Jake?

"I just wish we didn’t have to keep this a secret."

"California may be progressive, darlin’, but it’s not that progressive. Neither is the Navy," Jake said.

"I know," Nick sighed, looking between them. Her voice dropped even lower. "It’s just... I hate pretending I don’t know how your voice sounds first thing in the morning, or the way Bradley hums when he makes coffee."

Jake’s eyes darkened, his gaze possessive. "Trust me, I’m not thrilled about watching other men check you out and not being able to do a damn thing about it."

"Heads up," Bradley muttered suddenly, his posture shifting into casual indifference as Phoenix approached with drinks.

"One beer," Phoenix announced, handing the bottle to Nick. "The guys are ordering food if you're hungry."

"Thanks," Nick smiled, taking a deliberate step away from both men. "So what’s the next game? I want a chance to redeem myself."

Phoenix glanced between them, her expression unreadable. "Actually, Fanboy suggested we switch to darts. Apparently, he's sick of watching Hangman gloat."

"Darts it is," Nick agreed quickly, grateful for the change. She needed physical distance from both men before she did something reckless—like reach for Bradley’s hand or brush against Jake’s chest the way she would if they were alone.

As they moved toward the dartboard, Phoenix fell into step beside Nick.

"So," Phoenix said casually, "how are you finding Top Gun so far? Must be strange working where your dad is basically a legend."

Nick smiled, taking a sip of her beer. "It's definitely... interesting. The shadow's pretty big, but I'm used to carving my own path."

"I can respect that," Phoenix nodded. "Though between us, your dad's one of the more likable superior officers on base."

"I'll be sure to tell him you said that," Nick teased, watching as Jake set up the dartboard with Bradley hovering nearby. "Though I doubt he'd believe anyone described him as 'likable.'"

Phoenix laughed, the sound genuine and warm. "Fair point. 'Terrifying but fair' might be more accurate."

As they approached the dartboard, Jake twirled a dart between his fingers with casual precision. "Ladies first?" he offered, his eyes lingering on Nick just a second too long.

"Such a gentleman," Nick remarked dryly, accepting a set of darts from Bradley. Their fingers brushed during the exchange, and that familiar spark of electricity raced up her arm.

"Don't let the manners fool you," Bradley said, his voice carrying the dry tone she'd come to adore. "He's only offering because he thinks you'll lose."

"I'll take my chances," Nick replied, stepping up to the line. She weighed the dart in her hand, feeling the familiar balance of it. With a fluid motion, she sent it sailing straight into the bullseye.

Phoenix let out a low whistle. "Damn, Mitchell. You've been holding out on us."

"My dad taught me to throw darts when I was eight," Nick shrugged, twirling her second dart between her fingers. "He said it was about precision under pressure—and a little bit of 'don’t think, just do.'"

"Sounds like Maverick," Bradley commented, his eyes watching her with that quiet intensity that always made her feel exposed.

Jake leaned against the wall, beer bottle dangling from his fingers. "Let's see if you can do it again, darlin'."

The endearment slipped out so naturally that Nick almost didn't catch it. But Bradley's slight stiffening and Phoenix's quick glance between them made Nick's heart skip a beat.

"Watch me," she replied smoothly, turning back to the board. She threw her second dart, landing it right next to the first. "And don’t call me 'darlin.' We just met, remember?"

The last part was delivered with a pointed look that Jake answered with a lazy smile.

"My mistake," he drawled. "I call all pretty women 'darlin.' Bad habit."

Phoenix rolled her eyes. "Hangman flirts with anything that moves. Don't take it personally."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Nick said, throwing her final dart. It struck just outside the bullseye. "Damn."

"Still impressive," Bradley offered, stepping up to take his turn.

As the game progressed, Nick found herself settling into an unexpected rhythm. With each round of darts, each drink, the initial panic of their collision of worlds began to ease. They'd established a believable dynamic—Nick the newcomer, Bradley the reserved professional, Jake the shameless flirt. To anyone watching, they were just squadron mates showing the boss's daughter a good time.

"Another round?" Phoenix asked as she collected the darts after soundly beating Fanboy.

"I should probably call it a night," Nick said, checking her watch. "Early meeting tomorrow with the propulsion team."

Jake stretched casually. "Yeah, I should head out too. Early test flight."

Bradley's eyes flicked between them, a flash of understanding in his gaze. "Same here."

Phoenix cocked her head slightly. "We finally get rid of Hangman, and you two want to go?"

Nick laughed. "Well, when you put it like that... but seriously, I do have to go. I promise we can do this again sometime."

"Alright, alright," Phoenix conceded, holding up her hands. "I know when I'm beaten. But I'm holding you to that promise, Mitchell. Next time, we're doing tequila shots."

Nick grinned. "You're on."

The group dispersed with casual goodbyes, each of them careful to maintain appropriate distance. Nick shrugged into her leather jacket, deliberately taking her time as Bradley and Jake headed for separate exits.

"It was nice meeting you all," she called out, waving to the remaining pilots. "See you around base."

The cool night air hit her face as she stepped outside, a welcome relief from the stuffy bar. She walked toward her Jeep Wrangler parked at the far end of the lot, keys jingling in her hand. Footsteps behind her made her slow down.

"Nice performance in there," Jake's voice came low and smooth from behind. "You almost had me believing we were strangers."

Nick turned to find both Jake and Bradley approaching, maintaining careful distance between them as they crossed the dimly lit parking lot. Her pulse quickened at the sight of them—Jake with his confident swagger, Bradley with his measured stride.

"I could say the same for you two," she replied, leaning against her Jeep. "Though 'darlin'' was pushing it, Hangman."

Jake's smile was unapologetic as he stopped just close enough to be teasing, but far enough to look casual to any onlookers. "Slipped out. You know what you do to me."

Bradley glanced around the parking lot, ensuring they were alone. "We need to be more careful. Phoenix was watching you both."

"Phoenix watches everyone," Jake dismissed.

Nick shifted her weight, exhaling. "Now that the night's over—where to next? My place or…?"

"My place," Jake said decisively, his voice dropping to that commanding tone that always sent heat pooling in Nick's belly. "It's furthest from base. Less chance of anyone spotting us."

Bradley nodded in agreement. "I'll follow in my car. We should take separate routes."

Nick sighed. "You two are being paranoid," though she knew they were right. "But fine—separate cars, staggered departures."

Jake stepped closer, his eyes dark with intent. "Twenty minutes. And Nick?" His voice lowered to a whisper. "Make sure to wear that leather jacket. I want to see you in that tonight... and nothing else."

A shiver ran down her spine. "Demanding tonight, aren't we?"

"You have no idea," he murmured, then stepped back to a respectable distance as a group of pilots exited the bar.

Bradley's eyes met hers, that steady intensity in his gaze speaking volumes. "Twenty minutes," he repeated, softer than Jake but no less commanding. "Drive safe."

Nick nodded, sliding into her Jeep. As she started the engine, she watched through her rearview mirror as both men returned to their respective vehicles, maintaining the careful charade they'd established.

The drive to Jake's place felt interminable. Nick kept checking her mirrors—partly from the paranoia Bradley had instilled, partly from the mounting anticipation. By the time she pulled up to Jake’s apartment on the outskirts of town, her knuckles were white against the steering wheel.

She parked in her usual spot and walked up the darkened path toward Jake’s building, noticing Bradley’s car already parked a few spaces away.

Pressing the elevator button, she barely had time to register the hum of machinery before the doors slid open. The ride to the second floor was brief, and when she reached Jake’s apartment, she didn’t bother knocking—just let herself in.

The apartment was dimly lit, music playing softly from hidden speakers. Nick shrugged off her jacket, then remembered Jake’s command and slipped it back on.

"Twenty-two minutes," Jake’s voice came from the kitchen doorway. He leaned against the frame, shirt unbuttoned, glass of whiskey in hand. "You’re late."

"Traffic," she lied, knowing full well he’d see through it. She enjoyed pushing his buttons almost as much as she enjoyed what happened afterward.

Bradley emerged from the living room, his expression more measured than Jake’s but no less intense. He’d already removed his shoes and rolled up his sleeves—the small rituals that signaled his transition from Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw to simply Bradley, hers and Jake’s.

"You almost blew our cover tonight."

"Rooster’s right, darlin'. I wish we could’ve gotten a warning."

Nick tossed her keys onto the side table with a sigh. "I already explained—I didn’t know you’d be there. Phoenix invited me right in front of my dad. What was I supposed to say? 'Sorry, can’t come because I’m secretly sleeping with two of your pilots?'"

Jake set his whiskey down and crossed the room in three long strides, his fingers tracing the edge of her leather jacket, sending shivers across her skin.

"I’m not mad that you came," he said, voice dropping to that dangerous register that made her knees weak. "I’m mad that I had to sit there for two hours watching you without being able to touch you."

Bradley approached from the other side, his movements more deliberate than Jake’s predatory stalking. "We need a better system," he said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind Nick’s ear.

Jake ignored Bradley’s comment and circled her slowly, every step deliberate. "You’re wearing the jacket. Good girl."

The praise sent a familiar shiver down her spine. "I follow orders when they’re worth following."

"And mine are?" Jake asked, coming to a stop behind her. His breath hot against her neck. One hand came to rest possessively on her hip while the other pushed her hair aside, exposing the sensitive skin below her ear.

"Sometimes," Nick whispered, her pulse quickening as his lips brushed against her pulse point. "When you ask nicely."

Bradley moved closer, his steady presence a counterpoint to Jake's barely restrained intensity. "And when he doesn't ask nicely?" His voice was quiet but carried that underlying authority that always made her breath catch.

"Then I make him work for it," she replied.

Jake's laugh was low and dangerous against her skin. "Is that what you think happens, darlin'?" His grip tightened slightly on her hip. "You were the one squirming in that bar, trying not to look at me every time I bent over the pool table. If anyone will be working for it, it will be you.”

Nick leaned back against Jake’s chest, her eyes locked with Bradley’s. "Maybe I just enjoy keeping you both on your toes," she murmured, savoring the way Jake’s breath hitched against her neck. "Having two Top Gun pilots at my command has its perks."

"Is that what you think this is?" Jake whispered, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "You in command?"

Bradley stepped closer, his hand coming up to trace the line of her jaw. The tenderness in his touch contrasted with the intensity in his eyes.”

"Is that what you think this is?" Jake whispered, his teeth grazing her earlobe. "You in command?"

Bradley stepped closer, his hand coming up to trace the line of her jaw. The tenderness in his touch contrasted with the intensity in his eyes. "I think we need to remind her who's really in charge here."

Nick's pulse quickened. This was the dance they'd perfected over weeks—Bradley's methodical approach balancing Jake's raw intensity, both of them working in perfect harmony despite their differences.

Jakes hand slid beneath her jacket, disappointed to find cotton fabric over her skin at her waist. "I thought I told you I wanted you in nothing but this jacket?"

Bradleys’s eyes darkened as he watched Jake's hands on her. That was something Nick had discovered early in their arrangement—Bradley enjoyed watching almost as much as participating. The thought of being caught between them, the focus of both their attention after hours of pretending indifference, made her dizzy with anticipation.

"You did," Nick admitted, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "But I figured I'd make you work for it. After all, you both left me hanging at the bar with nothing but meaningful glances and 'accidental' touches."

Jake's hand tightened on her waist, his other hand coming up to grip her chin, turning her face toward him. "Defiant as always," he murmured, his lips hovering just above hers. "That's going to cost you."

“Oh no.” She feigned concern. “Whatever will the big bad Lieutenant Seresin do to me?”

Jake's eyes narrowed, that predatory gleam intensifying. "Bradley, what do you think? Should we show her exactly what happens when she decides to be difficult?"

Bradley moved closer, his steady presence now radiating heat as he stood before her. "I think," he said deliberately, each word measured, "that someone needs to learn the consequences of teasing two pilots all night."

Nick felt her breath catch. This was the Bradley few people ever saw—the one who shed his careful control in private, revealing the intensity he kept leashed during daylight hours.

"And if I don't want to learn?" she challenged, even as her body betrayed her with a slight shiver.

Jake's laugh was low and dangerous against her ear. "That's not how this works, darlin'. Not tonight."

In one fluid motion, he spun her around, so she was facing him.

“Undress. Now.”

Nick's heart raced at Jake's command, his tone leaving no room for argument. The air between them practically crackled with tension.

"Yes, sir," she replied with the honorific, her voice deliberately provocative as she held his gaze. She reached for the hem of her shirt with deliberate slowness, dragging it upward inch by inch, revealing her flat stomach and the black lace of her bra.

Bradley moved to Jake's side, their shoulders almost touching as they watched her.

"Faster," Bradley said quietly, the command all the more powerful for its softness.

Nick complied, shedding her jacket and pulling her shirt over her head and letting it drop to the floor. Her jeans followed, sliding down her long legs until she stood before them in nothing but black lingerie and her black boots.

Jake walked over to where his flight jacket was and picked it up. “Put this on. I want to see how you look in it.”

Nick raised an eyebrow but took the flight jacket from Jake's outstretched hand. The leather was warm and heavy, smelling of aviation fuel and Jake's cologne. She slipped it on, the oversized jacket hanging off her shoulders, sleeves extending past her fingertips.

"How do I look Sir?" she asked, striking a mock pose.

Jake's eyes darkened as he circled her, drinking in the sight of her nearly naked body draped in his squadron jacket. "Like you belong to us," he murmured.

Bradley stepped closer, his fingers tracing the squadron patch on the sleeve. "Like our secret," he added, voice low and intimate.

Nick felt a thrilling shiver at their possessive tones. "Is that what I am? Your secret?"

"Our everything," Bradley corrected, his hand sliding beneath the jacket to trace her spine.

Jake moved in front of her, eyes blazing with barely contained desire. "And right now, our everything is going to do exactly what she's told." His voice dropped to that commanding tone that never failed to make her pulse race. "On your knees."

Nick held his gaze for a moment, that familiar battle of wills that always heightened the tension between them. Then, slowly, deliberately, she sank to her knees, the oversized flight jacket pooling around her.

Bradley moved behind her, his hands gentle but firm as they gathered her hair away from her face. "Good girl," he murmured, the praise sending warmth through her veins.

Jake unbuckled his belt, the sound of leather sliding through loops impossibly loud in the quiet apartment. "You've been thinking about this all night, haven't you?" he asked, his voice rough with desire. "Us taking you home and having our way with you?”

She nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

"Open," Jake commanded, his thumb brushing her bottom lip.

Nick obeyed, her eyes locked on his as Jake slid his thumb into her mouth. She sucked gently, a preview of what was to come. Behind her, Bradley's hands slid under the flight jacket, unclasping her bra with practiced ease.

"I've been thinking about this since you walked into that bar," Jake murmured, withdrawing his thumb and replacing it with two fingers. "Watching you pretend you didn't know exactly how I taste."

Bradley pressed against her back, his lips finding the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. "How we both taste," he corrected, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through her.

Nick moaned around Jake's fingers, the dual sensation of Bradley's mouth on her neck and Jake's fingers between her lips sending heat coursing through her body. She felt owned.

Jake withdrew his fingers slowly, trailing wetness across her bottom lip. "Look at you," he murmured, voice thick with desire. "So eager for us already."

Behind her, Bradley's hands slid around to cup her breasts, now freed from her bra. His touch was methodical but gentle, thumbs circling her nipples with practiced precision. "Tell us what you want, Nick," he whispered against her ear, his breath hot against her skin.

"Both of you," she answered without hesitation, her voice husky with need. "I want both of you."

Jake unbuttoned his jeans, pushing them down along with his boxers. "More specific, darlin'. Tell us exactly what you want."

Nick's eyes darkened as she looked up at him. "I want to taste you while Bradley watches. I want him to see exactly what I can do to you."

A low growl escaped Jake's throat as his hand tangled in her hair. "Then show him," he commanded, guiding her forward.

Nick didn't hesitate, wrapping her lips around him with practiced skill. She heard Bradley's sharp intake of breath behind her, felt his hands tighten on her breasts. This was the dynamic they'd perfected—Jake commanding, Bradley observing, both of them worshipping her body in their own distinct ways.

Jake's head fell back, eyes closing briefly as Nick took him deeper. "Fuck," he breathed, his grip tightening in her hair. "She's so good at this, Rooster."

Bradley's hands slid down her body, tracing the curve of her spine beneath the oversized flight jacket. "I know," he murmured, voice thick with desire. His fingers dipped beneath the lace of her panties, finding her already wet and wanting. "So responsive."

Nick moaned around Jake, the vibration making him curse under his breath. The sensation of Bradley's fingers exploring her while she pleasured Jake was overwhelming—the perfect balance of giving and receiving that characterized their relationship.

"That's it, darlin'," Jake encouraged, his voice strained as he watched her take him deeper. "Show Bradley exactly what that pretty mouth can do."

Bradley slid one finger inside her, then another, his movements languidly slow. "I need to feel that pretty mouth on me." He whispered against her ear, his free hand working open his belt. "Need you to share that mouth of yours."

Nick pulled back from Jake, her lips glistening and swollen. "Yes sir," she breathed, turning her head toward Bradley while continuing to stroke Jake with her hand.

Bradley had unbuckled his belt and freed himself, his eyes dark with desire as he guided himself to her waiting mouth. Nick took him eagerly, moaning as Bradley's fingers continued their rhythmic exploration between her legs.

"Fuck," Bradley groaned, his usual restraint slipping as Nick worked her magic. "The way she looks right now, Jake..."

"I know," Jake replied, his voice rough as he watched Nick pleasuring Bradley. "Wearing my jacket, on her knees for us both." He moved to kneel beside her, his hand replacing Bradley's between her legs. "Our beautiful little secret," he whispered against her ear.

Nick was lost in sensation—Bradley's steady rhythm, Jake's skilled fingers, the weight of the flight jacket against her body. She paused her ministrations on Bradley, focusing on the pleasure she was receiving from Jake.

Bradley tutted, his hand gently but firmly guiding her mouth back to him. "Did I say you could stop?" His voice carried that quiet authority that always made her shiver.

Nick resumed her attention to Bradley, her eyes fluttering closed as Jake's fingers worked their magic. The dual sensation was overwhelming—giving pleasure while receiving it, caught between two men who knew her body as well as they knew their own aircraft.

"Look at me," Bradley commanded softly.

Nick's eyes opened, locking with his intense gaze. The connection was electric, intimate in a way that transcended the physical act.

"That's it," he murmured, his free hand caressing her face with surprising tenderness. "Perfect."

Jake's fingers increased their pace, and Nick moaned around Bradley, the vibration making him curse under his breath. This was what they'd been craving all night—this connection, this intimacy.

Without warning, Jake withdrew his touch from her aching core and rose to stand beside Bradley. The two pilots towered over her, their bodies silhouetted against the dim light of the apartment. Nick whimpered at the loss of contact, her body thrumming with need.

“I'm feeling left out darling and you don't want me to feel left out do you you?”

Nick released Bradley with a wet pop, turning her attention back to Jake. "Never," she purred, reaching for him. "I want you both to feel... appreciated."

Jake's smirk was predatory as he tangled his fingers in her hair, guiding her back to him. "Then show me."

She took him eagerly, hollowing her cheeks as her hand continued to stroke Bradley. The taste of both men mingled on her tongue, a heady reminder of the unique arrangement they shared. No one at that bar tonight could imagine this—the boss's daughter on her knees wearing a flight jacket, pleasuring two of Top Gun's finest pilots.

Bradley's controlled façade began to crack as he watched Jake receiving the same attention he'd just enjoyed. His breathing grew heavier, muscles tensing beneath his skin. "Enough," he finally said, voice strained. "I want more."

He pulled Nichole’s head up by her hair and positioned his cock in front of her mouth. She eyed both men's hard cocks unable to decide if she could continue giving Jake pleasure with her mouth or Bradley.

Nick's eyes darted between them, a wicked smile playing at her lips despite her compromised position. "I can't decide," she teased, her voice husky with desire. "You're both so... demanding."

Jake's hand tightened in her hair, his eyes darkening with that dangerous intensity she craved. "Who said you get to decide?" His voice dropped to that commanding tone that always made her pulse quicken. "Open wider."

She complied, parting her lips as both men moved closer. Bradley's hand joined Jake's in her hair, steadying her as they positioned themselves at either corner of her mouth.

"Take us both," Bradley commanded quietly, the rare directive from him making her core clench with anticipation.

Nick opened as wide as she could, accepting both their tips into her mouth simultaneously. The sensation was overwhelming—stretching her lips to their limit, the taste of both men mingling on her tongue as she softly gagged. The sound turning both men on.

Jake groaned at the sight of her, so thoroughly possessed. "Look at you," he breathed, voice thick with desire. "Taking both of us like you were made for it."

Bradley's usual restraint was slipping, his breath coming in short pants as Nick's tongue worked between them. "So perfect," he murmured, his fingers gentle against her scalp despite the intensity of the moment.

Nick hummed in satisfaction, the vibration making both men curse simultaneously. She loved this—being the center of their attention, the focal point where their usual competition transformed into cooperation. Her hands reached up to stroke what her mouth couldn't accommodate, working in tandem to pleasure them both.

Her own arousal dripped from her folds. She couldn't help herself and brought her fingers to her clit, applying small circles to her sensitive bud.

“Did Bradley or I say you could touch yourself?”

Nick immediately withdrew her hand, a small whimper escaping her as she looked up at Jake with pleading eyes.

"No, sir," she managed to say as they pulled back slightly, allowing her to speak.

"That's what I thought," Jake said, his voice rough with desire and authority. "You don't come until we say so. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," she whispered, her body aching with need.

Bradley's hand traced along her jaw, his touch gentler than Jake's but no less commanding. "You'll get what you need," he promised, his voice low and steady. "But first, you'll take care of us."

Nick nodded eagerly, leaning forward to take them both again. The flight jacket slipped off one shoulder as she worked, the leather cool against her overheated skin. The sight of her—on her knees, wearing nothing but Jake's flight jacket and her black panties—was almost too much for both men.

"Fuck," Jake groaned, his control slipping. "I can't—"

"Me neither," Bradley admitted, his usually measured voice strained.

Jake pulled back first, his hand replacing Nick's as he stroked himself. "Stand up," he commanded, his voice rough with need.

Nick rose to her feet on shaky legs, the oversized flight jacket hanging off her frame. Before she could catch her breath, Jake picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. She let out an involuntary giggle at the way he easily handled her.

Jake carried her to the bedroom with Bradley following close behind, his eyes never leaving the curve of her body beneath the jacket. The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

"Put me down, Hangman," Nick demanded, though there was laughter in her voice as she playfully smacked his back.

"Not a chance, darlin'," Jake replied, depositing her on the bed with surprising gentleness. He stood over her, eyes dark with desire as he took in the sight of her sprawled across his sheets, flight jacket open to reveal her nearly naked body. "Look at her, Rooster. Wearing my jacket, in my bed." He cooed. "But these need to go," Jake growled, hooking his fingers into her black lace panties and sliding them down her legs in one smooth motion. He tossed them aside, leaving her in nothing but his flight jacket.

Bradley approached the bed more slowly, removing his shirt as he moved. The planes of his chest were illuminated by the dim bedroom light, highlighting the taut muscles that Nick had traced with her fingertips countless times.

"How do you want her?" Bradley asked Jake, his voice low and thick with desire as he shed the last of his clothing.

Jake's eyes never left Nick's body as he unbuttoned his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. "On her back first," he decided, kneeling on the bed beside her. "I want to watch her face when you make her come."

Nick's breath caught at his words, her body already responding to the command in his voice. Jake slid behind her on the bed, propping himself against the headboard and pulling her back against his chest. The flight jacket still open completely, leaving her exposed to Bradley's hungry gaze.

"Spread your legs for him," Jake whispered against her ear, his hands sliding up to cup her breasts. "Show him how much you want him."

Nick complied without hesitation, parting her thighs as Bradley moved between them.

Bradley moved between her parted thighs with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving hers. Unlike Jake's predatory intensity, Bradley's approach was almost reverent—each touch calculated for maximum effect.

"You've been so good for us," he murmured, his hands sliding up her inner thighs. "Taking everything we've given you."

Behind her, Jake's fingers teased her nipples to stiff peaks, his lips tracing a hot path along her neck. "But you haven't been entirely good, have you?" he whispered, teeth grazing her earlobe. "Teasing us at the bar, touching yourself without permission..."

Nick's head fell back against Jake's shoulder, a soft moan escaping her lips as Bradley's thumbs traced circles dangerously close to where she needed him most. "I'm sorry, sir," she breathed, though the smile playing on her lips said otherwise.

Bradley's lips quirked into a rare smile as his eyes met Jake's over her shoulder. "I don't think she's sorry at all," he observed, his fingers finally—finally—brushing against her slick folds.

"Not even a little bit," Jake agreed, one hand leaving her breast to tangle in her hair, turning her face toward his. "Are you, darlin'?"

"No," Nick admitted breathlessly, her hips instinctively arching toward Bradley's teasing touch. "But I can pretend if that's what you want."

Jake laughed, the sound vibrating through her back. "Always so defiant." He captured her mouth in a bruising kiss, swallowing her gasp as Bradley chose that moment to slide two fingers inside her.

The dual sensation—Jake's demanding kiss and Bradley's precise ministrations—was overwhelming. Nick moaned into Jake's mouth, her body arching between them as Bradley's fingers curled inside her, finding that perfect spot with practiced ease.

"She's so wet," Bradley murmured, his voice thick with desire as he watched her respond to his touch. "Has been since we got here."

Jake broke the kiss, his hand still tangled in her hair as he held her gaze. "Were you this wet at the bar, thinking about what we'd do to you later?" His free hand returned to her breast, pinching her nipple just hard enough to make her gasp.

"Yes Sir," Nick admitted, her voice catching as Bradley's thumb found her clit, circling it with deliberate pressure. "Every time you bent over the pool table... every time Bradley's arm brushed against mine..."

"I knew it," Jake growled, his grip tightening possessively in her hair. "Standing there in that bar, pretending to be strangers while you were soaked for us both."

Bradley's pace increased, his fingers working her with ruthless precision as his thumb continued its relentless circles against her clit. Nick's breath came in short gasps, her body caught between them—Jake's solid warmth at her back, Bradley's intense focus between her thighs. The flight jacket clung to her sweat-dampened skin, the leather creaking softly with each movement.

"Please," she whispered, her hips rocking against Bradley's hand. "I need—"

"What do you need?" Bradley asked, his voice deceptively calm despite the heat in his eyes. "Tell us."

"I need to come," Nick begged, all pretense of defiance gone now, replaced by raw need. "Please let me come."

Jake's lips curved against her neck. "What did we say about addressing us?”

"I need to come, sir," Nick corrected herself immediately, her voice breaking as Bradley curled his fingers inside her. "Please, sirs. Please let me come."

Jake's eyes met Bradley's over her shoulder, a silent communication passing between them. Bradley nodded almost imperceptibly, his fingers maintaining their relentless rhythm.

"Since you asked so nicely," Jake murmured against her ear. "Come for us, darlin'. Show us how good we make you feel."

The permission was all she needed. Nick's body tensed between them, her back arching off Jake's chest as waves of pleasure crashed through her. Bradley maintained his perfect rhythm, drawing out her orgasm as Jake held her firmly against him, whispering praise against her skin.

"That's it, so beautiful," Jake murmured, his free hand splayed across her stomach to feel the tremors running through her. "Let go for us."

Nick cried out, her body shuddering between them as Bradley worked her through her release. Her fingers clutched at Jake's thigh behind her, nails digging into his skin as she rode out the intense pleasure.

As her breathing began to steady, Bradley withdrew his fingers slowly, his eyes locked on her flushed face. "Good girl," he praised, his voice thick with need. "But we're not done with you yet."

Jake shifted beneath her, his arousal evident against her back. "Not even close," he growled, his hands sliding beneath the flight jacket to grip her waist. "Turn around. I want you on top."

Nick complied on shaky legs, the jacket sliding completely off both shoulders this time as she straddled Jake. He quickly shed his T-shirt, the last remnant of clothing he had on.

His hands immediately gripped her hips, positioning her over him with possessive certainty.

"Take me," he commanded, his eyes dark with desire as he looked up at her.

Nick sank down onto him slowly, a gasping moan escaping her lips as she took him fully inside. The flight jacket hung open around her, framing her body as she began to move.

"That's it," Jake encouraged, his fingers digging into her hips. "Show Rooster how well you ride."

Bradley moved behind her, his hands sliding beneath the jacket to caress her back. She felt him press against her, his chest warm against her spine as his lips found her shoulder.

"So beautiful," he murmured, one hand reaching around to cup her breast as she rode Jake with increasing intensity. “Bet you want both of us to fill you up, don't you?”

Nick whimpered at Bradley's words, her pace faltering slightly as Jake thrust up to meet her. "Yes," she breathed, her head falling back against Bradley's shoulder. "God, yes. Both of you."

Bradley's hand slid from her breast, down her stomach, finding where she and Jake were joined. His fingers circled her sensitive bud, making her gasp and clench around Jake.

"Fuck," Jake groaned, his grip tightening on her hips. "She gets so tight when you touch her like that."

Bradley continued his ministrations, his other hand reaching for the bedside drawer where they kept supplies. Nick heard the familiar sound of a cap opening, then felt Bradley's slick fingers tracing patterns down her spine, circling lower with deliberate intent.

"Relax for me," Bradley murmured against her ear as one finger pressed gently against her entrance to prepare her for his cock.

Nick moaned as Bradley's finger breached her, the dual sensation of being filled by Jake while Bradley prepared her setting her nerve endings on fire. She leaned forward, bracing her hands on Jake's chest.

"That's it," Bradley encouraged, adding a second finger as Jake slowed his thrusts to allow her to adjust. "Just breathe."

"I need you both," Nick gasped, her body trembling with anticipation. The forbidden nature of their arrangement, the secrecy they maintained, the taboo of what they were doing—it all heightened every sensation, made every touch electric.

Jake reached up, pushing the jacket off her shoulders completely so he could see all of her. His eyes were dark with possession as he watched her face.

"You're going to get us both, Darlin', don't worry," Jake murmured, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. "Just like you want."

Bradley withdrew his fingers slowly, positioning himself behind her. Nick felt the blunt pressure of him against her prepared entrance, her breath catching in anticipation. He entered her with exquisite care, each inch a deliberate conquest as Jake remained perfectly still beneath her.

"Breathe," Bradley reminded her, his voice a soothing counterpoint to the intense stretch of accommodating them both. His hands splayed across her lower back, steadying her as she adjusted to the overwhelming fullness.

"Oh god," Nick gasped, her body trembling between them. The sensation of both men inside her, filling her completely, was overwhelming in the best possible way. Nothing in her life had ever felt as intense, as consuming as these moments when they claimed her simultaneously.

"You okay?" Jake asked, his voice strained but concerned as he studied her face.

Nick nodded, unable to form words as her body adjusted to the dual invasion. The fullness was exquisite—Jake's thickness stretching her from below while Bradley's careful entry from behind completed her in ways she'd never imagined possible before these two men had entered her life.

"Our girl," Bradley murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder blade.

"Your girl," she happily hummed.

Slowly, Bradley began to move, setting a careful rhythm that Jake matched from below. The synchronization between them was flawless—like their flying formations, Nick thought hazily, each man responding to the other's cues without a word spoken between them.

"Look at you," Jake growled, his eyes locked on her face as pleasure overtook her features. "Taking both of us so perfectly."

Nick could only moan in response, her body trembling between them as they established a rhythm that drove her steadily toward another peak. Bradley's hands gripped her hips with careful strength, while Jake's fingers dug into her thighs, both men anchoring her between them.

"Does anyone at that bar have any idea what you're really like?" Jake continued, his voice rough with exertion. "What the boss's daughter really does in her spare time?"

The forbidden nature of their arrangement sent another wave of pleasure coursing through Nick's body. "No," she gasped, her head falling forward as Bradley hit a particularly sensitive spot. "Only you two know... only you..."

"And that's how it's going to stay," Bradley growled, the rare display of possessiveness making her clench around both men. "Our beautiful secret."

Their pace increased, the careful rhythm giving way to more urgent thrusts as all three of them approached the edge. Nick's second orgasm was building rapidly, her nerves singing with each perfectly synchronized movement.

"I'm close," she warned, her voice breaking as Jake's thumb found her clit, circling with practiced precision.

"Not yet," Jake commanded, his thumb stilling against her clit. "Together. We come together."

Nick whimpered, hovering on the edge as both men controlled their pace with military precision. Bradley's chest pressed against her back, his breath hot against her neck as he whispered encouragements in her ear.

"Just a little longer," he murmured, his voice strained but steady. "You're doing so well."

Jake's eyes never left her face, drinking in every flicker of pleasure that crossed her features. His hand tangled in her hair, pulling her down for a bruising kiss that Bradley used as an opportunity to increase his pace.

"Now," Jake finally growled against her lips, his control fracturing as he felt Bradley's rhythm falter. "Come for us now, darlin'."

His thumb resumed its circles against her sensitive bud, and Nick shattered between them, her cry deafening.

Her cry was muffled against Jake's mouth as her body convulsed with pleasure. The intensity of her orgasm triggered both men simultaneously—Jake cursing against her lips while Bradley's forehead pressed between her shoulder blades, his usual restraint completely abandoned as he pulsed inside her.

For several moments, the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing as they remained locked together, bodies slick with sweat and trembling with aftershocks.

Bradley was the first to move, carefully withdrawing and pressing a tender kiss to her spine before disappearing into the bathroom. Jake's arms wrapped around Nick, cradling her against his chest as she collapsed onto him, completely spent.

"You okay?" he murmured, brushing damp hair from her forehead with uncharacteristic gentleness.

Nick nodded against his chest, too exhausted for words. The intensity of being with both of them always left her in this state—utterly satisfied yet somehow vulnerable, stripped of her usual defenses.

Bradley returned with a warm washcloth, his movements gentle as he cleaned her. This was their ritual—Jake holding her while Bradley took care of the practical aftermath, each man expressing his care in ways that suited his nature.

"That was..." Nick finally managed, her voice hoarse.

"Incredible," Bradley supplied, climbing back onto the bed beside them.

"Worth almost blowing our cover," Jake added with a smirk, his hand lazily tracing patterns along her spine.

Nick laughed softly, the sound muffled against Jake's chest. "I still can't believe Phoenix invited me to your hangout spot. What are the odds?"

"Pretty high, considering it’s the only bar for miles," Bradley pointed out, stretching beside her. His hand found hers, fingers interlacing with casual intimacy. "We’ll need to be more careful moving forward."

Nick sighed, shifting to lie between them. "I know. But part of me wonders if we could just... tell people. Not everyone, but maybe—"

"No," Jake interrupted, his tone unusually serious. "Your dad would try to have us grounded faster than you can say 'career-ending mistake.'"

"He’s right," Bradley agreed, his thumb tracing circles on her palm. "The Navy isn’t exactly built for this kind of relationship dynamic. And your father..."

"Would lose his mind," Jake finished. "Probably file a transfer request so fast our heads would spin."

Nick groaned, burying her face against Jake’s chest. "I know. I just hate sneaking around. I’m really happy with you both, and I just want to shout it from the rooftops. I want everyone to see how happy I am, how happy you both make me, and how you're both all mine."

Bradley propped himself up on one elbow, studying her face. "This isn’t forever," he said quietly. "It’s just until we figure out where this is going—how serious it really is—and the best way to handle it."

Jake nodded, his fingers tangling in her hair. "Exactly. Once we know, we can decide how to move forward. Together."

Nick bit her lip, guilt flashing across her features. "I’m sorry. I should’ve found a way to decline when Phoenix invited me."

"No," Bradley said firmly. "You couldn’t have without raising suspicion. We just need to be better prepared for next time."

Jake nodded, his tactical mind already working through scenarios. "We need a system. A heads-up when one of us might run into the other unexpectedly."

Nick sighed, pressing a kiss to Bradley’s chest before turning to face Jake. "I just wish we didn’t have to be so careful. It feels like we’re doing something wrong."

"We’re not," Jake assured her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with surprising tenderness. "But the Navy has rules, and your father has expectations, and none of those account for... this."

Bradley’s hand traced lazy circles on her back. "And when people find out..." He paused, eyes meeting Jake’s over Nick’s head. "There will be talk. About all of us."

Nick closed her eyes, letting herself be enveloped in their warmth. "I can handle talk. I’ve been handling talk my whole life—about my dad, about being a woman in engineering, about everything. What I can’t handle is pretending like you both don’t mean anything to me."

Jake’s usual cockiness softened into something more genuine. "For now, we just need to be smart about this. No more surprises."

Nick looked between them—these two men who couldn’t be more different yet somehow fit seamlessly into her life. "I can do that. For both of you, I can do that."

"Good, because I think I can speak for Bradley when I say we’d like to see if this can one day be more permanent."

Bradley nodded in agreement.

Nick’s heart skipped at the word *permanent.* It wasn’t something they discussed often—the future beyond their current arrangement. Especially since their relationship was only a few weeks old. "You both mean that?"

"I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t," Jake replied, his usual bravado tempered by rare vulnerability. "I don’t share well, darlin’. The fact that I’m willing to share you with Bradley should tell you everything you need to know about how serious I am."

Bradley chuckled. "That might be the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard you say, Hangman."

Nick laughed too, snuggling into Jake as she did.

"Oh, so you find that funny?" Jake teased. "How about this—do you find *this* funny?" His fingers darted to her sides.

Nick squealed, squirming between them as Jake found her most ticklish spots. "Stop!" she gasped between laughs, trying unsuccessfully to escape his grasp. "Bradley, help me!"

Bradley’s lips curved into a rare mischievous smile. "I think I’ll help him instead," he decided, his fingers joining Jake’s assault on her ribs.

"Traitor!" Nick shrieked, her laughter filling the bedroom as she writhed helplessly between them.Her naked body vulnerable to their merciless tickling.

Jake pinned her wrists above her head with one hand while continuing his assault with the other. "Still think I'm funny, darlin'?" Jake asked, his eyes dancing with amusement as Nick gasped for breath.

"Yes!" she managed between fits of laughter. "The funniest-looking pilot at Top Gun!"

Jake's eyes widened in mock outrage. "Oh, that's it." He redoubled his efforts, finding the spot beneath her ribs that always made her shriek when tickled.

Bradley laughed, a rare full-throated sound as he watched them wrestle. After enjoying the spectacle for a moment, he caught Jake’s wrist. "Enough—she can't breathe."

Jake relented, though the predatory gleam remained in his eyes as Nick gasped for air, her chest rising and falling rapidly. "Lucky for you, Rooster’s feeling merciful," he told her, releasing her wrists.

"My hero," Nick panted, curling into Bradley’s side and wrapping her arms tightly around his waist. Her hair was a wild tangle around her flushed face, her eyes bright with laughter.

Jake stretched out beside them, his hand resting possessively on Nick’s hip. "Don’t get too comfortable with him. I’m still mad about that 'funniest-looking pilot' comment."

Nick grinned, peering at him over Bradley’s chest. "What are you going to do about it, Hangman?"

"I’ll think of something," Jake promised, his eyes darkening with playful threat. "When you least expect it."

Bradley’s arm tightened around Nick protectively, though his lips quirked in amusement. "You’ll have to get through me first."

"As if that would be difficult," Jake scoffed, though there was no real heat in his words. His hand slid up from Nick’s hip, tracing lazy patterns along her back. "I’ve shot you down in simulations, what—seventeen times now?"

"Sixteen," Bradley corrected automatically. "And I’ve returned the favor fourteen times."

Nick laughed, the sound muffled against Bradley’s chest. "My heroes, comparing kill counts while lying in bed."

"Occupational hazard," Jake shrugged, leaning over to press a surprisingly gentle kiss to her shoulder. "Dating two fighter pilots."

The casual use of the word 'dating' made something warm unfurl in Nick’s chest. It wasn’t a term they used often—their relationship defied conventional labels. Usually, they spoke in terms of arrangements, agreements, stolen moments. Dating sounded almost... normal.

Bradley must have caught the expression on her face, because his eyes softened as he traced her cheek with his fingertips. "That’s what this is, isn’t it?" he asked quietly. "The three of us dating?"

"Is that what we’re calling it now?" Nick asked, a vulnerability in her voice she rarely allowed herself to show. "Dating?"

Jake propped himself up on one elbow, his usual cocky demeanor giving way to something more serious. "Call it whatever you want, darlin'. Dating, relationship, arrangement—it doesn’t change what it is."

"And what is it?" she pressed, looking between them both.

"It’s us," Bradley said simply, his thumb tracing her lower lip. "The three of us, figuring it out together."

Jake nodded, his hand finding hers and squeezing gently. "What he said. Though I’d add that it’s us dating you, and you dating us."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "That’s your definition? You two aren’t dating each other?"

Jake and Bradley exchanged a look over her head—one of those silent communications they'd perfected both in the cockpit and in life.

"I wouldn’t say that," Bradley said carefully, his fingers still tracing patterns on her skin. "It’s more complicated."

"Complicated how?" Nick pressed, curiosity piqued by their sudden hesitation.

Jake sighed, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "We don’t exactly... function without you as the center," he admitted. "You’re the bridge."

"The catalyst," Bradley added, his analytical mind finding the precise term. "Without you, we’d probably still be at each other’s throats."

Nick considered this, a small smile playing at her lips. "So I’m like the buffer zone between two warring nations?"

Jake laughed. "Kind of. Basically, what we’re saying, darlin', is we’re not romantically interested in each other. We’re only interested in you. And since you don’t want just one of us, you want both—then that’s what you’re getting."

Nick smiled, a warmth spreading through her chest. "So what you’re saying is, I’m stuck with both of you."

"Afraid so," Jake confirmed, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Package deal."

Bradley’s fingers continued their gentle exploration of her skin, tracing invisible patterns across her shoulder. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"No," Nick answered without hesitation, snuggling deeper between them. "It’s perfect, actually. You balance each other out."

Jake snorted. "That’s a diplomatic way of saying he’s boring and I’m—"

"Exhausting," Bradley finished for him, though there was no malice in his tone.

Nick laughed, the sound vibrating through all three of them. "I was going to say that Bradley’s steadiness complements Jake’s intensity. Together, you’re exactly what I need."

Jake’s expression softened in a way few people ever witnessed. "And you’re exactly what we need."

Bradley nodded in agreement, his arm tightening around her waist. "Exactly."

A comfortable silence settled over them, the only sound their synchronized breathing in the dim bedroom. Nick felt herself drifting toward sleep, cocooned between their warm bodies.

"So," Jake murmured after a while, his voice tinged with tenderness. "I know it’s late, but would you like me to run you a hot bath?"

Nick’s eyes fluttered open. "As tempting as that sounds, I’d much rather have you two hold me. But if you’re offering to do things for me, I do have a favor to ask."

"Sure. What is it?" Bradley asked.

"My mom said she was going to ship a bunch of my things to me, and they’re supposed to arrive tomorrow. Would you guys be willing to help me get them into the apartment and unpack everything?"

"Only if you make it worth our while," Jake replied with a playful smirk, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her skin.

Bradley nodded, his hand finding hers and giving a gentle squeeze. "I have a morning flight, but I'm free after 1400."

"Perfect," Nick murmured, settling back between them. "Jake?"

"I'll make it work," he promised, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "Though if your dad finds out and calls asking why two of his pilots are helping his daughter move boxes..."

"I’ll tell him I’m paying you in beer and pizza like a normal person," Nick replied, her eyes already growing heavy with sleep. "Not... other forms of compensation."

Bradley chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Probably for the best. I don’t think your father would appreciate knowing the full terms of our arrangement."

"Definitely not," Jake agreed, his voice growing drowsy. "I like my head attached to my body."

Nick smiled, her exhaustion tugging at her senses. "He’d have to catch you first."

"And I am the best pilot on base," Jake murmured smugly.

"Second best," Bradley corrected automatically.

Nick laughed softly between them. "Here we go again."

Jake opened his mouth to argue but instead pressed a kiss to Nick’s temple. "We can settle this tomorrow. Sleep now."

"Yes, sir," she whispered teasingly, already half-asleep.

As she drifted off, cocooned between their warmth, Nick couldn’t help the smile that slowly appeared on her face.

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[enamcr]

river was unraveling. completely. she whimpered his name. moaned it like it meant something and it did. god, it did. her voice, that helpless breathless tone of hers, lit him up like nothing else. and the way her body took him? gripped him like she was built for it, like she’d been aching for him every second they'd been apart. it made him feel devastated and honored at the same time, every slow slide of his cock stoking something desperate in his gut. and then she said it... 'yours' and his rhythm faltered just enough to show what that did to him. just enough to betray how hard he was trying not to completely lose it. “mine.” he echoed, wrecked. “fucking mine, will.” he drove into her harder, now fully leaning into the hunger between them, into the obscene, slick sounds of their bodies meeting over and over again. could barely hold himself together with how tight she was, how warm, how willing, needing him the way he needed her. but then she looked at him, gave him that perfect angle, foot perched on the counter to open herself up even more, let him deeper and river saw stars. he let out a low, broken sound, shoved even further inside until he was fully seated again, groaning when her hips rolled to meet him. “holy fuck, baby.” he gasped, forehead dropping to her temple as he thrust in deep again, held there. “you’re gonna ruin me like this.” she said 'as long as you promise to stay' and river froze. not because he hesitated. but because something in him cracked open at the words. the kind of cracking that meant truth was about to come spilling out. he turned her face to his again, kissed her like it was the only way he knew how to speak, deep and messy and full of devotion. then he rested his forehead against hers, their breath tangled, everything raw. “i’m not going anywhere.” he whispered against her lips, voice hoarse with emotion and heat. “you have me. all of me.” then he snapped his hips forward again, slow but hard, deep enough to make her feel that promise. “you’re already in my fucking bones, will.” another thrust, slow and brutal, grinding into the spot that made her cry out. “there’s no getting you out.”

will whimpered again, feeling his hand close a little around her throat. enough pressure that it made her aware of every breath she was taking, like every single one belonged to him. because it felt like it, honestly. a good reminder, one that had her melting all over again. "river, fuck–" felt a moan deep from her chest fall out as he bottomed out in her, could feel his all of cock nestle perfectly inside, like their bodies were collectively sighing from relief that they were together again. could feel river's hard grip on her waist and almost wished that it would bruise, would give her something to marvel at tomorrow morning. it was almost grounding too, because he began moving, and will swore her body began to crumble inside itself. "oh my god," she moaned, felt every inch of him slide in and out of her, her walls clinging and swallowing everytime he pulled out and pushed back in. it didn't help at all that he was replying to her every plea, knew he meant it too, could feel the mutual electricity between them. and then river snapped his hips into her roughly, knocking her back, and her eyes rolled. felt the pleasure go up to her head so fast she needed a second to even realize what happened. "yours," will moaned, mouth hanging open, unfiltered in her greed, was so enamoured by him that if they could, her eyes would've formed hearts right then. "all yours, 'm all yours, river's." showed no resistance as he tilted her head up, happily took the instruction to keep her eyes glued to him, felt needier by the second, pleasure building in her gut quickly. "as long as–" paused to swallow the gravel from her voice, "as long as your promise to stay." leaned back then to perch her foot up on the island, knee bent, giving him better access to her. deeper access, the new angle even allowing her to roll her hip forward. her moan was loud and obscene. "going to make me crazy, river."