#lightning comes in pairs fic

[firinnie]

Telemachus and the exiled!Athena

Characters for my latest fic Lightning comes in pairs, so we have winter fun in Ancient Greece, and Athena learns how not to die being mortal.

[em1i2a3]

Crying Lightning

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolt!Lab Tech!Fem!Reader!

Summary: You have been studying a flower that Bucky brought back from one of his missions. When Bob comes to visit you in the labs to bring you lunch and messes with the unbloomed item you realize the sinister effects of it very quickly.

Warning: 18+ Minors DNI! Ahem…We got a sex pollen fic, so there is smut, and fluff afterwards, and aftercare as well. Reader and Bob are close, and both of them have feelings for one another but it has all gone unspoken…Until now at least lol. There is swearing too.

Smut Warnings: Unprotected P in V Sex (…Y’all know what I’m gonna say. Wrap it up), Fingering, Oral Sex (fem! Receiving), Handjob, There’s a little bit of dominance from Bob/Sentry…And he talks you through it ahhahahahahah (oh god), Messy/Sensual Sex, There are like hints of primal energy sprinkled in here, but nothing too major, there’s mentioning of pheromones and stuff like that, Praise/Worship Kink, Spitting, Dirty Talk, Scratching, Some Choking (not rough), Cum eating, Aftercare.

Author’s Note: Woot Woot! We love a good sex pollen fic lol. Did I expect to be writing one? No. But I’ve always liked the concept and I’m so glad @mccinnamon-bun asked me to do this! Thank you <3, I really loved writing it! So so fun! Enjoy!

Word Count: 15,684

“I brought you something,” Bucky announced, stepping into your lab just as the doors slid open with their usual quiet hiss.

You didn’t look up right away. Perched cross-legged on the edge of your workbench, you were half-buried in mission reports that were a week overdue, scribbling notes with one hand and nursing a cold cup of coffee in the other. Your head snapped up, however, the second you heard the rustle of fabric and gear–a familiar sound you’d grown used to distinguishing in crowded hallways.

Bucky stood in the entryway, wind-tousled and still in partial tactical gear. The sleeves of his black shirt were pushed up to the elbows, revealing the flex of muscle and dull gleam of vibranium beneath. He had a look in his eye that was hard to read–half sheepish, half pleased with himself–and he was already fishing through one of the many compartments in his bag. He didn’t speak again until he pulled something out with a sort of slow care.

”Ta da.” You raised an eyebrow at him, seeing him pull something from his bag like it was a treasure he’d smuggled across enemy lines. You hopped off the bench with a soft thud and crossed the room toward him, curiosity instantly piqued–mostly because Bucky Barnes was not one to say ‘ta da’. Not unless he was hiding something behind that half-smirk of his.

Your eyes immediately caught sight of what he was holding.

The flower hadn’t bloomed yet, but even in its dormant state, it was breathtaking. The outer petals were tightly furled, each one smooth and iridescent like the type you would find on shells of certain mollusks–but it was shaded in a gradient you couldn’t quite place. They started as an inky, oil-slick blue at the base, then rippled out into smoky violets and blushing wine tones near the tips. Delicate veins shimmered faintly across the surface, catching the lab lights with a strange metallic luster, almost like the petals were dusted in powdered silver.

The stem curved gently, a deep green tinged with gold, and the leaves were narrow, slightly translucent, and lined with fine threads of coppery red. Even when it wasn’t fully bloomed, it had an energy to it. A heat, almost. As if it were responding to the proximity of warm skin and breath. You squinted at it.

”Bucky, if this is your idea of asking me out on a date, you really need to brush up on your courting skills.” He let out a sharp bark of laughter, head dropping forward briefly with a grin.

“Hey,” He said, handing the flower over to you carefully, “You’re the one who told me, if I saw anything weird, unknown, alien, or otherwise ‘botanically suspicious,’ I should bring you back a sample.” You gingerly accepted the stem, trying not to touch the tightly closed bud itself.

”Yeah, I meant specifiers, not some interstellar looking thing.” You shot back. He leaned against a nearby counter.

”Don’t say I never do anything for you.” He commented back. You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your mouth betrayed your fondness.

”You absolutely broke every rule of containment protocol by walking this thing straight into my lab, but…” You gave the top of the flower another slow once-over, still entranced, “Thanks for thinking of me.” You turned, crossing to your bench and plucking a clean beaker from the rack. You filled it with a few inches of distilled water, and set the flower inside, watching it float just enough to stay upright. The petals didn’t open, but they flexed slightly–like they were stretching, or drinking the water you had put the stem in.

”So,” You started, glancing over your shoulder to where Bucky was still leaning, “Where’d you find it?” You asked, watching him give you a small, casual shrug.

”There was a patch of them, right off the tree line. I spotted them on my way back to the quinjet. Figured I’d snatch one up before anyone else trampled it.” You hummed, turning your head away–not noticing the way his gaze lingered on the flower for a beat too long. You were too busy cataloguing the possibilities in your head. It was too vibrant to be terrestrial, but it wasn’t necessarily alien. Possibly hybridized. The energy you felt coming off of it could’ve been psychosomatic–but you weren’t one to write something off without running tests.

“And you’re sure no one else touched them?” You asked, looking back over at him to see if you can spot any of the tells he had when he was lying. His brow lifted toward you.

”I mean…I touched one obviously.” You gave him a pointed look, and he immediately held up both hands.

”Didn’t eat it. Didn’t stick it up my nose. I was the only one that touched anything. Scout’s honor.” You snorted, and shook your head.

”Alright, Barnes…I’ll bite. I’ll run some diagnostics. Spectrograph, chemical composition, basic pollen analysis when it blooms…All the sciencey things that you don’t understand, then I’ll get back to you.” He gave you a mock salute and pushed himself off the table he was leaning against, going toward the door.

”Just make sure you name it after me if it ends up trying to kill you.”

”Noted,” You called, “But if it ends up giving me superpowers instead, I’ll be naming it after myself.” He was still laughing as the door slid shut behind him. You turned back to the flower, now gently swirling in the water–its petals flexing once more, as if hearing your voice. You leaned in just a touch, and breathed in slightly.

You could’ve sworn it hadn’t smelled like anything before, but now…

Now it smelled faintly of summer rain, citrus, and the soft trace of jasmine. It was warm, soft, and inviting, like it was trying to beckon you to come closer to it. You straightened slowly, then reached blindly across the workbench for a spare sheet of scrap paper, grabbing the pen you had tucked behind your ear.

”Initial scent: None. Notable change after water exposure–New profile: humid, citrus notes, floral base (jasmine like). Unsettling–shift occurred in under two minutes.” You tapped the end of your pen lightly against your chin, your gaze never leaving the beaker. The flower was still half-closed, petals fluttering slightly in the water like they were breathing–like they were aware. The surface tension of the liquid shimmered faintly around the base of the stem, as though reacting to something within the plant.

You didn’t like that.

Flowers didn’t just change their chemical profile that fast. Not unless they were highly volatile. Not unless they were engineered.

A muscle tensed along your jaw.

You slid the note aside and moved quickly now, grabbing a glass containment dome from one of the side drawers–a heat-tempered cloche you typically used when running long-term decay tests on bio-samples. It wasn’t hermetically sealed, but it would be enough to contain most airborne particulates.

Just in case.

You placed it gently over the beaker and the flower with practiced care, watching as the edges sealed against the bench with a soft thunk. The scent dimmed immediatel-ybut didn’t vanish. It clung to the air like it had already soaked into the fibers of your clothes, your skin.

You took a step back, and another, suddenly aware of the way the heat of the room felt a degree too warm.

Your eyes narrowed. You made another note.

“Mild thermal increase noted (subjective). Investigate potential volatile compounds. Possible synthetic ancestry. Unknown reaction to water exposure–possible activation trigger?”

You stood still for a moment longer, arms crossed over your chest now, staring at the flower like it might start humming.

Then you exhaled through your nose, gave your head a small shake, and muttered, “Okay, mystery plant. Let’s see what you’re hiding.”

You turned on your heel and crossed to the far side of the lab, grabbing gloves, pipettes, and a test slide. You didn’t see the way the petals quivered beneath the glass dome. Or the way the center of the bud pulsed–slowly, rhythmically–as if something within it had begun to wake.

You were too busy prepping your tools.

You’d get your first sample from the outermost edge of the petal, where a small amount of condensation had begun to form–right where the flower had interacted with the water. It wasn’t much. Just enough to suggest a subtle chemical discharge. A secretion, maybe. Or pollen.

Your gloved fingers hovered just beside the dome.

You paused.

A thought scratched quietly at the back of your mind, the way instincts sometimes do when they’re not fully formed.

You didn’t ignore it.

You stepped back again.

Instead of removing the dome outright, you retrieved your small fume extractor arm—used mostly for soldering–and wheeled it over until its head hovered just above the cloche’s apex. You flicked the switch, and a soft hum filled the room as the extractor began to filter the air directly above the sample.

Another note:

“Smell is still detectable after containment. Strong. Possibly psychoactive. Proceeding with caution.”

Still, despite your wariness, you found yourself walking back toward the glass.

One more glance. Just to be sure.

The flower was still closed–but now its bud looked fuller. Like it had begun to swell. One of the petals had unfurled the tiniest bit. Barely a sliver.

But just enough for you to see a glint of gold pollen resting in the shadows of its center.

It shimmered like dust caught in a sunbeam.

You stared.

And then, carefully, you reached over to your comm unit and tapped the call button for your assistant team over in the biocontainment lab.

“Hey,” You said when the line clicked open, voice low. “I’ve got a…Weird one. Found by Barnes. It’s stable, but I want a second containment unit prepped in case things escalate.”

A pause on the line. Then:

“Escalate how?”

You glanced back at the flower. That scent. That impossible shimmer. You didn’t know yet.

“Just…Prep it,” You replied. “I’ll send over a sample in a few.”

And then you muted the line.

You looked down at the flower one more time.

It was no longer just beautiful.

It was waiting.

———————

It had been three days since Bucky dropped the flower off, and by this time it had bloomed. Not delicately, and certainly not in the way flowers usually did–with gradual graceful predictability. No. This thing had opened like it knew it was being watched and studied by you.

When you came down to your lab the morning after Bucky brought you the mysterious flower, the petals had fully unfurled–broad, sweeping things with a high-gloss sheen and hypnotic gradients that shifted from gold to scarlet to bruise-dark purple depending on the light. The stamen in its center now pulsed visibly, a slow inhale-exhale rhythm that made the entire structure look…Alive. The pollen shimmered every time it moved, a near-invisible cloud that never seemed to settle but floated in still air like it was defying gravity. Or logic.

You had kept it sealed tight under the reinforced cloche, and had the triple-filtered vents on and the entire section of the lab cordoned off with containment protocols. Your notes had doubled in size, and still, nothing definitive had come back from the biocontainment team. There were just vague updates telling you that they were behind on other specimens and that they would get around to it when they could.

So you worked around it. You monitored. You wrote. You catalogued symptoms–your own included, though they were still annoyingly ambiguous: mild temperature spikes, random surges of adrenaline, difficulty concentrating in bursts. But no rash, no lesions, no hallucinations. There was a kind of pressure, similar to urgency but just on the cusp of it, desire maybe–but for what, you had no clue. You had only inhaled a bit of the pollen and hadn’t been exposed since, so you didn’t dwell on it–not with your schedule stacked, and not with your own lab being as backed up as it was.

You were just rinsing a pipette when the door to the lab slid open with a soft hiss.

”H-Hey,” Came the voice you’d come to recognize more easily than your own thoughts lately. You didn’t need to look up to know that it was Bob, but you did anyways, just to catch a glimpse of him.

He was towering and soft-shouldered in a dark grey hoodie with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows, worn sweatpants hugging the curve of his hips, and his crown of light brown hair was in absolute disarray, like he had it tied up and decided to let the locks fall free in front of his face. He looked like someone who didn’t have the slightest clue what he did to people around him, and he truly didn’t know.

The plastic takeout bag in his hand swung gently as he stepped inside, smiling at you like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Brought y-you lunch.” Your stomach growled at the word lunch, and it echoed through the moment of silence that settled between you, which only made Bob’s grin stretch wider.

”Let me guess,” You started, pulling off your gloves and throwing them into the biohazard bin, “You timed this perfectly because you knew my stomach would start making monstrous noises, didn’t you?”He shrugged, with a small smirk on his face, setting the bag down on your cleared desk near one of your monitors.

”You skipped b-breakfast.” You held out a finger.

”No no…I postponed breakfast.” He shook his head.

”You always p-postpone breakfast,” He said, moving past you to pour you a cup of water from the cooler, his big hands making it look smaller than what it actually was, “And if I d-dont show up with something d-decent by 2 p.m, you would just end up inhaling the vending machine c-crackers and freeze-dried apple s-slices…Which is not s-sustainable i-in the slightest.” You couldn’t help but let out a laugh at his comments.

”Seems like someone has been watching me a bit too closely.” He turned and handed you the water, fingers brushing yours as he didn. His hands were boiling as usual, and it left the paper cup feeling warm from where his fingers had been holding it. His eyes lingered on your face a beat longer than necessary.

”I-I always watch you c-closely,” He said softly, like it slipped out before he could catch it. Immediately his eyes glanced down away from you, dropping to the floor for a second, before flicking away toward the cluttered end of your bench like he suddenly remembered a far more interesting smudge on the tile. His cheeks were red–not just a flush, not just a tinge, but a slow bloom of color climbing from the collar of his hoodie up to the tips of his ears.

You said nothing in response. Not because you didn’t notice–because you did. More because if you said anything, if you so much as looked at him with any kind of expression that acknowledged the truth buried in his voice, he might self-destruct on the spot. So instead, you took a slow sip of the water he handed you, letting the quiet hum of the lab fill the air between the both of you.

Then you turned on your heel toward the takeout bag.

”So what’s on the menu today, Chef Bob?” You asked lightly, pulling the plastic open and peeking inside, “Please tell me it’s not another one of your hot dog stir-fry’s.” He let out a groan.

”Listen…I-It was one time, I-I know nobody was a fan of it.” You grinned as you pulled out a tinfoil-wrapped container, unraveling it with careful fingers. A rich, savoury scent wafted up–soy and sesame and something sweet under it, like cane sugar with more of a freshness that was unexpected, “So what am I looking at?”

”Sticky rice, soy-glazed chicken, uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, “T-There’s some grated g-granny smith apple in the glaze…C-Cause I didn’t have honey.” You raised your eyebrows.

”Pretty decent alternative.” You replied.

”Yeah,” He said, shoving his hands into his pockets like he wasn’t sure what to do with them, “You know how S-Sentry gets with processed s-sugars in his system. Makes him a-all buzzy.” You let out a soft laugh.

”So this is officially Sentry-approved, then?”

“F-For the most part,” He mumbled, “I-I think you’re the real t-test though.” That made you pause, glancing up at him, still holding the half-unwrapped meal in your hands, finding his gaze had landed on you again. This time it held something quiet but vulnerable. Expectant, even. Like he really cared what you thought.

And that was the difference between Bob and everyone else–you knew he didn’t make things just to impress. He made them because it gave him joy to offer them. He brought you food not because he wanted credit–but because he worried you wouldn’t eat otherwise. He brought you books because he remembered which ones made your eyes light up. He let you take his blood every month without protest, even when the Sentry made his pulse unpredictable or his veins hard to find, because he trusted you with every part of him–even that. And because of those little things, you always made sure to praise him.

Even when he burned the eggs.

Even when the pasta came out overcooked.

Even when the hot dog stir-fry almost gave you heartburn.

You forked a bite of the rice and chicken, chewed, and let your eyes widen a bit as the warmth hit your tongue. “Okay. Wait. This is actually good.”

He blinked, caught between shock and a smile. “Y-you don’t have to lie.”

“I would lie,” You said, pointing at him with your fork. “But not this convincingly. This? Bob. It’s delicious.” He looked like he didn’t quite know what to do with the praise. He rocked back slightly on his heels, running a hand through his already-messy hair, trying to hide the shy little grin that was pulling at the corners of his mouth. You watched the way his fingers threaded through the strands, the way his forearms flexed under the soft stretch of the hoodie.

You took another bite and leaned against the counter beside him, letting out a hum of satisfaction.

“Y’know,” You said between chews, “If Val found out you were secretly good at this, she’d start expecting meals during debriefs.”

”She’d want a report first,” He said, playing along, “T-Then she’d make Walker taste it for poison.” The both of you laughed lightly. The silence that followed was companionable. Safe. You brushed your shoulder lightly against his as you leaned forward to set the food container down beside the monitor.

His body went still at the contact.

Not because he didn’t want it. But because he did. You knew that reaction well by now–the micro-freeze, the way he’d let the warmth of your hand or arm settle into him like he was still learning he could have it. That it was for him.

You let your arm linger against his for just a second longer.

Then you pulled back, slow and easy.

He looked at you from the side of his eye. His voice was low when he spoke.

”H-How’s the flower?” You glanced toward the containment dome instinctively. The petals shimmered under the harsh lab light, colors shifting in slow gradients like they were part of something fluid, something still breathing. It looked even larger today. Full-bodied. Restless.

“Still haven’t heard anything back from the biocontainment lab,” You said, turning back to Bob and picking up your fork again. “Apparently they’re still backed up from the Skrull fungus incident.”

His face pulled slightly. “God…D-Don’t remind me of t-that.” You nodded grimly.

“I won’t…But this?” You took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. “No movement. Just… opened. Big. Loudly. Like it knew I was looking at it.” Bob followed your glance as you continued to speak, “I breathed in a little bit of the pollen when I first got it–just a trace. It made me really warm. Flushed. But otherwise nothing dramatic. No side effects. No changes. So I think it was just my body reacting to whatever compound it’s putting off–probably a weird hybridization. Something experimental maybe.” Bob’s brow furrowed at this comment.

”You s-should’ve been wearing a m-mask.” You huffed a laugh, nudging your shoulder into his again.

”Please, I’m pretty sure I’ve been exposed to worse.”

“S-Sure,” He said quietly, his gaze fixed on you now, “B-But definitely not like this.” There was something layered in his voice—concern wrapped around protectiveness, softened by something you didn’t dare name.

You didn’t say anything to it. Just took another bite of the meal he made, let the flavor distract you from how closely he was watching you now. He shifted beside you, and you knew it was only a matter of time before–

“How’s the Golden God doing, by the way…Totally forgot to ask.” Bob rolled his eyes, “You know you’ve got bloodwork today, and I know how much he looks forward to that.” He grimaced.

”D-Darn…I f-forgot that was today.”

“You always forget,” You mumbled between bites, mockingly stern in tone, “Even though we’ve had the same schedule for, what–eight months?”

“Nine,” He corrected, “You count too?”

“Only because I have to track your blood chemistry, Bob.” He gave you a crooked smile, “Stick around,” You said waving your fork at him, “Let me finish this delicious lunch and I’ll get everything set up.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He gave you a faux salute, backing off to give you space. You watched him for a moment out of the corner of your eye as he wandered slowly around the perimeter of the lab, hands in his pockets, shoulders soft beneath his hoodie.

Bob moved like someone who didn’t want to disturb anything. Not just the tools and data, but you–your space, your rhythm, your day. Even now, when he stopped in front of the containment dome, he didn’t lean close or peer in like most people would’ve. He just stood there, quietly watching.

The flower didn’t move. But the pulsing in its center seemed to slow, slightly. Steadying. As if recognizing something.

Bob tilted his head faintly.

But said nothing.

You finished your lunch in a few final bites, wiped your hands on a cloth, and pulled on a fresh pair of nitrile gloves.

“All right,” You called, walking over to the locked cabinet beside your centrifuge. “Time to sacrifice a little plasma for science.”

Bob grumbled playfully as he headed back toward the stool you always set aside for him during these sessions. “Sentry’s gonna make it d-difficult again. Last time you had to chase the vein for like five minutes.”

“Oh how could I forget,” You said playfully, drawing the phlebotomy kit from the drawer, “I’ve never met a God who’s afraid of needles. He flared your heart rate on purpose and kicked the adrenaline response. Your veins were literally jumping.” Bob winced at the memory and sighed.

”I-I don’t think he m-means to be a jerk a-about it.”

“No, he just is,” You turned with a teasing smile and raised your brow, “You listening in there Sentry, I called you a jerk.” A flicker of gold passed through Bob’s eyes, and his expression shifted just slightly. A pressure just beneath the surface of his calm exterior. You saw the way his jaw flexed. The way his breath caught on the edge of a heartbeat. It was gone just as fast as it appeared. You gestured to the stool.

”Alright, you know the drill.” Bob sighed and tugged his hoodie over his head with one hand, letting it fall across the nearby stool in a heap of worn fabric and static-charged threads.

Your breath caught for just a second–not that you’d ever admit it.

He was wearing a plain white t-shirt underneath. Simple, but it didn’t leave much to the imagination. The fabric clung in all the places that mattered: broad shoulders, a narrow waist, the gentle taper of his torso. His arms were sculpted, the muscle built from the serum and his own training he did on the side with Walker–solid biceps veined faintly beneath pale skin, his forearms thick and freckled with golden hairs. Even through the shirt, you could see the subtle rise of his chest when he breathed. His body wasn’t exaggerated or showy like some of the other enhanced agents. Bob’s strength was honest, clean and quiet. The kind that didn’t beg to be seen–just was. He sat on the stool, leaned slightly forward, and offered you his right arm without hesitation–palm up, wrist relaxed, fingers curling just slightly where they hung over the edge of your tray. As always, he was warm. Always a degree or two above everyone else. Like the Sentry lived just beneath the surface, pulsing against the skin.

You pulled your chair close and gently cradled his arm in one gloved hand, “You good?” He nodded, jaw ticking faintly.

”Sentry’s a-already getting stirred u-up.”

“I figured,” You murmured, swabbing the crook of his elbow with an alcohol pad, watching the way the fine blond hairs on his arm caught the light, “You twitched when I called him a jerk.” Bob exhaled a shallow breath, half-laugh, half-wince.

”Y-Yeah he–uh–didn’t like t-that.”

“Well, tell him to behave,” you said, voice softening as you spoke, instinctively adjusting your tone. You’d found, over time, that it wasn’t just what you said–but how. The Sentry didn’t respond well to authority. But he did respond to calm. To care. To you.

“I’m going to insert the needle now, okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” He said quietly, “Keep talking through the process, t-that would help.” You gave him a smile–genuine and soft.

“All right…Just a little pressure here…” You slipped the butterfly needle in with smooth, practiced hands, watching the dark blood flood into the first vial like a ribbon of garnet. He didn’t flinch. His fingers curled just slightly, but that was it. You could feel the tension in him, though–not fear, not even discomfort, really.

Just a heightened presence.

You always felt it when the Sentry was nearby. Like a third set of lungs had begun breathing somewhere in the room. Like the molecules in the air shifted their charge.

“I’m taking five tubes,” You said gently. “You’re doing fine. Your blood flow is nice and steady today.”

“Y-Yeah,” Bob said, watching you with his head slightly turned. His voice had dropped to something deeper. Thicker. “That’s because o-of you.”

You glanced up.

He blinked, quickly. “Your voice. It…I-It helps.” You kept working, carefully switching out the first full tube for the second, then the third, eyes flicking to him only briefly.

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Or a cosmic honor. One of the two.” That got a smile out of him, even if it was small. The rest of the draw passed in familiar quiet–soft beeping from your equipment, the slow, gentle swirl of the containment fans, the hum of the overhead lights. His blood was warm in your hands. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until you reached the fifth tube and carefully capped it.

You retracted the needle in one smooth motion, placing it in the sharps container before gently pressing a cotton ball to the puncture site.

“Pressure here, please.”

Bob complied, two fingers resting lightly over the spot. You retrieved a bandage, peeled it open, and pressed it into place over the cotton. Your hand lingered a second longer than it needed to. His skin was flushed warm beneath your glove. He smelled faintly of cedar and limes, probably from his shampoo. Then you leaned back in your chair and gave him a mock-serious look.

“So,” You said, cocking your head, “Does Sentry want a lollipop for his troubles?”Bob groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“D-Don’t get him riled up…” You laughed at the way his cheeks turned rosy again, as he attempted to hold back a smile, which failed.

”You sure?” You teased, “You don’t want me to pull out the glittery sticker chart?”

“W-We talked about this…He remembers t-things like that.” You both burst into soft laughter again, the kind that curled at the edges of your ribs and left everything just a little lighter.

And somewhere behind you, the flower twitched.

The petals shifted.

The pulse in its center matched his heartbeat.

But neither of you noticed.

——————

The next day, just after 2:00 p.m., the soft hiss of the lab doors made your head snap up again.

You were halfway through a long-winded notation on the flower’s latest chromatographic analysis when you heard the now-familiar rustle of footsteps and the unmistakable creak of someone cradling a takeout bag with too much care.

“Brought you lunch!” Bob announced.

He looked warm again–an oversized hoodie only blue this time, the same worn sweatpants from yesterday, and hair pulled back messily like he’d tied it in a rush. His free hand shoved deep into his pocket, but the other held a paper bag from a café you liked downtown. He wore the same small, crooked smile that made it difficult to think straight.

“Careful,” You warned playfully, turning in your seat to face him, “If you keep feeding me, I’ll start to expect this kind of treatment.”

Bob shrugged, walking in slow, casual steps toward your workstation. “M-might be worth it…Just to s-see you eat.”

You smiled at that–too caught up in the rare softness between you to notice the way the flower behind its containment dome had begun to stir.

Not much. Just a twitch of its outermost petals. A subtle change in the shimmer of its stamen. But you were facing Bob. You didn’t see the way it reacted to his voice.

“I-I got you the g-grain bowl you like. The one with roasted squash, the f-feta, that spicy vinaigrette you always try to recreate in your lab notebook–”

“I do not take vinaigrette notes in here,” You interjected, grinning.

Bob set the bag down gently on the corner of your cleared space shaking his head at you, glancing over at the dome just as the hum of your equipment shifted slightly. The air changed. Subtle, at first. Like something pressurizing behind glass.

He leaned over–only just–peering closer at the flower inside.

That was all it took.

The dome fogged instantly with a pale gold haze. Then–without warning–the containment glass shuddered with a sharp, pinging sound, like internal pressure had snapped a seal.

Then it ruptured.

The top of the cloche blew off with a muted pop, and a cloud of glittering golden dust erupted from the flower in a slow-motion burst. It expanded like fog, like breath in cold air–drifting, floating–straight into Bob’s face.

You froze for half a second. Then your instincts kicked in hard and fast.

“Shit—Bob!” You yelled, already leaping from your stool and hitting the emergency switch on the wall.

Red lights flashed as the isolation protocols kicked in. Vents slammed shut with a metallic clank, and the air filtration units hummed to life. Your console blinked through a security override as the lab sealed itself airtight. Your heart thudded in your chest like a drumbeat.

Bob had staggered back, coughing hard and pawing at his face, blinking rapidly. The golden dust coated his cheeks, his lashes, the curve of his nose, and clung to his stubble like cosmic pollen. It shimmered with a strange, otherworldly sheen–like it was alive, almost.

“Hey–hey–Bob, come here.” You grabbed him gently but firmly by the wrist, leading him toward the decontamination corner. “Don’t rub your eyes. Just come with me. You’re okay, just–just keep breathing.”

He nodded, still coughing, blinking fast. “I-it got in m-my face–feels like sand, b-but–s-sticky, maybe–” He stumbled slightly as you pushed the lever on the eyewash station.

“Lean in,” You ordered, voice steady. “Both hands on the sides. I’m gonna guide you.” You pressed the large silver button. The twin streams of water erupted instantly, and he hissed through clenched teeth as the cold hit. You steadied him, one hand braced on his lower back as he tilted forward.

”Keep blinking,” You instructed, “Get it flushed out. It’s probably just pollen but I can’t take chances, we still don’t know what that stuff is.”

“It’s–f-fine,” he said, spitting water out, breath hitching. “It doesn’t b-burn, just f-feels weird–” His voice was strained, breathless. You didn’t like the way his skin had started to pink at the edges, how the golden dust had clung even beneath his collar.

When the two-minute flush was over, you helped him lean back slowly, grabbing a towel from the stack nearby and pressing it gently to his face.

“We’re not done yet,” You said, pulling a second towel out and pressing it to the back of his neck. “Blow your nose. Three times. Then cough hard. I want that stuff out of your lungs if you inhaled any of it.”

He obeyed without protest, still coughing lightly between ragged breaths. The dust had left faint shimmer marks down the front of his hoodie, now slightly wet from the eyewash station. You reached over to the wall unit, flipped on the emergency fan array, and turned your console back toward manual override. The air slowly began to cycle through a localized carbon scrubbing system.

You turned back to him, grabbing a disposable cloth and wiping under his jaw, where a little gold still shimmered. His eyes were red-rimmed but clear. Breathing shallow, but not distressed.

You stepped back, hands braced on your hips, the overhead scrubbers humming louder now as the first cycle of filtered air began to push through the sealed lab.

Bob sat perched on the deacon bench, towel still clutched in his hands, his lashes dripping, cheeks damp, and glittered with flecks of gold the eyewash hadn’t quite cleared. He looked flushed–not sick, not distressed–just… warm. Lit from within, like something in him was beginning to glow. But you didn’t let yourself think about that.

Not yet.

“Are you okay?” You asked quietly, kneeling slightly so you were more at eye level with him, voice softening as you scanned his face for any irregularities. “Are you dizzy? Lightheaded? Anything weird?”

Bob blinked slowly, the water still dripping off the tips of his hair as he met your gaze.

“N-No…” He murmured, voice rough with lingering grit, “Just…Feel kinda like I s-snorted fairy dust.” He gave a weak little smile. “M-might be glowing in the dark now.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a half-relieved breath, giving him a playful–but firm–swat to the arm.

“This isn’t funny. You know we have to be in isolation for twenty-four hours now, right?”

Bob groaned, slumping back slightly against the bench. “Ugh. Great. Cool. L-love that.” You crossed your arms.

“We’re both trapped in here. With no way out. The lab is in full lockdown. Airlocked. Everything. Biocontainment protocol 9A.” He sighed, tilting his head toward you dramatically. “

It’s not like we don’t already spend the majority of our free time together or anything.” You narrowed your eyes.

“Don’t act like this is some cozy movie night. You almost got yourself pollinated into another dimension.” Your voice was softer now. More affectionate, more playful. Your gaze dropped briefly–to the faint shimmer still clinging to the edge of his collarbone–and that’s when you noticed it.

You looked down at yourself.

Tiny flecks of gold sparkled faintly across your sleeves, dusted across the dark wool of your sweater and even the collar of your lab coat. The stuff was finer than you thought–so fine you’d barely felt it settle.

“Shit.”

“What?” Bob asked, alarmed.

You pulled your lab coat off immediately, shrugging out of it and tossing it into the nearest biohazard bin. Your sweater followed next, leaving you in the tank top you had underneath–thin, breathable, already damp with nervous sweat. The cold air bit at your arms, but it was better than risking more exposure. You grabbed a clean disposable mask from the supply drawer and tugged it on.

“You got exposed?” Bob asked, sitting up straighter.

You gave him a wry look as you reached for a pair of gloves. “You think that cloud only wanted you?”

He flushed again and shifted where he sat. “S-Sorry…”

“Not your fault,” you said quickly. “You didn’t provoke it.”

Bob’s eyes slid to the corner of the lab where the flower still sat in its shattered dome, motionless now, but unmistakably altered–its petals twitching like cooling muscles, the last of the pollen still floating down like it hadn’t quite obeyed gravity yet.

You pointed to his hoodie.

“That’s gotta come off too.”

He blinked. “W-What?”

“Bob. Your hoodie is covered. You’re basically wearing a glitter bomb.”

“Oh…Right.” He looked down at himself and, reluctantly, peeled the hoodie off over his head, careful not to shake loose any more of the clinging dust. The fabric crackled softly as the static gave way. You moved forward with a biohazard bag already open and waiting.

“Drop it in,” you said, and he obeyed, his white T-shirt riding up slightly with the movement. You caught a glimpse of pale skin, faint golden freckles across his lower ribs, the subtle cut of his hip. You averted your eyes quickly, pretending not to notice.

But he noticed.

You didn’t speak for a beat.

Then:

“Okay,” you said, stepping back with the sealed bag in hand, “Contaminated clothing secured. Isolation timer has started. We’ve got twenty-four hours to kill and a potentially sentient flower that just gas-bombed the strongest man on Earth.”

Bob blinked at you, then gave the tiniest smirk.

“Th-this gonna be in the report?”

“Oh, absolutely,” You muttered, deadpan. “‘Subject A leaned into mysterious glowing flower. Subject B now has fairy glitter in her bra.’”

He laughed. Harder than you expected. The sound echoed softly in the sealed room and you let it hang there for a moment. Eventually his laughter faded, but the heat that was beginning to build in the lab didn’t.

It wasn’t just the tension between you anymore–it was physical. Palpable. You could feel it crawling along the inside of your spine like static. Your skin felt…Tight. Like your clothes were holding in too much warmth. Like the fabric of your tank top was suddenly too heavy in all the wrong places and far too light in others.

You shifted your weight from one leg to the other, hoping it would pass, but it didn’t.

Bob was still sitting on the bench, towel now draped loosely across his lap, chest rising and falling more steadily than before–but even from a few feet away, you could see the faint shine of sweat beginning to gather at the hollow of his throat.

You squinted slightly.

“Is it just me,” You said slowly, brushing a strand of hair off your neck, “Or is it…Hot in here?”

Bob lifted his head toward you, blinking slowly. His cheeks were still pink–flushed in that way people only got when they were either just out of a fever or just getting into something much more compromising.

“I-I thought it was just me,” He said, adjusting how he sat. “I figured the air filters w-weren’t moving much cool air yet. It’s… It’s an enclosed space, so…” He trailed off, eyes catching briefly on your arms, the exposed slope of your collarbone, and then darting away again, as if ashamed of the glance.

You nodded, trying to focus–but it was getting harder. Your tank top clung to the skin beneath your ribs like a second layer of sweat-dampened silk. You could feel the heat collecting at your lower back, a slow, stoked furnace of warmth that wasn’t just the room. Your breathing shifted slightly. Shallower.

There was a kind of pressure building behind your sternum. An ache–not painful, not sharp. Just…Present. Gnawing. Low in your belly. You cleared your throat.

“Do you feel weird?” You asked, keeping your voice as casual as you could. “Like… more than just warm? Any lightheadedness? Sensory changes?” Bob didn’t answer right away. His shoulders rolled back slowly, and his hand came up to drag across the back of his neck. You watched the way his palm moved over the sweat-damp strands of hair, the tension in his forearm, the way his biceps flexed just slightly under the tight stretch of cotton.

He wasn’t looking at you now. But his voice was quiet when he answered.

“M-My heart rate i-is up,” He admitted. “But I d-don’t feel sick. I just feel–” He stopped. Swallowed. Then: “Wound up. I-it’s like I’ve been waiting for something to happen and m-my body’s just trying to stay ahead of it.” You stared at him, hearing as he listed out the same symptoms you were feeling.

Then there was the ache again–twisting low and slow, enough to make you shift your thighs closer together without thinking. You noticed the way Bob’s eyes tracked the motion and immediately flicked away. His chest was rising faster now. His jaw clenched, breath audible through his nose. Something was happening. Something chemical, something hormonal. Something Induced.

You took a slow breath, then glanced at the ruined containment dome, the flower sitting quietly like nothing had happened. Its stamen pulsed gently, and the last wisps of pollen still hovered in the filtered air like gold-lit ghosts.

”You said it didn’t burn when the pollen hit…” You murmured, “Just felt weird…Right?” He nodded slowly, eyes flicking toward your face, then to your mouth, then away. You swallowed hard, wiping a bead of sweat off your forehead. ”How weird?”

Bob exhaled a shaky breath. His hands flexed against his thighs, fingers twitching.

“It just felt really…Light,” he rasped. “Like ash. N-Not like sand–softer. Barely even there. But now–” He trailed off, and when he looked at you, it was like being seen for the first time. His pupils were blown wide, only a thin ring of ocean-blue clinging to the edge. His voice lowered.

“Now I feel like my skin is on fire. L-Like I’m burning…And everything’s so damn sensitive. I c-can’t stop–” His voice cracked, “–I can’t stop looking at you.” Your breath caught. The ache between your legs deepened sharply, twisting upward through your belly like someone had plucked a string that now hummed through your bones. The realization slammed into you with full force. The heat. The ache. The scent. The shimmer. The reaction.

Fuck. You staggered backward from the bench slightly and slapped your hand down on the comm panel by the edge of your lab table, hitting the line for Bucky.

“Come on, come on, pick up–”

“Yeah?” Bucky’s voice crackled over the line. “What’s up?”

“Bucky,” You said, trying to steady your breathing. “Where exactly were you when you found that flower? Be specific. What were the surroundings?”

“I told you, it was near the tree line,” He answered, confused. “On the way back from the ridge. Why?”

“Was there anything else? Anything that stood out?”

There was a pause. Then, “Uh…There was kind of a–garden? Like, a bunch of them. Just a whole patch. Maybe fifty or sixty, I dunno, they were all clumped together.”Another pulse of heat ripped through your core, and you clenched your thighs, biting back a soft, involuntary groan. You half-collapsed, catching yourself on the table edge before sliding down the side of it, pressing your forehead into your forearm.

“Where were they, Bucky?” You grit out through clenched teeth. “Was there a lab? A compound? A goddamn marker on the ground–anything?”

“What? Y/N, I don’t��wait, there was a lab…But it wasn’t even close. Maybe two miles east of it. Looked abandoned. You think it’s connected?”

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered, voice rough, stomach clenching. Your vision was starting to blur around the edges. “That’s not wild growth, Buck. That’s a planted field. That was cultivated. You brought me a fucking bioweapon.”

There was silence.

Bob had shifted, and when you looked up, he was no longer on the bench. He had crouched behind one of the heavy lab tables on the far end of the room, head bowed, palms braced hard against the floor like he was praying—or like he was trying to hold himself together.

“I-it’s getting worse,” he called out, voice hoarse and echoing faintly off the tile. “I—I can feel it in my hands, my back—like I’m buzzing from the inside out. You need to go to another room, Y/N. Please. I don’t—I don’t know what’s going to happen—”

“There is no other room,” you snapped, clutching your own torso, fingers digging into your tank top like it could peel the sensation off your skin. “We’re sealed in. Remember? Isolation. Twenty-four hours.”

You turned back to the comm, swallowing back the pulse building low in your belly. “Bucky, something happened in that lab. This isn’t just a flower. It’s engineered—enhanced. There’s pheromone manipulation in the pollen. Maybe synthetic hormones. We both got exposed.”

“What kind of exposure?”

You hesitated.

Then you exhaled shakily, voice lowering. “The worst kind. I think it’s… I think it’s sex pollen, Bucky.”

A beat of stunned silence on the other end. Then:

“…You’re shitting me.”

“I wish I was,” you hissed, grinding the heel of your hand into your temple, heart pounding. “And unless I get a suppressant cocktail in the next thirty minutes, I’m going to lose it.”

“What about Bob?”

You turned your head just slightly toward where Bob was crouched, shaking. His knuckles had gone white.

“He’s already losing it,” You whispered.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing,” you said, too fast. “Just…We’re locked in for twenty-four hours. There’s nothing anyone can do. Just… Just keep the others out. Don’t let anyone near the door.”

There was a long pause. Then Bucky’s voice dropped.

“Y/N. What exactly happened in there?”

You clenched your jaw and gave the only answer you could.

“I’ll tell you if we survive it.” Then you hung up the comm, bracing your hands on your knees as the ache spread like wildfire across your thighs, your chest, the hollow between your hips. Everything was overstimulated–fabric too rough, air too dry, skin too tight.

And then there was Bob.

You looked up slowly, panting now, vision swimming with heat and color. You could barely see his face in the shadow of the bench, but you heard his voice.

“I-It’s in me,” he said quietly. “Whatever it is. I can feel it in m-my blood. My skin feels like it’s too small. I’m–I’m shaking. I c-can’t stop it.” His breath hitched, voice breaking apart. “I can smell you. I c-can hear your heart. I can feel every molecule in this goddamn r-room. God, what is this stuff?” You were already dragging yourself across the floor, crawling on hands and knees to the nearest storage cabinet, yanking open drawers for anything–anything–that might help regulate internal chemistry. You were half-crazed with heat, sweat dripping between your shoulder blades, your whole body lit up like it had been set on fire from the inside.

“Okay,” you muttered, teeth clenched. “We’re gonna–we’re gonna figure this out. Just don’t come near me, Bob. Not yet.”

You couldn’t see him now, but you heard the thick, wet swallow from where he hid behind the bench.

“I w-won’t,” He rasped. “But…If you don’t figure it out soon…” His voice was barely audible now. “…I d-don’t know if I’m gonna b-be able to stop myself.” The words weren’t loud. They weren’t cruel. But they hit you like a blow to the chest. A sharp pulse rippled through your core–your muscles tensed like a wire had snapped in your belly. The ache between your legs twisted again, hot and hungry, and a broken sound escaped your lips before you could stop it.

A whimper. Soft, shaken, and needy.

”Shut up,” You gasped, your voice hoarse with panic and arousal, hand bracing against the cabinet, “Just…Stop talking, Bob please…Your voice. Fuck sake.” Another wave of heat surged under your skin like a current of electricity. You curled slightly into yourself, arms trembling, every breath catching high in your throat.

“I–I’m sorry,” Bob groaned from across the room, his voice cracking with guilt and something far darker. You heard him shift, heard the thump of his back hit the cabinet behind him like he’d braced himself against it, like he couldn’t trust his limbs to obey. He let out a loud breath, shuddering.

”G-God, I’m–I’m sorry, I c-can’t even think straight–“ His voice broke on the last word, thick with restraint. You dragged open another drawer with shaking fingers, rummaging through cold metal and sterile pouches, tossing one after the other to the side. Glucose packs. Emergency syringes. No suppressants. No hormonal regulators. Nothing for this kind of exposure.

Your vision blurred as your stomach clenched again. You could feel sweat beading at the base of your spine, making your tank top stick like a second skin. You couldn’t stop panting. Couldn’t stop trembling.

”Fuck…” You hissed, almost on the brink of sob. You slammed the drawer shut with a metallic clang, the sound too loud, echoing in the sealed lab like it was mocking you. ”I can’t–I-I can’t find anything.” You wheezed, voice cracking. You braced your hands on the cold tile, heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your teeth.

The need was crawling over your skin like insects. Every breath was friction. Every shift of your body felt like dragging yourself through static. Your nipples were tight beneath your tank top, aching. You could feel your own pulse in places it didn’t belong.

“Shit–shit,” You whispered, eyes welling with frustrated tears. “Oh my god.”

Behind the bench, Bob made a low, strangled noise.

A grunt. Guttural. Desperate.

You couldn’t see him.

But you didn’t need to.

Because you could feel him.

You could feel the way the air changed when he moved. You could feel the ripple of heat that seemed to follow the sound of his voice. And worst of all–you could feel your body answering it.

Every cell in you was lit up with something heavy and humming. Something wild. Something designed.

You curled forward against the floor, pressing your forehead into your arm. You were panting now–wheezing, almos-trying to hold on. Trying not to cry.

You didn’t hear him crawl over, not until it was too late. Your breath was ragged, and your vision was swimming–and then warmth touched your arm. A large hand. Familiar. It closed over your bicep–but it lit your nerves on fire. You jerked away violently, scrambling back on instinct, collapsing onto your ass with a gasp. Your palm slammed against the tile and you skidded slightly, breath hitching as you spat out–

“Don’t touch me!” Your voice cracked, sharp and wet with panic. The motion made your spine arch, your tank top riding up slightly as your hip knocked into a rolling stool, the metal clattering away. Bob’s eyes widened in horror, hand halfway outstretched like it had betrayed him. He dropped to both knees in front of you instantly, not touching, but close enough for you to feel the warmth coming off his body like a wave.

“Y/N–” He breathed, his voice hoarse, chest heaving, “Y/N I-I feel it too, I p-promise. I feel everyth-ing” His hand hovered near your shoulder again, hesitant. Then, slowly, gently, he reached behind your neck, cradling it with a trembling touch. His fingers were hot against your skin, too hot. “Look at me. W-We’ll be okay. We’ll be o-okay.” You shook your head, lip quivering as the tears came faster now. Not the kind you could hide or blink away–these ones slid heavy and helpless down your cheeks, pooling at the corners of your mouth. You were trembling all over, shoulders shaking, thighs clenching without relief.

”I-I feel like I’m dying,” You whispered, voice raw, “Fuck, Bob it’s so painful.” He nodded once, his face contorting with shared agony, as his hand slipped from the back of your neck to your jaw, like he couldn’t decide whether to hold you or let go.

“I-I know,” He rasped, his other hand gripping his thigh so hard it shook, “I-I’m burning from the inside out. I can smell y-you…I can s-smell everything–“ You swallowed, chest rising in short, hard jerks. Because so could you.

His scent was all over the room now. Thick and devastating. It rolled over you in waves—heat-warmed cedarwood, sweat, and something deeper. Instinctual. Masculine. Not cologne. Not soap. Something completely and totally him. A biological beckoning, chemical and holy and blinding.

It made your thighs twitch and your breath break.

And your own scent…You could smell it, too. Like heat-glazed citrus and clean skin. Something golden and heavy, threaded with notes of sun-warmed vanilla and fresh-cut stems. Like the wild edge of spring. It filled your nostrils, clung to your skin, hung in the air between you like a dare.

Bob’s eyes fluttered, jaw clenching again. He let out a low grunt, like the effort of staying still was costing him something visceral. His voice cracked as he spoke.

“I-Isn’t there…a-any way we can stop this f-from getting worse?” You didn’t want to say it, you really didn’t. But the truth came out anyway, scraped and raw from your throat.

”Only if…” You swallowed. Your tongue felt too thick in your mouth, “Only if we have sex…” The words dropped like a stone.

Bob’s breath hitched so hard it almost sounded like a choke. His throat bobbed, and he blinked down at you, eyes wild and dilated, dark lashes damp with sweat and desperation.

There was a pause–long and shaking.

Then, softly:

“W-Would it be t-that bad if…If we did?”

You flinched. Just barely. The air stilled, vibrating between you. And then you shook your head slowly, tears welling again–not from heat this time, but from something deeper.

“I really didn’t want our first time together being l-like this.”

That stopped him cold. All the breath punched out of him in a single exhale. His lips parted, but nothing came out. His hand fell away from your jaw like it had been burned. His whole posture shifted–still close, but paralyzed with guilt.

You looked away.

Because if you looked at him now–if you looked into that face, flushed and desperate and filled with longing–you’d give in. Your breath hitched sharply—twice—before you folded forward on a gasp, one hand clutching your lower stomach like it might soothe the throbbing pulse building between your legs.

“God,” you choked out, voice breaking. “Oh my god, I—I can’t fucking take it.”

The ache had bloomed into something unbearable—wet and slick and throbbing through your core with every heartbeat. You were drenched, panties stuck to you, heat radiating off your skin like you were about to combust. Across from you, Bob made a strangled sound, his fists tight on his thighs, chest heaving as he forced shallow breaths through his nose—like if he didn’t, he might do something reckless.

“I c-can’t smell you,” He whispered, more to himself than to you. “I–I can’t smell you–I can’t–”

But he could. You both could. Your scent was everywhere–sweet and sharp and thick with want. It hung in the air between you like perfume, like bait, and you knew it was driving him mad.

You twitched again as another rush of slick gushed between your thighs and a broken moan slipped past your lips–soft, needy, involuntary. Your eyes squeezed shut as your hand pressed harder against your stomach, trying to contain it.

But it was useless.

“I can’t–fuck, I can’t take it–” You gasped, and before you could stop yourself, you were lunging forward.

You grabbed his face with both hands–hot, flushed skin beneath your palms–and crushed your mouth to his like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

It wasn’t a kiss.

It was a collision.

A mess of lips and teeth and spit.

You moaned into his mouth the second you felt him gasp beneath you–his lips parting wide in helpless surrender, his hands flying to your waist like magnets. The second he touched you, it was over. You melted into him, mouths sliding and sucking and devouring with sloppy, panting need.

Spit slicked your chin, his chin, your mouths, your skin. It dripped down between you as your lips broke and reconnected over and over in increasingly desperate, wet smacks. His tongue slid against yours, hungry and hot, and you whimpered into the kiss like your whole body was unraveling.

His hands squeezed your hips, hard–fingertips digging in, dragging you toward him roughly until your knees bumped his thighs and your chest hit his. You felt the tremble in him, felt the heat pouring off his body as he let out a low, feral grunt into your mouth, like he was trying to hold himself together and failing.

You pulled back just an inch, breath catching in your throat as a strand of spit still connected your lips, both of you panting so hard it echoed in the sealed lab.

“Fuck–” He gasped, chasing your mouth again, not even giving you time to respond before crashing back into the kiss, even hungrier this time. “You taste like–God–l-like sunlight–like h-honey–fuck, I can’t–can’t stop–”

“Don’t,” You moaned, sliding your tongue into his mouth again, letting it tangle with his, swallowing his sounds, his heat, his everything. “Don’t stop. Please. Don’t stop.” Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking at the damp curls as his hands roamed, gripping your waist so tightly it made you whine. He guided you into his lap without thinking, until your knees straddled his thighs and your body pressed flush to his. You could feel everything–the twitch of his erection beneath the thin fabric of his sweatpants, the way his breath hitched when your hips brushed his, the way his hands couldn’t stop moving–gripping, sliding, needing. Every inch of you was pressed tight to him, and he felt all of it. The heat. The wetness. The hunger.

”G-God…” He gasped, his head dropping to your shoulder for a split second, voice thick, “I c-can’t–can’t stop–need…Need something–“ And then his hands flexed, dragging you forward–against him. You cried out, the sound strangled and high as he rocked your hips into his, grinding you against the thick line of his cock through his sweatpants. The friction sent a lightning bolt through your core, and your whole body spasmed in response, clutching at his shoulders as the contact jolted through your nerves.

“Oh–God–” You moaned, tearing your mouth from his as your head tipped back, spine arching. “Oh fuck–do that again–” He didn’t even answer. Just groaned–loud, filthy–and rolled your hips again. Rougher. Harder. Enough that your soaked panties dragged hot and slick over the outline of him, soaking into the soft cotton of his clothes and yours.

You clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders as your thighs trembled on either side of his lap. Your hands found his hair and tugged–hard–and he moaned so deeply it vibrated through your ribs. His mouth trailed down to your jaw, your throat, open-mouthed kisses dragging over sweat-slick skin. His tongue was everywhere–greedy and reverent–and then you felt him kiss the top of your chest, right along the edge of your tank top.

You were panting, shaking, drenched in sweat and arousal. You couldn’t stop grinding down against him now, couldn’t stop chasing that friction as you rolled your hips again and again, letting your swollen heat drag along his cock in slow, devastating passes. The pressure built fast, sharp and aching, pulsing low in your belly with every movement.

Bob’s mouth trembled where it kissed just below your collarbone. His fingers slipped up your sides, shaky but sure–and then they hooked under the thin straps of your tank top.

“P-Please–” He rasped, looking up at you like he was about to fall apart. “Can I—can I see you?”

You nodded, breathless. “Yes. God, yes.”

He didn’t wait. He dragged the straps down your arms, kissing the slope of your shoulder as they slipped, one by one. Then he tugged the neckline down–slow, desperate–and bared your breasts to the heavy, sweat-damp air.

The second your nipples were exposed, he let out a groan–a sound so broken, it barely sounded human. His eyes glazed with worship, with hunger.

And then his mouth was on you.

He wrapped his lips around one tight, aching nipple and moaned–like he was dying for the taste of you. His tongue flicked, sucked, lapped, over and over, and you cried out, hips jerking uncontrollably in his lap as you rutted down against him.

“Oh my god–Bob–“ You gasped, fingers burying in his hair, yanking him closer, needier. “That–fuck–you’re so good…” He didn’t stop. If anything, he got more desperate. His tongue traced circles around your nipple, sucking it deeper into his mouth with each slow pull of his lips. One of his hands gripped your ass, guiding your hips faster against his erection, grinding you down until your whole body was quivering.

“Y-You’re so warm,” He panted between kisses. “So soft–God–“ And then he took the other nipple between his lips, just as eager, just as mindless. His tongue licked a long, slow stripe across the swell of your breast and you sobbed at the contact, your whole body arching into him. Bob groaned around your nipple one last time before pulling off with a wet pop, his mouth red and slick with spit. His eyes were blown wide, pupils so dilated there was barely any blue left–but there was something else swimming behind them too, something ancient, hungry, waiting to surface. His breath caught in his throat as he leaned in close, nudging your jaw with his nose, mouth grazing your cheek. Then suddenly–

He surged forward.

Your back hit the cold tile in one fluid motion, the breath punching out of your lungs as he guided you down with firm hands, mouth still dragging across your chest. The contrast between the icy floor and the furnace of your skin made you cry out softly, arching up into his touch.

“Bob–” You gasped, but your words cut off with a moan as his hands slipped low, gripping the waistband of your pants and underwear in one practiced motion.

“L-Lift your hips,” He instructed–voice rough and tight with restraint. You obeyed instantly, and he peeled both garments down your legs in a single fluid movement, baring you to the air, to him, to everything.

Your thighs quivered as the rush of cool air met the wet heat between them. You leaned up, grabbed the hem of your tank top, and tore it over your head. It hit the floor behind you just as Bob stripped off his shirt–his chest gleaming with sweat, muscles flexing, dusted with faint gold shimmer and a constellation of freckles across his collarbones.

You barely had a second to breathe before he dropped between your thighs again, mouth finding yours in a kiss so urgent and deep it knocked your head back against the tile. It was messier now–hotter, more desperate, his tongue fucking into your mouth with wild hunger.

Then he broke away just far enough to speak.

“I-I’m going to c-crawl on my fucking knees,” He growled, “And you’re gonna spread those thighs wider for me, and let me eat you until you come on my tongue.”You arched up with a moan, hips twitching off the floor. Your hands reached for him blindly, pulling at his shoulders as he trailed kisses down your throat, your chest, your ribs.

“I need you so fucking bad,” He whispered, his voice darker now–lower, smoother. The stutter was gone.

You blinked through the haze, the heat, the sweat clinging to your lashes–and that’s when you saw it. The eyes. Not Bob’s soft blue. Gold. Molten.

“Sentry,” You whispered, breath catching.

But you didn’t stop him.

You didn’t want to.

His teeth scraped gently along your stomach, sending electric pulses through your nerves, and then he kissed the inside of your hip bones like he was worshipping an altar.

“You smell so fucking sweet,” He murmured, nose dragging through the crease where your thigh met your core, voice reverent and filthy all at once. “I can’t wait to have a taste.” You sobbed his name as your thighs opened wider for him, your body obeying without question. He slid his hands beneath you, lifting your hips off the floor, draping your thighs over his shoulders–his palms spreading across your lower back to anchor you in place.

“Look at you,” He groaned, lips brushing against your soaked folds without yet tasting. “You’re drenched…You’re so fucking wet I can see it drip.”

Then he leaned in.

And licked a slow, devastating stripe up your center.

You choked on a scream. Your hips jerked hard against his mouth, and his arms tightened around your thighs, holding you down as his tongue moved again–sloppier this time. Messier. Hungrier. He licked into you like he was starving. Long, deep strokes. Quick flicks. Circles around your swollen clit that had you crying out his name.

“God, fuck–yes–”

You gripped his hair hard, yanking at the sweat-damp strands, and he groaned like he liked it–no, loved it. The vibration of the sound against your core made your whole body shake.

“You taste like summer, like heat, like stars.” He moaned. “Absolutely fucking sinful.” He pulled back only long enough to look at you, his mouth wet, chin dripping with slick.

“I can’t wait to make you come on my tongue,” He growled.

And then he dove back in.

Tongue sliding flat against your clit, then swirling, sucking it into his mouth with slow, rhythmic pulls that made your vision blur. You cried out, grinding into his face, your hands clutching his hair, your whole body vibrating with sensation.

“P-Please–” you whimpered, barely able to breathe, “Please don’t stop–”

He didn’t.

He licked and sucked and groaned like you were his favorite meal, like he could do this for hours. His hands gripped your ass, dragging you tighter to his mouth, keeping you from squirming away.

You were going to come.

It was building fast–tight and white-hot and burning like it had nowhere else to go. You were right on the edge when–

He slipped one thick finger inside you.

You let out a loud gasp. It wasn’t pain–it was too much. Too good. The stretch, the pressure, the way his mouth never stopped moving.

“That’s it,” He murmured against your clit. “Take my fingers…Just like that…You’re so tight, fuck…I’m imagining how you’re going to take me.”

You clenched around him, and he groaned again–louder this time–and slid a second finger in, stretching you open. His fingers curled up, rubbing slow, teasing strokes into that perfect, devastating spot. Your walls fluttered, your thighs trembled.

“Oh god, oh god–”

“Come for me,” He growled. “Right now. Let me feel you.”

And he sped up.

Fingers pumping hard, mouth sucking your clit with filthy precision. You sobbed his name, your back arched clean off the tile, and you shattered.

The orgasm ripped through you like fire, like lightning–your thighs locking around his head, your hands gripping his hair as you wailed through it.

He didn’t stop.

Not when you cried out.

Not when you begged.

He kept sucking, licking, fucking his fingers into you as your body convulsed.

Your body was still twitching when he pulled his fingers free–slick and trembling, your core fluttering from aftershocks as he slowly sat back on his heels.

His chin was soaked. His lips swollen. His eyes–those molten, god-touched eyes–burned down the length of your naked body like sunlight through stained glass.

“I should feel sated,” He murmured, voice too calm for the storm coiled in his chest. “I should be full from what I’ve just taken.”He leaned in. Slowly. Pressed one open-mouthed kiss to your thigh, then another–hot and reverent, just shy of your folds. His breath dragged over you, still sensitive, and it made you whimper.

“But I’m not,” He said low, his nose skimming up the inside of your leg as he worked his way toward your face. “I’m still starving.”

You were trying to breathe, but it wasn’t easy. Not with your pulse echoing in your throat, not with the ache between your legs still pulsing with the memory of his tongue, and certainly not with him looking at you like that.

“I’ve waited…So long to taste you.”

His voice was velvet heat–slick with need, rich with something that throbbed like want and worship tangled together.

He braced a hand on either side of your head as he crawled up over you, hair wild around his face, sweat glistening on the slopes of his shoulders and chest. The weight of him caged you in. It wasn’t heavy–it was all-consuming.

You reached up with a trembling hand and cupped his face. His skin was flushed, warm and slick, his jaw tight as though holding back something enormous.

“I can still feel you,” You whispered, voice raw. “On my mouth. On my thighs. Inside me.”

He smiled at that–but it wasn’t gentle.

It was hunger.

“You’ll feel me even more soon.”His hand found your jaw, thumb brushing your lower lip, and his gaze flicked down–watching the way your mouth parted for him instinctively. He leaned in again, voice now a whisper of thunder against your cheek, “Imagine what it’s going to be like when I fuck you…” Your hips bucked helplessly beneath him, but he only smirked, catching them with a firm palm.

“Sentry,” You gasped, voice trembling as your thighs clenched under the weight of him, “P-Please. God—don’t you feel it too?!”

His nose brushed yours, breath hot against your cheek. He didn’t answer at first–just let that small, dangerous smile curl across his lips, teeth barely catching his lower lip before he released it.

“Of course I feel it,” He murmured, hips dragging downward, grinding his clothed cock into your slick heat. “It’s everywhere in me. In my chest, in my spine, my teeth.” His voice dropped to a darker pitch, and the gold in his eyes flared one last time before dimming. “I-I just know I’m going to get what I-I need…

Bob sat back on his knees between your spread thighs, hands sliding slow and sure down his stomach to the waistband of his sweatpants. “I-I already came once just from eating you out,” He confessed, voice timid now, “I t-think I have more in me…”

Then he tugged the sweatpants down.

Your breath stuttered in your throat.

His erection sprang free, flushed dark and glistening at the tip, already slick with the evidence of his earlier release. A thick bead of cum sat heavy at the crown, dripping slowly down the curve of his shaft, and your whole body twitched at the sight of it. The raw, shameless arousal surged in your belly like wildfire.

“Fuck–” You whispered, pupils blown wide.

He was beautiful. Veined and heavy and so hard it twitched with every breath. You couldn’t stop yourself. Your hand moved without thought–licking your palm once, slow and deliberate, before wrapping your fingers around him.

Bob groaned immediately–deep. His head dropped forward, curls swinging around his jaw, and his hips bucked into your touch as your hand slid down the length of him in a slow, sticky stroke. His cock throbbed in your grip. Hot. Pulsing.

“Mmmf–fuck,” He growled, the sound rattling against the walls. He dropped one hand down to your thigh to steady himself, the other bracing behind him as you worked him with your slick hand–up and down, tight and wet and slow, like you wanted to savor every second.

His breath came out in sharp pants, his face flushed, his eyes fluttering shut as your thumb rubbed just beneath the swollen head, gathering that leaking slick and spreading it over his cock.

“God, I didn’t even have to touch you and you came.” You whispered,

“That’s what y-you do to me,” he gasped, voice shaking. “I couldn’t help it—god, I couldn’t fucking help it—” He surged forward, kissing you hard, and you moaned against his mouth as his hips began to stutter forward, chasing the motion of your hand with every pass.

It was hot, the way he kissed you–messy. His mouth was open, panting against yours, lips dragging along your tongue, teeth grazing your bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth with a wet pop. He moaned into you with every stroke of your hand, deep in his chest, growling like it hurt not to move faster.

He kissed like he was about to fall apart in your arms.

Like he wanted to ruin you and thank you at the same time.

And you could feel it–he was close again. Already.

“G-God–don’t stop–don’t stop–” he choked out, hips bucking into your grip, his cock twitching hard in your palm.

Then his mouth tore from yours with a ragged moan, his body going rigid as he came–again.

Thick ropes of cum spilled across your stomach in hot, wet spurts–slicking your skin, painting the swell of your belly in messy, sticky heat. Bob cried out, breath catching, his hand clutching your thigh hard enough to leave fingerprints as his hips jerked against your hand one last time.

You watched it all, feeling it dripping down your skin. You slowed your hand, and then looked up at him. His eyes were fluttered closed. His mouth hung open, panting raggedly. His cheeks were red and damp with sweat, hair curling against his temples in loose, disheveled strands.

And then–

You ran your fingers through the puddle of cum on your stomach.

Bob’s eyes snapped open.

He watched, transfixed, as you dragged two fingers slowly through the mess he left on you–slicking them up, glossy with white.

Then you brought them to your mouth.

And sucked them clean.

He groaned–low and guttural, more animal than man. He surged forward and kissed you, hard–his mouth hot and open, tongue licking into yours like he needed to taste what you’d just tasted.

And when he pulled back–just barely–he looked drunk. Starved. His voice was hoarse, reverent.

“W-We taste so g-good together,” He whispered.

You whimpered, eyes wide and glassy.

And then your voice broke.

“I need you inside me.”

His breath hitched sharply. His eyes searched your face like a prayer–like he needed to make sure this wasn’t just the pollen, wasn’t just chemical.

But your body told him everything he needed to know. The slick between your thighs. The tremble in your voice. The way your legs fell open without fear. He saw your hand reaching for him–trembling, open, desperate–and instead of just taking it, he kissed it.

One slow kiss to your palm. Then your wrist. Then each fingertip in turn, reverent and breath-warmed. His eyes didn’t leave yours, even when his lips brushed the soft pads of your fingers. It felt like something sacred.

“I-I’m yours, Y/N…” He whispered, his voice wrecked–hoarse and honeyed, lined with awe. “All yours.”

Your chest trembled. Not from the pollen. Not from the heat. From the weight of it–his words, his body, his need. You brought your other hand to his cheek, touching the sweat-slick curve of his face, thumb stroking over his flushed skin.

“You’re burning up,” You whispered.

“So are you,” He breathed back.

But the ache had shifted now. It was lower. Thicker. No longer frantic. Just heavy. Full. Demanding.

His lips met yours again–slow this time, almost trembling. Not chasing. Not crashing. Just pressing. Full and warm. Your mouths moved in sync, deeper with every pass, until he adjusted his weight above you, one forearm braced beside your head while the other hand snaked down to your thigh.

His fingers curled around the underside of it, tugging you closer until your legs wrapped around him again and your slick heat pressed against his length. He groaned into your mouth at the contact.

“G-God, Y/N,” He muttered, dragging his mouth down to your throat, kissing the line of your pulse. “You’re s-still dripping. I can feel it–so hot, so wet for me…”

His hand shifted, reaching between your bodies. He stroked himself once. Twice. The glide was obscene, slick with both your arousal and his release from before. He cursed low under his breath–voice strained with restraint–and guided the thick head of his erection to your entrance. Then–he paused, letting his forehead press to yours, his nose brushing yours as he whispered

“T-Tell me you want it.”

”I want you, Bob,” You breathed, “I’ve wanted you for so long…Please I want you inside me.” You begged, almost on the brink of tears just from the sheer anticipation that wracked through your body. He let out a long sigh and slid in, with such slowness you felt your whole body tense up.

You both gasped at the same time–loud, broken, raw. Your back arched and your thighs locked tighter around him as he pushed forward, inch by inch, stretching you wide with the thick, pulsing heat of him. He groaned above you, mouth falling open as your walls clenched around him, impossibly wet and tight.

“Oh–f-fuck…” He stuttered, his voice cracking like it couldn’t contain the feeling. “You feel…God…You feel like…Like e-everything.”

You whined under him, nails scraping lightly across his back. Every inch dragged through you like it was carved for you–hot, thick, filling. It was too much and not enough at once.

“You’re stretching me so good,” You gasped, voice shaking. “Bob–go slow–I wanna feel all of it.” He obeyed, hips moving with devastating care, sinking into you until he bottomed out, fully seated, buried to the hilt. The moan that left your mouth was guttural. His wasn’t any better. It came from deep in his chest–an animal sound, trembling and wrecked.

He stayed still inside you, just for a moment, just to feel everything, just to breathe.

Your chest rose beneath him in shuddering gasps, your nails pressing into the flex of his back as your hips trembled beneath the weight of him. He was deep–so deep it was hard to breathe–but it wasn’t painful. It was perfect. Like a lock clicking into place after too many years of holding the wrong key.

His forehead dropped to yours, your sweat-slick skin sticking where it touched, his breath ragged and hot against your cheek. His arms trembled faintly from the restraint, from the fire still licking through his blood, from the unholy grip of your body around him. His hands slid slowly from the curve of your thigh up to your waist, his thumbs brushing over your hips as if memorizing them. One hand trailed higher, tracing the line of your ribs, his touch light, soothing, trembling.

”You feel–“ He choked on the words, voice wrecked and shaking, “–Like…L-Like you were made for every inch of m-me.” Your fingers dug into his shoulders as your back arched slightly, hips shifting. The movement made him twitch deep inside you, and the sound he let out was hoarse and broken. Your lips brushed his, breath mingling.

“I need you to move,” you whispered. “Please, Bob. I need you to–”

He cut you off with a kiss.

Not desperate. Not wild. Just deep. Intentional. His lips dragged against yours in slow, soft strokes, his tongue slipping into your mouth like a secret. You kissed him back with a whimper, your hands cupping his face, fingers sliding into the damp curls at the base of his neck.

Then he started to move.

Slow at first.

A long, slow withdrawal that had your breath catching in your throat, followed by a deep, steady thrust that made you moan into his mouth. His hips rocked forward again, harder this time, but still slow. Still deliberate. Still savoring.

You felt every inch.

And he felt everything.

Your slick heat around him. The way your body welcomed him, tightened for him, trembled from the fullness. He moved like he wanted to stay inside you forever–long strokes that dragged through you with devastating patience, hips grinding at the end of each thrust like he wanted to feel the slick press of your clit against his skin.

He kissed you between thrusts–messy, wet kisses that dragged across your jaw, your cheek, your mouth again. His lips caught your whimpers. His tongue tasted your gasps. He moaned into your mouth when you clenched around him.

And then–

His hand slid up your chest, broad and warm, until his palm cupped the base of your throat. Not tight. Not forceful. Just there. Anchoring. Feeling the frantic flutter of your pulse beneath his fingers like it was the most sacred thing he’d ever touched.

“You’re burning,” He whispered, lips dragging across your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. “S-So warm…So soft…So alive…”

His hips rolled again, slow but deep, pressing into you until your breath stuttered beneath his palm. Your body arched into him helplessly, your thighs wrapping tighter around his waist, your mouth parting on a moan that he caught with a kiss–hot, slick, and panting. He swallowed it greedily.

The pressure of his hand on your throat didn’t restrict. It grounded. Like he needed to feel your heartbeat just to believe this was real.

You whimpered, and he pulled back enough to look at you–his curls dripping sweat, his lips swollen and damp, and those eyes, half-lidded and molten gold at the edges.

“G-God, I could be inside you forever,” he rasped, voice trembling like the words themselves threatened to undo him. “I–I never want to l-leave this. Never wanna stop feeling you like this…”

Another thrust–this one deeper, grinding. Your head dropped back with a gasp.

“Bob–” You sobbed his name like it was the only word you remembered, your fingers twisting hard in his hair. He groaned, deep and wrecked, his hips stuttering slightly as you tugged, his body responding like you’d yanked something primal out of him. His mouth found yours again, frantic and hot, tongue flicking into your mouth with messy, desperate hunger.

Then he pulled back just enough to see your face–flushed, dewy with sweat, eyes glassy and wide.

“Y-You’re close again,” He murmured, like it was something holy. His hand still cradled your throat lightly, thumb stroking gently beneath your jaw as he pressed his forehead to yours, “I–I can feel it, you’re tightening every time I move–you’re doing so good for me Y/N.” You whimpered beneath him, your hands clutching at his back, at his shoulders, pulling him deeper, harder, anything–

“I’ve got you,” He whispered, rocking into you again, the friction slow and devastating. “Let go for me. Come around me. I wanna feel it. I wanna feel you fall apart.”

You moaned–high and soft and broken.

“That’s it,” he breathed, voice breaking. “Just like that. You’re doing so good—G-God–you’re so perfect.” Your thighs shook around his hips. His hand slid down from your throat to your chest, splaying wide over your sternum, as if he could feel the orgasm building beneath your ribs. His other hand slipped to your hip, holding you still as he gave one slow, deep thrust that hit the exact spot that made your vision blur.

Your mouth dropped open in a cry.

“Come for me,” He begged, hips rolling again, steady and relentless. “Please–I wanna feel you–let me feel you come around me–”

You shattered.

Your back arched off the floor, your breath catching in a series of sobbed gasps as the orgasm ripped through you. He kept moving, kept whispering praise through your climax, voice ragged with awe.

“That’s it…That’s it, Y/N…You’re so beautiful like this–“ You clung to him like he was the only thing keeping you on earth, your nails digging into his back, your body convulsing beneath him with every wave of pleasure. You could feel yourself pulsing around him, feel how it dragged a strangled moan out of his throat.

“I-I’m so close,” He gasped, his voice wrecked, his rhythm faltering. “W-Wanna fill you up–please–can I–?”

You nodded, breathless and trembling. “Yes–yes, please–I want it–give it to me–” With a broken groan, his hips jerked forward one last time–and he spilled inside you. His whole body shook as he came, burying his face in your neck, his arms wrapping around you like he needed to hold every part of you to survive it.

You could feel it–every throb, every pulse of warmth deep inside you. His moans, soft and shaking, buzzed against your throat as his breath caught in your skin.

He didn’t move for a long while.

Just stayed there–buried inside you, mouth warm against your neck, arms tight around your waist like he was anchoring himself to this moment, to the rhythm of your heart against his chest. His breath was still coming in short, shaken bursts, and yours wasn’t much better. You were both trembling a little–not from fear, not anymore–but from the rawness of what had just passed between you. Like your bodies hadn’t quite caught up to the aftermath of something so explosive, so full.

But the heat was different now.

It had shifted. Softened. Still warm. Still thick. But no longer blistering, no longer maddening. Just…Lingering.

Your hands slid slowly up his back, fingers tracing through the sweat that slicked his spine, dragging across the faint bumps of his vertebrae. He let out a soft, shaky sigh against your skin. Your fingertips wandered to his sides, palms smoothing gently over the curve of his ribs as if to say I’m here. Still here. I’m okay.

You tilted your head and pressed a kiss to his shoulder—soft, damp, reverent. His skin tasted like salt and breathless devotion.

Bob shifted then, his arms loosening around you as he lifted his head just slightly, enough to look down at you. His hair was a light brown mess, damp curls stuck to his temples, a few clinging to his cheeks. He blinked at you–slow, still dazed–but there was something clearer in his eyes now. Something tender. His hand dragged along your side, skimming your ribs, and he leaned down to kiss you again.

His lips moved against yours like he hadn’t quite gotten his fill–like maybe he never would. He kissed your mouth, then your jaw, then your neck, peppering slow, breathless kisses along the column of your throat. You giggled once–just a little–as his nose brushed the underside of your jaw, tickling your skin.

He pulled back just enough to blink down at you, lips wet and parted, chest still heaving.

”Y-You know I like you, right?” Your breath caught. Your fingers paused where they rested near the nape of his neck. His voice had cracked slightly on the word like, and you could tell he meant something so much more than that. Of course you knew his feelings for you, it was easy to spot, but hearing him say it aloud–even after the both of you just had the most carnal sex ever–still made you a bit breathless. You swallowed, then nodded–eyes searching his face, your heart fluttering in your throat.

“I like you too,” You whispered, your voice shaky and soft. “Always have…” Your cheeks burned, and not from residual heat. You traced a finger over the curve of his shoulder. “T-The circumstances right now are a bit c-crazy…But…Maybe after this…”You tried to continue, but your nerves tangled the words together.

He finished them for you.

“I-I’ll take you out,” He said, nodding once, as if promising both you and himself. “We…We can go to your favorite r-restaurant. And we can do this right…” He ducked his head a little, voice lowering to a smile. “W-Without the sex pollen.” You let out a laugh–helpless and bright–and leaned up to kiss him again. He grinned into it, just a little, and kissed you twice more, slower now, like sealing the agreement. When he finally pulled back, his thumb was brushing your cheekbone, his other hand still lazily tracing your hip.

His gaze dropped to your chest for a moment, then back to your eyes. “A-Are you still aching?” He asked gently.

You paused, body still humming with the memory of him, but no longer sharp with urgency. You shifted slightly, feeling the wet stickiness between your thighs, the throb finally quieting to something warm and dull.

“It’s dulled a little,” you admitted. “But I think we should wash up…”

He blinked, nodding. “R-Right. Yeah.”

You offered a small smile, brushing the sweat-slick hair from his forehead. “We’ve got that little makeshift shower unit in the corner storage. Emergency setup. I-I can activate it.”

He looked at you, eyes soft, one hand trailing lightly over your ribs again.

“I-I’ll come with you,” He murmured. “Just to m-make sure you’re okay.” His curls hung loose now, wild and slightly matted from where your fingers had yanked at them during your climax. The gold shimmer on his skin caught the low lab lights, making him glow faintly where he hovered above you.

“Aww,” you murmured, brushing a hand lazily over the sharp line of his jaw, “That’s sweet, Bob. Really. But we both know that’s not the reason you’re joining me.” Bob flushed immediately, lips twitching into a bashful grin.

“O-Okay,” He said quietly, nuzzling your cheek with the tip of his nose. “M-Maybe it isn’t…M-Maybe I just wanna wash you, and k-kiss you under the water…Until all this heat dies down inside me.” Your chest stuttered at that, heart tripping over itself. His voice was so soft, so wrecked, so full of you.

“Now that’s much better,” You whispered, leaning up to kiss the corner of his mouth. He smiled into it, and you felt the way his arms curled tighter around your middle, the way his cock–still half-hard inside you–twitched slightly at the praise. He sighed, then slowly pulled out, both of you gasping a little at the drag of it. You shivered, and he was already reaching for a nearby towel to cover you while you sat up. His hand cradled the back of your head as you steadied yourself. Always gentle, even now.

You stretched your sore limbs and started for the far corner of the lab where the emergency hygiene setup was stored. Still naked, still glowing with post-orgasm daze, you knelt beside the console and started activating the emergency rinse station–a compact but functional retractable stall with hot water access, a single pressure-nozzle head, and sealed drainage for contamination containment. You flipped open the sanitation kit, pulling out the packet of unscented soap, a washcloth, and the emergency towels folded like paper bricks.

Bob padded over behind you, and you heard him laugh softly as you organized the supplies with shaky hands.

“What?” You said over your shoulder, arching an eyebrow.

He scratched the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “N-Nothing. Y-You just look really focused for someone who’s still naked and covered in glittery sex pollen.”

You snorted. “Yeah, well,” you murmured, standing and turning to face him, “Remind me to access the cameras in here later and delete the footage of what happened…”

Bob raised his brows. “You think there’s audio?”

You gave him a deadpan look. “Bob. We shouted at each other and cried out mid-orgasm while covered in science glitter. If there’s audio, we’re already blackmail material.”

His face turned scarlet.

“Y-You think they’ll–”

“I don’t think we want our sex tape leaking,” You interrupted, grinning wickedly as you flicked the shower head on. Warm water streamed out with a pleasant hiss, filling the space with a light mist and the sound of soft rainfall. You stepped under it first, pulling him gently in after you. The water hit your skin and instantly began washing away the gold flecks still clinging to your chest and thighs.

Bob’s hands found your waist again.

“…M-Maybe I’ll take a copy,” He mumbled.

You looked over your shoulder at him with mock exasperation. “You’ll have the real thing almost every night, Bob,” you said, voice low and teasing. “I don’t think you’ll need a copy.” His breath hitched–barely–and then you felt his mouth press to the back of your shoulder, his arms circling your waist from behind.

“I-Is that so?” He asked, lips trailing kisses up your damp neck.

You tilted your head back against him, smiling into the steam.

“Oh, it’s definitely so,” You said, reaching back to cup the nape of his neck, pulling him closer as the water cascaded around you both–cleansing your skin, but not your hunger.

[little-diable]

Lightning - Tyler Owens (smut)

I mean, we all knew this would happen. I haven’t seen the movie yet, but I am DESPERATE for him. And as somebody who actually has something to do with studying tornadoes, I had to write this. I am obsessed with this fic, but I doubt this will get much attention, so please actually reblog it if you enjoyed reading it! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Tyler and the reader are chasing tornadoes together, but when they have to step back and find shelter, things quickly change between them.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, handjob, kinda enemies to lovers, teasing and all that fun stuff

Pairing: Tyler Owens x fem!reader (3k words)

Wind was blowing in her face, letting her strands dance in the air while her eyes flickered between her laptop screen and the dark sky. She was surrounded by her team, trying to ignore their shouts as they decided which direction to head in. (Y/n) was torn between too many options, not liking the way this afternoon was playing out. 

It was do or die, miss or hit one of the biggest tornadoes they had come across in a while. And yet the second cell that was currently forming gave off a somewhat more promising chance of catching enough data this time around. 

“Which way will it be, lightning?” Her breath hitched in her chest as he mumbled the words, front pressed against her back. The hairs on her arms began to rise, fully focused on his closeness, allowing her to pick up on the scent of his familiar cologne, on the way his breath fanned over the back of her neck as if he was about to kiss that very spot.

“Am I dreaming? Is Tyler Owens asking for my opinion?” She slowly turned towards the handsome man. Her eyes instantly found his piercing ones, getting lost in their intense gaze while he shot her one of his signature smirks. Fuck, if he weren’t such an asshole most of the time, she would easily give in to the pull she felt, allowing him to tug her towards his bed without having to fear about the aftermath. But if there was one thing (y/n) was sure of, it was that Tyler Owens was all about playing games, toying with a woman until he eventually grew bored. He was a personification of a thunderstorm, fast moving and never ready to settle.

“Don’t let it get to your head, pretty.” She clicked her tongue with a displeased expression tugging on her features. There was no time left to study him, to curse whoever had created him for making him look this handsome. They had to stay focused, at least until she got the data she needed for her project. 

“Alright, we’re heading east.” (Y/n) closed her laptop before reaching for her bag–the bag that was snatched from her grasp before she could protest. Tyler had slung it over his shoulder while tilting his head towards his truck, silently asking her to ride with him. 

On any other occasion she would have cursed him, would have told him to fuck off. But today, while being heavily understaffed, she needed any help she could get. And knowing that Tyler drove like the devil himself, she knew she had the best chance of arriving just in time with him by her side. 

His smirk grew wider the second she gave in, begrudgingly following Tyler while her eyes found the confused ones of her teammates. She only rolled her eyes at them, raising her shoulders and dropping them again as if she was wordlessly telling them that she was just as confused as they were, not seeing through Tyler’s game just yet. 

Silence filled the truck, only a few commands left (y/n) whenever they needed to make a turn, chasing down the roads to catch up with the growing cell. All while the others followed behind them, too slow to catch up with Tyler’s truck. Her heart was pounding in her chest, riled up by the anticipation of chasing another storm – no matter how many times she had done this before, (y/n) would never get used to the thrill, the moments leading up to seeing yet another beautiful though terrifying tornado. 

“You alright, pretty?” She’d never get used to the way Tyler called her, dripping with that drawl she loved more than she’d ever admit. (Y/n) didn’t look at him, fully focused on her laptop to monitor the path their tornado took. No word left her pressed together lips, trying to drown out the feeling of his concerned eyes flickering towards her every few seconds. 

“(Y/n)?” The use of her name ripped (y/n) out of her trance, letting her wide pupils find his. She only nodded at Tyler, knowing she couldn’t waste any time on the crush she could never speak of, preferring to take her secret to the grave rather than feeding his ego–only to end up with a broken heart in the process. 

“Guys, can you hear me?” She held the radio close, speaking to the others while refocusing on the map. All they could hear was rustling, unable to pick up on the reply that was spoken on the other end. Curses clawed through (y/n), she tried to reach their teams again, while swallowing the sinking feeling growing in the pit of her stomach. No longer could she see them in the rearview mirror, telling her that they hadn’t made it down the narrow path Tyler had taken.

The road ahead was muddy, forcing the truck to slither along while Tyler tried to avoid holes and ditches. With one hand clutching the door, (y/n) tried to hold still, not daring to bump into Tyler whose angry cusses filled the truck. Both had their eyes focused ahead, knowing that this had been the wrong choice, the wrong tornado to chase. They were heading straight towards their death if they kept going that way, knowing that without their team by their side, they wouldn’t be able to collect enough data anyway. 

“I hate being the one to say it, but we gotta find shelter, lightning.” Tyler’s annoyed groans left her nodding, giving him the green light to take a sharp left to turn towards the town close by. With the slimmest chance to find proper shelter, Tyler kept speeding along, seemingly having a spot in mind. (Y/n) was angry, at herself, at the road conditions, knowing that this situation should have played out much differently. And all she could do was trust the man she had always tried to hate.

“Come, follow me.” The truck was forced to a sudden halt. (Y/n) followed Tyler outside, holding onto her things while he reached for her free hand to pull her along. He guided her towards what appeared to be a barn, a building she paid no attention to as she studied the tornado, getting lost in its beauty for a second. “They built an underground shelter here a few years back, if we’re lucky nobody else had the time to find it.”

Tyler pushed her into the unlocked barn, letting the doors slide close again before he led her down some stairs. She didn’t dare speak, torn between too many emotions. All (y/n) could do was let go of a sigh while being ushered into the empty, dark shelter. It took her a while to adjust to the darkness, letting her hands move along the metallic wall until she found what appeared to be a light switch. She gave it a try, though without any luck, letting herself drop to the ground while Tyler stayed glued to his spot. 

If both hadn’t been too deep in thought, they would have realised that this was the first time they were sheltering together, completely alone without any nosy eyes watching them or listening to their talks. 

“We should have gone west, I’m sorry.” Her whispers filled the small shelter, luring Tyler closer who plopped down next to her. He fumbled with his phone to turn on the fleshlight, letting it rest on the ground to alight their surroundings. A few boxes were placed against the wall, filled with water and some snacks they hopefully wouldn’t have to use, praying that they’d get out of here fast enough to chase their luck once again. 

“There’s always time for another try, pretty.” Tyler reached for her hand to squeeze it before he could stop himself, forcing her eyes to focus on the spot where she now felt a buzzing sensation. She let her head roll towards Tyler, studying the white hat he took off with his free hand, placing it down on the ground, only to comb through his hair. 

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you without that thing on.” (Y/n)’s whispers left him chuckling, a sound that momentarily managed to drown out the roar of the tornado. The howling was an almost comforting sound to them, after years of chasing them, well aware of every little detail. 

“Well, you’re one of the few who gets the honour, appreciate it.” She rolled her eyes at him before ripping her gaze off of him. Heat flushed through her at his teasing, a heat that only grew more biting as she realised that they were still holding hands. Her tongue moved along her dry lips, trying to find the right words to break their silence, silently hoping that she could cherish every single second of their time together. As much as she had once sworn to hate him while burying her crush deep inside of herself, she had lost all strength to fight against it, at least for now.

“Why have we never done this before?” Tyler seemed to feel the same longing, drawing her focus back towards him with his question. His eyes had an even more piercing touch to them now, having an invisible tight grasp on her soul she didn’t want to escape from. 

“Because you’re an asshole most of the time and I can’t stand being around you for long.” (Y/n)’s sharp reply left him laughing, a loud sound that had an addicting effect on her, leaving her chuckling while shaking her head at the man. 

“You wound me, lightning. Here I was hoping you’d finally let me take you out on a date, once this day’s over.” No longer did she laugh, the sound was stuck in her throat all too suddenly.

Did he truly mean it? Was he planning on asking her out? Or was Tyler playing yet another game with her? 

“Don’t fuck with me, Owens.” His hand darted out to grasp her chin, forcing her to keep her focus on him before she could even try to turn away from him. For just a second, she watched his gaze flicker between her eyes and her slightly parted lips. Once again her heart was back to racing, no longer focused on the howling wind, the sounds of things crashing outside, but fully and solemnly focused on Tyler. 

“Are you scared of this thing between us?” Once again, his question managed to rob her of the air filling her lungs, not expecting him to be this direct with her. A part of (y/n) begged her to cuss him out, to make fun of the question, to escape the avalanche that was about to roll upon them, but the bigger - more desperate - part of her, managed to gain the upper hand, leading her straight towards danger.

“Well, even though you enjoy riding your fears, I prefer to face ‘em. I’m not scared, not of this, whatever this is. But I’m fucking terrified of you toying with me and dropping me the second I’m no longer interesting enough.” He let go of her, only to pull her into his lap, making her straddle his stretched out legs. They held eye contact, wordlessly daring one another to move first, to give in to the pull that was as strong as an F5 they’d happily chase on any other day. 

“I’d be fucking stupid to mess it up with you.” She felt his breath on her lips, ghosting over her soft skin like he was giving her one last chance to pull away. A chance she wouldn’t take, letting it pass while finding his lips for a soft kiss that escalated within seconds. With his hand pressed to the back of her head and his other placed on her waist, Tyler held her to him while deepening the kiss.

Their tongues fought for victory, knowing that neither of them would back down from a fight against the other, urged on by their need to gain the upper hand. Soft groans and moans left them while their bodies searched one another’s closeness, knowing that this was something they wouldn’t tell others about, preferring to keep this as their secret. 

Her hands roamed his clothed chest, feeling his muscles beneath her wandering fingers while finding her way to his belt. She toyed with the buckle for a moment while her lips were still glued to his, knowing they’d have to part any moment now to inhale some much needed breaths of air. 

“You sure you want to do this in here, lightning?” His chuckles left her grinning, while holding onto the question she had wanted to ask for a while now. 

“Why lightning?” A kiss was shared between them, much softer than the one before. Her hand was still toying with his belt, slowly undoing the buckle to wordlessly tell him she wanted this much as he did, even though they knew that it was stupid and selfish of them to hide out here while their teams were undoubtedly worrying about them. 

“Well, the first time I saw you, you struck me like lightning, brightening my darkest day.” The explanation was cheesy, and yet it still drew heat up her neck. She could only swallow, smile at him and refocus on her hands. Tyler let her move, freeing his hardening cock while his impatient hands tugged on the buttons of her blouse, letting it pop open to expose her bra-clad chest. 

“Fuck, you’re a dream.” Her eyes flickered up to his while she spat into her palm, using her saliva to lube him up. Tyler couldn’t stop his moans from clawing through him, fully focused on the way he perfectly fit into her hand, pressed against the soft skin he wanted to feel against every inch of his body. His head rolled back against the wall, eyes closed and lips parted – offering a sight that made her walls clench around nothing, proud for being the one to make him feel like that. 

Her hand added more speed to its movements, squeezing him with just enough pressure to draw another raspy moan from Tyler. He allowed himself to relish in her touch for another moment before he gently though urgently grasped her wrist to stop her from moving. 

“Will you ride me, lightning?” His accent grew thicker with every syllable, leaving her shuddering while only a soft chuckle managed to leave her. She rose to her feet to shuffle out of her jeans, keeping her eyes focused on Tyler who marvelled at her as if she was the strongest tornado he had ever been fortunate enough to see, fully mesmerised by everything about her. She kept her panties on while finding her way back to his lap, knowing that they needed to hit the road soon, not giving them a chance to do this properly. 

“Wait, here.” He reached for his back pocket to pull a condom out of his wallet, letting her rip it open to roll it down his aching cock. Both their hearts were beating in sync, knowing that they were finally about to do something they had been desperate for ever since running into one another for the first time. No matter how much anger and hatred had once grown between them, it was now turning them from opponents to lovers–or whatever it was both were trying to adjust to. 

Tyler held onto her as she sank down on him, letting her forehead fall against his shoulder for a second. No words were spoken while they had to adjust, overwhelmed by the new sensation and the whirlwind of emotions buzzing through them like a storm hitting them both. With her hands holding onto him, clinging to the fabric of the shirt he wore, she began to move, fucking herself on his twitching cock with such a passion, Tyler feared he may never want to get out of this shelter again. 

“Tyler,” his name left her, a breathy whisper he almost missed, too far gone to focus on anything but their closeness. He palmed her ass, letting his fingertips dig into her skin to leave marks that would remind her of this very moment for days to come. His hips met hers, jerking upwards to make his cock disappear inside of her even deeper, drawing desperate moans from them which dripped with a need for more. 

“Attagirl, look at you, fucking yourself on my cock like you were born for this.” She moaned at his words, knowing that her thighs would start aching soon enough, begging for a new position to give herself the needed push to fall over the edge. “What? You’re already getting tired? I should have fucked you in my truck, make you scream my name while the world’s ending around us.” 

He pushed her off of him without a warning, leaving her dazed and confused for a second while watching him rise to his feet. With a hand stretched out for (y/n) to take, he pulled her up towards him–only to pick her up and press her against the wall. His cock was pushed back into her, stretching her walls while he fucked her with a fast pace that made both of them see stars. 

(Y/n) clawed at his neck, needing to hold onto him while he fucked her closer and closer to the edge. A cocky grin widened on his lips as he felt her walls tightening their grip on his cock. She was close, would let go soon with his name burning on the tip of her tongue, a perfect reminder that she was his from today on, glued to the man who she had once sworn to hate. 

“Scream my name, lightning, show them what a real thunderstorm sounds like.” If he weren’t buried deep inside of her, she would have rolled her eyes at him. But (y/n) was too far gone to care about his cheesy teasing, solemnly focused on her arising high and the name rolling off her tongue like a prayer.

And then she came, pushed into an orgasm so strong, (y/n) feared she’d never experience something like this again. It buzzed through every part of her body, stealing her breath as if she was drowning, forcing her heart to skip beats as if she was chased by someone or rather something. Tyler kept fucking her against the wall, urged on by her moans, the sounds he’d never forget again. 

Pants kept leaving him while chasing his own high, letting his skin meet hers with every ferocious thrust. And with one last “Fuck” Tyler came, relieving himself into the condom as his smirk returned to his lips. Both were heavily breathing, clinging to the other while coming down from their highs.

“I don’t know if I can walk back to the truck.” Carefully, he placed (y/n) back down on her feet, shaking his head at her with a soft smile thrown her way. Tyler pressed another kiss to her slightly swollen lips before both redressed, knowing that they had to get out of here and back to their team as fast as possible. 

“You know I’ll gladly carry you, lightning. I always will, if you let me.”

[heyimkana]

Come Home to Me (1/2)

Read Part 2 | Read it on AO3

Pairing: Sung Jinwoo X Female Reader

Genre: Marriage AU, fluff, smut, slight angst

Summary: Jinwoo bids you and his baby daughter goodbye before he goes on another dangerous mission. As his wife, you've grown used to the bittersweet farewell, only this time, you're not sure if he can return safely to you.

Word Count: 5K

Content Warnings: None for this one. Semi-public sex in part 2. Contains minor spoilers and the appearance of Beru, the shadow soldier that he obtained during Jeju Island Raid.

Author's Note: Wrote something fluffy for him since there's already plenty of Daddy!Jinwoo fics out there but none for Papa!Jinwoo 😔

A week. 

Your husband has only been gone for a week, tasting the air of a country that stretched like a vast sea on the other side of the world, wishing every breath and scenery was shared with you. And yet, the suspense of being kept in waiting, clueless to what was happening, was almost too much to bear. You never thought that seven days could stretch like infinity, how every hour passed by so slowly, so agonizingly, as if you had lost your sole purpose in life. Had you realized it sooner, you would’ve begged him not to go, knowing you’d be dreading every passing second, wondering if he was safe, if he was close to death’s door like the last time you let him go to protect Seoul from being transformed into an everlasting iceland. 

“What are you so worried about? You have it so easy. Your husband is untouchable. Try being a D-rank hunter’s wife like me. I’m lucky if he comes home with only a bruise on his face.”

What your neighbor told you was true. You had it easy compared to everyone else. You’re the wife of Korea’s 10th S-Rank Hunter. The Lord of the Undead. The Shadow Monarch. As the sixth nation-level hunter, maybe even a level beyond that, your husband’s strength was nearly immeasurable, far better than anyone else. But to you… He was just Sung Jinwoo. The father of your beautiful baby daughter, a loving husband who refused to believe that he was handsome enough to charm your heart from the very first sight, and an ardent lover who’d be more than willing to sacrifice the world for you, the same one he had vowed to protect with all his power. Jinwoo might be strong, surpassing all humans and beings alike, but even the Gods themselves weren’t invincible. And the thought of him not returning to you, no matter how slim the chance might be, scared you to your bones.

He had made enemies. Powerful enemies. Enemies that didn’t just wish to kill him but to torture. Enemies that were no longer just mindless beasts or demons but ones who bore immense hatred and revenge in their hearts.

With that knowledge in mind, all sorts of thoughts and scenarios raced through your head, all of them ending in worst-case scenarios.

What if Jinwoo doesn’t come home?

And, of course, amidst all that fear, there was loneliness. The kind that lingered every time your fingertips traced over your husband’s belongings in your bedroom. The kind that suffocated you when you caught a whiff of his sweet scent in your pillows. You thought you could handle it. It was only for a week, after all. It was not until later that you realized that it meant you had to miss seven occasions of him surprising you in the morning with a back hug and a tender kiss on your neck. Seven chances of seeing him opening the front door with a bag of sweets to please your daughter, embracing your little one with the sweetest of smiles before he greeted you with an equally sweet peck on the lips. Seven nights of nothing but the deafening silence to keep you company instead of deep, consuming kisses that took your breath away and a hand sliding up your thigh to remind you just who you belonged to.

You thought such a solitary feeling wouldn’t strike you so hard since you had your daughter to keep you company at all times, but it did, harder than lightning. You felt lonely the minute your husband kissed you goodbye. You felt lonely the moment he lovingly caressed your cheek, brushing another kiss, lighter and tender than before, right on your temple. You felt lonely the second his voice rang through your ears to speak his farewell, “Goodbye, baby. I’ll be home as soon as I clear the gate.” 

Soon was not enough. Soon, you realized, was just another word for eternity. Eternity without him. But the world needed him, and you couldn’t be selfish. You shouldn’t.

You hummed quietly in response, carrying your baby in your arms as your heart stood heavy with the fear for his safety. You knew you should’ve hidden it better so your husband could leave with ease. Seeing you worry so much would only make his heart ache more. 

You could tell that he already had his own concerns and doubts to dwell on, gnawing at him from the inside. Jinwoo was just better at hiding everything to himself—the burden he was carrying, the guilt of leaving you behind, the exhaustion of doing endless raids, one gate harder than the last. To tell the truth, he was as torn as you were. Like you, who constantly grew anxious over his well-being, he worried about yours, too, perhaps a million times worse. He was a hunter possessing God-like abilities, but you were just a human, as normal as one could be. The closest way to get to him, to strike him where he’d bleed the most, was through you. You and his sweet baby daughter. It was the reason why Jinwoo had assigned a hundred High Orcs to protect the neighborhood, with another hundred swarming beneath the shadows of your walls. He’d transformed your home into a fortress, and yet, even then, his concern for you remained. But your husband never told you this, and he wished you wouldn’t come to realize it on your own, not wanting you to feel like you were the anchor that slowed him down, a weight that would drown him deep into the void. 

You should’ve done the same. As his wife, the least you could do was put up a strong face, convince him that everything would be fine, that he’d return home safely, and that you’d be there waiting for him to welcome him with the warmth of your lips meeting his own. You could’ve offered him the peace he secretly sought after, and most of the time, you did a fine job at it, but this evening was different. There was a sense of impending dread closing in with every tick of the clock, and you couldn’t wash it away no matter what you did.

With his car keys dangling in one hand, Jinwoo headed toward your porch, carrying a suitcase with him. His long coat swayed gracefully with each step taken, his matching black shirt unbuttoned low enough to showcase the dip of his sternum. Even from behind, he appeared tall and strong, providing the feeling of security you couldn’t find in anyone else. Your baby held onto you, laying her head on your chest as you followed after your husband’s footsteps, oblivious to the heavy storm raging in your mind. 

Don’t go. You felt like catching his hand and pulling him back even from the second he removed himself from your embrace. “J-Jinwoo.”

His gaze flickered back to you, one hand settled on the door of his car. His eyes, the same pair that caused even the most vicious beast to tremble in fear, they were always so gentle to you, weren’t they? “Yeah?”

You swallowed your breath. Don’t tell him. Don’t make him worry more than he already is. You released a shaky breath, followed closely after with your best smile. “Be safe.”

A flash of curiosity fleeted across his face. He sensed something from how you behaved but did not quite understand it just yet, as your mask was nearly perfect. Smiling to himself, he settled down his suitcase and returned to you. Jinwoo laid a hand on your head, his palm large and gentle. As you looked up, greeted by his towering height, he bent himself slightly to be closer to you. He brushed the stray strands out of your eyes; his smile had a hint of confidence—maybe even arrogance—in it. “And who do you think you’re talking to, Sweetheart?”

To anyone else’s eyes, your husband might often come across as indifferent, with his charisma and leadership ceaselessly exuding out of him, making him seem unapproachable, guarded. But to you, he was always playful. Cheeky. Flirty, even. Not too much, just enough for your heart to palpitate inside your ribcages, just enough for you to recall the reason why your life was so beautiful, meaningful. No, the reason why you were alive in the first place. 

But it wasn’t enough to ease your worry, not today. Even so, you returned it with a delicate bow of your lips. “My husband,” you said, angling your head just enough for his hand to slide down to your cheek, gazing up at him with sincerity, “who I couldn’t bear to live without.”

He blinked, taken by surprise with such an earnest answer. Once the words sank in, his entire expression softened. His fingertips traced the contour of your cheek, a touch so tender you wondered if it truly belonged to someone who had drenched his hands in blood. His palm was rough, calloused from all the countless hours he’d spent wielding his dagger, but it comforted you more than anything else. “You’re right, I am,” he replied softly. “Which is why you don’t need to worry. As your husband, I have the responsibility—and this aching need—to be with you. No matter how hard it is, no matter how long it will take me, I will do anything, everything, to make sure I return to you.” He lifted your face just enough to brush a kiss on your temple. “I’ll come home safe and sound, the way I always do. You just need to trust me on this, all right?”

You believed him—you did, you always did—but you couldn’t put the same faith in whoever controlled his fate.

Jinwoo stood close, close enough for you to take in his scent and feel the familiar heat radiating from his body. He brought your face to his, pressing your foreheads together. Your lids fluttered shut at the intimacy, a habit of yours that he’d grown to adore. You wanted to cry, the silvery voice in your mind telling you this might be the last time you could bask in this serenity. You would’ve done it, sobbed your heart out, if it wasn’t because of the thin thread of restraint holding you together. 

“Instead of telling me to be safe,” Jinwoo breathed out softly, closing his eyes just the same. “Tell me you’ll be waiting for me.” He returned the small distance between your faces, just enough for you to marvel at the sweetness of his smile. “That you’ll be here, standing by the door to greet me with a smile, with the same kiss you gave me before we parted. Can you do that for me, Sweetheart? Can you wait here for me, stay safe, and make sure that I have something to come back to?”

You squeezed your lips tightly before you altered the tremble running through them into a smile. You covered his hand with your own, your digit brushing against the silver ring that adorned his lean finger, glinting under the sunset with your name carved inside. “Jin…” You brushed your lips against the center of his palm, exhaling heavily as you drowned in his warmth. It was nearly impossible to release the words, the same way you never wanted to release him. “Come home soon. Come home to me. I’ll be waiting for you.”

For someone who rarely showed emotions across his face, his joy unfolded like a flower, crystal clear for even your baby to see. With a quiver in his breath, his voice dropped an octave lower. “Baby,” he sighed, his voice hoarse with need, your stomach somersaulting at the sound. “You’re making it so hard for me to leave right now.”

If it was hard for him, it was unbearable to you. “I was just doing what you told me to.”

“I didn’t expect you to say it like that,” he replied, almost in a whine. “Now, I’ve lost motivation to go. Maybe I should just change back to my sweatpants and cuddle with you two. Watch cartoons all day. Eat cakes and have tea parties.” He tickled his daughter by the chin, returning her questioning eyes with a slight grin. “Doesn’t that sound fun, Princess?”

It was heartwarming the way he spoke it, the way he imagined it, how he craved for more time to spend with his family. “Then, stay,” you said, an impish, albeit faint, smile twinkled on your pretty mouth. “Stay with me.” You pulled your daughter, who had been listening while babbling quietly to herself, closer to you, your cheek squeezed tight against her plump one. “With us.”

“And watch the world burn?” His chuckle, your favorite sound in the world, reverberated nicely in your ears. 

You fell into deep rumination, taking his words into serious consideration despite it being a jest. A dungeon break would happen soon on the other side of the world, and an S-rank gate at that. Nobody was strong enough to close it. Nobody was strong enough to clear it. It would destroy the whole city in the following two days had it not been taken care of—no, maybe even the entire state. Hundreds—thousands—of innocent lives would be wiped out in an instant should that happen. Your husband had the power to stop it. He was the only one capable of saving them, but… 

“Would that… be so bad?” You feebly questioned before you could stop yourself, almost pleadingly. “Just one time… Don’t be a hero just this one time. Just be my husband and stay with me. Stay right here, where I need you the most.”

His smile vanished, his body freezing at the solemnity in your tone. He was lost for words, perplexity in his stare. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed his breath. Jinwoo cupped your cheek again, his gaze turning stern as he beseeched you for the truth. “Are you really asking me that?”

You gulped. His words had weight behind them, responding to you just as earnestly. It was almost as if he was on the verge of doing the same, just needing that one last push for his will to save the world to shatter. Your words could be it.

You felt weak under his stare, almost breathless, intoxicated by how deeply he loved you, to the point he would trade innocent lives for it. “As long as that means you can always be with me,” you answered, letting your selfish thought slip, saying it so quietly as if you couldn’t bear the Gods to know just how sinful your wish was. “I’ll trade the world for it.”

Not a word flowed from his mouth. His hold on your face was almost as still as a statue. Within this proximity, under this palpable tension, your gaze dropped to his thin lips, the same way his deep, cobalt eyes fell to yours. His eyes darkened, his body burning with desire. “Don’t tempt me,” he uttered, almost in a growl, before he smashed your lips together. He gathered your face in his hands, kissing you fast and hard, disregarding everything, anything except you. You could feel just how much he wanted to make your wish come true, and it painted elation onto your soul but guilt onto your heart. It was an awful thing to say, jest or not.

His moan, soft, breathy, and sensual, granted a layer of sweet vibration on your lips, and oh, you were wrong. This one was your favorite sound in the world. You were in the middle of drowning in his kiss, in the swirling, intense emotions he permeated your heart with, when the sound of your daughter’s giggles rang through the air. Immediately, you stopped, breaking away from him. “W-what are you laughing about, Sweetheart?” you asked her, flames licking your cheeks. “I can’t believe we just did that in front of our child!” You hissed at him, glaring.

Jinwoo averted his face to the side, looking just as flushed and caught off guard. Wiping the stain of your lip gloss off his lips with his knuckles, he uttered back, “Don’t blame me. This is all your fault.”

“How is it my fault? You kissed me.”

“You were looking at me with those eyes.”

“With what eyes?” You played dumb. “This is how I normally look at you.”

He snorted, amused. “Oh, so you weren’t just staring at my lips? Asking me to sacrifice the world for you while you did it?”

Your face sizzled. “Oh, shut up.”

Jinwoo laughed, quiet and soft as always, but his eyes crinkled prettily around the edges. Your daughter chortled along, too, as if she could understand the words you exchanged with your husband. In reality, she was simply mirroring the joy that gleamed on both of your faces, happy to see the unspoken, lingering sadness between you disappear even for a moment.

When you returned your stare from your daughter to the man before you, you caught him staring at you. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing,” Jinwoo shrugged with a smile. Happy. “Hey, can you say it again?”

“Say what?”

“That you’ll be waiting for me to come back to you.”

Your heart thrashed inside your ribcages. For some reason, with him looking at you with those eyes and that smile, it felt mortifying to repeat it. You looked away, mumbling out the words almost inaudibly, “I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Baby,” he playfully scolded. “Be a good girl and say it like you mean it.”

Good gi—Must he say it like that? Your cheeks burned. “I’ll… I’ll be waiting… for you.”

So cute, his expression seemed to say, adoring you with his smile growing wide and clear, consumed by the love you presented him, love that was fully returned. “One more time, love. Please.”

You exhaled, finally succumbing to his wish. You held his gaze, your expression sheepish, nervous, but you said it as best as you could, placing a piece of your heart in every word.

“Come home to me. I’ll be waiting for you. I’ll always be waiting for you.”

It resonated straight into his chest, erasing every hint of smirk off his lips. A spark of desire filled his gaze as he dove his head to capture your lips once more, forgetting yet again that your baby was there—looking at the two of you with curious eyes.

“H-Honey,” you stopped him just in time despite wanting it as badly—especially after that last kiss. Funny how your body still longed desperately for his touch even after he’d endlessly robbed moans out of your mouth the previous night. “Your daughter’s still here.”

“Right.” Jinwoo broke free from the thought, no matter how inviting your lips looked. He turned toward his daughter, rubbing her head. “Sorry, kiddo. Mommy looked so pretty; I got completely absorbed for a moment there. The one before that was completely her fault, though.”

You elbowed him on the side, stealing another chuckle from him. “You’re not in a hurry, are you? I still want to talk to you. I’m sure your daughter feels the same, too. Even for a minute is fine, just… just stay.”

Happiness, one that you brought to him, was the perfect shade to color his face. Being so needed by you, so wanted… You were his motivation to fight and survive. He wanted to memorize your face, to engrave it into his mind so that he could hold onto it, even in the midst of battle. “Of course, baby.”

You dwelled in another string of conversation, something light to pacify your mind. You couldn’t help but stare a little as he spoke, adoring how his hair framed his face so perfectly. He looked exceptionally handsome standing before you, causing you to wonder if it was because your heart was already yearning so terribly for him, knowing you’d be deprived of his touch for days after.

The baby in your arms looked up at her father, her hand reaching forward to touch him, her twin-tails swaying in the air with every movement. “Papa…”

Jinwoo bent his head low to meet her at her eye level, smiling when she splayed her hand on his cheek. “Yes, my darling?” 

“Shaef…” She cooed, still having trouble pronouncing her words clearly. “Papa, shaef…”

Your lips curved up in a downhearted smile. “She wants you to be safe. Seems like she’s worried about you, too.”

You could see his emotions swirling in his eyes, how touched he was, how much it pained him to tear himself away from his little family, but it was a mission he needed to do. A mission that only he could do. He collected himself before more pieces of his heart broke, rubbing her head so affectionately. “I will be, Sweetheart. Daddy will be just fine. There’s no need to worry about me. Daddy’s stronger than anyone else.”

Your daughter tried to imitate the word ‘strong’ in response, an act so adorable that it stole a peal of laughter from both of you. “That’s right, Sweetie,” he crooned. “And you will be as strong as me, too, one day, but for now, I’ll have Beru watching over you at all times, okay? He’s tougher than any S-rank hunter here. He can protect you from anything.”

She blinked her doe eyes, patting his father’s cheek. “Boo… Bewu… Boo…”

Jinwoo sewed his brows in confusion. “What?”

You tittered. “She’s asking you if Beru could protect her from ghosts, too. Remember last Halloween when we bought her the storybook with the little white ghost? She’s talking about that one.”

“Oh, yeah,” he recalled the memory with delight. “You’re scared of the little ghost, baby?”

“Boo! Boo!”

“I see,” he chuckled lightly at her reaction. “Well, yes, Beru can certainly protect you from that, too. Just give me a second, all right?” 

Your husband straightened himself, his eyes emitting an ominous glow, a pair of brilliant amethyst gleaming underneath the orange tinge of the setting sun. No matter how often you’d seen it, it still sent shivers down your spine. 

“Come forth.”

A shadow soldier, a huge, humanoid ant with a light purple glow, neon eyes, and smoky wings, was born out of his spell, his body manifesting out of thin air. Beru, he was called, a name Jinwoo had bestowed upon him after he resurrected him during the deadly raid on Jeju island. 

The warrior kneeled before his summoner at once, bending his head low. “My liege.”

“Take care of my wife and baby while I’m away. Should any harm come to them…” It shimmered brighter, the eerie glow inside his eyes, carrying the horror of death itself. His voice vibrated dangerously, pressure in each word. “You know what I’ll do to you, right?”

The shadow, one of the strongest generals in his army, gulped in fear. “Y-yes, my liege.”

“Don’t be too harsh on him, Jin,” you scold your husband, rubbing his arm. “He’s doing us a favor.” You greeted the soldier with a warm smile. “I’ll be in your care again, Beru.”

“It is an honor, milady.” Beru placed his hand over his chest, his claws long enough to graze his own shoulder as he inclined his body forward. “I swear upon my life that I will do whatever it takes to protect you, even if it means my bones will shatter to dust.”

Jinwoo visibly rolled his eyes at his dramatic act. “See, this is exactly why I should be a little strict with him. You’re spoiling him too much.”

“I think he deserves it. He’s been an excellent babysitter to us. And he cleans up the house better than you do. He just talks a bit funny, that’s all.”

“Oh, Queen Consort,” Beru nearly sobbed, the black smoke around him trembled. “Your praise is too much for my humble self to accept. How can I, Beru, your most loyal servant, repay you for such kindness?”

“Stopping yourself from watching all those historical dramas would be a start,” your husband muttered.

“Shush, he can watch whatever he wants,” you lightly chastised him again, to which Jinwoo sighed in defeat. “Though I would’ve liked it better if you could just address me normally, Beru. Calling me the… Queen Consort is kind of embarrassing.”

Beru performed his respect with an exaggerated bow. “I will call you whatever title you see fit, milady. Please. Tell me. How should I refer to you, O my Gracious One?”

You cringed at the title. “My name?”

Horror fell upon his face as soon as the words reached his ears. “I-I cannot do that, milady! I will never be so disrespectful as to call you merely by your name. You are the Queen of The Shadow Realm. The Wife of Death. The Worthy Bearer of my King’s Seeds—”

“‘Milady’ then!” You exclaimed with haste, face aflame. “M-Milady is fine, just—never call me that.”

Jinwoo bit his lip, trying to bite back his laughter. “The last one has a nice ring to it.”

“Oh, be quiet.”

In the hilarity of the moment, your baby suddenly launched her hands in the air, her feet kicking around in excitement. “Bewu! Bewu!”

“Aaw, look at her, Jinwoo,” your mouth broke into a wide grin as you struggled to keep her in your arms. “She’s so happy to see him.”

“L-little monarch,” Beru, without a doubt, began to cry, touched by the baby’s attachment to him. “It is a pleasure to see you again, Princess. May—may I carry her in my arms, milady?”

“Sure.” You closed the distance, gently handing her over to him. “Watch your claws.”

“Of course, milady.” The soldier wept at their reunion, tears streaming down his armor-like skin. Your baby tugged onto one of his antennae, using it as her personal rattle toy, giggling as she did it. You and your husband smiled; your hearts thawed at the sight. 

Jinwoo, acting aloof as always, stuffed his hands inside his coat pockets, huffing out, “How is she not terrified of him but gets scared of a drawing? That little ghost was cute and Beru is like… that.”

“I take pride in my appearance, my liege. Nothing can penetrate my skin, not even the teeth of a mighty beast.” Under Jinwoo’s flat stare, Beru cowered. “N-nothing except your daggers, my liege.”

Your body shook a little with mirth as you replied, “Babies don’t see things the way we do, darling. Maybe she thinks Beru is cute.”

He hummed before he leaned closer to you. “And who do you think is cute?” A little smirk embellished his lips, his voice silky-smooth.

Understanding what lies behind his words, you slid a hand up his chest, an inkling of seduction in your smile. “I think you already know the answer to that.”

“Hmm, I’m not sure I do,” he teased back, loving the little game you played. “Care to enlighten me?”

Your hand rested on his shoulder before you guided him down to bring his ear close to your lips. You let your mouth caress his lobe, just a little, just enough to drive him crazy, and with the most sultry, alluring voice you could muster, you whispered your answer, “Beru.”

Though he grunted in dissatisfaction, a faint blush still smeared his cheek. Feeling the softness of your lips upon his sensitive skin, even after years of marriage, still did something to him. “You’re such a tease, you know that?”

“What?” You feigned innocence. “I really think he’s cute.”

“Of course you do,” he scoffed, to which you giggled in response.

“Papa,” your daughter points her finger at him, stealing his attention once more. “Papa, stay!”

“Does she think I’m a dog?” Jinwoo uttered before a chuckle followed. Shortening the small distance between them, he nuzzled his nose against her tiny palm, his usually stern eyes turning softer than the first snow of December. “You know how much I’d love to stay with you, baby girl, but I can’t. Daddy needs to go and save the world from the big, scary monsters out there so they won’t come and steal your little nose.” He pinched her pointy nose lightly, making her giggle with it. “But I will miss you. I will miss you so much, kiddo. So, be a good girl and wait for my return, okay? Daddy will be back before you know it.”

“Stay!” She insisted still, nearly launching herself forward in her vehement protest. “Stay, Papa, stay!”

“All right, all right, come here.” Your husband stole his daughter back from the shadow’s embrace, carrying her with ease in one arm despite her growing weight. “Let’s talk about it like adults, shall we?”

Life had passed by so quickly, faster than your brain could retain the memories, but you could still recall the first day you saw him holding your baby in his arms just like this. His expression back then was a mixture of excitement, the fear of the unknown, but above all, the love he was so eager to give. His hair was disheveled, his smile weary, and black circles stained his fair skin from all the sleepless hours he’d spent waiting beside your bed, praying for the Gods to ease your pain. He shed plenty of tears on the morning you finally opened your lids, thinking that it would take you forever to wake up, just like his mother once did. Perhaps even worse. With his sharp senses, he could tell just how much yours were fading away, and it frightened him more than the time he dealt with the giants in Cartenon Temple, so much that his fingers shook as they held yours tightly in the middle of his prayer.

It wasn’t an easy process bringing your little bundle of joy into the world—a life-threatening situation, all because she inherited just a hint of Jinwoo’s immense power. You suffered terribly during your pregnancy days, even more so when you were closer to the due date. Your daughter was so close to tearing open your womb and leaving you to bleed to death on your bed before the doctors took you away just in time to perform the surgery. Jinwoo had witnessed everything from behind the glass doors, feeling so powerless, useless, and loathing himself for it. His dose of the Elixir of Life had run out a while ago, and mere potions would never be enough to heal the internal wounds your daughter had caused you. Beru’s healing magic could only bring a little peace to your sleep, but it could not touch the root of your agony. Without any of these miracles, there was nothing Jinwoo could do but hold your hand and wish he could trade his life with yours. It brought you immense joy to see how everything worked out wonderfully in the end. 

Gratitude washed over you as you took in the sight of your husband trying his best to keep up with your daughter’s babbles. “Slow down, love. Daddy can’t understand you.” 

“She said you looked very magnificent today, my liege,” Beru attempted to interpret. “Very dandy. Truly, the living proof of how a man’s beauty could rival the heavens’—”

“No, she did not say that. And don’t say dandy.” Jinwoo cut him off with an exasperated sigh before he placed his focus back on her. “That’s quite a compelling argument you have there, Sweetie. Is that all, or should I give you some time to vent a bit more?” She answered with two pats on his nose. “You’ve said everything, huh? Right, okay. Hmm… That is certainly a very, very concerning problem. I wonder what we should do about it…” He pretended to think, tapping his chin. “Oh, I know. Why don’t you and I make a little promise? Here.” He held his fifth finger in the air, dragging it closer to her face. “Grab my pinky.” The baby blinked cutely in return, staring at it almost with wonder. It took her all of her tiny fingers to surround his own completely, and like how every baby behaved, she instinctively brought it to her mouth. “No, no, no, honey,” Jinwoo chuckled. “You don’t eat this one, okay? We’re making a promise. A pinky promise, the most special one of all. Are you ready?”

“Weady!”

“That’s the spirit, Sweetheart. All right, here we go.” He shook their fingers together. “Daddy promise that I will come home soon, and once I do, I’ll tell you all about the amazing adventure I had when I was away. All about the bears, and the dragons, everything. How about that, love? Sounds good?” 

Though you doubted she understood everything, she mimicked him by saying, “Good!”

He laughed softly. “Okay. Now, it’s your turn, Princess.” Jinwoo switched his voice, turning it a pitch higher. “I promise I will be good to Mommy when Daddy is away. And I promise I will kick Beru in the face if he ends up watching TV again instead of looking after me.”

“My liege…” The shadow called out dejectedly. “Do you really think I would do such a thing to your precious one?”

“No, I don’t,” Jinwoo tossed him a smile, one that was so genuinely warm, almost affectionate, even. “I know you’ll take care of my family as best as you can. That’s why I trust you, Beru. I’m counting on you.”

It didn’t take long for the soldier to crumble to his feet, bawling. “Y-your kind words have touched me so deeply, my king!”

No one is immune to his charm, you thought, almost rolling your eyes. Though you couldn’t really chaff about it as you fell victim to his charm, too. “Honey, don’t forget. She’ll turn two next Monday. Will you be home by then?”

“Of course,” Jinwoo said, rubbing the tip of his nose to his daughter’s, making her giggle with it. “Clearing an S-rank gate shouldn’t take more than two days, even by myself. The problem is that I have plenty of meetings with the higher-ups after that. It’s a pain. I wish I could just skip them all together, but… Well, if I run out of time, I can use Shadow Exchange to return home.”

You scrunched up your nose. “And ditch your meetings just like that? Wouldn’t that cause more trouble?”

“Yeah, Jinho would probably kill me for it,” he smirked, expressing barely any remorse. “But he’ll understand. He knows that family always comes first to me. I wouldn’t want to miss my baby’s birthday.” He squeezed the round flesh of her cheek between two fingers, smiling fondly with a glint of heartbreak in his eyes. “Daddy’s been so busy with all the raids that he hasn’t noticed how fast his baby girl is growing.” He sighed in regret, stroking her locks. “I wish time could move slower. I want you to stay like this forever. So tiny and adorable, looking so pretty with your mother’s smile.”

“I don’t know, honey. I think she looks more like you than me.”

“I think she’s the perfect combination of us, and I love that.” He gathered both of you close, hugging you at the same time, his lips caressing your hairline as he spoke. “I can’t believe you and I could make something so pretty. I thank the Gods every day for that. For this little family I have right here.”

You could feel the rapid beating of your heart as you buried your face into his chest. His scent was heavenly. Comforting. Masculine and attractive. When he let go, he took a fraction of your heart with him. 

“Daddy will bring you lots and lots of gifts, okay?” He pecked his daughter’s head. “Pretty things for you, and,” his gaze flew back to you, softening at the view. “Something sweet for your mother.”

You melted into a smile. “Just come home to me in one piece. That’s all I ask.”

He nodded, an unspoken promise that he’d keep close to his heart as he viciously took the life of another. “I better go,” he said, carefully handing his baby over to Beru, who clutched onto her so endearingly. “Jinho is waiting for me at the office.”

“Wait, I thought you were heading straight to the airport.”

“No, I need to drop by for a minute to grab some paperwork. I’m also leaving my car there, so.”

“Why don’t you just summon Kaisel?”

“I think it’s better for me to lay low for a bit. I don’t want to end up on the news again. Not everyone is used to seeing a flying beast in the sky, you see. But it’s fine. Jinho will drive me to the airport later.”

“You treating the son of a billionaire as your own Uber driver is still hilarious to me,” you simper.

A wave of his deep chuckle mixed in with yours. “He’s just being nice.”

“Can’t you, at least, sit on the front? I feel sorry for him.”

“But I like sitting in the backseat,” he said, his thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand, somewhat suggestive. “It reminds me of… the fun we’ve had together.”

Though heat crept up fast onto your cheeks, you narrowed your eyes at him. “If Jinho finds out we did that in his car, he’d be livid.”

“Then, we’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t,” he answered with a sly smirk. “About that last time and… Well, the future ones.”

“Do it in our car next time.” 

“Oh, so there will be future occasions, huh? Noted.” His thin lips twisted in a devilish grin, pleased by the thought, saying it so shamelessly even with Beru bearing witness to the conversation. “Another reason for me to come back, then. Faster.” 

You turned flustered, shaking your head in disbelief despite your chest tightening in anticipation of passionate, spontaneous, breathless romance in the middle of nowhere, your body pressed against the leather seats, your breaths fogging the windows. “I-I take back what I said.”

“No takebacks, Sweetheart. You know I don’t like that.”

He spoke his last sentence almost in a husky, erotic whisper, reminding you of all the times in bed when you didn’t… behave properly. “Jinwoo, you said you didn’t want to be on the news. If we get caught—”

“For this one…” He sneaked an arm around your waist, pulling you closer toward him. His lips grazed your ear, teasing and seductive, almost the perfect imitation of how you did it to him before. “I’ll be very, very careful. Don’t want the world to see just how beautiful my wife looks under the moonlight, after all.” 

You could already tell that his tantalizing smile would linger for hours in your memory, even long after he departed. You cleared your throat, regaining your composure. “I-is Jinho coming with you?”

He found hilarity in the way you swerved the conversation, but he made no comment on it. “No. He wants to, but I won’t let him. It’s too dangerous. I sensed something different with this one, something similar to that eerie feeling when I entered the red gate. It’s better if I go alone. I don’t want to risk anyone’s life by coming with me.”

But you’ll… risk your own life for it… The anchor in your chest returned, weighing you down harder than before. You were careful not to let your tongue form your concern into words, but Jinwoo, as always, was observant, attentive to the slightest change in your expression. 

“Hey.” He trapped your chin between his fingers, tilting it up, locking your gazes together. “It’s dangerous for Jinho, but not me. I’ll be fine, trust me.”

“I know you will,” you murmured, more for your own ears to hear. 

Catching Beru’s soft hum, you glanced to your side. The shadow soldier rocked your baby in his arms, swaying her from side to side, cradling her close as her lids began to grow heavy. “She must have been exhausted after playing all day,” you pondered aloud. Intertwining your fingers with his, you leaned against his shoulder, your sigh heavy as you whispered, “It’s nice to have Beru here with us, but… It also reminds me that you won’t be around. I’ll miss you, probably more than I ever did. I miss you terribly even now.”

For a moment, Jinwoo fell mute, doing nothing but curling his fingers around yours a little tighter. Then, with his jaws tightened, he released his command. 

“Beru, take my daughter inside. I need to be with my wife. Alone.”  ***

Next Chapter

Here's an audio track so you can imagine just how soft and wonderful husband!jinwoo sounds 😁

Beru the babysitter 😭

[maroonpascal]

Oh darlin', don't you ever grow up

Pairing: Harry Castillo x reader

Summary: Harry brings his daughter to work, what could ever go wrong?

Word count: 3.7k

Notes: @everandforeveryours requested "daddy daughter working day with his 2 year old baby -Eloise- that he adores" (...) "daycare closed due to bad weather" (...) “Harry offers to take the baby with him for the day.” Full request here 💖 || lyrics in the title are from "Never grow up" by Taylor Swift

Divider credits: @ianrkives

|| MY FICS ||

The rain keeps pouring on the huge windows of the penthouse, Eloise pointing at it and seeing the raindrops racing on the glass, leaving her handprints on them.

Harry takes a glance at them too, brushing his hand on her hair, and then looking up at you, “I just got the email from the daycare, they’re closed due to this terrible weather.” He says, as you’re just getting off from the phone, the first of many calls you’re gonna have to do today, the keys of your car in hand as today you’re also gonna have to do multiple trips with all the clients.

You breathe deeply, “Oh come on, it cannot be that bad.” You say, coming from the studio, and aiming for the bag as the wind picks up and a lightning breaks the sky, Eloise refraining from the window and tugging Harry’s trousers to be picked up. “Light”, she points at the sky as she’s now in Harry’s arms, him softly smiling at her, “Yes, lightning”, knowing it might be a bit of a complex word to say at that age.

“Oh well, maybe it is that bad.” You utter, closing the laptop and putting it in the bag, “So what do we do? I have to make a rounds of trips and ugh, I hate this so much, I would love to bring her with me but she would get stressed and then I would feel bad for her, and-”

He stops your rambling, a hand over your cheek, his thumb brushing there, “I could bring her to work with me, how bad could it be?”

He arrives at work with definitely a different luggage than what he usually brings, this time having her in one arm and a bag with all the necessities for her in the other.

He greets everyone and really he doesn’t have to explain the reason why he has brought his kid to work, he’s the boss after all.

“Alright, daddy is gonna have to work, but you have all your colours and toys here.” He softly says, picking up the colours, some paper, some of her lego toys and some cars too.

He also brought the play mat, so that now all the stuff is sprawled on it and she can play safely and out of the reach of the desk, but still being in his sight. Well, seems fun, right? He thinks as he’s on his computer, glancing at the screen and then glancing at her to see how she’s doing, just blissfully colouring while having the tablet on the ground with some cartoons, although muted, this seems very much alright, like something that he could do everyday if it is this easy. He even keeps her a little on his lap while working, as he’s just going through some reports, occasionally noting something, while she makes the car run back and forth on the desk, making the vroom sound with her mouth, Harry fondly smiling down at her and placing a kiss on her head.

Although at some point she gets tired of the car and the keyboard surely looks more interesting, with all those buttons that her dad is tapping, so she thinks she might join him in doing that. And Harry doesn’t even notice that she’s aiming for that, quick as lightning she hits the keyboard, a series of invented words appearing on the document he’s working on, “No, no, we don’t do that, honey.” He gently says, lifting up the keyboard and moving it so that it is out of her reach, “But fun!” Eloise complains, pointing at the forbidden object now out of her reach, “Look, this is fun,” he says, making the car run on the desk but her now looking uninterested in that, pouting her lips.

“Alright,” he gets up with her in his arms, “Let’s find something else, sweetheart.”

Harry goes around the desk to reach the mat and letting her there, taking the lego bricks from the bag and sitting on the floor with her for a moment, and surely this suit is not the most comfortable thing to be sitting in on the floor, but it really doesn’t matter.

“Should we build a little house? Or a tower?” He asks, gathering all the colourful pieces, and she answer with the word “tower”, being a kinda difficult word but nothing that infinite rewatches of Rapunzel cannot teach.

In fact she aims for the Rapunzel doll, setting her aside of the bricks as Harry is starting to build the base of it, knowing damn well that he is somehow losing some precious time but definitely this time spent with his kid is more precious than anything else, any other call can wait, and every e-mail too.

He even puts Rapunzel playing on the tablet, adjusting it so that she can watch it and putting it a reasonable volume.

And well, when he goes back to his desk he realises that it is surely something having to work on his documents, while having some Disney songs in the background, finding himself even humming to them as he knows all of them by heart at this point.

Once again, this is working perfectly, he thinks, glancing at her and seeing the tower taking shape, brick by brick, as now the doll is sitting on top of it. Of course, it’s not that tall, just her height, and she calls him to go and see her work.

“Good job, darling,” he opens his hand so she can high five him, being all happy of her work, “This looks awesome!” Brushing his hand on her hair, Eloise gingerly smiling up at him, clapping her hands, before taking too the little Rapunzel’s friend, the chameleon, and putting it next to the doll, “What’s his name?” He asks, crouching down at her height, and pointing at the little animal, “It’s Pascal!” Him nodding knowingly and he would spend so much more time there but the phone rings and rings and eventually he has to leave her and pick it up.

All the tension comes back at him, being it a call about the new deal that they have to reach, pinching the bridge of his nose as he paces around the big office, looking up at the whiteboard with all the graphics on top of it, and of course playing on the mat looked more fun than this.

It’s a warm up call, that just precedes the video call in the afternoon, and so it doesn’t last long but surely long enough for Eloise to disappear from his sight. He quickly closes the call, looking at the door of the office which is still closed so of course she must be in here, but the question is where.

He calls her name, not hearing a single sound in return and he starts scanning the whole office, being sure that she is here, she couldn’t be anywhere else. It’s when he’s crawling under the desk that he hears some giggling, immediately coming out from it but not without hitting his head on the damn desk, massaging his head as he follows the giggle that leads to the cardboard of a company that he left there, now knowing perfectly where she is. “I guess someone started playing hide and seek without me!” He jokingly says as he moves the cardboard, and she’s there all proud of herself for having found that hiding, keeping the doll in her arms.

The morning goes by with any other accidents, him sipping on his coffee and her on her bottle of milk while keeping her in his arms, her scrunching her nose at the smell of coffee, in the same way you would do when you feel something that you don’t like, and Harry can’t help but thinking how perfect both of you are.

He’s writing some emails when his personal phone starts ringing, your name showing up on the screen, being followed by a red heart.

“Hi, my love.” He answers, dropping everything else just to hear your voice, “Hi, Harry, just wanted to check on you and Eloise, how are my two rays of sunshine doing?” And he can hear the fondness in your voice.

He smiles all content, “We’re doing great actually, the morning went by in a heartbeat and you should see the tower that she built, very impressive.” He says with the most endearing tone, hearing you sighing and somehow wishing you were there too to see all of that, and he will surely take some photos to send at least. “Oh really? How about the video calls you have this afternoon?” You ask, tapping on the steering wheel of your car, waiting at a red light, “Is that gonna be a problem?” But Harry feels confident about that, “I thinks it’s gonna be just fine.”

The lunch break goes by and what he gets from it is a baby food stain on his shirt, which alright, he should have thought about that and maybe pack an extra shirt to wear if any accidents were to happen, but anyway, this is still fine. He checks nervously his watch, still 1 pm and that means still some more hours before that important video-call.

He’s sipping on his coffee again, taking a break on the couch in his studio and still looking outside the window of the skyscraper, the rain still falling copiously, giving no signs of getting better, it is just getting worse if anything; he immediately leaves the cup on the coffee table the moment a lightning breaks the sky, Eloise running to him ready to climb the couch but she won’t have to do that, as Harry has already picked her up in his arms, cuddling her by keeping a hand behind her head as she hides on his shoulder. “It’s alright, darling, it’s alright, it’s just the sky being a little angry, remember?” He softly asks, placing a kiss on her head, gently rocking her in his arms; she grabs his already wrinkled shirt, slightly nodding, as he finally finds the remoter for the internal shutters, closing them and now the only lights will the be the ones in the room, not the ones from outside. “All gone, baby, all gone.” Harry reassures her, wishing he could stop the thunder too, her jumping a little in his arms, being startled by it. He gets up and starts pacing around the room, knowing that she must be very tired and in need of a nap.

Harry even ignores the phone when it starts ringing, actually muting it because the only thing that really matters right now is that his daughter will feel at ease again and will fall asleep. It’s never easy to have her fall asleep, she’s always so full of energy, and he knows that he might even spend the whole next hours just pacing around to make her relax.

So today he thinks they might be breaking a record, because after only twenty minutes she goes pliant in his arms, her face on the crook of his neck, her slow and delicate breathing warming his skin.

Harry paces slowly to the couch, gently laying her there and making a sort of fort around her with pillows, and landing a blanket on her that he had packed too among the other things. He tucks her in, brushing a hand over her hair, her relaxed expression telling him that he can start working again. He keeps an eye on her of course, tapping quietly the keyboard, a fond smile on his face whenever he looks at her, his chest warming just at the thought that today he is being able to spend so much time with her and still working.

He actually has gotten a lot of work done by the time he hears some footsteps and he looks at the couch seeing the blanket on the floor and then a hand taps on his thigh, looking down and finding her there, “Hello, princess.” and once again, her safe place is his arms, cuddling on him as she finds things to play with on the desk, Harry placing a kiss on her head. She’s really calm, even too much, he thinks, which makes him realise that there might be some mischief around the corner now that she got some sleep in and her energy will be back in full force.

It’s almost time for the video call, being a very important one, so he decides to get out of the office and leave his daughter with his assistants, giving them everything they might need; he could have already done that this morning, leaving her with someone else, but it wouldn’t have felt right and even right now he hates that she has to stay out of his office.

The video call goes on very smoothly, having in front of him all the data needed and looking secure about the deal, which of course he seals in even less time than expected.

It’s when he comes out of the office that he sees people scrambling around, asking himself what happened, quickly scanning the long hallway and not seeing his daughter anywhere.

A feeling of panic sets in his chest, unconsciously knowing that she must be here, in this building and on this floor, but the fact that he can’t see her is not helping at all.

And now he understands why everyone looks in a hurry, going back and forth in the corridor.

“Where is my daughter?” He asks his assistant, his voice almost breaking, still not getting a proper response as no one seems able to find her.

Harry goes back and forth, looking around corners, moving chairs and everything, his composed look now turning wild.

Until someone urges from down the hallway, where the room with the elevators stands, “I found her‼”

He rushes there, only to find her happily playing with the elevator’s buttons, almost not even able to reach them, all calm while her father was on the verge of a heart attack just a couple of seconds ago.

“Eloise,” he utters, her looking up at him, “We all searched for you everywhere, you don’t run away like that.” He continues, crouching down at her height, as she’s raising her shoulders like if she’s saying what’s all the fuss about.

“But I wanted to play!” She looks at the buttons of the elevators, still looking very interesting.

“But this is not a toy, alright?” He explains, his voice never hard, as he could never be angry at her, “This could get broken if you mess like that with the buttons, and people need this elevator. You have other toys, darling.”

And this time she nods, leaving the elevator and he takes her hand, Eloise actually tugging his jacket and he just picks her up, feeling a pout on his neck as she’s laying her head on his shoulder.

Harry takes a big breath when he’s finally in the office again, closing the door behind him, a hint of tiredness starting to set on his shoulders.

“Are you upset?” Her tiny voice comes from where she’s all cuddled on him, her fingers grasping a little the curls at the base of his neck, she would always do that when in need of comfort. And Harry looks down at her, an apprehensive look on his face, “No, no, Eloise, I’m not upset at you.” He reassures her, his hand rubbing on her shoulder, “I was just very worried when I didn’t see you, darling, I got scared because you weren’t there anymore.” He calmly explains, her nodding this time, “You promise me you won’t do that again?” He gives her his pinky, covered by that emerald ring, her tiny finger wrapping around it, “Yes, promise.”, braking a smile even though he can also tell that she is very tired.

“Thank you, princess.” Harry places a kiss on her forehead and he lets her on the floor again, watching her reaching her toys; and when he checks his phone he realises he still has a couple of hours to get some other work done.

He’s sure that for today there won’t be any more surprises, but he is proven wrong when she starts running in the office, him telling her quietly that she shouldn’t do that, and Eloise obviously not listening, of course tired of having spent so much time in that place.

And what makes Harry leave his computer and all his numbers is the loud thud followed by a pitched crying, heart jumping in his throat and immediately rushing next to her, as she’s sitting on the floor, holding her left elbow.

“It’s alright, baby, it’s alright, let me see.” He coos, crouching on the floor next to her, feeling her skin slightly warmer where she probably hit it, and he bows on her elbow, leaving a kiss there, “Is it better now?” Placing another kiss, her going quiet and breaking a smile, even nodding. Harry brushes away a tear from her face, “It’s gonna pass soon,” he reassures her, placing another kiss there on her elbow, his way of trying to heal it and soothe the pain.

“You’re tired, I know,” Harry nods, seeing her rubbing her eyes with the other arm, and her running and doing some mischief was just a way of getting his attention, “How about we sleep a little, uh? Just a little nap?” He utters, her outstretching her arms towards him and he takes that as a yes.

He ends on the couch, Eloise sitting on his lap and cocooning on his chest, as he rubs her back in soothing circles, scrambling to find the pacifier. She wouldn’t even use that that much, but only when a little more nervous or stressed, just like right now.

He even sings to her, lulling her to sleep as he lowers the lights in the office, and sooner than said, not only she’s fallen asleep but he’s falling asleep too with her in his arms, his head on the couch, and his arms wrapped safely around her even in his sleep.

Harry gets awaken by a gentle hand on his shoulder, before he can feel some familiar lips on his forehead, followed by your voice, “Hey, sunshine,” your voice making him melt and he opens his eyes just to see you sitting next to him on the big couch, an arm going around your daughter, peacefully sleeping.

“Hey, my love.” His adoring look falling on you, eyes tired but his smile never fails to appear on his lips when he’s next to you.

“How was your day then?” You whisper, careful to not wake her up for now.

“Well, at first I thought I had found the perfect solution to make everything work, but of course she proved me so wrong,” both trying to contain your giggles.

You look at his wrinkled shirt with some stains on it too, “I think she wanted to escape at one moment.” He admits, glancing at you.

“What?” You ask, stopping the caress on his arm, “Yeah, we couldn’t find her anymore and then there she was, playing with the elevator. Oh and then she tripped here in the studio,” you raising your eyebrows and checking her for a moment, even though in the dim lights it seems like everything is fine, “But nothing that my kisses couldn’t fix.” He proudly says, laying his head back on the couch.

“Any chance that I could get a kiss too?” Your voice like honey to him, smiling so big and of course leaning closer to you, your hand cupping his cheek as he presses a brief kiss on your lips.

“Let’s get home now, alright?”

And as soon as you’ve entered the house she wakes up, lighting up when she sees you, Harry letting her on the ground so that she can run to you, welcoming her in your arms and hugging her, before picking her up, “Hi, baby, hi! How was your day with daddy?” You ask her, as she’s rubbing a bit her eye, “Oh it was so fun, we played, we- we built a tower,” Eloise starts counting on her fingers, you fondly looking at her, “And I watched Rapunzel, oh and I fell too, look!” She exclaims, moving her elbow so that you can take a look at it, even though there are no signs of damage, not a single scratch, “Oh let me see, let me see.” And then placing a kiss there, knowing that Harry has already done that with her.

“Now it’s better, thank you.” She gently says, you pressing a kiss on her forehead, “You’re welcome, darling.”

And a bath after she’s ready to go to sleep even though she wouldn’t leave your side nor Harry’s, giving each other a knowing look, understanding that she wants to sleep in your room with you.

That is how she ends up at the centre of the bed, not without a stuffed animal clutched in her hand, looking all content to be with both her parents, and seeing that peaceful look on her face is everything you need to actually know that she is being raised surrounded by love, that you’re doing a really good job, despite a busy life.

Harry dims the lights before landing a kiss on her forehead, “Goodnight, princess.” Her slurring a “good night” too, even too tired to actually pronounce the words.

“And goodnight, my love.” He hovers you, placing a kiss on your lips, your fingers brushing on his cheeks before letting him go.

He outstretches his arm to you, under the pillows, you laying on your side and taking his hand into yours, and Harry’s heart beats with joy, at having the privilege of falling asleep like this, with his two most important persons just by his side, his whole world, seeing you closing your eyes but still keeping his hand into yours.

And the sleep and the tiredness soon kick in for him too, falling asleep with the laugh of his kid in his head and your warm smile, knowing that he doesn’t have to dream anymore about finding his person and his happiness, he lives in that dream every day.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony drabble 1. two truths & a lie

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ drabble summary. the power goes out at gojo's house due to a storm, and he comes up with a way to pass the time in the dark. (note: for new readers, this drabble is for my long fic gojo x reader series “in holy matriphony”!! you can find the masterlist here)

ᰔ genre/tags. a little fluffy, a little sad, and a lil revealing.

ᰔ chapter. drabble #1

ᰔ words. 2.6k

a/n. hi my ihm lovelies!! welcome to this silly little drabble i wrote, i tried to keep it under 1k words i swear lol but alas i yap. much love to the anon who suggested a prompt where the power goes out at gojo’s house, i did change the prompt a little bit but i loooove this premise!! it's one of my favesss. i could picture this drabble taking place sometime when reader n gojo are pretty early on into their fake marriage arrangement and are kind of getting situated w one another! perhaps before chapter 4 or something :) hope you enjoyy. these drabbles are just for the vibes btw

nav. masterlist :: playlist

“Oh for fucks sake, please don’t tell me I didn’t charge these things,” you hear Gojo say in the pitch black darkness, along with the sound of his palm smacking against the metal of his fancy LED flashlights that he was so excited to bring out in the moment of truth against the power outtage of the storm that was pitter-pattering just outside the windows.

You’ve got your arms crossed, a frown on your face but it doesn’t matter because he can’t see it anyways, and wait impatiently for him to provide some sort of lighting inside the living room that wasn’t the dim opal of the distant streetlights blurred by the rain.

“I’m so happy I’ve found out sooner rather than later that I should not choose you as my zombie apocalypse partner,” you comment just to bruise his ego.

“What zombie apocalypse?” he asks while he shakes his flashlights as if that would magically make them work, entirely distracted by the action to the point where he sounds like he genuinely believes there’s some zombie apocalypse he wasn’t made aware of.

You roll your eyes to display your annoyance. But again, doesn’t matter, since he’s not privy to it in the dark. 

There’s a bright flash of lightning, illuminating the house briefly, where you see a snapshot of Gojo standing in front of you in his long sleeve and plaid cotton pants, the image of a man who was just seconds away from getting some shuteye before he heard you scream from the bathroom because the lights went out while you were showering. And then there’s the growl of low thunder somewhere in the distance.

You’re shivering as your still-damp hair brushes against the nape of your neck. It had barely been a week since you formally started living with Gojo in this little fake marriage arrangement, and to say it was an adjustment of different personalities was an understatement. With a heavy sigh, you take a blind step forward towards what you believe is the direction of the kitchen.

“Let’s just grab some candles—”

Unfortunately for you, the hem of your floor-length gown gets caught on the corner of the loveseat, and you’re tripping over your own feet with a small gasp leaving your lips, bracing for the impact of the floor but you feel a strong arm wrap around your waist, keeping you from—…ah, it appears you were actually about to plop headfirst onto the glass of the coffee table.

“Oh shit—” Gojo huffs, and you feel the warmth of his chest against your back as he pulls you towards him to stabilize you, and the contact makes your breath hitch. 

“S-Satoru, let go of me,” you say, scrambling in his hold like an anxiously avoidant cat.

He lets go of you, and you stand up straight and turn to face him, at least you think you’re facing him, and say with genuine curiosity, “how did you know what my exact physical coordinates were so you could grab me before I split my skull open??”

There’s a second of a pause like he’s questioning his own reflexes too. “I don’t know…I just… knew?”

You blink at him wide-eyed, and then jump a little from the loud crack of thunder that rattles the windows.

With the minimal lighting provided by Gojo’s phone screen, a commodity you both seek to preserve because he’s on 2% and your phone has long since died since it was already only on 7% before you had even hopped in the shower, you both make it to the kitchen and Gojo fishes out some wick candles in the back of his cupboards, some really waxy bright pink ones that Juno apparently made in school and then gifted to him.

“Alright, here,” he says, handing you a lighted candle placed in a candle holder, and you carefully wrap your index finger around the handle. “And can you just stay still real quick for me?”

“Huh?” you blink at him.

He lifts his phone up and snaps a photo of you with flash, then looks down at the screen with a self-satisfied grin on his face. “Sweet.” And then his smile drops. “Oh shit. Phone’s dead.”

“Satoru.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You did not just use up the battery of our last source of communication to the outside world just to take a picture.”

“But you just look so much like Ebeneezer Scrooge right now, it’s so uncanny—”

You gasp, glancing down at your attire, and then at the candle in your hand. “Give me that—” You grit through your teeth to try and grab his phone from him to delete the picture, even though you know you can’t, both because his phone’s dead but also he’s easily tall enough to hold it well out of your reach as you just hear him laugh to himself while you’re cursing out his whole ancestry in your head.

The night ticks on as you two light a few more candles to illuminate the downstairs area at least. The storm outside the windows only seems to pick up in severity, with whistling winds harassing the glass of the windows, along with the harsh downpour of rain that almost seems neverending.

“You know, we can cuddle if you’re scared,” Gojo teases as he brushes past you to grab another candle.

You roll your eyes at him, and this time he can see it. “I’m not scared of a stupid little storm, Sato—”

A loud boom of thunder reverberates before you can finish your sentence, rattling the windows and the walls, and you yelp as you jump in your skin.

You stiffly glance up at Gojo and see him with a quirked brow and a grin on his face, and you let out a puff of air in annoyance.

He walks towards you. “Just know that the offer always stands.” And then he’s shuffling his feet towards the coffee table in the living room. You watch him as he sits down criss-cross on the floor in front of it, setting down his lukewarm cup of coffee before he takes a sip from it and glances towards the window.

You sigh and make your way over there too, and sit down neatly across from him, smoothing over the fabric of your nightgown with an anxious feeling in your bones.

“So,” he says, his face warmly illuminated in shadows by the minimal candle light, “how should we pass the time?”

“I’d prefer any option that involves not having to talk to you.”

He places his palms on the floor and slides them behind him before leaning back onto them. “Charades then?”

“Oh my god, you really never get the hint, do you?”

“What hint?”

“I. Don’t. Like. You.”

“Oh come on. You don’t even know me.”

Your eyes blink wide at that. “What do you mean?”

“The reason you don’t like me is because you’ve never made an effort to get to know me, y/n.”

“I find it awfully pretentious of you to assume that I would like you just on the basis of getting ‘to know’ you better.”

He tilts his head at that. “Yeah? Isn’t that how things usually work? You know, you find out the person sitting across from you is also just as human as you are because you find out that their favorite color is mustard and that they broke a bone or two in middle school.”

“Please don’t tell me that your favorite color is mustard.”

“No, it’s green. But I did fracture my distal radius in the eight grade.” His brow furrows slightly, as if some thought passes his mind, and then he sits up straight. “I’ve got it, let’s play two truths and a lie.” He says it like he’s just discovered the solution to a problem that you didn’t even know existed.

“I haven’t played that since I was in high school.”

“Me neither," he says, “that’s what makes it fun. So much more material to cover now.”

Your lip tips upward in a small pout, and your shoulders sulk. You’re not really sure if you have that much material to cover. The past six or so years, you’ve just been spending taking care of your mom. You imagine for someone who lives a life as normal as Gojo’s, he must’ve spent the past six years collecting life experiences, or crossing things off of bucket lists. Stuff that makes for interesting conversation. You usually run a blank on stuff like that when anyone asks you, so what have you been up to since the last time I saw you?

“I’ll go first,” he offers, “alright.” He holds his thumb out of his fist, “I’ve never had braces,” he holds his index finger out, “never had a cavity,” he holds his middle finger out, “and my dentist got arrested for extortion a couple months ago.”

You blink at him. “…why are they all related to dentistry?”

“Huh?” He furrows his brow at you. “Aren’t they supposed to have a theme or something?”

“Whaaaatt?? That’s how you played growing up?”

“Yeah.”

Your interest is piqued, and you lean forward. “That’s interesting.” 

You squint your eyes at him. His teeth are too perfect to have not had braces…but also, no cavities? With the amount of sugar he eats? Bullshit…somehow his dentist getting arrested was the least surprising thing.

“I’m gonna say,” you start, “that you’ve had braces.”

He shakes his head. “Vandalism. He got arrested for vandalism.”

“No cavities?! How?!”

He shrugs. “I dunno. Just never had one.”

You sigh, and perch your elbow on the table before dropping your chin onto your palm as you look at him. 

“Alright, your turn,” he says, grabbing the handle of his coffee mug to take a sip, throughout which he doesn’t break eye contact with you.

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth briefly. “Um. I’ve…never been skydiving. Keanu Reeves follows me on Twitter. And…” You think to yourself. “I’ve thought about murdering you many times.”

He pokes his tongue to the inside of his cheek. “I’m gonna hope it’s that last one.”

“I would never experience another sad emotion in my life if Keanu Reeves actually followed me on anything, so.”

“You’ve thought about murdering me?? y/n.” He deadpans your name, as if to scold.

You shrug. “You annoy me sometimes.”

“Have I always annoyed you?”

“It’s your turn, Satoru.”

He frowns, and lets out a deep exhale as he scratches the back of his neck as if he’s struggling to let the topic go, but then he sighs. “Uh.” His voice sounds deeper with a bit more of a drag. “I, uh, I once owned a pet tarantula…I’ve never gotten a speeding ticket, and…I’ve never broken a bone.”

“It’s that last one.”

“Yeah. Damn, pretty good.”

“Satoru, you literally just told me you broke your distal radius in eighth grade.”

“Did I? Oh.”

You narrow your gaze at him, and study his distant expression. He seems awfully distracted, ever since you confessed that you find him pretty annoying. And there’s a part of you that feels a little bad about it.

“Okay, my turn,” you say, and you breathe in deep, “I…was voted prom queen twice in high school. I once won a county-wide speed-reading contest. And—” You lick your lips briefly. “And you haven’t always annoyed me.”

“Okay. This time, I really hope it’s not that last one.”

You nod, a small smile on your face. “It wasn’t county-wide. It was state-wide.”

He grins, leaning forward. “That’s really cool.”

You toss your hair over your shoulder. “What can I say. One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish never stood a chance.”

He’s looking at you intently now, whereas you would’ve otherwise expected some sort of laugh from him at your faux cockiness, instead he just looks like he’s deep in thought once again. And then he’s leaning back into a neutral spine, that tongue poking to the inside of his cheek again boyishly. Cute, you think to yourself. You both were grown adults, but it felt like you were at a high school camping retreat and managed to sneak away some alone time with that boy in your grade that teases you at the top of every homeroom who you swear you despise but secretly giggle about when you’re scribbling in your diary during lunch period.

“Your turn,” you say, somewhat impatiently, because you find yourself wanting to know more. 

“Okay,” he says, “my favorite color’s mustard, I’ve got blue eyes, and you remember around the time we first met and I asked you if you wanted to come with me to that wine tasting event my brokerage firm was hosting?”

You blink at him, and slowly nod.

“Well, that was supposed to be a date,” he says, “I was asking you out.”

Your eyes grow wide, mouth slightly agape as you stare at him. 

“But, uh, I guess I should’ve been more direct, considering you brought three of our other neighbors with you.” He leans backwards onto his palms again. “I mean, of course, it was also before I knew you had a boyfriend.” He swipes the back of his hand underneath his chin. “And before I realized I probably shouldn’t be asking my neighbor out on a date in my first week of moving to a completely different state.” His shoulders drop slightly, and the flicker of the flame in between the two of you reflects off of his eyes. “But, I don’t know. I just remember thinking how interesting you were. And fun to talk to. I couldn’t help myself.” 

You feel your cheeks warm, and your heart is beating fast. So fast. Not attributed to the rain or the storm, but to the confession. And perhaps some of it was melancholy, this odd feeling that wafts through you, that wonders, how different would things be if you weren’t still with Choso when Gojo moved in next door. Or how different things would be if you were a little better at reading social cues, or not abusing the rules of a plus one to a social event. Or how different things would be if you were the happier version of yourself, a version that went extinct exactly five years ago when a small mass was found in your mother’s lungs.

You swallow hard. “You’re right,” you say, “you should’ve been more direct.” 

“You were seeing someone, y/n.” It was sound reasoning, sure. The fact that even if he had been more direct, it wouldn’t change the fact that you would’ve had to politely decline.

But your gaze shifts down towards the surface of the coffee table, to the melting candle of hot pink wax, and you repeat yourself—

“You should’ve been more direct.”

The whirring of the fridge comes to life first, then the beep of the microwave, before the entire house illuminates with light so suddenly it almost makes you jump from the shift in ambience. You look at a now fully-lit Gojo, who’s staring at you with questioning eyes, like he’s still left in the trance of the darkness from a few moments ago rather than accepting the fact that there is now light. And you clear your throat as you stand up onto your feet.

“Lovely.” You clap your hands together. “I can go back to…whatever the hell I was doing before the power went out,” you say. And whatever person you were before the power went out, too.

You shuffle your feet towards the stairs, but then Gojo says, “wait.”

“Hm?”

“So…just for my peace of mind…you don’t still think about murdering me, right?” he says.

You blink at him. “Mm. We’re done playing here, Satoru. We’ll have to save it for the next time the power goes out.”

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

[end of drabble 1. ‘two truths & a lie’]

a/n. tysm for reading! and once again ty to the anon who suggested this prompt!! :'') and tysm to everyone who sent drabble prompts in they're so cute and i can't wait to write them!! i did mention this briefly but i will save some of them for later when ihm couple are officially together since i think the prompts will be super cuuuter that way lol i feel like i'm writing w my hands tied behind my back for drabbles because ihm couple aren't officially together yettt 🤣..... and i have no one to blame for that except myself 😞😞 anywho, i plan to release some more drabbles this week for ihm. i know i said i'd take a break from writing but i was just itching to write something, but i also didn't want to dive into s2 for ihm just yet because i def need a lil break from the main storyline, so i thought i'd do some drabbles. these are pretty low stakes n easy to write n i have a lot of fun w them. i remember i enjoyed writing the kickoff drabbles so i wanted to write some for ihm now that s1 is over :) i wasn't sure if my main ihm taglist wanted to be tagged in drabbles too but if you'd like to be tagged in drabbles as well feel free to comment under this post :') i'll tag you for the next ones! sm lovee <3

☾·̩͙꙳ masterlist :: playlist :: ao3 link

[kamaluhkhan]

THE GRUDGE (or: the 7 things luke castellan hated about you)

read part two GET HIM BACK! (or: the 7 reasons you want revenge on luke castellan)

pairing: luke castellan x child of nemesis!reader (gender not specified)

word count: 8.5k

summary: luke hated your guts. he really did. he just hoped that no one could tell how, even after all this, you're still everything to him.

warnings/disclaimer: luke's POV. spoilers for the lightning thief and season 1 of pjo. some heated make-out sessions but no actual smut - MDNI / 18+. mentions of blood + death + alcohol. luke is 19 during tlt but i wrote this with him + reader being 21 by the end of this (this is important for the next part lol). anyways, luke + reader share clothes and lots of intense emotions they maybe possibly don't process in the best way. lots of ANGST - it's a greek tragedy fr!

author's note: welcome to my new hyperfixation! this fic is LONG but i hope she's worth it ♡

♪: the grudge by olivia rodrigo

(i. you have a sharp tongue)

fourteen year old luke was overwhelmed when he first stepped into the hermes cabin. it was loud and overcrowded and no one really seemed to care that they had a new cabinmate. the head counselor showed luke to an empty bed at the back, told him to get settled in, and left without another word. luke dropped his backpack before collapsing on the mattress. it was so thin that he could feel the springs dig into his back.

"you'll get used to it."

luke sat up to see you climbing through the window. 

you had a band-aid stuck on your chin, chipped nail polish the color of blackberries, and leather combat boots that looked way too heavy to be wearing in the heat of summer. 

“the shitty mattress?”

“i meant the whole chaos of cabin 11, and the way things work around here in general. if you can get used to the shitty mattress, all power to you.” 

your tone was friendly enough, playful even. you smiled at him so comfortably it made luke nauseous. 

“good to know.” he tried to smile back at you, but his heart wasn’t in it. “i’m luke, by the way.”

“yeah, i know. i’m —”

“y/n!”

you seemed entirely unfazed as the blond who called your name stormed over to you. you rolled your eyes, something only luke could notice, before turning to her.

“someone stole my candy.”

“i’m very sorry to hear that, maddy. gotta be careful around here.” your voice dripped like poisoned honey, deceptively innocent and sweet.

maddy was not having it. she huffed at you. “it was you, wasn’t it?”

“that depends. did you cheat at poker last night? again?” 

some of the chatter throughout the cabin paused, heads turning to listen in. 

“what? n-no!” 

“then you have your answer, maddy.” you exaggerated a sigh, as though you had already won the fight and were annoyed that she came back for more. “now, if you’ll excuse me, i have a new camper to show around.”

chiron had already given them a tour, but luke didn’t protest when you grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the window with you. your hand was warm in his as you dragged him along to the corner of the cabin where a poorly made ladder waited for you. 

“come on.” you started climbing, and only stopped to look down when you realized luke wasn’t following you. “best view of camp. trust me.”

a shiver passed through luke. trust didn’t come easy to him. he also didn’t particularly want to return to a stuffy cabin where all he would do was count reasons he did not want to be there.

 so, luke followed you. he sat down next to you on the roof and looked out at the sun shining on his new home, but he couldn't help but be slightly bitter. the gods had gotten all of you into this life of endless danger and battles and monsters, and this was all they had to offer in return: a summer camp. 

it just didn't seem fair. 

there was something else he noticed then. what was it that chiron had said? camp half-blood was supposed to be a safe haven for all demigods. 

“i don’t get it. there are only twelve cabins, but aren’t there, like, a million other gods?”

you straightened your posture then, and turned to luke with a newfound interest. 

“camp half-blood only has cabins representing the twelve olympians. apparently, they’re the only ones important enough to have children worth recognizing, and they can’t even do that half the time,” you explained, impertinence laced throughout your words. it seemed like something you could never quite get off your chest. 

every  demigod knew that the gods didn’t appreciate sarcasm. they  didn’t particularly like being called out on their bullshit, either.

you didn’t seem to care; you even rolled your eyes up at the sky, as if challenging zeus himself. 

“anyways, that’s why the hermes cabin is so crowded. it takes in campers who are unclaimed or whose parent doesn’t have a cabin at camp. like me.”

“so, who’s your godly parent?”

you fiddled with the leather cord on your neck. it held a few clay beads like the other campers, but there was one silver charm he noticed only you wore — scales, by the looks of it. you clutched onto it.

luke realized that, despite your own advice, maybe you resented having to get used to the way things worked around here, and having to hide your resentment. maybe that was worse than having to sleep on an uncomfortable bed for the rest of your life.

"nemesis. goddess of revenge."

"that's....hardcore."

you scoffed and moved on to twisting the silver ring on your index finger. "a lot of people take it that way, and i think it scares them a bit.”

“so that’s why you’re extra nice to new campers, huh?” 

“no, i was just in a good mood today.” you smirked.

“guess i was just lucky, then.”

luke couldn’t help but smile at your laugh — sharp, biting. you nudged your boot against his sneaker, which shifted you closer to him, shoulders practically touching. 

“what people don’t understand is that it's more about balance, you know? you do good things, and good things happen to you. at least, they should. you do bad things and….” you pulled out an outrageously big bag of candy, dropped it between you and luke, and winked at him. “you face the consequences.” 

“that makes sense.” luke leaned over to grab a handful of gummy bears. “like karma.”

“yeah. exactly.” 

you bit the head off a red bear, both of you chewing in silence before you added:

“by the way, i’m sorry about your friend.” you swallowed and caught luke’s gaze. 

chiron warned him that word would travel fast around camp about what happened to thalia, and luke had prepared himself for anything — anything but your reaction. there was no pity in your eyes; instead, there was a hint of rage, as though thalia had been your friend, too. 

“she deserved more.” 

luke’s eyes caught the glint of a knife strapped to your belt. he took another handful of the candy you stole, and he thought about the fire and fearlessness behind your words, and, despite everything, it felt right to be with you then and there. 

“yeah,” he finally whispered back. “she did.”

we all do. 

neither of you said those words, but the suggestion was there, and it felt like a promise. 

(ii. you hold on to every stupid, little detail)

“slow down, tiger.” 

your voice echoed throughout the arena, and if luke had been fighting a real opponent, it might have gotten him killed. instead, he just stopped mid-swing, sparing another straw dummy from losing its arm. 

“left hand,” you noted as you walked past him towards a bench. “you, my friend, are in need of a break.”

luke loosened the grip on his sword. the only time luke fought with his non-dominant hand was when he had overworked the other. he must have switched an hour ago, but judging by how heavy his arm felt, it could have very well been two.  

his curls were stuck to his forehead with sweat, his shirt soaked through. he could feel a dull pain behind his eyes, and luke was worried that if he stopped to catch his breath, he would pass out. or, even worse, have to face the reality of the shitty news he’d gotten early that day. 

“come sit with me,” you urged. “you’re exhausted, tiger.” 

luke bristled at your nickname for him. 

sure, luke loved that there was something only you called him, a secret kept between you in plain sight, but it was also a reminder that it was harder to hide behind the hero act when you were around.

everyone else at camp figured the nickname was a playful attempt at calling him strong and charismatic. the truth was that luke once told you that his favorite cereal as a kid was frosted flakes and that he would dream of playing sports as well as tony the tiger. for better or for worse, like most things, you wouldn’t let it go. 

case in point: if it was anybody other than you trying to get him to take a break, luke could have just brushed them off with a charming smile and continued swordfighting until his arms fell off, but in the two years since meeting you, luke had never met anyone as stubborn and convincing. like him, it seemed you were willing to fight and shed blood to get your way. luke was never really in the mood to make you bleed, even when feeling like he could burn the entire world down, so he usually gave in to your demands.  

as soon as he sat down next to you, you handed him an orange flavored energy drink — his favorite. anything other than water was hard to come by at camp without the enchanted goblets in the dining pavilion, or the right connection in the hermes cabin. he ran out of his stash the other day, but you must have noticed and gotten one of the stoll brothers to smuggle more in. 

“thanks,” luke said, ignoring the jolt of electricity that passed through him when your fingers brushed together briefly. 

 the two of you looked out at the sword arena, and all the straw dummies that luke had destroyed. you wait for him to take three big gulps of his drink before speaking again. 

“i guess chiron and your dad decided you weren’t ready for a quest.”

luke exhaled sharply. “how did you —”

“the only time you’d skip out on capture the flag is if something really shitty happened.” you looked down at luke’s clenched fists, and that seemed to be all the confirmation you needed. “you promised annabeth you'd be there, and it's not like you to let her down."

fuck. he had completely forgotten that tonight was annabeth's first time as team captain. this entire week, she had been prepping a winning strategy. it wasn’t like annabeth needed him to win, but luke was her big brother, and he should have been there. you were right — he had let her down. 

the realization made luke’s day go from bad to worse. 

"i told her you were helping a new camper with an emergency. she didn't believe it, but she adjusted her strategy and we still won.”

“well, thank the gods everything worked in the end,” luke grumbled. 

“don’t thank the gods,” you quipped. “thank annabeth chase for her brilliant mind, and me for covering for your sorry ass.”

when luke didn’t indulge in your usual playful banter, you moved closer to him and brushed some curls away from his eyes. your skin warmed his forehead, and the small gesture made him feel better than he had all day.

“look, i’m not going to give you some bullshit inspirational speech about how the gods don’t get to define what a hero is, or how you don’t need a quest to prove that you’re worthy of being one. we’ve each been through that before, and i have a feeling this won’t be our last time, either.”

“then why are you here?” the question came out harsher than luke had intended it to.

“because she’s trying her best to hide it, but annabeth is really hurt that you didn’t show up for the game. i figured the least you could do is suck it up, come to the campfire, and make her those signature luke castellan s’mores. you could probably use one, too, since you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast.” 

you were right, again. luke was exhausted, he was furious, but most of all, he was starving.  

later that night, luke sat next to annabeth and vowed to make her as many s’mores as she wanted. you’d gone to sit with the hephaestus kids, trying to convince beckendorf and nyssa to join your cabin’s post-campfire party at the beach, even though they had to work in the forges early the next morning. 

when chiron made his weekly speech, congratulating the winners of capture the flag and thanking the gods for keeping everyone safe, you and luke caught each other’s gaze from across the fire. you rolled your eyes and luke bit back a smile as you turned back to beckendorf. he noticed your knees were practically touching. did you sit that close to everyone? 

luke was looking at you for so long that the marshmallow he was roasting fell into the fire, despite annabeth’s warnings. she handed him another one. 

"you should tell her how you feel," annabeth said. "stop being a coward." 

whether it was the smell of burnt sugar, the heat of the fire, or annabeth’s comment, luke started to feel dizzy. he did his best to shake it off, asking annabeth for a play-by-play of her strategy earlier that night, but he couldn’t quite get rid of the thought of you. 

(iii. you don't care if your clothes are stained with blood)

“i just….i can’t fucking believe you, luke.”

“i don’t get why you’re so upset — you’ve never cared about quests before.”

luke was hoping to break the news to you after capture the flag. unfortunately for him, word travels fast around camp. 

annabeth had the two of you scouting the east side for the flag, while she and some other athena kids took the west. you hadn’t found anything so far, which meant that you’d spent the better part of an hour bickering over luke’s choice of companions for his quest. a choice that included charles beckendorf and chris rodriguez, and purposefully did not include you, much to your fury.  

before you could continue arguing, luke heard the sound of footsteps approaching. he looked over to you, and you already had your shield and sword at the ready. 

a few red defenders emerged from the trees. one charged at luke, but you stepped in so he could deal with the other two. one of his opponents went down fairly easily, but the other put up much more of a fight. metal clashed behind him as you kept fighting as well. you might not have been as skilled a swordfighter as luke, but he knew that you could hold your own, at least until he was finished with the person in front of him. 

luke parried his opponent’s strike, causing them to take a step closer. he was preparing to disarm them, just as he heard you yelp and stumble to the ground. it only took a millisecond of his attention, but it gave his opponent the opportunity to elbow him in the face. luke felt a crack upon impact, and pain radiated from his nose; he powered through. 

he had to finish this fight, and he had to do it fast. you needed him. 

his ears were ringing as he finally knocked over his opponent, kicking away their sword and keeping his foot on their chest. luke turned around to see you having turned the tides, the blade of your sword dangerously close to your opponent’s neck.

you locked eyes with luke, and you both understood — it was time to go. the two of you ran through the forest, as far away as you could before having to stop and catch your breath.

luke removed his helmet to get some air, and dropped his weapons. you did the same. you looked at him, brows furrowed.

“your nose.”

luke licked his lips, tasting blood. the triumph of winning that last fight overshadowed the ache of his potentially broken nose. in fact, he liked the image of a ruthless warrior emerging from the glory and gore of battle, that even though he did not bleed ichor like a god, he still had power. 

you, on the other hand, didn’t look impressed. instead, you stepped forward and offered the sleeve of your shirt to wipe away the blood. 

“you don’t have to —”

“i know you think you’re a badass walking around all broken and bloody, but you shouldn’t deny your admirers your pretty face,” you teased. 

it was no secret that luke had numerous admirers around camp, a fact you loved to tease him about. he was sure that you relished in how flustered that made him. all you had to call him was pretty boy, and luke could be reduced to a blushing mess. 

it was pathetic how much power you had over him.

“besides, i wouldn’t have gotten out of that last fight if you hadn’t taught me that disarming technique earlier. i owe you. it’s what we do. we take care of each other, right?”

he couldn’t argue with that.

a few moments of silence passed as you cleaned his face. something shifted as you worked, the flirtatious grin fading away. when you pulled away, your sleeve was stained a dark crimson. 

“just tell me honestly,” you finally murmured. “why don't you want me to join your quest?” 

luke was genuinely taken aback by the softness of your voice, now devoid of its usual fire. you wouldn’t meet luke’s eyes, but being that close to you, he noticed they were slightly glazed over.

he had expected you to be angry at his decision. he expected you to yell and argue and try to change his mind. luke hadn’t expected you to be so hurt. so broken. 

he hadn’t planned on it, but luke decided to tell you the truth then.

“look, karma, if you come with me, my heart wouldn’t fully be in the quest. i’d be so caught up in….well, you.”

a pause.

“is that a bad thing?”

“not usually, no.” 

you smirked a little at that, and luke’s heart skipped a beat. it also made his decision even clearer. 

“but i need to be focused for this. i need….” he let out a deep sigh. “i need to prove myself. this is my first real chance, and i can’t fuck it up.”

you met his gaze and smiled brightly at him, your signature spark of confidence returning.  

“you won’t.”

you reached a hand up to play with his necklace. luke hadn’t noticed how close you’d gotten until your fingers started tracing over those four clay beads. it made his entire body burst into flames.

“i’ve been wanting to do something for a while. and, aphrodite save me, it might be really stupid, but —”

luke took a lucky guess as to where you were going, and crashed his lips against yours. aphrodite knows that he'd been wanting to do that for a while, too. 

he often got drunk on the adrenaline of battle, the glory of winning, but nothing was quite like the rush of kissing you for the first time. 

it was messy and urgent, both of you aware that, at any moment, you could be interrupted. your noses were bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. the metallic tang of blood lingered on luke’s tongue, but neither of you seemed to care. you even bit his lip slightly, as if you wanted more. armor sat heavy and cold between your chests, preventing you from getting closer. luke had never loathed the protective gear more. 

he made up for it by lodging one hand underneath your jaw, and snaking the other beneath the celestial bronze, beneath the cotton of your shirt, admiring how your pulse quickened under his thumb when he grazed the soft skin of your stomach. you tangled your hands into his hair, nails scraping against his scalp. he groaned and felt you smirk against his lips. 

luke had kissed a few people before, sure, but never like this: like a knife to the gut, and if you pulled away, luke would surely bleed out and die. 

it wouldn’t be a hero’s death, in the traditional sense, but at least he’d die happy. 

how many heroes could claim that?

when luke ran out of air, feeling like his lungs were burning, he had to pull away. 

you glanced down at luke’s kiss-bitten lips, then back to his eyes. luke flushed under the intensity of your gaze. 

“just promise me something, tiger,” you whispered, voice hoarse. 

“anything.”

“come back alive.”

luke leaned forward and placed another kiss on your lips, this one much gentler than before.

“i promise.”

(iv. you love like a scar that won't fade)

the nightmares were getting worse. 

luke woke up in a cold sweat, taking gulps of air in an attempt to steady his breathing.

“luke.” 

your whisper did little to quell the pit of dread growing in his stomach, but it did enough to bring him back down to reality. 

he was at camp half-blood (fuck the gods of olympus), in the hermes cabin (fuck you, dad), in a bed next to yours (fuck, if he could tell you what — who — was going through his head, he would).

“i’m…i’m fine,” he murmured back, voice catching slightly on the lie. 

like clockwork, you shifted from your bed to his, slipping under the covers. it didn’t matter that it was a hot summer night, and the minute your legs touched his, he could feel himself starting to overheat. 

your thumb brushed over the thick edge of his scar, up his cheekbone to the corner of his eye. it had been a year, living with this reminder. a reminder that he had failed, just as much as his father and the olympians had failed him. 

luke tried to pretend that he didn’t come back from his quest as a shell of who he once was. after all, it was meant to be his shining moment as a demigod, meant to gain him all the glory and father’s praise he once wished for. 

what a fucking joke.

every morning, luke would crawl into a different skin. he welcomed new campers and taught sword-fighting. he laughed with chris and his other siblings and strategized with annabeth for capture the flag. he would be the easy-going, charming, skillful senior counselor who respected the gods and honored them in everything he did. 

again: a fucking joke.

nights were different, though, with you so close to him, you who could always see right through him.

every night, luke was a fourteen-year old boy again, with so much rage and resentment he didn't know what to do with it. 

of course, you were always you - a bleeding heart underneath layers of armor. you didn't care about fate, or the gods, or the titans. you cared about justice, you cared about what was right and fair. 

most of all, you cared about luke.

“you were screaming,” you told him, voice barely cutting through the soft snores and sleeptalkings of your other cabinmates. 

“sorry,” he managed. looking at you in the dull moonlight, luke noticed the deep shadows under your eyes. 

“it’s fine. you just….you scared me, tiger.” 

your hand still rested on his cheek, and for a second, luke hoped you would kiss him, but you didn’t. instead, you told him to try and get some sleep, and sank further into his bed before closing your eyes. 

for the hundredth night in a row, luke hoped you couldn’t hear his heart hammering in his chest as you fell asleep next to him.

since coming back from his quest, luke didn’t have it in him to suggest being anything other than friends, and you didn’t push it. there had been a few....moments between you, sure, but nothing more.

luke thought you might have changed your mind, because who would want to be with a bitter, worthless, wannabe hero? then again, that voice haunting his dreams…. luke could change that. 

but, at what cost?

(v. you protect people as ruthlessly as a starving dog)

luke could hear you talking to percy jackson outside. though he couldn’t quite determine what was being said, as much as he tried.

you entered the bathroom and instantly caught luke’s eyes in the mirror. you were wearing your faded pyjama shorts with cartoon crows, and a flannel shirt that luke had a sneaking suspicion might have been his. you smiled at him before setting up at the counter, one sink between you. 

“what was that about?” luke asked after spitting out a mouthful of minty toothpaste.

“oh, nothing.” you were searching through your toiletry bag for something, and seemed to come up short. “hey, do you have any extra dental floss?”

luke threw some over to you. as you effortlessly caught it, he noticed your knuckles, bruised and bloodied.

“what happened?” 

you finished flossing and briefly examined your hands before pulling out your toothbrush. 

“it’s not a big deal,” you assured. “some ares kids were picking on percy, and then they started pushing him around, like, really pushing him around, so….” 

“....you decided to send them to the infirmary.”

you squeezed some toothpaste on your brush before continuing. “i don’t need you to lecture me about how i shouldn’t be fighting with other campers because i’ve been here longer and i should be a good role model. you know what a good role model does? not let kids beat up other kids and think the worst punishment they’ll get is no dessert for a week.”

luke watched carefully as you jammed the toothbrush in your mouth and brushed with such force, he was worried your teeth might dislodge. he knew that you would shed blood for someone you loved, and that you didn’t particularly care if you had to break rules in doing so, because you believed that what was written was not necessarily what was right. 

in fact, luke loved that about you.

no, it wasn’t the fighting that luke cared about — it was who you were fighting for. 

percy was a good kid, he really was. luke just didn’t want you getting attached. 

“i wasn’t going to lecture you. i’m guessing chiron already did?” 

you nodded and spat out what looked like a combination of toothpaste and blood. you rinsed your mouth until the water lost its pinkish hue. once you were done, luke continued his train of thought.

“i just didn’t realize you cared so much about him.”

“about percy?” 

luke could tell that he didn’t have your full attention. you were packing your stuff back up, accidentally tossing luke’s dental floss into your bag, but he had more pressing matters to deal with.

“yeah. the kid’s only been at camp for three days, and you’re already acting like his guard dog.”

you finally turned to luke and glared at him. 

“maybe. but percy’s sweet and he doesn’t seem like the type to put up with bullshit. he’s been through a lot, and annabeth seems to like him, too. as far as i’m concerned, percy’s one of us, and i’m not going to let anyone push him around.”

luke raised an eyebrow at you. “he’s sweet?”

“yeah. like, just now, he gave me some blue raspberry jelly beans as a thank you. said his mom used to work at a candy store. he also wanted me to apologize to you for him. he feels bad about beating you in sword-fighting earlier.” 

you scoffed, like you resented luke for having to apologize to him on percy’s behalf. you definitely did not appreciate that guard dog comment. luke clenched his jaw, seething over what you had just said. 

satisfied with his reaction, you gave luke that nauseating smile of yours, tilted your head towards the exit. a truce, because you never liked to fight with luke for too long, and a order, because you knew luke would always follow. 

the two of you began walking back to your cabin in the warm mid-june air. 

“i wouldn’t say he beat me,” luke huffed. “it was beginner’s luck.”

“sure, tiger. it was beginner’s luck that disarmed the best swordsman we’ve had in the last 300 years.”

you nudged luke’s shoulder with yours, but he recoiled from your touch. 

“are you trying to make me feel worse?” luke tried his best to avoid snapping at you, keeping his tone measured.

“i’m just saying that maybe the kid has natural talent and that doesn’t make you any less talented. there’s no need to get jealous.”

luke resisted the urge to growl at your suggestion. 

to be clear, he was not jealous. it’s just that luke had spent years of blood, sweat, and tears getting to where he was then, and percy jackson had just gotten to camp. 

and, to be even more clear, luke was not jealous of how you were already defending percy with your whole body and your whole heart, the way you did for him. 

by then, you reached the front of the hermes cabin. luke could already hear the commotion of what he would need to deal with as soon as he walked in. the burden of being head counselor, one he approached with an elastic smile that could snap at any moment. 

you tugged on luke’s sleeve before he could open the door. 

“hey. are we okay?”

luke looked down at your fingers grasping the fabric of a sweatshirt he was just realizing was yours. your nails were painted a dark red, now chipped after a week of wear. you had begged luke to paint his nails then, and once again, he gave in. he even started to like the purple you had chosen just for him, so deep it was almost black. the same color you were wearing the first time you and luke met.

he smiled at the memory — a real smile, no plastic — and then smiled back up at you.

“we’re fine, karma.” and he moved to enter the cabin. luke could hear the threat of an argument bubbling up, what sounded like a petty one over a prank gone wrong.

“wait.” you tugged at his (your) sweatshirt once more. “there’s something i wanted to talk to you about, about tomorrow night—”

“annabeth called a meeting during free time.”

“yeah, i know, it’s just —”

“she’ll run through strategy for capture the flag then.”

“one of the aphrodite senior campers asked me to the campfire,” you blurted it out, and luke decided to ignore the sound of a fight breaking out from behind the wooden door.

what in the name of hades were you talking about?

“they asked you out? like…like a….” luke didn’t even want to speak the word, scared it would make it real.

“a date,” you said casually, as if that one word didn’t rip luke’s heart in a million pieces. “i said yes.” an admission that took all those pieces and set them on fire. 

sure, in the seven years since you and luke met, you’d each talked about boys, about girls, about dating and kissing them and going further. but there was something about this one that felt different. something about the way you told him.

“but, listen, i wanted to let you know it’s not —”

“good for you,” was all luke said through gritted teeth before someone started calling his name again, louder and more urgently, and he had to duck inside.  

(vi. you taste like burning cherries and righteous anger)

your team had won capture the flag, of course. the biggest news of the evening, though: percy jackson was the son of the sea god. 

he was a forbidden child, the hero of the great prophecy. 

everything was falling into place. 

all luke should be thinking about is kronos’ plan, and his role in it, and how a world without the gods of olympus was that much more in reach.  

unfortunately, for the time being, he was so consumed by you. 

you, from across the campfire, sporting cutoff denim shorts and fresh wounds from the game earlier. you, who had wrapped your knuckles in gauze, concealing their bruising, fixed the chips in your nail polish and stacked rings on your fingers. (for the record: luke had gifted you the one on your left thumb.) you, with dark lips that whispered too closely and laughed too loudly with a child of aphrodite— jordan li.

you hadn’t so much as looked at luke since congratulating each other on another win. when chiron announced his weekly gratitude to the gods at the start of that night’s campfire, you didn’t punctuate your resentment with your usual eye-roll or biting remark. you were too busy giggling at something jordan said.

luke wanted to be the one to whisper jokes in your ear. he wanted to be the one you left lipstick stains on later, along his jaw and down his neck. he wanted to be the one who kissed the blade mark on your shoulder and the bruises on your knuckles. 

and yet, hours passed and it seemed that the thought of luke had never so much as crossed your mind. he found himself at an after hours party with a few senior campers on the beach. a lethal recipe: a poorly crafted bonfire, some contraband drinks and you in jordan li’s lap, playing with their hair and pretending luke castellan did not exist. 

meanwhile, luke had katie gardner’s full attention. she was talking to him about the strawberry season, potentially leaning a bit too close into luke’s personal space, definitely flirting with him. 

luke could have done a lot worse than the head counselor of the demeter cabin, who always smelled like fresh lavender, whose eyes were the bright green of spring grass and whose lips tasted like golden honey. 

the problem was that luke only wanted you, and his eyes kept sliding over to where you were kissing jordan’s cheek, and he accidentally called the girl he was kissing by your name, which did not make her happy. 

katie threw her drink in his face, told him to wake the fuck up, and walked away.

a chorus of gasps and chuckles erupted as luke stood there, diet coke and vodka seeping into his shirt. the commotion seemed to capture your attention, because you suddenly appeared next to luke, an empty bottle of cherry soda in your hand.

“rough night, tiger?” your voice, that nickname, made luke sick, his face twisting into a frown. you don’t seem to notice or care. instead, you switched your bottle with luke’s and took a sip.

“looks like you were having a pretty good time,” luke practically sneered. “where’s your date?” 

 “they went to bed.” you swallowed a mouthful of beer, grimacing at its bitterness. “gods, this is terrible. you and i should go on the drink run next time — we have better taste.”

“so, are you and jordan like a thing now?”

you gave luke a smile he didn’t quite understand, but made his stomach churn in ways only you could. “would that be a problem?”

“of course not.” he answered way too quickly for that to be true. 

“let’s get out of here,” you suggested. “i think katie is about this close to strangling you with a tree branch.”

luke glanced over your shoulder to where green eyes glared back at him. 

nowhere could luke find it in him to care. he wasn’t even sorry. he just shrugged, took the bottle back from you, took his first sip all night. luke almost gagged (because of course you were right, and the stoll brothers had better fake ids than they had taste) but he suppressed it. 

“no. i’m good.”

biggest lie he ever said. like there wasn’t anger caught in his throat and jealousy swelling between his ribs.

“go find jordan,” he taunted. “kiss them, show them a good time! isn’t that the reason why you got all pretty?”

you narrowed your eyes at him carefully. your nostrils were slightly flared, and luke took a bit of pride in being able to rile you up.

“look, we haven’t really talked lately, and i think we should.”

“go find jordan,” he mocked once more. “almost all the aphrodite kids are here, and i’m sure you can be quiet enough to sneak into their cabin and if you want a quick fu—”

“luke.” you clipped his name, obviously getting to the limit of your patience with him. “if you want to stay here all night and be an asshole, you’re welcome to. you should know, though, that your happy-go-lucky hero mask is starting to crack and i don’t know if you could deal with the fallout from it shattering completely.”

you leaned in close and whispered that last part, very aware of the chattering that stopped and the eyes that watched the pair of you anxiously. luke was usually good at hiding that part of himself who wanted to burn the world down. 

in ways you didn’t realize, you were right: he couldn’t risk revealing it, not now.

not yet. 

“do whatever you want, castellan,” you spat out his last name, the combination of letters foreign in your mouth.“i’m leaving.”

luke should be proud of himself. he waited a whole two seconds before following you like a stray dog. 

luke didn’t know if he’d ever felt you that enraged by him, and it horrified him. it also made him hungry for more. 

“i’m not sure that jordan would want the two of us alone together at night,” he shouted after you, words echoing into the starless sky.

“gods, enough about jordan!” luke practically ran into you with how fast you turned around to confront him. “i was helping them with that stupid aphrodite tradition!”

“you….” luke faltered, all the snark leaving his body. “what?”

luke remembered silena beauregard once explaining the rite of passage to him: to prove themselves, a child of aphrodite had to make someone fall in love with them, and then break their heart.

“why…why would you agree to do that?”

you had reached the dining area by then, and you sat on one of the steps leading to the pavilion. luke stayed a few feet away, looking at you cautiously. 

“jordan and i are already friends, and they figured a fake relationship would be the way to avoid anyone from actually getting hurt in the process.”

“you seemed so…so into it, though,” luke stammered, the memory of you in jordan’s lap, laughter bubbling from your lips, still fresh.

“it’s called acting, dumbass.” the camp didn’t rely on electricity, but there were enough torches around that luke could see you roll your eyes. “anyways, i was trying to give you a heads-up last night, but you wouldn’t listen.” you took a deep breath. “and, honestly, i didn’t push it because….i figured i should test a hypothesis.”

a hypothesis? you’d known annabeth for too long.

“what hypothesis?”

you hesitated. 

“it doesn’t matter. fuck, this was stupid,” you muttered, and without another word, stormed through the dining pavilion, a short cut to the hermes cabin. your footsteps fell heavy against the marble, and luke’s not far behind. 

“what hypothesis?” he asked again.

nothing but rushed footsteps.

“what hypothesis?” luke finally yelled.

third time was the charm, because you stopped in your tracks and faced luke once again. a fire burned in the bronze brazier, where campers were forced to offer up portions of your food to the gods at every meal. its roaring seemed to captivate you, and the flames danced across your face, illuminating all your curves and edges.

“i’m angry at the gods,” you stated. 

this caught luke off guard. from the day the two of you met, luke knew you shared that feeling. you’d gotten quieter with your rage as you’d gotten older. luke supposed he got better at hiding it himself, as well. 

“i’m angry at the gods for letting bad shit happen even if they can stop it, and for building this world in the fucked up way they did. i’m angry at your dad for the way he’s treated you, but — you, luke castellan.” you finally met luke’s eyes with a gaze so sharp, luke almost felt himself bleed. “i’m also angry at you, and not just for your bullshit tonight.” 

your admission felt like a punch to the stomach, and luke was left with no air to breathe.

did you know?

“you haven’t been the same since your quest,” you continued, words slow and deliberate, the way you spoke when you were worried your voice would shake. “and i’ve come to terms with that in the past few years, but you….you’ve never tried to ice me out before. you’ve been acting distant since december, and it’s been driving me insane. do you realize how much i miss my best …..” you swallowed the word friend. “how much i miss you?”

luke hesitated, because what could he say? i know i’ve been distant, but i’ve been busy trying to start a war between the gods. sorry babe! 

would you hate him, if you knew? 

you had to have known that, despite the distance, luke missed you. for tartarus sake, in the last two days, he’d driven himself mad at you calling a fourteen year old boy sweet, and he was about to combust at the image of you dating someone else, with little care as to the collateral damage. 

"you can't just avoid me, makeout with katie fucking gardner, and then….” you trailed off, hiding your face in your hands. whether it was to hide embarrassment or tears, luke wasn’t sure.

a smirk spread across luke’s face at the revelation that he hadn’t been the only one jealous at the bonfire that night. it lit luke up with the confidence he needed to not completely fall to his knees in front of you, beg for your forgiveness for everything he’s done.

“why do you care if i make out with katie fucking gardner?” 

as he waited for a response, luke walked towards you until your back hit one of the marble columns. 

“why do you care if i’m with jordan fucking li?” you clenched your jaw and looked right through luke. a clear indication that you wanted him to break down first; it wouldn’t be you who yielded this fight.

“because i want to be the one you’re with.” at that point, luke was so close to you that he swore he could hear your heartbeat. he reached out and played with the hem of your shorts. “why do you care if i make out with katie gardner?”

“because.” you drew in a sharp breath when luke’s fingers brushed underneath the denim, across the warm skin of your thigh. you closed your eyes. “don’t make me say it, tiger.” 

the desperation in your voice made luke want to do unholy things with you, to you. luke knew you didn’t think of him as a saint, and you never expected him to be one. the reality was that you weren’t much better, either. what was essentially an altar to the gods burned bright next to you, but it seemed neither of you had ever cared less about it than in that moment. 

luke would watch olympus fall. he would dethrone the gods and watch their glass castle shatter and find glory in a new world. in the grand scheme of things, he was willing to lose this battle.

in fact, he would have rather betrayed the titan lord himself than waste another second not kissing your lips. 

so, he kissed you, and you kissed him back with such force, such hunger, it was ungodly.

no, you certainly weren’t a saint — but you were divine, in the most brutal, intoxicating way. in the way you shuddered when luke lodged a leg between your thighs; in the way you threaded your fingers through the belt loops of his jeans to bring him closer; in the way the metal of your rings burned through the skin of his hip, right to the bone, which made him shudder, and you smile triumphantly against his jaw.

the more he tasted your smirk flavored by cherry soda and the ashes of nearby flames, the more he felt your feral teeth against his neck and your wicked nails digging into his shoulders, the more you tugged on his curls, the more luke thought: maybe. 

maybe you would give into your seething resentment, live up to those eye-rolls and snarky comments that got you in trouble with chiron, on the edge of hot water with the gods. maybe you would join the titan army. maybe, just maybe, this time, you would follow luke.

and yet — maybe wasn’t enough if it meant he could lose this. luke wouldn’t risk it, not until he kissed every battle scar and bruise on your body, and you did the same to his. 

“wait.”

it was the last thing luke wanted to do, but he complied. he took the opportunity to appreciate the chaos he created: your shirt in disarray, your lipstick a mess, your chest heaving and desperate to catch a breath. 

“i promised jordan that we’d keep up our charade for a week, two at the most. do you think we could keep this…” you tightened your fist around the fabric of his shirt. “a secret until then?”

luke responded by pressing his lips to yours once more, because there were definitely worse secrets to keep.

(vii. you wouldn’t hesitate to make him bleed)

luke had just left percy jackson to die.

he should be leaving camp, now, but he needed to see you one last time. 

the universe works in mysterious ways, because you were out on a run through the forest, and you crossed paths before he even had time to wonder where you were.

“hey, tiger.” you smiled as if this was a regular afternoon. the two of you would teach your afternoon activities, sneak away during dinner so luke could kiss you in that spot that made you gasp. “wanna join me? i was just wrapping up, but i could be convinced to go longer.”

for a second, he was tempted to. very tempted. 

“i don’t have much time.”

you seemed to notice luke’s sullen mood and you dropped your playful demeanor. 

luke explained: the messages from kronos in his dreams, him stealing the lightning bolt and helm of darkness to start a war between the gods and framing percy. the plan to destroy olympus that luke had pledged his life to.

percy was surprised at what luke had done, and luke could imagine that the rest of camp would be, too. luke was the golden boy of camp half-blood, everyone’s big brother. 

you, on the other hand, didn’t express any sense of shock. 

“luke.” you said his name like you weren’t quite sure it was poison. “i’m going to give you five seconds to tell me that you’re joking.”

five seconds of silence passed. you took a few steps back from luke.

“i….i should have told you sooner.”

“yeah,” you scoffed. “you should have. but, you didn’t. did it feel good, having the titan king whispering sweet nothings in your ear? all the lies about how this war is the only way to get the glory you so desperately want? it’s fucking delusional.” 

“it’s not delusional—”

“yes, it is!” you glared at him. “you’re on the wrong side of a war you made the mistake of starting.”

luke straightened his posture, thinking about how hypocritical you were being. 

“isn’t this what you’re all about? revenge, karma. your mom will probably join us, too. don’t you want to see the gods finally get what they deserve?”

“not like this. i can’t believe how desperate you are, to believe that kronos is going to make everything right. it’s pathetic,” you spat. “i’m not saying the gods don’t deserve to be taken down a notch. their fucking obsession with power and glory….it’s sick and twisted, but i don’t think your titan king is any better. i don’t think you are any better.” 

“it’s time that the gods fall. this is the only way, even if it isn’t perfect,” luke countered. his voice was firmer now as he absorbed your anger. your mother was the goddess of revenge, but you clearly didn't understand the sacrifices, pain, and blood that was required to make the world a better place.  

luke just needed to convince you.

“we’ve talked about this for years,” he continued. “nothing is balanced! there’s no justice here, for anyone.  we can build a better world where we don’t have to burn our scraps and throw ourselves at monsters to get attention. we can fight together like we always have. y/n, i love—”

“don’t,” you snapped. “don’t you fucking dare. you should have died on your quest.” your voice laced with venom. one hand gripping the knife you always kept on your belt. “that dragon should have fucking sliced through you and saved us all the trouble.”

something pricked in the back of his throat, down to his stomach.

“you don’t mean that.”

“i do,” you promised. “at least you would have died with all of us thinking you’re a hero instead of the traitor you really are.”

you grabbed your knife, took a fighting stance. 

“i’m not going to fight you,” was all luke could say. he noticed your hand tremble, and you tightened the grip on your knife to prevent emotion from slipping through your invisible armor. 

in that moment, you have could slice through luke, and it would hurt less than everything you just said, less than the murderous look you were giving him, like he was just another monster you wouldn’t think twice about sending to tartarus.

luke didn’t even have a chance to unsheathe his sword before you charged at him, but he quickly had you pinned to the ground, the tip of your own knife pointed at you. he hesitated. the blade pressed harder against your cheek than he intended, enough to break the skin and let a few droplets of dark crimson escape. 

“please come with me,” he pleaded. you didn’t answer, but you did seem surprised by the softness of his voice. 

a few moments passed, the celestial bronze still between you. luke waited for you to see his way, to yield to his proposal.

you didn’t. instead, you took advantage of the situation. you wrapped your leg around his and flipped your position. in the process, you regained possession of your knife. without the hesitation that held luke back, you sliced through his cheek, deep. luke bit his lip to suppress a groan, tasting blood. your gaze set his whole body on fire as he waited for your next move. that was when you glanced down at his camp necklace, and the new clay bead added to commemorate this summer.

a turquoise trident.

“percy told me he was on his way to see you,” you realized. “what did you do?”

luke didn’t answer. he knew then that a choice ran through your head. 

and it stung, just a little, watching you sprint away through the trees in a last ditch effort to save percy’s life. 

there was a small, pathetic part of luke that wanted you to choose him, even if it meant you would have plunged the knife into his chest.

[writingfics-passingtime]

Gentle

pairing: Loki x female reader

synopsis: You don't think you're ticklish. Loki offers to prove you wrong.

word count: ~3500

warnings: lots of swearing, sexual tension, suggestive jokes and innuendo, possessive!Loki, minor violence (training sparring)

minors dni: this work does not contain smut, but does contain a sexually-charged relationship between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

note: This fic is for all the people who aren't affected by rough and tumble tickling. Who know that gentle can still be ruthless. I see you.

Sam was grounded.

So while he was strong, fast, and stubborn, he didn't have his wings. No aerial advantage.

And you were sharper. You moved with practiced ease, letting him tire himself out as he swung and lunged across the sunken sparring pit, meeting his strikes with sidesteps, well-placed counters, and a smirk you hoped was infuriating.

He went for your ribs.

You caught his wrist. Twisted. Used that leverage to hook your legs around him, then used his thrown balance to send him down.

His back hit the mat with a solid thud.

For a moment, he just blinked up at you, winded and momentarily stunned.

You grinned, settling your weight on top of him, knee digging into his ribs just hard enough to remind him who the boss was. "Tell me," you mused, "who did you say was getting their ass handed to them today?"

Sam huffed, mouth pursing into something half-annoyed, half-amused. "Yeah, screw you."

You arched a brow. "Not much of an apology."

His jaw tensed, eyes narrowing. A second’s hesitation. You pounced.

Your fingers slipped under his ribs, pressing just enough-

"Shit!"

Your smirk quickly became a grin.

A choked laugh ripped out of him before he could stop it. He bucked violently, twisting beneath you as laughter tore through him like he’d been struck by lightning.

Your hand followed wherever he turned. "Something wrong, Wilson?"

"You demon-" He twisted again, finally using sheer force to throw you off. You hit the mat with a sharp roll over your shoulder, coming up to your feet in a fluid motion, laughing as he swore under his breath, breathless.

You two weren't the only ones laughing.

Thor chuckled, amused. Bucky smirked, arms crossed. Steve shook his head, exasperated. And Loki...

Loki was watching you like a cat watching a caged bird.

He tilted his head, eyes sharp, lips lifting in a slow, knowing smirk. "That," he said, "seems like an extraordinarily reckless tactic to introduce."

You dusted your hands off. "How so?"

Loki’s smirk widened. He took the bait. "Because every person in this room is stronger than you. And now you’ve gone and planted a very particular idea in their minds."

His gaze dragged over you, slow and deliberate. You crossed your arms, lifting that same brow in challenge. Giving him space to continue monologuing.

"I mean, really," he mused in a silken voice, "do you truly want to tempt fate by giving them the notion to simply hold you down and take their revenge?"

The air shifted, and you held back your confident smirk, just to play with him a bit. "They're welcome to try."

Bucky stepped forward, rolling his shoulders. "It's futile." He shot you a begrudging look. "We learned a long time ago - she’s not ticklish."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, and it’s annoying as hell. Not many ways to get her back for all that sass."

You shot him a sly smile.

Loki made a sound in his throat - amused, unimpressed. "You’re wrong."

Your eyes slid back to him, fixing him with a look. "Wrong? I'm not ticklish, Loki."

Loki’s lips curled into a smirk. “Yes, you are.”

Tense silence fell upon the room as the others turned to Loki, confused, silently hoping.

The moment stretched, electric.

Smirking eye contact, the crackle of something just shy of violent, just shy of something else.

You squinted. "I'm not lying. I've never been ticklish. Ask anyone in here."

“Hmm, I'm sure they have tried with their clumsy mortal hands,” he murmured, voice low, rich, laced with wicked amusement. “I, however..." His smirk grew downright devious. "I could take you apart without breaking a sweat.”

Your stomach did something sharp and treacherous. The heat in your face spread down your neck before you could help it.

Sam snorted. “Oh my god.”

Bucky shook his head, muttering something under his breath. Steve exhaled through his nose, clearly regretting his life choices.

You, however, refused to flinch.

“Yeah, right.”

Loki chuckled, slow and dark.

“I’ll gladly prove it,” he insisted, voice a lazy taunt, “as soon as you’re not afraid to submit to it."

The words pushed like a slow blade between your ribs. The challenge, goading you to agree to being pinned and tested, for him to catalogue your responses. It’s not like he was going to succeed in tickling you, but submit?

No way in hell.

Your mouth parted in a scoff, heat flushing your neck, your cheeks, something sharp already forming on your tongue-

“Okay, this,” Sam interrupted, pointing one hand at each of you, “is the one of most sexual things I’ve ever seen in my life, and I once walked in on Thor oiling himself up for battle.”

You lunged.

Sam yelped, dodging back, but before you could reach him, a familiar arm hooked around your waist, effortlessly hauling you back onto the mat.

Bucky didn’t even flinch. “Easy, killer."

Loki chuckled, low and pleased, as you pushed Bucky's arm away.

“I do so enjoy this part,” the god mused.

You exhaled sharply, still flushed, still coiled tight with something restless and unsatisfied. You took the bait. “What part?”

His gaze flicked to yours, amused, knowing. “The part where you pretend to be annoyed.”

The others snorted.

Your mouth opened, but before you could fire back, Loki winked, turned, and made to leave.

Something in you rebelled.

“Hey!" You called after him. "Come put your money where your mouth is, Your Highness."

Loki stopped.

He exhaled a low, dark chuckle, then, slowly, began rolling up the sleeves of his tunic, baring forearms lined with lean, deceptive strength.

“I didn't think,” he murmured, “you'd want an audience for what’s about to transpire.”

Sam made a strangled noise. “I hate this. I hate this weird foreplay.”

Thor’s booming laugh filled the room.

"Of course I want an audience," you hummed, ignoring the riffraff. "I want them all to witness you making a fool of yourself." You stepped back onto the mat, uncrossing your arms, opening your stance. "But I’m not submitting. If you want me at your mercy, you’ll have to earn it.”

Loki turned back, and - lazily, deliberately, with a smirk that was pure sin - prowled toward you. “Very well,” he purred with a tilt of his head. “Let’s play.”

But the moment his feet hit the mat, you got the sinking feeling that you'd just walked into a trap.

You’d never sparred with Loki before. Hell, you’d never even seen him fight outside of an actual battlefield, where his chaos and skill blurred the line between strategy and sheer fucking audacity.

But now, circling each other under the dim gym lights, with him as your adversary, you saw raw, precise power coiled beneath his deliberate movements, waiting to unravel.

His stance was fluid, deceptively relaxed. Beautiful, cocky bastard. Every shift of his weight, every flicker of his gaze, calculated. You could tell he was watching you, reading you, in a way that made heat lick at the base of your spine. And deep in your belly.

So you lunged first.

In the blink of an eye, he dodged, slipping around your advance like a fast-flowing stream through your fingers, barely exerting any effort. Your body twisted, adjusting on instinct, throwing your weight into a feint before coming back around, aiming for his side.

But again, he was faster.

Loki flowed around your strike like water, his arm shooting out with lightning precision. You barely registered the movement before his palm landed solidly against your ribs - not with brute force, but a firm, pointed push, sending you stumbling off balance.

You caught yourself, breath coming sharp through your nose. He stood there, utterly at ease, watching you with a glint of amusement.

Smug, infuriatingly hot, cocky bastard.

You exhaled. Steady.

Regrouping, you moved again, but this time, you were smarter - testing- feeling out the way he reacted. The next time he dodged, you anticipated it, twisting mid-motion and using his own momentum against him, catching his arm and yanking.

It almost worked.

The instant you felt his weight shift, you knew - he’d let you do that.

You barely had time to react before he countered, twisting with impossible grace, his body moving like an under-sea shadow. You felt it before you saw it.

His hands on you.

Turning.

Your feet ripped out from under you.

The mat met your chest with a harsh thud, your breath shooting out of your lungs in a rush.

Your wrists flexed, instinctively pushing to lift yourself up - except one of them wasn’t moving. Something heavy and warm pressed you down.

Your pulse jumped.

Loki was above you, his thighs caging your hips, one hand securing your wrist above your head. Your left side was left exposed, vulnerable. You snuck a glance at the rest of the team - on your... right - he chose to test the side they couldn't see. Why?

There were more important matters to tend to.

You struggled, but his grip was like iron, pressing your wrist into the mat, keeping your body still beneath his. The sheer weight of him was suffocating, and intoxicating, his lean muscle like warm steel.

The sound of your panting filled the space between you as you used your free hand to push against his knee, against the mat, to try and pry his hand off your wrist.

Nothing budged. Nothing. Especially not you.

So, finally, you gave up the fight, relaxing underneath him, letting your forehead fall to the mat as the others chuckled on the sidelines.

A low, satisfied, hum rumbled from his chest.

You clenched your jaw, ignoring the way the heat from his body seemed to sink into yours. “Yeah, whatever. You're a thousand-year-old god, of course you're gonna win."

Loki chuckled. And that sound - deep, smug, thoroughly entertained - was infuriating.

You scoffed, and gave a snarky chuckle, lazing your head to the side, not the slightest bit concerned. "Well, go on. Do what you need to do. All of these guys have tried, failed, and reaped the embarrassment of prodding my stomach while I stare them down. Your turn."

"My turn," he repeated in a low, heat, murmur that made your neck prickle. "They’ve all tried, have they?"

His eyes flicked toward the others - Bucky, Sam, Steve, Thor - still watching with rapt attention.

"I'm guessing they wrestled you, pinned you," Loki mused, "and I imagine they grabbed at your waist, or jammed their fingers clumsily under your arms, yes?"

Your stomach clenched at the cool, casual confidence in his voice.

His head dipped lower, lips brushing just past your ear.

"But no one's ever been gentle with you, have they?"

The implication landed hot in your stomach. With that tone, he definitely wasn't just talking about tickling.

"I don’t need gentle," you gritted out, feeling the heat creep up your neck.

Loki hummed again. And then -

A single touch.

Soft. Featherlight. Unfamiliar.

A slow, wandering drag of fingertips under the hem of your shirt, gliding over your side with aching delicacy.

An involuntary shudder rippled through you, sparkling sensation travelling up your neck, down your hip.

Your breath hitched.

Loki’s low chuckle vibrated against your back.

“Oh, my. Was that a reaction?"

You tested your wrist again, his grip didn’t budge. Iron.

“I-” You wet your lips, breathing out a nervous chuckle. Steady... “If this is tickling, why do people react to it so violently? Sam practically-”

The words died in your throat as his fingers slipped higher.

A slow, agonisingly light scratching at your ribcage.

Your body shifted before you even realised. Some strange, new sensation bloomed alive beneath your skin - an almost electric tingle, sharp and shivery, not... uncomfortable but not something you could control.

You winced, feeling your own muscles betray you, your arm instinctively trying to pull down. Your brow furrowed.

Silence from the others.

Your pulse pounded as you turned your head and met their confused stares and raised brows.

Loki’s voice dipped lower. “Tell me,” he whispered, dark and taunting, “what do you feel?”

You swallowed. Your breath was unsteady. “I don’t know, I-”

You barely got the words out before his fingers slipped higher, that damnably light touch moving quicker, scraping against your skin and nerves-

A sensation erupted.

Your body jerked.

A strangled noise caught in your throat - somewhere between a gasp and a sound you’d never made before - bubbling up.

No.

No fucking way.

Your fingers dug into the mat. Heat roared through your veins, panic flickering, because something strange was happening. Your body was reacting. Your breath hitching, catching, some kind of force simmering deep in your lungs-

“What the hell are you doing to me?” you demanded, voice breathless, confused, desperate.

Loki only laughed, dark and rich, and said, “Proving a point.”

And then he picked up the speed.

A choked, gasping giggle burst out of you before you could stop it.

Your eyes widened.

The others on the sidelines looked gobsmacked.

The sensation grew, intensified, as Loki’s fingers didn’t stop.

You twisted violently, struggling under him, but his weight was unforgiving, his grip relentless.

Your lips parted, a stream of breathless giggles slipping free.

Oh, fuck.

Your body shuddered as his fingers skimmed higher, up to the skin stretched over the centre of your ribcage-

Your head hit the mat as laughter was yanked out of you. Your legs kicked, trying to gain traction, but Loki only chuckled at your useless attempts.

“Wait- fucking- you-"

“Well,” Loki purred, so fucking pleased with himself, “Not ticklish, was it?”

The laughter ripped through your throat, unrelenting, spilling out in gasping waves as Loki’s damnable fingers continued their excruciatingly light torment. The others on the sidelines cheered in pure delight as you laughed and laughed and twisted and squirmed.

But there was no escape.

No amount of tensing, no desperate attempts to throw him off, could do anything against his sheer strength and control. His weight pressed you into the mat, keeping you exactly where he wanted, his hand moving with deadly precision - every stroke of his fingertips dragging something shivery and unbearable from your skin.

Bucky's surprised scoff cut across your struggling. "Well I'll be."

"All this time, huh?" Steve huffed a laugh through his nose.

"Oh, you are definitely getting it from me," Sam's chortling threat made you turn your head away, back to where only Loki could see your profile.

Gods, Loki.

This wasn’t the clumsy, forceful jabbing of a sparring partner trying to elicit a reaction.

This... this was deliberate. Skilled. Loki had found something new in you, and he was taking his time exploring it.

And the worst part?

The heat.

The deep, simmering pull in your stomach had nothing to do with his magic and everything to do with the way his body pinned yours, the warmth of his breath, the slow, dangerous way he was learning you.

You were done for.

“Now,” Loki called to the others, voice smooth and pleased and maddeningly composed over your breathless gasps, “what exactly should I be dishing out punishment for? As long as you all have tales of her misdeeds…”

His fingers fluttered along your ribs, light and delicate, dragging over the hyper-sensitive skin. Your body seized with a squeal, then a sharp, gasping laugh.

“…I’ll keep going.”

The traitorous bastards on the sidelines did not hesitate.

“How much time you got?” Sam called, laughing.

"She replaced the protein powder with flour," Bucky offered. "Had us all drinking sludge in our shakes for days until we realised."

Loki hummed in amusement. "Clever." His fingers never stopped - the feathery, unbearable strokes at your lower ribs making your body tremble under him.

"Last week she convinced Thor that the Alexa was not only a real person, but 'Midgard's Only Goddess.'" Sam snorted. "Had Thor trying to win her favour for hours."

Loki chuckled, shaking his head as though deeply ashamed of you. His fingers slid higher up your ribs, the change in focus so sudden it made your breath hitch violently - your body arching before you could stop it.

"Oh, that’s good," Sam laughed. "Keep her goin', we got more."

"She told the new recruits that I get my hair done at a salon called ‘Thunder Struck,’" Thor added, betrayal in his voice. "The rumours-"

"-are completely true," you gasped, still somehow defiant through the breathless laughter spilling out of you.

Loki sighed in faux fatigue. "A habitual liar, too. Unfortunate." His fingers shifted again, this time creeping into the soft space under your arm-

Your laughter folded into silence.

A sharp, breathless inhale was all you could manage, body seizing as your nerves exploded with sensation. Your free hand slammed into the mat, trying to brace yourself.

Loki noticed.

“Oh,” he purred, sounding far too satisfied. His fingers didn’t move, just rested there, as if savouring the way you tensed beneath him. “I see.”

Your eyes widened. Somehow, you knew what was coming.

“I believe,” he murmured darkly, “I’ve found the perfect place for my discipline.”

His fingers twitched.

A sharp, shuddering noise burst out of you.

Then he started moving.

Slow. Dragging.

Your body jolted before you could stop it, a sharp, helpless squirm beneath him. Your breath hitched violently in your throat, trying to hold in the laughter- you couldn’t let him win-

His fingers curled against your skin in a perfectly devastating way, grazing soft circles in the deepest, most vulnerable part of that untouched nerve space, and the laughter broke out of you in an uncontrollable rush.

Loki sighed, as if he were so terribly disappointed.

“What was it you called me last week?” he mused, tracing, scratching, slow, taunting circles over every tormenting inch. “Ah, yes - ‘horny Shakespeare?’”

You shrieked. Your trapped hand trembling into a fist, tears of mirth threatening hot behind your eyes.

The others roared with laughter.

“Or was it-” He shifted, pressing in closer, lips brushing against your burning ear, voice dripping with amusement, “-‘overgrown magician with daddy issues’?”

You shrieked again, laughter breaking apart into gasping, desperate protests.

“Oh, I rather like this one-” His fingers swirled, still unbearably light, sweeping quickly over the taut skin. “You said I ‘probably cry after sex.’”

“I TAKE IT BACK-”

Loki laughed, dark and dangerous, sitting back up as his fingers scraped gently, just enough to send fire through your nerves, to make your laughter break, to send your legs kicking uselessly against the mat.

"Ah, and my favourite," Loki continued, relentless, "-you looked me dead in the eyes, in front of the entire team, and asked me if my horns were, in fact, just overcompensation for something far more-"

He was cut off when his fingers stroked, just so, against the place just below your arm where your ribcage ended, and laughter tore through you, something wrecked in your voice, your body shaking against his.

"Oh, you didn't like that, did you?" he soothed in mock sympathy before his voice gave way to a dark, sensuous chuckle.

"Loki- PLEASE!"

You had never begged before.

But you'd never been ticklish before.

And Loki - Loki fucking knew.

His chuckle returned as his hand slowed to a stop, fingers still perched threateningly as your ragged breath expelled beneath him.

"Did you hear that, gentlemen?" Your chest heaved, body shaking from the sheer force of it all, something deeply unsettled in your bones as his palm smoothed down your side, lingering before his fingers tightened at your hip, his grip possessive. "I do believe our dear girl has finally learned some manners."

Your entire body burned.

Then, Loki pushed off, moving effortlessly to his feet as if the last five minutes hadn’t utterly destroyed you.

True to his word, he hadn't broken a sweat.

You barely managed to push yourself onto your knees, your body unsteady, your breathing still laboured.

"Wait, hold up," Sam interrupted, holding a hand towards you. "Loki, you gotta show us how to do that."

Loki stiffened. It was barely noticeable. A flicker. A shift in the air.

And then - smooth as ever, with an icy calm that sent a clear warning, "I used magic," he said, holding up a hand with fingertips glowing green. "You are not capable, and you should not try."

You looked up, saw the chilled death in his stare that bored into Sam.

Liar.

That's why he chose to test the side no one else can see; he didn't want anyone else knowing how to undo you.

And everyone knew it. The implication was clear:

Back off.

Sam held up his hands immediately. "Alright, damn. Not trying to start an intergalactic incident."

The tension in the room eased as you caught your breath, but the tension inside you only burned hotter.

Loki turned and met your gaze with something solemn in his expression, something dark and wanting... protective.

Something only for you.

And fuck, you were both done for.

.

.

[steddieas-shegoes]

the perfect pair (of tits)

for @vecnuthy

Happy birthday Vec!!!! I genuinely lost track of my days so have this extremely silly and rushed fic that I wrote this afternoon/evening! Brought to you by the images shared of Joe Keery at the beach, tits out. I hope you’ve had a lovely day and can’t wait to see you at the Djour ♥️

rated e, 18+, minors dni | 1903 words | cw: unsafe piercing practice | tags: friends to lovers, getting together, chest hair, nipple licking, biting, coming in pants, coming untouched

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“He’s got the perfect nipples, you know?” Eddie laments.

“Uh…no?” Robin replies.

She’s looking at him like he’s a pervert. Maybe he is. He’s definitely horny.

“I should take him to get them pierced,” he resolved. He stands to offer it, but Robin shoves him back into his seat. “What? He’d totally do it.”

“You’re drooling,” Robin says in response. “I can’t possibly listen to you say even nastier things about him if he gets a nipple pierced.”

“Not a nipple. Nipples, plural. Since he has both of his.”

Steve gets out of the pool and Eddie watches water drip down his hairy chest, down his even hairier legs, onto the pavement below. He wishes he could lay under him, between his legs, maybe he could lick the water from behind his knee or something. He’s had dreams of licking sweat off of him, but this might be the next best thing.

“Jesus,” Robin groans. “Did you hear me?”

“Obviously, I did not.”

“Hopeless. Disgusting and hopeless.”

“We should probably head in. Looks like a storm’s coming in,” Steve says as he drips water onto the chair Eddie’s sitting in.

Eddie slides his leg closer, sighs when a few drops fall on his knee. He’s too busy looking up at Steve to notice that there are some small drops of rain falling on the pavement a few feet away.

“I call the big shower,” Robin jumps up and rushes into the house. “See ya!”

Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling fondly as she races inside. After the sliding door closes, he looks back down at Eddie. He reaches a hand out.

“You wanna head in?” He asks.

“Sure,” Eddie says, taking his hand. He feels like a damsel in distress, a princess being led to her wedding chamber. “Lead the way, my prince.”

Steve’s neck is red and Eddie can’t look away. The rain gets heavier and he hears thunder rolling in the distance. He doesn’t remember the weatherman saying they were expecting rain today, but they’re never right anyway.

He kinda wants to stay out here, let the rain soak them both through. Steve’s already wet, and Eddie hasn’t completely dried off from his dip in the pool. It might be kinda fun.

But where there’s thunder, there’s lightning, and Steve’s a bit of a stickler for safety. It wouldn’t be smart to stay out in a storm.

“You ever thought about getting a piercing?” Eddie’s dumb mouth asks as soon as they’re inside. Steve’s toweling off his hair, sending more water droplets to the floor of his kitchen and Eddie’s body.

“Like what? Like what Hargrove had in his ear?” Steve starts to towel off his chest and Eddie can’t stop staring. God, he just keeps drawing attention to his perfect, stupid, hairy chest.

“No. Or, I guess, if you’d like that. I meant a body one,” Eddie manages to explain while his brain melts out of his eyes. “Not ears.”

“Oh, like a belly button ring?” Steve pokes at his bellybutton, pinches skin together like he’s imagining a piercing there.

Eddie’s going to have an aneurysm.

“Sure. Or your nipples.”

Steve looks up at him, brows drawn together. Clearly he hasn’t considered that. He is now, though.

He doesn’t break eye contact with Eddie as he brings his fingers up to one of his nipples, pinches it, then nods.

“Yeah, I guess I could see it,” he says, nonchalant.

Eddie feels as chalant as a person can. He’s going to pass out from lack of oxygen in his lungs and blood in his brain. His dick is rock hard in his borrowed swim trunks.

“You could?” Eddie squeaks.

“Yeah, man,” Steve pinches his other nipple, lets out a gasp. “I think having a hole in my body that I chose to be there would be kinda like therapy. Plus, I could get a shiny ring and it would look cool.”

“Yeah,” Eddie chokes out. “It would look super cool.”

Steve rubs at his own nipple, then his hand drops. “You know someone who could do them?”

Eddie’s still staring at his chest, unable to look away.

The hairs on his chest are dark, still wet. His nipples are hardened from his pinching and the air conditioning being turned much too low for their post-swim activities. Eddie wants to bite them.

“I mean, I could probably do them,” he offers.

He should not have said that. He has only ever done two piercings. One was his own nipple and he was high out of his mind when he did it, and the other was Frankie’s lip, which he ended up hating and taking out two days later. He has no training.

Also, he’s so in love with Steve, there’s no way he could focus on doing it right.

“Dude, really?” Steve’s eyes light up. “That would be sick.”

“Yeah. Sick.” Eddie steps closer. “But it does hurt a lot more than just a pinch.”

“Like how much more?” Steve steps closer.

“More like a bite.”

What is he doing? He’s standing so close to Steve, his shirt is almost brushing against his wet body, and there is no way Eddie can handle that.

“Like the bats?” Steve’s face falls.

“No!” Eddie rushes to explain. “Not like that. Like a person!”

Now, Steve just looks confused.

“No one’s ever bitten my nipples,” he says, and he sounds heartbroken. He looks heartbroken. “Or done much at all with them.”

Eddie’s hand flies up to his chest, rests against his heartbeat. What is he doing?

Steve looks down at where he’s touching him, then back up at his face. “Eddie?”

“Sorry!” Eddie’s hand drops, but Steve shakes his head. “What?”

“Show me what it’ll feel like.”

Eddie must’ve passed out earlier, hit his head on the floor. There’s no way he’s conscious. This is straight out of his fantasies.

“I…what?” He wouldn’t fumble this hard in a fantasy. He’s always so smooth, so charming in his dreams. “You want me to…”

“Bite them.”

Eddie nods, but still doesn’t understand.

“Right, right. With my teeth?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “How else would you bite them?”

Eddie doesn’t think Steve knows about nipple clamps. It’s probably for the best.

“Right. I’ll just…do that.”

He leans down and figures while he’s here, he might as well lick them, too. Just to get Steve ready for his fucking teeth.

They both let out moans when Eddie’s tongue connects with Steve’s nipple, circling the pointed bud a few times before he sucks it into his mouth. Steve nearly falls, but Eddie’s arm wraps around his waist and holds him up.

“Shit,” Steve whispers.

Eddie looks up. He’s red-faced, biting his lip, one hand tangled in his own hair.

“I can-“

“Don’t you dare stop.”

“Okay,” Eddie says as he lets out a breath.

He still thinks he’s dreaming, being this up close and personal with Steve’s chest.

He’s gentle when he takes him between his teeth, not applying much pressure, just keeping him there. Steve’s holding his breath, and Eddie swears he can hear his heart beating in his chest.

When he bites down, Steve whines so loud, he’s sure Robin’s gonna come downstairs to yell at them.

But then Steve’s hand is in his hair, grip so tight it’s making Eddie groan. It feels good, borderline too much.

He knows rolling Steve’s nipple between his teeth is more than what he needs to do. A piercing is over quick; A sharp, seconds-long pain and then a dull ache. Nothing like what he’s doing now.

Steve’s holding him in place. He couldn’t move if he wanted to.

“Shit, do the other one,” Steve says as he tugs him back and moves him over to the other nipple. Eddie’s not gonna argue. “God, that’s good.”

Eddie whimpers as his teeth tug on Steve’s nipple. He can feel himself leaking in the swim trunks that he will have to refuse to return until he’s washed them himself. This is not the point of this little experiment. This is only to prove to Steve that he can handle a fucking nipple piercing.

Clearly he can if he’s enjoying this.

Steve’s hips shift and Eddie realizes he’s just as hard as he is. He manages to pull away enough to look at him, watch his head tip back when Eddie’s hot breath cools the spit on his skin.

“No one’s ever done that to you?” He can’t believe how many girls have been in bed with Steve and just…not attached their mouths to his chest in any fashion. They must’ve been clueless as to what it looks like and feels like to have a beautiful boy helpless and wanting more because of them.

Steve shakes his head.

“Shame. You’re pretty when you’re feeling this good,” Eddie smirks before he latches back on.

He lets his hand run through the hair on his chest, groaning when Steve starts panting and whining, desperate for something. Eddie wants to convince him to let him suck him off right here in the kitchen, but he isn’t sure how to ask.

Biting and sucking a man’s nipple is one thing, choking on his dick in his kitchen is another.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Steve says as he frantically reaches down to put more space between Eddie’s body and his lower half. He gives a high-pitched moan. He stills. “Shit.”

Eddie stops what he was doing and pulls away.

He looks at Steve’s face, still red, but completely relaxed. He looks fucked. Well and truly fucked.

“Fuck me, Steve, did you just come?” Eddie can’t tell. His bathing suit is a bright floral print that Robin got him as a joke, and it’s already wet, so it’s hard to see a particularly dark spot.

Steve nods.

“I made you come just by playing with your nipples?” Eddie can’t believe it. He’s the luckiest man in the world. He wants to suck on Steve’s dick even more.

“Can you pierce them now?” He asks instead of answering.

“Are we gonna talk about how I just made you come from playing with your nipples after?” Eddie is a firm believer in communication.

Also, he wants to offer his dick sucking services.

“Yes. Definitely. How long will it take them to heal?” Steve sounds like he’s catching back up to what just happened, his breathing slowing back down to normal.

“You want the safe answer or the answer that’ll make you happy?”

“The safe one. I’m not trying to lose a nipple,” he gives Eddie a pointed look. “A week? A couple?”

“At least a few months,” Eddie says. “But you healed from the bats so quickly! Maybe you’ll heal faster.”

Eddie does the math on it. If they pierce them tonight, he should be good to have a mouth back on them by Christmas. Maybe even sooner if they’re extra careful and he doesn’t get them caught on anything or get an infection or-

“Do it again.”

Eddie’s a simple man. When a beautiful guy asks him to bite his nipples until he comes in his pants, he’s gonna do it.

And later that night, after Eddie’s successfully pierced Steve’s nipples, he holds ice packs to them while Steve sleeps. Robin’s in the guest room, mad at them for being so stupid. She’ll be over it by morning.

Eddie won’t be over any of it anytime soon.

[munsster]

fixer upper

A/N: IM ACTUALLY SO EMBARASSED TO ADMIT THIS IS BASED ON ‘FIXER UPPER’ FROM FROZEN 💀💀💀 does that mean it counts as a song fic…….. (gif creds: @buckysbarnes)

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader (Season 3)

Summary: The kids aren’t saying you can change him, per se. They’re only saying that love’s a force that’s powerful and strange. 2.8k words

Warnings: fluff, babygirl steve, cursing, mentions of toxic (?) relationship, hopeless pining, pet names (sweetheart), shameless flirting

Steve can barely see through his rose-tinted daydream, but he's sure he recognizes your smile as soon as you enter the food court. And you lead a trail of whiny teenagers right to his register. This is the fourth time this week you've heard about Steve's lusturous hair and dazzling eyes. You have to hand it to them, they're not bad salesmen, just a tad young to elicit ethos. What the hell do they know about love anyway.

That's what happens when you're licensed and free on a Friday afternoon: babysitting duty. Now, in the event that Steve had been the one saddled with the party on his day off, he would've argued that they're not really babies and they should be self-sufficient. Knowing Dustin, however, this argument proves to be false almost every time.

But it wasn't Steve, it was you. Steve doesn't think he's heard you complain about one thing in your life.

Not even your deadbeat boyfriend called Brad. Who, as Dustin and Max and Robin love to remind him, is utterly replaceable and on thin ice every other week. Steve knows better than to get his hopes up after three months of having them crushed, though. He's learned to live with the strong sense of yearning he feels whenever you're within thirty feet of him.

Take now, for example: you're coralling half a dozen brats into a somewhat single-file line without even having to raise your voice. He should think it's impressive, but he's too distracted by your lip gloss and your voice and the way you did your hair today.

"I hope you give discounts to distressed young women," you tease, brows knitting when you look up at him. This is the part where he's supposed to respond with something charming. Sexy and charismatic, maybe.

"Oh, uh," he chuckles, "No, I mean, yeah. Sure"—Oh, but you smile at him and all that pent up charisma flies out the neon-framed sliding doors. They chatter out their orders at lightning speed, and he can barely catch half of what they're saying when you look at him like that. You finally make it to the register and pay half price. And your cone is always on the house, of course.

"Isn't he such a gentleman?" Max says unenthusiastically. Lucas elbows her side before retreating with Dustin.

"He's also a great driver!" Will chirps, shuffling away to one of the booths with Mike and El who giggle the whole way there. You turn back to Steve who stares off at them incredulously.

"You see what I have to deal with?" you say with some degree of affection for the chaos.

"Aw, come on," Steve says, tilting his head with a shrug, "you love it."

"I think they keep forgetting I already have a boyfriend."

Not much of a boyfriend if you ask me, he thinks.

But what he says: "Ah, yes. The elusive Brad."

You roll your eyes and grin at him. You know Steve has a crush on you. Or else the kids and Robin wouldn't be so adamant on marketing him to you. It's sweet, really. And honestly, you don't think Steve's unfit to play boyfriend or anything, but you're also not disloyal.

Your scoop melts down the side of the cone between your fingers. Steve nearly hurls himself across the counter handing you a thick stack of napkins.

"Shit, thanks," you huff, lapping at the stream of sticky ice cream. His stomach churns as his face screws into a sickly smile.

"Yeah. No problem."

"No, really"—you wrap a napkin around the cone, shoving the rest into your pocket—"I don't know what I'd do if I had to pay the entire bill everytime one of them had a craving."

"Really, it's not a problem," he shrugs it off like it doesn't come out of his paycheck. "I like helping out pretty girls when I can."

You giggle and tilt your head. "Steve Harrington, you're my hero."

He's almost embarassed at how fast his face flushes red hot and frantic. He reaches for the back of his neck on impulse, and any attempt he makes at seeming suave is foiled by Robin patting him on the shoulder.

"If you think that's heroic, there was this one time he singlehandedly saved Hawkins with this sick baseball bat with nails—"

He huffs, "Robin—"

"No, seriously! Don't be so modest, Steve, you're selling yourself short!"

"I'm not trying to sell myself at all!" he says, turning her around and guiding her towards the door to the back room.

"Great seeing you!" she hollers over her shoulder just before disappearing behind the swinging door. You wave with a chuckle. Steve tuts, fixing his sailor hat and shaking his head.

"Did you really do all that? Save Hawkins, I mean?" you ask. And you seem genuinely interested which is why it guts him. The one girl who actually gives a shit is coincidentally unavailable.

"Yeah," he says, shrugging, "but only to clear my conscience. It's like penance, or whatever."

You giggle, not sure if he's being truthful or playing it off. He meets your eyes and he's sure his heart stops dead in his chest for a beat. Nobody pulls off mall lighting like you.

The kids come skipping back to the counter, declaring they've all got different wants and needs around the mall for the next few hours.

"Okay, hold on, I promised I'd have you guys back before my date," you say, Steve overseeing the conversation from over your shoulder.

"Well," he interjects, "when's your date?" All the attention shifts to Steve, and he suddenly wishes he could swallow up the words and take them back for good.

"Two hours from now. Across town," you say, looking a little guilty knowing he's about to make the kindest offer of the year.

"I'm off at five, so I can just"—stop talking—"take them home after my shift."

"Steve, really, you don't have to—"

El grins, eyes wide as she whispers in Max's ear.

Steve shakes his head, "Sweetheart, believe me, I want to. Besides, you've already been through enough with the rascals. Go have fun."

You turn to the kids, almost pleading with them to accept Steve's generosity.

"Is that okay with you guys? I don't wanna leave you stranded," you admit.

They nod in agreement, throwing out a couple yes's and sure's. They're bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as ever, but you still feel bad dumping them on Steve like this.

Dustin interrupts: "This really just goes to show how Steve is a great candidate for marriage and other domestic relations. He can be odd at times and he might care too much about his hair, but you can tell by his actions that he would be a very reliable husband, a generous life partner, and—"

"And a great friend," you giggle, trying not to let Dustin get too carried away. You have sat through enough of his speeches for one day. "Now, quit trying to set us up!"

Steve rolls his eyes at the boy. "Seriously, at least wait 'til she's single. Then she can reject me for me."

You whip back to face him with a sour look on your face.

"Steven! That's not—that's rude to yourself," you huff, "Say three nice things."

He chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest and squinting at you.

"You're pretty, I like your shoes, and you smell nice."

"About you!"

"Ohh," he feigns surprise, "No." But you reach across the counter to whack him on the arm with a shocking amount of force. The kids chuckle from behind you. Steve can't help but smile when you raise your brows proudly. "Fine! I am deserving of love, I am great company, and my hair looks particularly shiny today."

"Good," you nod, "I agree. And I have to go, see ya!"

"With which one?" he says, watching you jog out of the store waving. "Wait! Sweetheart? Agree with which one??"

Steve sighs sharply, hands perched decidedly on his hips as his gaze falls flat on the militia of pre teens staring him down.

"What do you want?" he says.

"You're hopeless," Max says, mouth pressed in a hard line before she wanders off, arm-in-arm with El.

"Yeah, dude. And kinda desperate," Mike shrugs.

"Hey," he grumbles. Who knew such harsh words could come from such little humans. You'd think they'd be harmless at this age. You'd be wrong. 

"You're a total virgin," Dustin says, very matter-of-factly.

Steve cocks a brow, honestly trying not to laugh at the severity of Dustin's demeanor when he says it. "I don't even think you know what that means."

Dustin blinks. "Well, I think you haven't had sex in long enough that you qualify as one."

"Shit."

...

Much to Steve’s surprise, it only takes butthead Brad two more weeks to absolutely shatter your heart. No one knows the complete details other than it happened at a frat party and you had to walk back to the dorms alone. But Steve doesn’t need complete details to know he wants to shatter Brad’s jaw with his fist.

But he also vowed to use means other than violence to get his point across. He should be awarded for the amount of restraint it took to see your bloodshot eyes and not speed immediately off towards Asshole University like a Brad-seeking atomic missile.

Of course, he’s thankful you felt comfortable enough to call him. In fact, he was the first one you rang. And he knows this fact because you told him while you were sniffling away tears a week and a half after the break up.

Now, you’re sitting in the passenger seat of his beemer, curled into your sweater, and listening to late night soft rock radio while he focuses on the dark highway ahead of him. You hadn’t wanted to do anything else but sit in his car and think. His heart clenches everytime you wipe away a tear with your soggy sleeve.

He pulls off the highway during an ad break, finding a secluded diner surrounded by nothing but trees and gas stations. He pulls into a parking spot near the back of the lot where the overhead lights aren’t blinding, but you aren’t completely in the dark. He leaves the car on so the cold doesn’t seep in, engine still purring softly from under the hood.

“Who needs ‘em,” he says in attempt to lighten the mood. “Being single is way cooler. Take it from me. You get a bed all to yourself and you can fart whenever you want.”

You’re frowning, but you know he means well. You just can’t help the fat tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Oh, come here,” he whispers, leaning over the center console and dipping his hands over your shoulder and around your waist. His arms feel so strong and so warm where they envelop you entirely. Steve always was the best hug you ever receieved.

You can’t help but chuckle wetly into his collar after a moment.

“God, he was such an asshole, wasn’t he?”

“Uh, duh! Doesn’t take a genius to…” Steve laughs, pausing and brushing the hair away from your damp cheeks. “I know, sweetheart, and you deserve heaps better. You were always way too cool for that loser.”

You blink up at him in the low light. There’s a kind of twinkle in your eye that makes the tips of his ears hot. This time, you reach for him, weaving your arms beneath his jacket with a deep sigh. Your breathing slows against his neck, and he rubs your back while your arms tighten a little around his waist.

He can’t help but wonder what you’re thinking whenever you look at him with your doe eyes, seemingly sweet and far too inquisitive. He knows you’re probably just looking, maybe thinking of something else. But the hopeless romantic in him rattles his rib cage and shouts you might actually consider him this time.

“Wanna go get shakes? On me,” he whispers. You sniffle, wiping your aching nose on the cuff of your sleeve.

“I can pay for myself,” you tease, popping open the car door when he cuts the engine.

“Nope! Sorry, I don’t let girls pay, remember? Super sexist, I know. Plus the whole pretty privilege thing. Honestly, I should just be paying you at this point,” he says, hooking his arm around your back and feeling yours reach for his shoulder as you march towards the diner.

“I agree, rich boy,” you chuckle, “Reparations are in order for wrongdoings on behalf of your sex.”

He chuckles. He’s absolutely head over heels.

The waitress seats you at a cozy booth in the corner and makes a casual comment about the cute couple, asking how long you two have been together. Steve flounders at the question, flustered and pink in the face.

“Oh, we’re actually… not together,” you say, laughing awkwardly when she pouts and, again, remarks on how cute you’d be together. You order shakes for the both of you before perching your chin in your hand. Steve’s still reeling when the waitress walks away.

“Funny. We can’t even escape the third-degree from complete strangers,” you tease, winking at him from just a few feet away. Jesus, he’d think you were trying to kill him if you didn’t seem so lighthearted and playful.

“Yeah, pretty funny,” he sighs. And he’s probably being so obvious. Or maybe that’s how he is all of the time, so his heart eyes seem subtle. Or it’s obvious all of the time.

The waitress slides the shakes in front of you, and the bright red cherries sink further into the whipped cream.

“You know,” you murmur between sips, “I always thought you were pretty cute.”

He nearly chokes on his mouthful of chocolate malt, clearing his throat and trying not to crumble in on himself.

“Oh. Yeah, I get that a lot,” he huffs, “Mostly from little old ladies, but—Hey!”

You flick him and say, “Really! I know it’s not couth considering… Brad and all, but…”

“You’re being facetious,” Steve accuses.

“No—”

“Sarcastic!”

“Steve—”

“Ironic?”

“Try serious!” you hum, “I’m just saying, you’re very handsome. I was shocked to learn you were single when we first met.”

Steve’s blushing and puffing trying to maintain eye contact.

“What can I say? I’m just,” he huffs, “I’m not really worried about it.”

You tilt your head. “You’re not?”

“Nah. I know the right girl will find me in the end. Even if it takes a while. I don’t mind waiting for the right one.”

You settle back in the padded seat, wincing when it squeals beneath you. It makes you feel a little dejected, but you suppose he’s right. Especially because he seems so confident. So sure. It’s admirable. You want to be that sure of soulmates and love and the future.

“I feel the same way,” you whisper. He finishes off the rest of his glass with a smile.

“Though, it doesn’t exactly help having a bunch of little shitheads telling you to go get laid all the time,” he laughs.

“Oh, yeah, tell me about it” you lean in, “Just break up with him, steve is so much nicer. Dump that loser. Steve has a big crush on you.”

“They said that?” Steve’s not dumb, he’s sure you know by now, but he thought it was all conjecture. They will be hearing about this next time they want free ice cream.

“Yeah, that was like their main point. But I know with all the love in my heart they’re all full of shit.”

You shrug, and he chuckles dryly. He can’t decide whether you knowing is for better or for worse.

“Yeah,” he sighs.

Steve drives you home. You fall asleep in the car, and he keeps the radio low so as not to wake you. By the time he pulls into your driveway, he doesn’t care about the time or the fact that he lives far. He does, however, care about the way you smile lazily and peck his cheek in thanks.

“Anytime, sweetheart.”

He says it but he wants to tell you what he’s feeling. He wants to ask if you’re over Brad. He knows you’re not and that’s okay, but he wants to ask if he can hold your hand to keep it warm. He wants to ask what kind of flowers you like and if it would be okay for him to drop them off on your doorstep tomorrow. He has so much he wants to say and do, but he doesn’t want to suffocate you.

He doesn’t know that you wouldn’t mind him asking.

more like this

masterlist

[firinnie]

6. Ctimene and her daughters (Amaltheia and Elpida)

So they will appear as characters in the next chapter, which will have on the cover Iphicrates and Cythereia who were important in this chapter… yeah, these are all my OCs, except Mene of course she is Odysseus' sister.

Btw, yes they are the Eurylochus' twin kids :)

Generally in this chapter Athena thinks a lot and then we have painnn so nothing extraordinary.

[rafesangelita]

♡ when an unexpected tornado makes landfall, you find yourself taking shelter with none other than rafe cameron himself. the problem? you two can’t leave until help arrives. with half of the town torn to shreds, and hundreds of people either missing, injured, or dead, who knows how long that can take?

warnings: enemies to lovers (barely lol i’m just dramatic), implied age gap, flirty banter, sarcasm, angst, mentions of death, probably inaccurate descriptions of bad weather and tornadoes (i researched the best i could lol), forced proximity, sexual tension, unprotected sex, hair pulling, creampie

a/n: i watched the movie twister (1996) and instantly thought of this pairing. watch this fic’s trailer/moodboard video here !

wc: 2.8k

“yeah.. well i better get going then since you so kindly asked rafe to head on over here.” you rolled your eyes, twirling the ends of your hair as you held the telephone between your cheek and your shoulder. “sweetheart, i just don’t want you to be by yourself when that ugly storm hits, that’s all.” you hummed. as if on cue, a flash of lightning lit up the sky in the distance.

“i have to go, love you. tell auntie i miss her and i hope to tag along with you to see her next time.” you chirped, hanging up once your dad said; “will do. love ‘ya.”

it was raining cats and dogs by the time rafe showed up, his white t-shirt soaked all the way through. “you didn’t have to come, you know.” rafe’s hair was dripping wet, the water droplets running down his skin as he leaned against the doorframe. “yeah, i did. your father trusts me for a reason.” your eyes trailed down the column of his neck, an amused smile playing on his lips when he caught you staring.

“i don’t need you to be here with me.” you crossed your arms, your voice barely above a whisper. “i know that, m’just doing what your old man asked me to do.” rafe noticed you always had to clarify you could do something on your own before letting someone else take over, so he made sure to always acknowledge that fact in order for you to never feel less than. slowly, you moved to the side, allowing rafe to come in.

“would you have sent me back home in the rain like that?” he laughed, locking the door behind him. “i was thinking about it..” you looked back, your skin flushing once you realized how close he was. “don’t you think you should change into a pair of jeans or something? you never know if we’ll have to run outside to the storm cellar.” you looked down at your nightdress, and then back up at rafe who looked like he was fighting off inappropriate thoughts in his head.

“no, i don’t think so. i’m quite comfortable if you couldn’t tell.” you winked at him, laughing to yourself when you heard him curse under his breath. “alright.. well, i guess we could relax until we hear something on the radio.” you settled in your little corner by the window, watching rafe as he changed the radio to the news station. his clothes were still wet, his skin glistening with the moisture.

deciding it would be rude to leave him like that, you snuck upstairs to your father’s room for an old pair of jeans and a flannel. “here.” you held the clothes up to him, “you could dry off in the bathroom.” rafe hesitated for a moment, ultimately deciding to accept your kind gesture. “alright. call me if you hear anything.” his fingers skimmed your own as he took the articles of clothing from you.

“and don’t sit by that window, either!” he shouted down the hall. you waved him off, taking a seat at the kitchen table while you stared outside. the storms during the summertime were extra vicious, the thunder being loud enough to rattle the walls. surprisingly, there hadn’t been any tornadoes yet, but that was something one couldn’t get comfortable with the idea of. the tornado siren system in town is so delayed, you know a twister has already made landfall once it blares.

“just coming in, folks! we’ve received some phone calls reporting hail and get this!— a funnel cloud! start herding your animals indoors if you haven’t already, and stay home, there may or may not be debris flying in your area.”

“rafe, we have a funnel cloud!” you jumped up, turning the volume up on the radio. rafe ran out of the bathroom, his jeans hanging low on his hips. oh. “are the horses in their stalls?” he was shirtless, chest rising and falling as you nodded dismissively. “cows in the barn?” you hummed, tearing your eyes away from his v-line. “go get in the cellar, do you or your father need anything important before a tornado sweeps through here?”

you nodded frantically, catching the keys he tossed your way. “we both have emergency bags in our closets.” you grabbed your throw blanket, wrapping it around yourself before rafe yelled at you to go. slipping on your boots by the back door, you wasted no time, running out to the middle of the field where the cellar was. with the rain coming down so hard, and hail pounding the ground around you, you whimpered when you looked down and saw at least twenty keys on rafe’s key ring.

“what the fuck!” you shouted to yourself, scrambling to find the key that fit. “come, on!” you cried, pulling on the metal handles as hard as you could. rafe came running full speed, a ‘why aren’t you in, yet?!’ falling from his lips. “you give me a shitload of different keys and expect me to try each one?!” you shoved him, moving out of the way so he could open the wooden doors.

you looked down at the bags rafe bought, your heart dropping when you saw the wrong one. “wait— rafe, that’s not the right bag.” you panicked, looking back at the house. “yeah? well you had like three in your closet so i assumed it was the biggest one.” you shook your head, booking it towards the back door as rafe shouted after you. “hey— y/n, get back over here!” he chased you down, grabbing your wrists as you thrashed against him.

“i need that bag, rafe! it has the only thing i have left of my mom.” you cried, still trying to get out of his hold. rafe met your eyes, a knowing look passing over his face. “okay, i’ll grab it but i need you to go back to the cellar and keep trying those keys.” without another word, you nodded, going back and doing as he said. thankfully, the doors opened on the first try. you laughed, your joy short lived when you realized it suddenly stopped raining.

it was no longer windy, the air eerily still before you heard the haunting sound of the tornado siren. “rafe!” you screamed, “it’s here!” you jumped into the cellar, motioning for him to run faster. “move over!” you yelped when he launched himself inside, falling to the cement flooring with a groan. you were quick to close the doors, locking it shut with a heavy duty lock before you rushed over to check on rafe.

“are you okay?” you helped him up, the flannel he once wore now long gone. “yeah, yeah.” he nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow. rafe moved your hair out of your face before he checked you for any scrapes or bruises. “are you?” you muttered a ‘yes.’ as you backed away, your fingertips hot against his bare skin. “here. ‘didn’t know which one so i just grabbed all’em.” you sighed in relief, thanking him.

“it’s gonna be really bad, an EF-5.” a shiver went down your back at the revelation. the last EF-5 tornado that tore through your town was the same tornado that took your mother all those years ago. “oh, god..” you whispered to yourself, pacing back and forth as rafe dusted himself off. “don’t worry. we should be just fine in here.” he lit up a nearby lamp, the dim light flickering against the walls.

“are you cold?” he sat you down in the corner, wrapping his arms around you as he eyed the shelter doors. “you don’t have to do that..” you pulled away slightly, making rafe pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration. “would it really hurt you to accept some help, some comfort? we’re in the middle of a tornado for crying out loud!” you swallowed thickly, both of you jumping at the sound of a loud bang from outside.

the doors rocked against the metal frames, a scream leaving your lips when the doors flew off the hinges. “shit!” rafe shielded you, your eyes screwing shut at the whirlwind of debris falling into the cellar. you unintentionally clung onto him, your nails digging crescents into his flesh. “it’s okay, i got you.. i got you.” he whispered the last part, his voice making goosebumps rise across your skin.

you kept your head buried into his chest until the tornado passed. it wasn’t until it was dead silent that you pulled away from him, your awkward position making your cheeks heat. there you were, straddling his lap with both thighs on either sides of his hips with one of his hands cradling your head, and the other wrapped tightly around your waist. he was still holding onto you despite the storm being over.

“rafe?” you tapped his shoulder, “it’s gone.” you pulled away first, his arms falling to his sides as you gazed up at him. he stared at you for a moment. “right.” he cleared his throat, tapping your thigh as an indication to get up. you looked around, kicking the debris out of the way before gasping at the sight of the blocked cellar entrance. “well that’s great.” rafe walked over to the telephone on the wall, dialing for help.

“hello? uh, no— no injuries, s’just me and another young lady down here at y/l/n’s ranch are trapped here inside the cellar. yes, i’m sure we’re stuck, ‘looks like a tractor tire just wedged itself inside. yes sir i understand, alright thank you.”

“what did they say?” you chewed your lip nervously. rafe scoffed. “we’re not their priority right now. they’ll send someone out here as soon as they can.” he sighed taking a seat on a nearby stool. picking up your bags, you placed them on the wooden table in the corner. “do you by any chance have a shirt in there?” you shook your head, laughing to yourself. “you could do without it.”

rafe smiled, tonguing his cheek as he stood up. “oh, really, you think so?” you felt the heat of his body behind you, the urge to back into him and feel him against you was overwhelmingly strong. “yeah.. it’s not like i don’t see you parading around here shirtless all the time, anyways.” you shrugged, opening the bag with your valued belongings. “so, you do watch me.” you froze, knowing he’s caught you.

“cool it, cowboy.”

checking to see if the folded up photo of your mother was still in its small pocket, you smiled softly as you traced your fingers over her beautiful face. “would you like to see a picture of my mom?” at this, rafe stepped closer, his chin resting in the curve of your neck as you both inspected the image. “she’s beautiful,” he whispered, “you look just like her.” you sniffled, letting rafe run his finger tips up your arm.

“she died from the last EF-5 tornado that hit town. my father had gotten both of us to the cellar but she ran out last minute to get our family photo album..” you swallowed the lump in your throat, “and she just never made it back.” you shuddered. rafe rubbed circles into your skin, his breath tickling the side of your face. “did you find it? the photo album i mean.” you turned around, blinking up at his, very handsome, face.

“yes. it was just right outside the doors.” rafe took the picture out of your hand, placing it back in your bag before stroking your chin with his thumb. “you’re strong, you know that? sometimes a little too strong.” both of you huffed out a laugh. “i know you’re smart, i know you’re ambitious, i know you’re capable..” rafe’s hands rested on your hips, “but can you please just shut your brain off for one second and let me take care of you?”

you gasped when he hoisted you up onto the table, his lips finding yours before you could protest. he was eager, the weight of his body making you melt into his touch. you welcomed him between your thighs, your eyes fluttering shut as he started leaving kisses down your jaw to your chest. surrendering to rafe was so much easier than you liked to admit, his strong calloused hands roaming your body as if you’d disappear into thin air if he left any part of you untouched.

“i’ve wanted you for so long, you have no fuckin’ idea..” he grounded himself against your clothed cunt, his eyes snapping open at the sensation. “just look at you.” he marveled, your nightdress now pooled around your waist. “you’re so beautiful.” you kept your eyes on him as he backed away slightly, his fingertips hooking inside the waistband of your panties. “i don’t want to wait.” you were breathless when he ripped off the flimsy material.

“i’ll never make you wait.” he spread your thighs, his cock jumping at the sight of your pretty pussy. “holy.” he sucked in a breath, eyes darkening. “don’t stare at me like that!” you laughed, your cheeks flushing at his expression. you couldn’t help but attempt to shut your legs, suddenly feeling exposed as rafe’s jaw clenched. “don’t get shy on me, now.” he teased, running a thumb between your folds.

you bit your lip, eyebrows knitting together as he took himself out of his jeans. “feel what you do to me?” rafe grabbed your hand, wrapping it around his length. he was big. huge even. “please,” you whimpered, “i need you inside me.” embarrassingly enough, rafe felt like he could cum from those words alone. “i thought you’d never ask.” he winked, hovering above you as he tapped your swollen clit with the head of his cock.

jumping at his ministrations, both of you moaned as he entered you slowly, his mouth hanging open as he watched you greedily take him all the way to the base. “oh, my fuck—” rafe’s head fell on your shoulder, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. you had never felt this full before, the intimacy of having rafe’s body on yours, his fingers running through your hair as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear was enough to make your head spin.

with your hand finding the nape of his neck, you cried out when he grazed that soft spot inside of you. “shit— i’m sorry, did i hurt you baby?” you shook your head, using your other hand to cup one side of his face. “no— mhm fuck!” you clenched around him, “feels so good.” rafe groaned, pulling you into another kiss. “you’re taking me so well..” he pulled up your nightdress, exposing your tits before taking a bud into his mouth.

“rafe!” you mewled, the sensation unfamiliar but so, so good. “wearing this short little thing.. you wanted me to do this to you, huh?” he smacked your clit, making a squeal leave your lips. “yes!” tears were pricking at your eyes, the pleasure so intense and heavy in your tummy you couldn’t do anything else but make pathetic noises as he took you for all that you had. nothing could possibly get better than this.. or so you thought.

bringing his hand down to your soaked cunt, your eyes widened as he started rubbing hard circles on your clit, your thighs shaking at the penetration. “oh, god!” your back arched off of the table, and into his chest, his skin warm and clammy against yours. rafe grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling you up for you to watch the way he slammed into you. he was glistening with your slick, the wet squelch of your pussy echoing in the small space.

“rafe?” you looked up at him, both of you locking eyes. “cum inside me please.” rafe’s hips immediately stuttered, your orgasm washing over you as he cursed through gritted teeth. “those are dangerous words, darlin’.” he pulled you against his him as you shook and trembled in his arms, rafe’s seed spilling into you. a single tear drop fell down your cheek, the side of his face pressed against his skin.

“you’re perfect.” he kissed the crown of your head, both of you watching as he slowly pulled out. “fuck, i’ll never get tired of this.” he pulled up his jeans, getting a change of clothes for you out of your bag. “who said we’re doing this again?” you arched a brow. rafe gave you a look, both of you smiling at each other. “here. i don’t want anyone else seeing you in this nightdress.” you quickly changed into the jeans and oversized t-shirt he gave you.

“i hope help comes soon.. i just want to see if our house is still standing.” rafe hugged you, sitting you down near the table. “our house?” he loved the way that sounded. “yeah.”

[suguwu]

WOULD THAT I: PROLOGUE

The Gojo boy doesn't have a soulmate.

When you're both children, you overhear him being referred to as inhuman, between his power and his lack of a mark. The next time you see him, you use a marker to write your name on his skin, too young to understand what it means.

You forget, but Gojo—

Gojo never does.

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT.

masterlist

pairing: gn!reader x gojo

wc: 2.6k

notes: thank you to my beta, as always! especially for putting up with my bratty ass and reading this early so i could post it earlier. this has been a fun fic to get started and i hope you enjoy the prologue!

content warnings: none. see masterlist for series content warnings.

The Gojo boy doesn’t have a soulmate.

You don’t think you’re supposed to know; it’s only ever talked about in hushed voices. The clans all speak like that, sometimes, each word a butterfly’s wing as it flutters from their mouths.

The servants, however, are louder.

One of them has a voice like a lark, a sweet, trilling song. It carries. You learn to hear her coming, to recognize her shadow against the shoji. You know the edges of her by heart. Sometimes she spreads her arms out as she makes her way through the hallway; her kimono sleeves flare out behind her like wings. 

“There’s something wrong with the Gojo heir,” she sings one afternoon, her fluting voice half-muffled by the shoji. “Those eyes of his—it’s like he can see right through you. And Fujioka says he doesn’t have a soulmark.” 

Another servant hushes her. “Don’t gossip,” she chides. 

“It’s true, though!”

“That doesn’t mean you should repeat it.” 

She huffs, grumbling something too soft for you to hear anything aside from the melody of it. The other servant laughs quietly before chivvying her forward. You watch until their shadows disappear, leaving only the hallway light to filter golden through the shoji. 

You return to your coloring book.

The Gojo boy doesn’t have a soulmate, but that doesn’t mean anything to you.

Not yet. 

—

There’s a boy in the courtyard.

He’s hopping from stone to stone in the koi pond, his snow-white hair glittering under the morning sun. He moves like a dancer, each step sure and swift, never once slipping on the wet rock. When he gets to the biggest rock in the pond, he crouches down, his back to you, and drags his fingers over the surface of the water. The koi rise to meet him, firework scales flashing in the sun. 

You watch him from the engawa, peeking out at him from behind one of the columns. You’ve never seen him before, and you’d remember him, with his starlight hair. 

“Who’re you?” he asks, not turning around.

You stay quiet.

“I know you’re there,” he says. “You can’t hide from me.”

He glances over his shoulder and the world goes blue.

It’s the cold burn of a comet’s tail streaking through the velvet night. It’s oceantide, relentless and unyielding. It’s a slice of the sky brought down to earth, heaven devoured.

Then he blinks, and he’s just a boy again. 

“Who’re you?” you ask, stepping to the edge of the engawa. 

He lifts his chin. “I asked you first.”

You introduce yourself the way your mother taught you, bowing to him shallowly. 

He scoffs. “You’re not even from the main clan.”

“Are you?”

“I’m not part of your stupid clan.”

“Oh.”

He stares at you, his crystalline eyes sharp-edged, all prismatic ice. “You don’t know who I am?”

“Nope.”

He rises to his full height, unfolding like an elegant crane. “I’m Gojo Satoru.” 

You tilt your head. The servants’ humming gossip made the Gojo heir sound ethereal, a fallen star that had burned away into human form as it plummeted through the heavens. His eyes are otherworldly, and you can feel the power rippling out from his lean form, as unstoppable as the tides, but—

“You’re just a boy,” you say. 

He scowls. “Am not.”

“Are too.” 

“I’m Gojo Satoru,” he says again, deeper this time, an intonation, a promise, a curse. His eyes flash, St. Elmo’s fire, a lightning strike of blue. “I have the Limitless and the Six Eyes. I’m not just a boy.”

You would believe him, but the last bit sounded more sulky than anything else. You’re about to tell him so when someone calls your name. You glance over your shoulder, but there are no shadows against the shoji yet.

When you turn back around, there are wet patches shining on the stones in the koi pond, an imprint of the past, but nothing else.

The Gojo boy is gone.

—

Your mother is hovering. 

She smooths down your yukata, chasing creases from the thin cotton with trembling hands. There hadn’t been time to change; she’d pulled you out of your lessons and hurried you down the hallways of the estate. 

“Bow low when you meet him,” she tells you, though she hasn’t bothered to tell you who ‘he’ is. “Understand?”

You nod. 

There’s a fine layer of sweat gleaming at your mother’s nape as she kneels before the shoji. She reaches out to open it; her kimono sleeve slips down, revealing the elegant curve of her wrist. You focus there instead of the opening shoji, the slow slide of it a hissing snake, coiled to bite.

The shoji clicks, a chime of teeth, its maw wide open. You take in a deep breath and step through, your gaze on the tatami mats. Someone shifts.

“Oh, it’s you.”

You glance up, directly into the gaze of Gojo Satoru. His eyes are as otherworldly as you remember, a crisp, clear blue framed in long lashes, like a snowy-edged mountain lake. He tilts his head as you gape, his hair gleaming bone-white in the sun streaming through the open shoji. 

You blink. “What’re you doing here?” you ask, and next to you, your mother hisses in a low, sharp breath. 

Gojo shrugs. “Dunno. The clan said I had to come and they caught me when I snuck out.”

The woman behind Gojo clears her throat. “Gojo-sama,” she says, her voice like the shivering leaves when the summer breeze stirs to life, “they’re a candidate for you to train with.” 

He eyes you. “Why?” he asks. “They’re not very strong.”

“Hey!” 

“You aren’t, though,” he says. “I can tell.”

You throw yourself at him.

His eyes widen, a devouring sea, and he grunts as you make impact. He’s sturdier than you thought; he’s slight, but it’s all lean muscle, even though he can’t be much older than you are. Your mother calls out your name, horrified, but Gojo is already recovering, grappling with you for control. 

By the time the adults pull you apart, Gojo is nursing a rapidly-purpling mark high on his cheekbone. Your split lip aches; you tongue at it and wince. You can taste blood, sour and metallic. You glare at Gojo even as your mother bows deeply to the woman.

“My deepest apologies,” she says, tightening her grip on the sleeve of your yukata and forcing you to bow with her. “I don’t know what came over them.”

The woman clicks her tongue. “The child should be punished,” she says, and your mother stiffens. “I would suggest—”

“No.” 

Everyone looks at Gojo. He thumbs at a rip in his kimono, grinning widely. It bares his teeth. 

“I’ll train with them,” he says.

“Gojo-sama—”

“I said I’d train with them. Now can we go? I want a popsicle.” 

The woman sighs. “Yes, Gojo-sama.” 

Gojo sweeps by you and your mother. He pauses right next to you. “You’re weak,” he tells you, ignoring the way you bristle, “but at least you’re fun.”  

He’s out the shoji before you can respond.

—

Summer settles over Kyoto, a wet lick of heat. Even the wind seems to feel it; it ripples honey-slow through the trees, barely strong enough to stir the air. Frogs move into the koi pond in the courtyard; they sing along with the cicadas’ sawing choir. 

“Catch it!” Gojo shouts as your hands spear through the murky pond water. It gushes free from between your fingers as you come up empty-handed, the frog you were aiming for frantically disappearing further below the surface. “You’re so slow.”

“Am not!”

“Are too,” he counters, holding out his cupped hands. A plaintive ribbit sounds out from between them. “I already caught one. It was easy.”

“You’re annoying.”

He stares at you, his blue eyes icy. “You’re annoying.”  

“You’re the one who came over.”

He rolls his eyes. “We train at your estate.”

“How come?”

“How come what?”

“How come we train here? Your estate is probably better.”

He shrugs, opening his hands enough to peer down at the frog. It glistens in the sunlight, the same deep green as the lush courtyard. It makes a break for freedom; he closes his hands again, his long fingers sewing the gap shut. “I like it better here.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Why?”

“I just do,” he says, voice flat.

You don’t ask again.

—

“Why are we here?”

Gojo blinks, his long white lashes sweeping over the sweet curve of his cheek. “Why are you whispering?”

Your cheeks heat. The Gojo estate is a sprawling, massive maw; you’ve felt devoured ever since you set foot in it. Even the golden light that slants through the shoji feels cold. There are ikebana arrangements lining the halls, the leggy, deep purple irises sculptural as they rise proudly from the vases, but it still feels like a mausoleum. 

“We’ve just never trained here before,” you say, taking care to use your regular voice. “So why are we here now?”

He shrugs. “They insisted.”

“Who?”

He dismisses the question with a wave of his hand, his long pianist’s fingers cutting through the air. You roll your eyes, long used to his occasionally imperious ways. The two of you continue along the hallways, you trailing after him closely, as if caught in his gravity, an orbiting moon. 

You almost run into him when he comes to a sudden halt. You peek around him—in the last few months, he’s gone through a growth spurt, one that your mother says will come when you’re his age, and he’s too tall to peer over his shoulder—and see a servant bowing low, her ebony hair glinting.

“Gojo-sama,” she says. “Please follow me. The elders are waiting.”

He sighs, a dramatic heave of his chest. “What do they want?”

“They didn’t specify.”

“Ugh.”

“Gojo-sama—”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he says. “Go tell those geezers I’ll be there soon.” 

You wince right along with the servant. Gojo’s disdain for the elders is not new, but it still unnerves you every time, as if they will come along and smite you down. 

“C’mon,” Gojo says to you. “Let’s get it over with.”

The servant clears her throat. “Only you, Gojo-sama.”

He glares, his blue eyes burning, a comet streaking through the sky. “No,” he says. “They’re coming.”

“They cannot.”

“I said they’re coming.” 

“It’s okay,” you tell him, eyes wide. “Really.” 

Gojo looks back at you. For a second, his mouth is a wound, tender and pink, but in the next breath, it’s gone, frozen under a layer of ice.

“Fine.” 

You bite your lip, but he’s already walking away. You catch yourself before you reach for him. He disappears down the hallway, his hair glinting like exposed bone.

The servant turns to you. “This way,” she says, her voice perfectly neutral.

You follow her to an empty room; she slides the shoji shut behind herself as you settle onto the cushion at the chabudai. You gaze around the room. There’s not much to take in; it’s wealthy in a subdued way. You fidget with the hem of your sleeve and then get to your feet.

You slide open the shoji leading out to the engawa; it opens onto a huge, lush courtyard. The plush flowers are weighted down by their own blooms, their stems curving like a dancer’s back. A shishi-odoshi rings out with a hollow thud; a few songbirds scatter, their wings rustling like leaves as they soar towards the sky. 

You step out onto the engawa. It’s still early enough that the sun slants onto the wood, warming it. You sit down and bask in it, tilting your face up for the sun’s sweet kiss. You lay back, your eyes fluttering shut.

A voice wakes you.

“He’s an insolent brat!” a man hisses. “He needs to be taken in hand!”

“He’s too powerful,” another man answers. His voice is calm, but you can sense the ripples in it, the thing lurking underneath. “We can only do what we’re already doing.”

You go still. They can only be talking about Gojo. Their footsteps echo; they’re drawing closer and closer.

“It’s not enough.” 

“He’s still young. Maybe we can mold him.” 

The first man snorts. “You don’t believe that.”

“No, I don’t.” 

“There’s something wrong with that boy,” the first man says. “Those eyes—that power—and not even a hint of a mark. He’s barely human.”

Their footsteps are starting to fade; their voices become murmurs. But you still hear it when the second man says:

“I don’t think he’s human at all.”

Then they’re gone, fading from your world like malevolent spirits, dissipating on the wind. You unclench your fists and find that your nails have bitten into your skin, little half-moon curves cutting through the leylines of your palms. 

Gojo shows up a mere minute later. He slides open the shoji with a bang; his eyes find you immediately. 

“C’mon,” he says, stepping out into the courtyard. His eyes are shadowed; his lips are pulled tight, an unstitched wound. He’s heard them, you realize. You’ve never seen him bothered by other people’s opinions; your chest aches, a pressed bruise. You open your mouth to say something, but you can’t find the words. 

He grabs your hand as he passes by you, tugging you along behind him, ignoring your surprised yelp. “Let’s go before those stupid geezers find me again.” 

“Where are we going?”

“Away from here.”

“But my shoes—”

He glances back at you and you drown in blue. 

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Let’s go.” 

He doesn’t answer; he just tugs you along. You stare at the back of his head for a moment, trying to make sense of the expression you’d seen flash across his face before he’d turned around again. You can’t understand it, but you know one thing.

He’s never looked more human to you.

—

The next time you see him, you’re prepared.

You uncap the marker with your teeth. You reach out for Gojo’s arm; he pulls away before you can grab hold, as quick as a darting fish. 

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“Give me your arm.” 

“Why?”

“You’ll see.” 

He eyes you for a moment, but gives you his arm.

You push up his yukata sleeve to expose the tender underbelly of his wrist. You start to write, laboring over each stroke of the marker, keeping it as neat as you can. The silver ink covers the rivers of his blue-green veins as it sinks into his skin, a childish tattoo. 

“There,” you say, finishing with a somewhat-shaky flourish. “Now you have a mark.”

Gojo stares at you, his cerulean gaze lit from within, the sea beneath the sun. He covers the katakana of your name with his free hand, careful not to smudge the still-drying characters. Under the shadow, they fade to gray, but they still glint and glimmer the same way real soulmarks do. 

You hum, pleased with yourself, cap the marker, and toss it to the side so you can start training. 

You don’t know it yet, but it’s your last session with him. He disappears into the dawn like a fading star, spirited off to Tokyo to continue his training. You’ve only spent six months with him. Still, it aches, a pressed bruise, but you’ve always known he would outgrow you; his power is a black hole, always devouring. 

Life, ever unmoved, continues on. 

The boy you knew fades from your memories, though you never forget him. It’s impossible, with the stories that come out of Tokyo, how he completes missions that no one his age should be able to handle. 

Still, you forget things. The tilt of his mouth; the cadence of his voice. He becomes a shadow of himself, a shade with burning blue eyes. 

You forget that you once wrote your name on the delicate inside of his wrist. 

Gojo, though—

Gojo never does.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Worth The Risk

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: When you and your boss get stuck working late at the Embassy, a heated accident makes the two of you realize that maybe some things are worth the risk. Written for @zepskies 5K follower celebration!

Tropes: Little tiny bit of grumpy sunshine, Tiny bit of shy/awkward reader, Boss and Secretary Dynamic, Soft! Javier. Mutual Pining.

Word Count: 4.6K

Warnings: I'm labelling this one as 18+ (just in case)! Sexual situationish? Cursing, Super awkward situation, Make out session, References to sex (there's quite a bit), References to Javi being a tiny bit of a slut *said affectionately* (because we all love him for it), Loverboy! Javi, Accidental Handjob (I don't know what to call it)? Reader is kinda awkward, Reader has anxiety, Reader being a little bit self-deprecating? Reader has a bit of a developed backstory for the fic, Javier being a little bit self-deprecating? Javier might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n! I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite! I have never written for Javier before, so please, PLEASE be gentle.

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Pedro Pascal Characters Masterlist

A/N: Alright Alex, happy 5k! This one rolled out of me due to the very, VERY inspirational gif that you sent me (still can't look at it for too long without stroking out 🤣). I'll have to return the favor someday 😈 But to everyone else, this one is really just something silly that was living rent free in my head so enjoy!

There is something magical about rain.

The gentle patter against a rooftop like a soothing melody, the racing droplets down a window that you can trace with your fingertips, the distant rumble of thunder over the mountains shaking through the lush green forests, the heady smell of rain that comes moments before a downpour, the flash of lightning that captures the world in shades of black and white- it makes the rest of the world melt away, isolates you to one single place to bask in the enchanting sounds and beauty of it all.

Anything can happen in a thunderstorm.

Of course there are some things that are not magical about rain.

The feeling of the cold droplets slipping below your collar and trickling down your spine, the squish of your soaked socks and shoes when you step into a puddle that was a little deeper than you thought it was, the flash of lightning above your head that is a little too close for comfort followed the deep crack of thunder…

Or when you’re fighting for your life with a stubborn umbrella in a heavy downpour that won’t do the one job it was literally made for and you end up looking like a drowned rat by the time you get to where you were going, and you’re too embarrassed to go in so you just turn to take the walk of shame home, and end up running into your “so sexy it should be a crime” boss.

Not speaking from personal experience or anything…

The raging thunderstorm that pummeled and shook the American Embassy was trying it's best to rival the storm that Noah survived, and was also unfortunately keeping you from your warm bed past midnight on a Tuesday.

An umbrella would have been worthless at this point given that the rain seemed to be coming up from the ground and because your ancient Nova had refused to start this morning and you'd walked to work, you were stuck.

But you didn't mind staying late for one reason:

Javier Peña

The level of crush you had on your boss was shameful, but you hadn't meant for this to happen, honest! He was just, so, so…

Javier sighs where he sits at his desk, leaning back to prop his feet up on the strong metal table top while the muscles of his right arm strain against the sleeve of his orange button up, making your throat constrict.

Sexy.

Which yes, maybe it was a bit of a cliché, a secretary falling in love with her boss that was way out of her league in every single way, but you were.

Sure Javier had a reputation with women. Goodness knows you had heard every single scandalous whisper about his numerous escapades and seen every sultry look from the women who passed by the office hoping to catch a glimpse of your boss hard at work. The same women who told you how lucky you were to work with Javier and how jealous they were of you.

They didn't need to be. You knew for a fact that Javier didn't see you as more than just his secretary.

How you ask? Because of the way he treated you.

You'd seen Javier charming someone back to his apartment- the moves, the smirk, the mischievous glint in his whiskey colored eyes when he knew he had someone on the hook, and the low rumble of his chuckle that made you lose all feeling in your legs. You'd seen the same song and dance at every Christmas, New Years, and whatever other holiday that you were celebrating at the Embassy party.

But around you, Javier was a different man.

Yes he still had the same charm, but he was softer. He genuinely would ask you how your day was going whenever he walked by, listened to you whisper whatever gossip you picked up at the water cooler on the fifth floor or in the break room and laughed with you, suggested places to order lunch from where he knew you would find something too, walked with you to your car when it was late, and whenever he went out with Steve he always brought something back for you, whether it be a nice cup of well-needed coffee or a Cocada from your favorite bakery down the street.

He was a good boss. Anyone would be lucky to work with him.

Plus you'd seen the kind of women he was interested in and you weren't one of them. You weren't confident or outgoing. Sure you'd speak to your boss, Steve, and a few people around the office when you had to, but you were not okay with just striking up a conversation or joining a group mid-sentence because that was like a suicide mission. Plus being as clumsy as you were, you'd probably take a few steps towards the group then eat it on the musty carpets.

And you certainly didn't dress like any of them- well, some of them dressed for their profession and that was okay, but you definitely couldn't imagine wearing anything like that around the office.

Your wardrobe consisted of oversized sweaters, long flowy skirts, and soft dresses that draped rather than squeezed your boobs into submission and didn't prop them up to say "hello." But you wanted to be comfy at work because you were there so many hours during the day and you didn't think that you'd be able to breathe if you wore anything tight when you sat down.

That wasn't to say that you didn't "try" when you were at work, just that your sense of style was more… reserved than the women you saw Javier gravitate towards.

So basically you were trying to not be attracted to your boss, and after three years all your crush had done was triple in size and follow you around like a smelly water buffalo.

Javier sighs again, drawing your gaze up from the stack of notes you were organizing into chronological order for him. His eyes skate over to you, a weary smile twitching at the end of his lips before his attention drops back to the folder perched in his lap.

Everyone else had gone home for the night, and usually by now Javier would have gone too, but he had a meeting with Ambassador Noonan in the morning and was trying to prepare.

Maybe he needs some coffee.

You think to yourself as you rise from your cluttered desk making your way to the small break room two rooms down the corridor, not noticing the way Javier's eyes follow you.

He had told you to go home earlier, told you that he had this handled, but you refused. Javier didn’t understand why you wouldn't go, but he was happy you didn't, because it meant that he got to be with you for just a few more hours than normal. Got to hear your soft sigh as your shuffled through papers, got to see the way your face got that cute scrunch when you were concentrating, and got to smell the bright mist of your citrus perfume whenever you walked by. The same perfume that he had to stop himself from trying to gulp down from the air like a man dying of thirst in the dessert, because the way you smelled was like a drug to him. It made him feel like an addict of the worst kind.

And then also made him feel like the scummiest guy on the planet because he was your boss and shouldn't be having any of those thoughts about you, but he couldn't help it. Not when since the first day he met you, Javier felt his dead heart start to beat again. Not when being in the same room with you was like standing too close to the sun, blinded and filled with so much heat he thought it would all come pouring out of him like molten lava.

Javier Peña had it bad. Steve often teased him about it and Javi shrugged him off, but Javier knew in his heart that there wasn't much he could do to change it.

Because he wanted more, but he knew that he shouldn't.

You busy yourself with the steps of making coffee. Measuring out the grounds, filling the pot with water, etc. And when you have two mugs filled to the brim with the elixir of life, you turn to go back to the office.

Unfortunately what you didn't know is that Javier came to see what you were doing, and at the exact moment you turn around with much more enthusiasm than someone should have at 12:39 on a Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, Javier enters the room.

You crash into him, pouring the entire contents of both mugs onto the front of his shirt and down his pants.

Javier makes a sound like a wounded animal.

Coming from someone who had been shot in the past, you now knew that taking scalding hot coffee seemed to be the same level of pain as a bullet wound.

"Shit!" You scream, placing the empty mugs on the counter before turning back to note the prominent stain all over Javier's lower stomach and the front of his blue jeans.

Before Javier can reach for the paper towels to clean himself, your hand comes down hard on the center of his chest, stress fueled anxiety giving you almost superhuman strength as you shove him backwards into one of the plastic chairs that sit idle around the pathetic table.

A startled yelp comes through Javier's lips as he stumbles back in surprise, landing unceremoniously in a chair, stunned. You don’t give him time to process the events that happened in the last three seconds, before you're dropping to your knees in front of him, paper towel roll in hand, scrubbing furiously at his lap.

"Oh fuck, Mr. Peña I am so SO sorry!" You babble, working your hands back and forth on the front of his pants, leaning over him. "I didn’t know that you were coming in here and I wanted to make us some coffee because I know that you've been working so hard tonight and-"

Javier groans low under his breath. "It's okay I-" He tries to push you away, but you continue to dab and wipe at the coffee that has soaked through his jeans.

"It's not okay! You could have second or third degree burns." You stare up at him wide eyed.

One of his hands is fisted on his knee, the other gripping the plastic edge of the table like a lifeline, his jaw clenched tight as you work your hands over him.

"I'm fine-" He says through gritted teeth, brown eyes flashing with something that looks a lot like pain.

Maybe we should go to the hospital!

"No, you're not here-" You prop yourself up, placing your hands on Javier's muscular thighs, your face level with his crotch, and blow.

Javier's body constricts, his knuckles turning white from grabbing the table.

"Is that better?" You look up at him again, eyes wide and hopeful, anxiety and embarrassment flooding the synapses in your brain. You were so worried of Javier being in pain, of him being hurt, that you weren't considering the opposite.

Because Javier Peña is trying not to come in his pants like a damn teenager.

He lets out a strangled sound, but doesn't answer, so you try again, blowing over his crotch and hoping that it soothes the scalded flesh.

“You have to stop-“ Javier says in a breathy whisper, face contorting in something that looks like pain. His dark hair is scrunched and wild, sweat beading along his forehead, and his eyes squeezed shut as if he can’t look at you.

Can you sue someone for spilling coffee on you?

“Don’t worry I think I can get it all off!” You say, beginning to frantically dab at his pants again.

Javier was in hell… but fuck it felt a lot like heaven.

He was trying his best not to focus on what you were doing. His mind flitting from photos of M-19 personnel massacred by Pablo Escobar, photos of plane crash victims, memories of drug busts, to other images of whatever else could take his mind off of what was happening in his lap, but nothing was working.

Not when you were kneeling in front of him, eyes wide with fear and worry for him, wearing one of those handmade oversized sweaters that Javier thought made you look unbelievably cute, soft hands rubbing, dabbing, and squeezing him, your cool breath rushing through his coffee soaked pants, and with you apologizing over and over in that sweet voice of yours.

The same one that Javi tried not to think about in the dead of night when all was quiet and he was alone, when another voice inside his head (that sounded remarkably like Steve) told him not to start something with his secretary-

But Javi couldn't help it.

You were unlike anyone he'd met in his entire life. You were soft, kind, generous, with a smile that always made something deep inside Javi break whenever you looked at him. The same smile that he sought after a day without end, because it was the only thing that made him feel like what he was doing meant something after years of him sinking deeper into the mire.

The moment that you started working for him, Javier found himself excited to come to work and that was something that warranted a whole fleet of flying pigs.

You shouldn't be working here, let alone living here. Whenever you didn't show up to work or were a few minutes late Javier's mind went right to the worst, that something had happened to you. That someone had done something and he was too late, because Colombia chewed up and spat out the kind of person you were.

It was why he couldn't bear the thought of you walking alone to your car after work, and why he seemed to be in the same neighborhood on the weekends when you made your way to the market down the street from your apartment to go grocery shopping. It was also why he was trying his best to keep his distance from you, because someone like you had no business being with someone like him.

"Fuck." Javi half moans, because he can’t keep it in.

You look up at him,  still frantically wiping the front of his pants with a coffee stained paper towel. Javier isn't looking at you, his head is tilted upwards at the ceiling and his eyes are squeezed shut, sweat beading along his hairline, breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Shit, Javi I'm so, so sorry. I know it hurts. I'm going to go get some ice." You try to rise from the ground, but Javier's hand comes down on your shoulder to stop you.

"Please don't." His teeth are gritted together.

"But you're hurt. You could have a burn or-"

"I don't."

"How do you know?"

"Cariño-" Javier chuckles, his eyes blink open, turning a honeyed whiskey in the light. "I stopped thinking about that the second you dropped to your knees and started cleaning me up. It doesn’t hurt. And if you keep doing what you’re doing we’re going to have a bigger problem.”

“What do you mea-“

It still doesn't dawn on you what he's talking about or why he would stop thinking about hot coffee burning him until your gaze lowers again to his lap.

Anything you’re about to say evaporates from the tip of your tongue.

In your eagerness and embarrassment, you'd forgotten exactly what it would have felt like for him when you scrubbed, dabbed, and blew on the front of his pants for the past two minutes.

Oh. My. Damn.

You think to yourself as you see the outline of Javier's large erection straining against the zipper of his coffee stained jeans.

How does he- nope nope not thinking about that right now.

By now your face is so warm with embarrassment you're sure that if someone were to crack an egg it would be fried to perfection in seconds. The heat rivals the eruption of mount Vesuvius, rivals the surface of the sun if someone ran a train full of gasoline into it. There is no coming back from this, no rock big enough to hide under, no cave dark and deep enough to cover your shame.

You lean back on your heels, dropping your face into your hands. "I am so sorry-" The word had lost all meaning given how many times you'd said it within the last five minutes, but given the situation, you had no idea what to say.

To say you were mortified was an understatement. You were so embarrassed that you wanted the faded musty maroon carpet to come up and swallow you whole, so embarrassed that you wanted to go outside, open your mouth, and see if you could drown in the heavy downpour.

I'm never going to be able to show my face here again. I'm going to have to quit my job and change my name. And without a job I'll never have enough money to pay my rent or feed my cat, and if I can't feed my cat he's going to eat my face while I'm sleeping and-

Javier coughs out a laugh, the same one that usually made you feel like you'd swallowed sunshine, but not now. Especially not now not when you could call your own time of death.

You could imagine the gravestone:

Here lies so and so died, when she accidentally gave her boss a handjob.

You could also imagine the ridiculous rumors that would stem from this moment. The things that everyone would say about you the second they found out about this.

You can’t move, can’t even breathe.

The longer you sit there the worse you feel. Embarrassment, shame, and anxiety prickles along your skin, jumping and crackling through every nerve ending, making tears burn in your eyes. You wanted to curl up into a little ball under your desk and rot.

It was the single most embarrassing moment of your life and you knew that there would be no other event that would ever top it.

Javier slides out of his chair to kneel in front of you, whispering your name, but you can't look at him, can't do anything.

The thought of running outside into the thunderstorm crosses your mind, but you’d worn heels today and you didn’t think you’d get far running. And it would have been even more embarrassing if you slipped and busted your nose open on the marble floor in the lobby, because you knew that Javier would insist on driving you to the hospital and you didn’t want to sit through that car ride if your life depended on it.

He says your name again, this time gently pulling your hands from your face.  “Why are you crying?” Worry flickers behind his golden gaze, thumbs brushing over the soft skin of your wrists.

“Because I’m embarrassed. I mean I touched you- touched it- I-“

My great grandchildren will still feel my shame. It will haunt them from beyond my grave. They won’t know a moment of peace!

“If anyone should be embarrassed it’s me.” Javier chuckles.

“I don’t think you still have enough of a sense of shame for that Mr. Peña.” You sniffle out a laugh.

It was true. You knew his reputation, had heard the rumor mill a hundred times over, not to mention you had fielded a number of angry phone calls directed at your boss all of whom you’d told them that Javier wasn’t there, while he stood there and made frantic gestures with his hands.

“Oh back to Mr. Peña I see.” He brushes a strand of hair out of your face. Javier's touch trails sparks against your skin, making your throat tight.

“Huh?" You blink in confusion.

“A minute ago you called me Javi.”

"I did?”

It was hard to think when he was still holding one of your wrists in his warm calloused hands. The same hands worn rough from years of holding a gun, and the ones that had only ever treated you with kindness in the three years that you'd worked for him.

"I don't think I've ever heard you call me anything other than 'Mr. Peña' since you got hired." He raises an eyebrow, signature smirk in place.

"Oh well- that's because I- um. You're my boss and I- I ."

I don’t want to get used to calling you anything else because then I won’t be able to stop.

"I like it when you call me Javi." His fingers trace across your chin, making your cheeks heat.

Any semblance of shame or embarrassment that you felt was quickly fading away with his touch. It was the most that he'd ever touched you, except for the few accidental brushes of your fingertips whenever you handed him things, or whenever he somehow was grocery shopping at the same market and he would gently place his hand on the small of your back to lead you through the crowded stalls.

You never understood why he shopped there too. It was thirty minutes in the opposite direction of where he lived.

This isn't happening. This is just a daydream I'm having and-

“But I don’t like it when you cry.” Javier’s mouth pulls down into a frown. “I promise it’s okay-“

“I’m sorry-” You wipe at your eyes with the back of your free hand.

You couldn't seem to stop saying it. But again you honestly didn't know what else to say. Sorry seemed to cover a multitude of sins. Not to mention the way that Javier was touching you and looking at you right now, and the energy that seemed to pulse and thrum through the air was making your head a little fuzzy.

Before you can say or do anything more, Javier leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead. “You have nothing to be sorry about. You were just trying to help.”

Your hand falls automatically to the front of Javier's orange button up, gasping softly in surprise. He freezes, eyes wide as if he can’t believe that he did it either.

And he can't. Javier didn't meant to, but he can't stand to see you cry. Not when each time you did, it was like the sun was hidden behind the clouds and not when it was like a piece of himself was dying. And he didn't think that you should be embarrassed about this, because you were honestly just trying to help him.

The odd energy pulses again, threading through the air between the two of you, as neither one pulls away. His dark gaze is on you, hesitant, as if he's waiting for something you can't see. Some subtle que or tick that only he knows.

The spicy smell of Javier's aftershave floods into your nose, familiar in the best way, and the feeling of the warmth of his body only inches away makes your brain short circuit.

For the first time in the three years that you'd worked for Javier, you don't feel like his awkward secretary, because the way that he's looking at you… it makes you feel like more.

Javier leans forward just a hair, your hand still resting on his shirt, and brushes his lips against yours, eyes open, gauging your reaction. A sigh works it's way through your parted lips as you sink into the kiss, the hand you have resting on his shirt curling enough to feel the subtle shift of his muscles move and it's exactly what Javier needed.

His lips fall against yours with fervor, hands skating down the fabric of your sweater and finding your hips with ease, before he pulls you into his lap, not breaking the kiss.

It's unlike anything you could have imagined, more than any fantasy you could have made up in your head. The feeling of his supple lips, the tickle of his mustache, the warmth that surges up, up, up in a fluid wave through your body, the taste of the peppermint and stale coffee-

It’s addictive, maddening, hypnotic.

He groans into your mouth, the sound not unlike what he made moments ago, his hands subtly pushing up the edge of your sweater to find the heated skin of your waist fueling the spark that burns through your body. Goosebumps trace along your flesh with a heavy hand, the white hot fire that comes with the feeling of his skin on yours traveling from the base of your throat to the pit of your stomach.

“Javi-“ You breathe his name on a gasp, earning a groan from the man beneath you as he pulls you harder against him, moving his lips down the column of your throat into the shadow of your jaw whispering things in Spanish that you can’t understand. Your hands move up the expanse of his chest and find refuge in his hair, the dark locks falling beneath your fingertips, soft and curled slightly on the ends. Your name comes out of his mouth in a throaty whisper, rumbling up through where your chest is pressed against his.

You'd never heard anyone say it like that before, almost reverent, cherished, like you're his. As if after all this time you've always been his and it's always led to this moment. And it makes something inside break open and flood into the cavity of your chest.

Then all at once he stops, pulling back from you, pupils dilated slightly, looking at you in a daze, his chest rising and falling in rapid gasps.

“We shouldn’t- I shouldn’t.” His voice comes out in a hoarse whisper.

The embarrassment is back tenfold, because now that you’d felt him under you, felt the urgency of his touch against your body, his lips soft against your mouth you don’t know how the hell you’re going to do anything else whenever you see him.

“I'm sorry-“ You mutter before you can stop it, and try to move back off of him, misunderstanding what he means.

Javier kisses you again, holding you firmly on his lap, eyes darker than you'd ever seen them.

“Please stop apologizing.” He murmurs against your lips. “I meant that I don’t want it to happen like this. I at least want to take you out to dinner first. You're-" Javier swallows. "You deserve that."

You blink in surprise. It wasn't that you thought Javier wasn't a gentleman, it was that you weren't expecting him to say something like that. Not when there was no one left in the entire embassy and he didn't have to stop...

But with this pause, reality came roaring back in.

He's my boss. What would other people say?

“Are you sure that’s not a bad idea?” Your fingers gently move through the strands of hair at the back of his head, which makes Javier sigh and lean into your touch.

“It’s the worst idea. Been trying to not ask you out for three years.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Javier chuckles

“It is a bad idea.” You bite the inside of your cheek.

It was. Beyond bad. Practically forbidden. Not to mention you knew for a fact that Javier would probably think you were just too weird and awkward to care about a follow up date and then it would ruin the relationship the two of you had.

But you wanted to say yes. That's an understatement, you wanted to scream yes from the mountaintops and perform a rendition of "The Hills Are Alive" with Julie Andrews.

"Terrible, cariño." Javier smirks a little wider, the grip he has on your waist tightening with a promise that flashes in his dark eyes.

“Maybe not coffee.” You say hesitantly.

"Yeah, that'd probably be safer.” Javier admits. “Though I think if I took you out for a drink there’s always the possibility you could spill your martini and stab me with an olive skewer.”

Your cheeks heat in embarrassment.

"But it's worth the risk." He murmurs leaning his forehead against yours.

"Some things always are." You echo with a soft smile, listening to the rumble of thunder shaking the brick, mortar, and glass of the embassy. The rest of the world melting away and leaving you just with Javi for a few precious moments when all hell rages outside the white washed walls and musty carpets.

Anything can happen in a thunderstorm, you just never imagined something like this.

A/N: Again Alex congratulations on the 5k and giving me such an inspirational gif for your challenge! It was fun for him, and of course to watch some Narcos again 🥰

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! The comments really keep me going!

Taglist:

@angrydragon90 @jollyhunter @kmc1989

[aurumalatus]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 (𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔)

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.4k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers (yes kinich literally invented this trope okay. sue me), mini-drabbles, childhood to university, modern!au, fluff and slight angst, lots of bantering but it's light-hearted i promise

summary.

you've always been a sore loser—kinich is just the only one brave enough to say it. or, you and kinich fall in love over the course of your lives, and one thing never changes—you're both idiots

author's note. credit to @/scythidol for the header images! a bit of a different fic format this time (who is she....). i'm sick over kinich, i have nothing clever to say or excuses to make. that's all, thank you for reading! i'm finishing this at 5am so i'll fix any errors later lol. reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

I.

“You’re annoying.”

The old TV in your backyard treehouse buzzes with static and the constant thumps of Kinich’s fingers against the controller buttons.

It’s a summer evening—crickets chirp merrily in the grass and lightning bugs float lazily through the air, glowing among the stars. You’re sitting next to him, knees pulled to your chest and the straw of a Capri-Sun settled between your lips.

His reaction (or lack thereof) to your words leaves you less than entertained, a sour pout fixed on your lips as he sighs.

“You’re a sore loser. We said whoever got up here first got to play first.” Despite the intense game occurring on the screen in front of him, he diverts about half his attention to watching you out of the corner of his eye. “And I got up here first.”

“But you always win,” you whine. Kinich nudges at his own juice box with his knee, and you roll your eyes before picking it up and holding it to his lips—he drinks gratefully, still focused on his game. You’re not sure why you keep agreeing to this bet; you don’t think you’ve ever won.

“Then you need to get faster.”

Both of you know that such a feat would be impossible—Kinich has been the fastest kid in your grade since you started school. His athleticism affords him a bit of popularity, still at the age where winning a playground race is essentially the deciding factor between the cool kids and the lame ones. But he’s not interested in any of that, and he makes that quite clear in his actions.

After all, all the popular kids avoid him since he started a fight with them last year. 

“They were saying things about you,” he’d shrugged, like it was no big deal. The school seemed to think a bit differently, and his suspension felt like the longest week of your life.

The screen flashes then, a loud and colorful display that shows the words “you win”. Kinich leans back in his seat, a pleased half-smile spreading across his face. 

“Okay, now you can play.”

He tries to hand you the controller, but you huff, crossing your arms and turning away.

“I don’t even wanna play anymore.”

Kinich is far more mature than you at this age—even your own mother tells you as much—so he merely sighs, accepting of your tantrum.

“Okay, what do you wanna do then?”

You ponder that for a moment. There’s a lot of things you do often, but many of them are things that Kinich is much better at than you. Playing video games, climbing trees, riding bikes—he’s far more talented at them all. It’s one of the reasons you even became friends in the first place—you’d practically begged him to teach you to beat the final boss of Super Mario Galaxy, and the rest was history.

“I don’t know,” you mumble noncommittally, blowing your straw wrapper at him. It lands right on target, bouncing lightly off his forehead as he rolls his eyes.

“Come on, whatever you wanna do, we’ll do it,” he says, poking at your cheek. “I’ll even play house.”

And you know Kinich hates playing house—he has boundless amounts of energy most days, and house isn’t “challenging” enough of a game for him to expend it. But he does it occasionally, just for you.

You brighten at the prospect. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, already descending the treehouse ladder, waving you along. “Let’s go inside first, though. I’m hungry.”

Scrambling to your feet, you jump down to meet Kinich, already standing in the grass.

“Last one inside is a rotten egg!”

II.

The rainstorm ends just as classes dismiss—when you walk out the school entrance, a slight drizzle is still letting up, fresh puddles lapping at your toes. Kinich’s gaze finds you instantly as he slinks out of the school gates, bag tossed loosely over his shoulder.

“My socks are wet now,” you whine, patting down the edges of your skirt to look down at your shoes. You’d only just bought them recently, and your mom likely wouldn’t be pleased with the prospect of you ruining them so soon.

Kinich chuckles at first, a snarky sound as thick as the gathering clouds, only to sigh when your pout persists.

“Alright, alright,” he relents, squatting to the ground and gesturing for you to get on his back. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

He’s a bit frail, still in his growing phase—his bones and muscles shift rhythmically under his skin as he walks—but he’s so distinctly warm. The heat makes you curl closer, nose brushing against his neck.

He walks you home most days like this, spending the day at your house until the sky grows dark with dusk. His home life is something he rarely discusses, but you know enough, and you’re happy to welcome him to yours.

“You’re slow,” you mumble into his shoulder. The steady thump of his steps is comforting, nearly putting you to sleep.

“You’re heavy,” Kinich replies teasingly, adjusting your weight atop his back. His words are biting, but he’s being careful with his steps nonetheless, taking each one lightly so as not to jostle you.

“You’re rude,” you scoff back. His nose scrunches in annoyance when you loop your arms tighter around his neck, pretending to choke him as punishment. “You’re not supposed to say that to a girl.”

He blows his bangs out of his eyes, peering up at the newly visible sun that starts to dip low in the sky. You watch a cat scurry through the bushes to your right, golden eyes peering through the foliage before disappearing into the darkness. 

“Yeah, that’s why I’m saying it to you.”

Kinich is always a bit wittier than you, a bit quicker to the punch, but you like that about him. You like a lot of things about him, and you’re sure he knows it, too. A weighty silence settles between the two of you, unnatural—it’s usually you who fills the silence, and Kinich who patiently listens.

But something bigger sits at the back of your mind, and the words are having trouble surmounting the obstacle of your tongue. 

You’re still floundering for something to say by the time your house appears in the distance. The sight lights a fire under you—you don’t want to discuss something like this with your mother in earshot. You force the words out, voice weak and small.

“I heard Mualani confessed to you yesterday.”

The rumor had flown through the school like wildfire. Mualani is popular with the boys after all, so there’s bound to be quite a bit of heartbreak if she ends up in a relationship. Someone had seen them together at that sakura tree behind the school, and it instantly became a hot topic—it’s all you’ve heard about all day.

And though you know it’s not really any of your business, you can’t help but be curious, and the thought fills you with dread.

You manage a glance at his expression, searching for any sort of unrest, but he doesn’t show any at all. In fact, he seems wholly uninterested in the topic.

He shrugs. “Yeah, so?”

You take a deep breath for courage—you’re not sure you want to hear his answer. 

“So? What did you tell her?”

And it’s nothing against Mualani, really—she’s kind and beautiful, and you wouldn’t blame Kinich for falling for her. She’s never done anything wrong to you at all. But a beat passes, and you’re already halfway through mourning the end of your long-time crush when he replies.

“I told her I was flattered, but I wasn’t interested.”

A sigh of relief escapes you then, but you reel it in quickly—he can probably feel you relax against his back at his response.

“Oh,” is all you say, as aloof as you can manage. Kinich latches onto your hesitation instantly.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” comes your hasty reply. “...Is there any reason you said no, though?”

He frowns. “I don’t know. She just isn’t my type.”

“...Then what is your type?”

You’re going too far, you know—even just speaking the words has your chest twisting painfully, and you want to crawl into a hole and disappear. If Kinich isn’t an idiot, he can surely tell why you’re practically breathing down his neck over the whole thing.

But maybe Kinich is a little bit of an idiot, at least about these things, because he merely shrugs.

“Not sure. Never really thought about it.”

A frost unfurls in your chest, bitter—of course Kinich wouldn’t know, he’s never thought about anyone that way. Including you.

“Right.” You attempt a laugh, teeth gritting. “It’s all stupid anyway.”

You drop your head into his shoulder, trying to hide the pained expression on your face, and only then does Kinich’s stare flicker to you, soft.

“Right,” he says, a quiet rumble from his chest. “It’s really, really stupid.”

III.

Walks turn to drives when Kinich turns sixteen and buys his own car.

He’d saved up for months, working part-time jobs on weekends and after school, until the day finally came when he pulled up into your driveway, keys in hand. Your mom had been overwhelmingly proud—bought a cake and everything—and you’d merely been grateful that you no longer had to beg her to drive you places. 

It’s nothing crazy, just a simple sedan, but it represents a freedom that the two of you have never experienced together before.

That’s how you end up parked underneath the flickering streetlight just outside your house, excitedly recounting a story to your best friend. He’d driven you home from your club after school, an errand that always ended in several other stops—today, it had been fast food and boba.

His eyes seem to glow in the fading daylight, a pretty jade and amber that you’ve always thought was beautiful. It feels a bit more intense with his stare trained on you—Kinich isn’t the talkative type, sure, but he always ensures that you know he’s listening.

“So then she was asking me about you.”

“Mhm.”

“And get this,” a nervous chuckle escapes you then, “she thought we were dating.”

Everything falls still.

It’s times like this that you really start to hate just how unreadable your best friend can be. Despite how much you tease him for it, you actually enjoy how difficult it can be to force an expression out of him—it’s a little challenge every day. But now, when you’re on the precipice of pouring your heart out, his impassive expression stings.

Nothing on his face changes, save for a slight tilt of his head—he’s considering your words. The silence feels endless; a lump starts to form in your throat, humiliation burning at your cheeks. 

“I know, it’s so ridiculous,” you assert hurriedly, trying to avoid the rush of shame. “I mean, we would never—”

“Tell her we are, then.”

You’re sure that in that moment, your heart stops. 

Truthfully, you hadn’t planned to get this far—you were planning on brushing over that part of the story and moving on, but something deep in your heart had forced it out of you. Now, you aren’t sure what you really want to happen.

It’s always been your underlying fear, that once Kinich finds out, everything will change. Or even if he does return your feelings, it’ll all go up in flames eventually and you’ll never be the same. It’s terrifying enough to have kept your mouth shut all these years.

A tense laugh erupts from your throat, cutting through the silence. “I—I mean, it’s not that simple—”

He arches a brow. “Do you not want to?”

That’s another difference between you and Kinich—he’s far more straightforward about getting things that he wants. It’s one of the reasons that people misinterpret him as cold, but he sees it as being logical.

You gnaw at your lip, fingers tracing over the car door. Do you?

If the countless daydreams and romantic notebook doodles are anything to go by, you do. You really do. You’re just not sure if you’re brave enough to take that step.

When you look at him again, he’s observing you carefully, a delicate fondness lying in his stare. You shrink under the weight of it.

“No, I do,” you admit quietly. 

The moment falls still, and your eyes are drawn to the only movement within your line of vision—the quick bob of Kinich’s throat. Then, his hand advances toward your face at a measured pace, giving you endless opportunities to retreat.

Of course, you don’t.

“Can I…?” he asks, barely a brush of a whisper. The tension runs thick in the air as his tongue peeks out, swiping over his bottom lip at a tantalizing pace. It’s nearly enough to drive you crazy, but you know he’s just as anxious.

“Yes,” you breathe, wincing at the sound of your own voice—it sounds almost too eager.

But Kinich presses his lips to yours all the same, soft and wanting, and your heart flutters in your chest. It’s a chaste kiss, nothing like the fireworks-exploding-making-out-with-tongue types you’ve seen on TV, but it’s just right—it feels like him, and that’s all that matters. He pulls away slightly, lips still millimeters away from yours.

“I like you. If I’m not wrong, you like me too. I think it’s that simple.”

You almost want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Though you’d never admit it, you’ve practiced this scenario thousands of times in front of your bedroom mirror—what you would say to him, what he might say to you. Leave it to Kinich to not follow the script.

But he’s always done things his own way, so really, you should’ve expected this.

Gently, he reaches for your hand, fingers slotting through yours with ease. You sigh.

“I guess it is.”

IV.

“...that far, huh?”

Kinich stares at you upside down, head dangling off the edge of your bed as you sit at your desk, laptop keys clicking rapidly. He knows you’re serious about your future goals; you both are. He just never imagined it would bring the two of you so far apart.

You pause with one hand resting on the mouse, still staring at the screen. The map looks so daunting, too daunting, and you can’t imagine being that far away from him. 

An awkward, weighted silence hangs in the air, and by the time a few seconds pass, you’ve already foreseen eighty different bad endings for this situation. Clearing your throat once, you force yourself to speak.

“Kinich, I—”

“I get it.”

He doesn’t mean to interrupt you so suddenly, but he does. He couldn’t stop himself if he tried. Because while he does understand—he really does—he also can’t help the stinging sensation of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. It feels pathetic. It feels selfish. Here you are, chasing your dreams and supporting his, and he’s caught on the fact that there will be a little space between the two of you. And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but maybe you’ll get tired of waiting and—

“You’ll come back to me, right?”

There’s an unmistakable thickness to your voice, evidence of the steadily growing lump in your weary throat. It grows larger with every passing second, an insurmountable mass dwarfed only by the impending distance between you and him.

That question catches Kinich off-guard, and he nearly wants to laugh then; not because he doubts you at all, but because he doesn’t, and he finds it ridiculous that you would ever think otherwise. Here you are, worrying about him.

Kinich doesn’t have any doubts or fears. He never does when he’s with you.

Maybe that’s why.

With a light laugh, he lets his eyes flutter closed, finally allowing an uneven breath to fill his lungs. The natural light outside is slowly dimming, the fluorescent lamps dotting your street flicking on one by one. He knows he should go home soon. His car is sitting outside, the same one the two of you have had endless adventures, fights, and make-ups in. It’s the same one he will use when he moves an unfathomable distance away from you. The same one he will use on the day you will cry, clinging to him like your life depends on it, before watching him disappear into nothing but a mere dot in the distance.

His fist clenches at his side. 

But you’re still here, the closest feeling he has to home, and you’re still in love with him, and he is still in love with you.

Maybe that’s why this is enough, for now. 

Turning onto his stomach, Kinich sees you right-side up this time, and it’s like nothing has changed.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.” 

V.

A knock echoes on your apartment door in the middle of the night.

You raise a brow at the sound, a bit unnerved—a lone college girl answering the door in the dark isn’t the safest thing, you think as you peek one eye through the peephole. But there’s a familiar figure standing outside, and it has your hand turning the knob immediately and flinging the door open.

He’s here.

“Kinich,” you breathe, in disbelief. Last you’d heard, he was somewhere halfway across the country, and certainly nowhere near your front door. But he’s here, in a black hoodie and grey sweatpants, looking like he’s just walked out of your dreams.

“Hey,” he says simply, as if his appearance hadn’t been totally shocking. He takes advantage of your shell-shocked state to invite himself inside, curiously looking through your apartment. “Nice place.”

You step aside in a daze. “Kinich—you—what are you doing here?”

He’s holding three flimsy bags in his fist, grocery store logos and restaurant labels stamped over the plastic, keys hanging off his pinky finger. He’d come prepared, clearly, but for what you’re not sure. 

He towers over you a bit more than he used to, hair a bit longer, and everything about him feels so grown up. It reminds you of all the moments the two of you have missed over the years, how much change has occurred beneath your nose, maybe without you realizing. 

He spreads the bags over your kitchen table—the mouth-watering smell of Chinese takeout filters through the air, and your stomach grumbles in reply. But it’s your tear ducts that react initially, a sting at the corners of your eyes as you squeeze them shut.

Kinich doesn’t notice at first, absorbed in inspecting the photos displayed on your wall—photos of you, photos of him, photos of the two of you together. It makes his chest warm that you still think about those times. He does too—after all, it’s rare that you leave his mind.

But he turns back to you, tears running rivers down your cheeks, and his breath hitches.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, carefully cupping your face. A lilt of panic laces his voice. “Does something hurt? Are you sick?”

“You’re here,” you sob, curling into his shoulder. None of it feels real. He’s warm and firm beneath your fingers, and you clutch at him tighter, half-expecting everything to disappear. It’s so much different than FaceTime or calling or anything else you do when he’s away. Because right now, he’s completely within your reach, and everything falls into place.

“Of course I am,” he murmurs. You cry into his hoodie, soaking the fabric with your tears, but he holds you close all the same. “Because you’re here.”

You spend a few minutes that way—you crying until your tears dry over your skin, and him comfortingly rubbing at your back. Air slowly returns to your lungs, and you sniffle, glassy eyes meeting his. 

“But why? I mean, it’s the middle of the semester, isn’t it?”

A rare half-smirk graces his lips.

“We made a promise. I came back to you first. So I do believe that means that I win,” he says. If you weren’t so emotional, you might have rolled your eyes—of course, all he ever focuses on is winning.

He drags you over to the couch, laying down and pulling you on top of him, safe. You draw closer to him, tangling your limbs together until you’re not sure where he ends and you begin.

“You’re annoying,” you whisper, muffled into his chest.

Kinich shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“You’re still a sore loser. Thought you’d grow out of that by now.”

You grumble a few choice words at him, and he smiles—a sight that only you and the stars can claim to have ever seen.

And he’s right; you are a sore loser, and he’s been right just about every time he told you so. But you find it doesn’t matter, not really.

You could never win against Kinich anyway.

(Maybe you never wanted to.)

[the-s1lly-corner]

Wearing their merch (FNAF SB) (part 1/2)

Huuuuuge brain blast while I was writing a fic for sun oooough I am about to get so silly!! Split this into two posts because I don't have the mental strength to make long long posts

Characters: freddy, chica, roxy, monty

Notes: reader is gn, human reader, short post because admin is still not used to writing the glamrocks <3 im more of a DCA writer TToTT

CWs: none

FREDDY

he doesnt let it get to him... or at least he tries not to! but when you clock into your shift ricking lightning earrings hes going to feel a certain way! its almost a prideful feeling!

and they look so nice on you! hes going to let you know that they suit you well!

neither hurt or upset if you only wear them every now and then, its your choice after all!

may get matching earrings! or or or GASP! You give him one of yours and you keep the other! something about it makes him feel soft inside!

CHICA

you cannot tell me that they wouldnt market her bow or leg warmers- or hell even her earrings! but... freddy already for the earring thing... so leg warmers it is!

you clock into work wearing them on a colder day and shes immediately at your side, telling you how stylish you look! you... cant tell if shes being sincere or teasing you... maybe both?

even if they dont fully match with your uniform shes going to be pleased! will think about it for a while... may giggle to herself when shes alone in her room long after youve left to go home

you bought something themed around her and wore it, how can she not?

MONTY

they sell his sunglasses in the shops! so you go ahead and snag yourself a pair to wear during your shift! its... not the best idea to wear shades inside and you kind of look like a douche to some people... but damnit is it not fun!

half hearted vaguely amused snort from his nose when he sees you, tells you you look good in them... but why wear fakes if you can have the real thing?

lets you wear his own shades just to try them... theyre... only slightly more durable and higher quality, but you keep that part to yourself

if youre going to mimic him you better be able to emulate his attitude, this is more of a side headcanon but hes definitely going to try to get you to act tougher if youre a bit softer....

ROXY

a headband with her wolf ears on them! she thinks it looks a little tacky but you get a pass.... for now...! will let you know that there are better options- perhaps a jacket or... oh youre deadset on the headband...

snaps her jaws shut when you tell her you picked the ears specifically because you think theyre cute- you... think her ears are cute by extension, right?

just know her tail is swaying behind her as she tells you that you made a good pick choosing her merch!

....even if she tries to act like its not that big of a deal... i mean dozens of people come in wearing something roxy themed but she tooooooootally doesnt think about it later